BTS IMAGINES AND SCENARIOS

Sunset Graffiti✿⁠ (Jung Hoseok/Hobi)

By the time she reached the end of the street, the sky had turned into fire.
Seoul at sunset was its own kind of religion — streaks of gold, pink, and bruised violet spilling across glass windows and rusted rooftops. The air carried the faint hum of traffic, buskers, and distant laughter.

She’d taken the long way home, again. Maybe on purpose.

There was something magnetic about this neighborhood — the walls here were never blank. Every week, new bursts of color appeared: galaxies, faces, flowers. A new language in paint.

Tonight, one wall caught her eye — an explosion of reds and yellows, stars tangled in cosmic swirls. Someone was still working on it, a figure standing on a crate with a spray can in hand.

He had headphones on, shoulders moving with rhythm as he painted, the setting sun hitting his skin like a spotlight. His hair glowed a soft orange in the light, and when he stepped back, she realized he was smiling.

Not the practiced kind — the kind that happened when no one was watching.

She should’ve kept walking. But curiosity tugged harder than reason.

“That’s beautiful,” she said.

He jumped slightly, spinning around, paint can still in hand.

“Oh!” His voice came out bright, surprised, not defensive. “Didn’t see you there.”

He pulled down his mask, revealing a face that looked far too alive for the tired city around them. He was grinning already. “You like it?”

“I love it,” she said honestly. “It feels like… the sun exploded.”

He laughed — a sound so easy it made her chest lighten. “That’s exactly what I wanted! See?” He pointed at the center, where warm golds bled into purple shadows. “This part — it’s supposed to feel like the last five minutes before the world goes quiet.”

“That’s oddly poetic,” she teased.

“Art is poetry,” he replied, mock-serious. “Just louder.”

---

She watched him paint for a while, the hiss of the spray cans blending with passing cars and faint hip-hop beats leaking from his headphones.

He worked with joy, not perfection — colors layered, mixed, sometimes smudged by accident. When he noticed her studying the mural, he gestured toward a crate beside him.

“Wanna try?”

“What, me?”

“Yeah.” He held out a can. “You can’t mess it up. It’s a sunset — even mistakes look beautiful.”

She hesitated, then took it. The can was warm from his hand.

He guided her wrist gently, showing her how to move it in arcs. “See? Let it flow. Don’t overthink.”

She pressed the nozzle, and a cloud of blue mist burst forward, spreading across the orange. She gasped.

“Perfect!” he laughed. “See? Natural talent.”

“I just ruined your masterpiece.”

“Ruined?” he scoffed. “You upgraded it.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “You’re not what I expected from a graffiti artist.”

“What did you expect?”

“Someone… edgier.”

He chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint. I’m Jung Hoseok — I make messes that make people happy.”

“Well, mission accomplished.”

He tilted his head, studying her with a smile that was half sunbeam, half curiosity. “You’ve got paint on your cheek.”

She reached up, flustered. “Oh no—”

He stepped closer, gently wiping the spot with his thumb. His touch was light, fleeting. “There. You’re officially part of the mural now.”

Her heart stuttered, though she disguised it with a grin. “Should I sign my name, then?”

“Even better,” he said, grabbing another can. He sprayed two tiny stars near the corner of the wall. “One for you, one for me. Now the city knows we were here.”

---

They sat on the curb when the paint cans emptied, legs stretched out, watching the sky fade into indigo.

“Do you always paint alone?” she asked.

“Most of the time,” Hoseok said. “People don’t usually stop to talk. They just walk by, take a photo, and forget.”

“Then why do you still do it?”

He thought for a moment. “Because even if they forget me, they’ll remember how it made them feel. That’s enough.”

There was no sadness in his tone — just quiet conviction.

She looked at the wall again. Under the light, the mural seemed alive — galaxies swirling in warm chaos, golden dust blending into violet edges. It was joy, grief, and hope all at once.

“You know,” she said softly, “I think art like this heals people.”

Hoseok turned to her, eyes gleaming in the dim light. “That’s the goal. To make someone look up and feel a little lighter — even for a second.”

The breeze picked up, carrying city sounds like music. Somewhere nearby, a busker strummed guitar chords. Hoseok hummed along absentmindedly, fingers tapping on his knee.

“You sing too?” she asked.

He grinned. “Only when the paint dries.”

She laughed, leaning back on her palms. “You’re a strange one, Hoseok.”

He looked at her, smile softening. “Yeah, but strange people make the best sunsets.”

---

When they finally stood to leave, he pulled out a marker and scribbled something small on the bottom corner of the wall.

She leaned closer to read it.

“The universe only makes sense when we share it.”

Her breath caught. “That’s… beautiful.”

He shrugged, eyes crinkling. “It’s true.”

He handed her the marker. “Go on. Add something.”

She hesitated, then wrote below it, in tiny letters:

“Thanks for sharing yours.”

When she looked up, he was already smiling, soft and proud.

“Now it’s finished,” he said.

---

They walked together until their streets split. He waved, turning to leave, but paused halfway.

“Oh, hey!” he called. “You coming by next week? I’m painting the bridge tunnel.”

She grinned. “Only if I get my own color.”

“You got it.”

He raised a hand in farewell, the golden light catching his hair one last time before he disappeared down the street.

---

The next evening, when she passed by the mural again, she noticed something new — a small white heart had been added beside their stars.

And underneath, barely visible in the fading light:

“Come back soon, co-artist.”