༺Masterpiece༻

LV :: Yes, Gramma

The headquarters of Morning Abode of Ilaria was nothing like I’d imagined. Its age hit me the moment we stepped through the heavy wooden doors, their groan echoing through the cavernous space. The air was thick with the scent of old wood, dried herbs, and something faintly sweet—maybe candles? The place felt alive, not in the warm, bustling way of a home, but in the quiet, watchful way of something ancient.

The main hall stretched before us, its high, arched ceiling braced by thick wooden beams so dark they almost seemed black. The walls were a mix of crumbling plaster and exposed brick, interrupted by faded murals that looked like they’d been painted a hundred years ago, maybe more. A winding staircase curved up one side of the hall, its banister polished smooth, the kind of smoothness that comes from years of hands passing over it.

My boots scuffed lightly against the uneven stone floor as I walked. A long, faded rug ran down the center of the hall, its edges frayed but still holding on. Tapestries hung from the walls at intervals—old and worn but regal in their way. At the far end, a massive fireplace dominated the room, its carved mantle drawing my eye. Above it hung a portrait of a woman, her soft gaze and small smile somehow warming the whole space.

I glanced at the others. Y/n stood near me, adjusting the fabric of her dress—a dress Mai had stitched just for her. It was simple yet elegant, the kind of thing that moved with her, soft and earthy in tone, almost like it was meant to belong to her. She had stitched it for Jimin's friend, unaware that it was her real granddaughter.

Antonella was nearby, her vintage-inspired dress making her look like she’d stepped out of an old photograph. The design was fitted, precise, with embroidered accents that drew the eye but didn’t overpower.
The only one reason I let her overdress.

And then there was Jimin. He looked comfortable, as always, in a casual full-sleeved shirt and loose pants. But what stood out was the jacket he’d lent to Jared. It wasn’t just any jacket—Halmeom had made it for him, every stitch deliberate, every detail perfect. Jared adjusted the collar awkwardly, as if the weight of it was heavier than it looked.

“Are you sure I should be wearing this?” Jared asked, pulling at the sleeves like he thought he might tear it.

Jimin shrugged, casual but sincere. “Halmeom made it for sharing, not hoarding. It suits you.”

Jared gave a half-smile, his hand running over the stitching. Antonella watched him from the corner of her eye, but if she had something to say, she kept it to herself.

I glanced down at my own shirt. It was embroidered, the fabric soft but sturdy, and the details—swirling patterns of flowers and shapes—felt like they’d been made with care. It was the kind of shirt that made you stand a little taller, even if you weren’t sure why. This was my second time wearing it, only now did it attribute to my memories.

“Where’s Halmeom?” Y/n asked, breaking the silence. Her voice was quiet, almost reverent, like she didn’t want to disturb the atmosphere.

Jimin gestured toward the staircase, his expression softening. “She’s somewhere in this huge campus. You can never find her once it's completely dark. She doesn't stay in her room."

“I’ve never worn anything like this. It feels… personal.” Jared meekly whispered.

Jimin nodded, his eyes distant. “It is. Halmeom says every stitch is a blessing for the person it’s meant for. To her, it’s not just sewing—it’s her way of giving something to you.”

Y/n’s fingers brushed the hem of her dress, her lips curving into a small, thoughtful smile. Antonella had drifted closer to the fireplace, her gaze fixed on the portrait above the mantle.