Emerald Strings

Parallel Paths

Once the shower was done, he reached for a towel. Wrapping it around his waist, he stepped out and moved toward the sink. His steps were slow and deliberate, each one echoing with an air of confidence that bordered on intimidation. His reflection stared back at him from the fogged-up mirror. For a moment, he simply stood there, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he studied himself.

He wiped the mirror with a hand, clearing away the condensation. The face looking back at him was as striking as ever. His skin glowed faintly in the warm light, his sharp jawline and high cheekbones adding to his commanding presence.

His dark eyes, nearly black, held a depth that was both alluring and unsettling. They were the kind of eyes that could freeze someone in place with a single glance, revealing nothing while demanding everything. His lips, set in a firm line, carried no warmth. Even when he smiled, it was a cold, calculated expression that hinted at danger rather than kindness.

On the counter, a small case held his contact lenses. He reached for it, his movements steady and precise. The lenses were a necessity, not a preference. He placed them carefully over his eyes, blinking a few times to adjust. The world didn’t change much when he wore them, but they sharpened what little he could see, making the muted colors slightly more defined.

He leaned closer to the mirror, his fingers brushing through his still-damp hair. It fell messily over his forehead, but he didn’t bother fixing it. The tousled look suited him, adding to the air of recklessness that seemed to follow him wherever he went. It wasn’t the kind of recklessness born of carelessness, it was calculated, deliberate, a reflection of a man who knew how to play with fire and never get burned.

Park Sung-hoon straightened up, his towel still wrapped securely around his waist. He took one last look at himself in the mirror, his expression unreadable. There was no pride or vanity in his gaze, just a cold, assessing stare. He wasn’t looking at his reflection to admire it. He was studying it, as if he were a chess piece in a game only he understood.

The room around him was quiet again, the only sound the faint drip of water from the shower. Sung-hoon turned away from the mirror, his steps confident as he moved back toward the bedroom. The day had begun, and with it, another chance to assert his control over the world.

The walls were paneled in rich, dark wood, almost black in the faint morning light, their grain etched with an intricate, nearly imperceptible design that added depth without disrupting the austere atmosphere. It embodied the elegance of power and control, with no room for frivolity or unnecessary color to detract from its somber sophistication.

He walked toward his closet, the soft padding of his bare feet muffled by the plush rug that stretched across his bedroom floor. The closet doors were tall, nearly reaching the ceiling, and opened with a faint creak as he pushed them apart. Inside, the space was nothing short of luxurious, resembling a private boutique rather than a simple wardrobe.

Rows of perfectly tailored suits hung in meticulous order, their colors ranging from sharp blacks and grays to muted blues and deep greens. Long trench coats with clean cuts lined one section, their fabrics ranging from heavy wool to light cashmere. Beside them, high-neck sweaters and turtlenecks were stacked neatly, exuding an air of old money and timeless elegance. 

His eyes scanned the rows. The muted, monochromatic world he had lived in before faded, replaced by a burst of vivid colors. The deep reds, emerald greens, and navy blues stood out like flames, their brilliance foreign yet intriguing to him. Even with the clarity his lenses gave him, Sung-hoon’s expression remained cold and disinterested.

Colors didn’t impress him, they were just as useless to him as people's presence in his life. He pulled out a dark charcoal suit paired with a black turtleneck, the outfit simple yet exuding authority and control. He dressed quickly, his movements precise and calculated, and finished the look with a long black coat that brushed the tops of his polished shoes.