You meet Yoonho in community college. The two of you share a few classes together — Digital Photography I, Black and White Photography I, and Painting I. You take classes like this as electives, to express yourself creatively and take a break from your logical and grueling computer science courses. He, on the other hand, takes these courses as part of his curriculum as an art major. You see him a lot and have even sat next to him from time to time. Your teacher is a little eccentric and believes in moving seats every week or so, "to grant new perspective." It's whispered that Yoonho is a pretty "weird" guy. His art, while definitively his own style, tends to mirror Dali's in terms of odd combinations of themes and images, and some of his art is downright "disturbing" to your classmates.
Yoonho is oddly private about his photography but frequently leaves his canvasses without covering them, so you catch sight of his paintings on a fairly regular basis. You find yourself seeking them out even when you don't sit together. Over time, you realize that his paintings have cleverly concealed messages. In a haunting scene of a woman lying in a somewhat compromising position with her neck bared. Two puncture wounds show very clearly on her flesh, and in the rivulets of blood trickling from them, you can read, "내꺼" —
As you're looking, you suddenly become aware of Yoonho standing behind you, almost uncomfortably close. "Well, 누나?" he demands impatiently, and you look at him in confusion. What does he want from you?
But he says nothing, his soft and seemingly innocent brown eyes fixated on yours. After a moment, he breaks the eerie stare and smiles, a harmless and even playful smile. "So," he says in his low, even voice, "you found them. I guess it's time."
You blink perplexedly. The more he talks, the more you have no idea what he's talking about. Suddenly, his long, graceful artist's fingers clasp around your wrist. Smudges of red and black ink are transferred from his fingertips to your skin. He pulls you into the dark room, where the black and white photography is developed. All students have access to this room, and you've been in here before. He hangs a sign on the door that says, "ROOM IN USE — DO NOT ENTER" and leans back against it with a bright smile that melts within seconds to a smirk.
"Haven't you been curious?" he asks you, still in that seemingly harmless, almost nonchalant tone, and you nod.
You look down into the murky water where a print is developing, and as the seconds tick by and the image becomes clearer, you see your own face. You gasp lightly, drawing back, but his hands on your shoulders hold you fast. "It's always been for you, 누나," he sighs happily, pulling you close. "It took you so long to find my messages — what took you so long?" As you withdraw from his arms, he wriggles his shoulders, bottom lip poking out in an endearing manner.
"누나, don't go. Don't you know you're already mine?"

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