chan is late nights and laptop screens and being so sleepy it numbs your lips. chan is kissing even through those numb lips and giggling at each other through the clash of teeth, chan is late night baking and almost burning down the house, chan is closing your eyes and spinning across open fields. he’s hard work and dirty fingernails, he’s pointing out all the beautiful little things. it’s going into pet stores just to look at the puppies, it’s accidentally leaving the pet store with three of them, it’s midnight fast food runs and driving with the windows down, laughing into the night air and blasting any type of music as long as it’s interesting. chan is a fascination, heart pounding, chan is adventure.
woojin is the warmest hugs you’ve ever received. he’s when you step out of the car and smell the air and know that some nearby fireplace is alive, he’s laughing from your belly and singing in the shower and sugar in your coffee. woojin is when you look up at the stars but there’s still a prettier pair of eyes to look into, woojin is rainbows reflecting through your windows onto your face. woojin is long road trips with strong hands drumming on the steering wheel the whole way there, woojin is inside jokes upon inside jokes, a pillow and blanket and bed all in one. he’s chapstick and soft kisses, and always smelling like vanilla and comfort. woojin is safety and everything beautiful in the universe, woojin is home.
minho is movement, constant movement. he’s dancing with all the lights off or all the lights on or all the lights all over the place, minho is concentrated beauty in a shot glass. he’s high on life but without all the heaviness of it, he’s picture frames scattered to the wind and swiping paint on each other’s faces, minho is a love poem. he’s 20 miles over the speed limit, a storm, but he’s also the calm before it, an addictive sort of empathy, clothes that all smell like him, dirty paintbrushes and empty ice cream cartons and staying up all night. he’s the act of only saying his true feelings in foreign languages, or in every language, and letting you learn them all slowly, slowly, slowly, he’s every form of art.
changbin is café dates that end up lasting 6 hours long, arguments over artistic decisions that end with pouts for forgiveness and giggly kisses. he’s that embarrassingly public kind of love, all soft pink sweater paws and hand-holding and fixing everyone’s hair but his own, he’s whistling on the way down the street at 2 AM with neon lights in the background that blink “no vacancy, no vacancy, no vacancy,” because his heart is all filled up and he’s satisfied with the contents. he’s books and papers and always searching for answers he doesn’t have questions to. he’s a box full of filled notebooks, a childhood full of crayon-scribbled genius, he’s the prettiest smile you’ve seen all day. changbin is the softest part of life.
hyunjin is easy blushing and gentle touches and the shutter of a camera, he’s warm rain on concrete and barefoot in the empty street, he’s parked car conversations where you talk about the world until the sun has all but set. he’s wide smiles and looking away and touchy, always touchy, he’s long and lanky pretending to be much smaller. he’s rambling compliments and blanket cocoons and convenience stores in the middle of the night, a closet full of jackets and wind, with eyes full of secrets you might just look deep enough into to find. he’s the artistic use of blank space or busy, busy, busy, he’s the magical sort of aura that seems too pretty for human. hyunjin is human, and beautifully, beautifully so.
jisung is laughing, always laughing, with your whole body, dorky snorts and lighthearted giggles and not being able to get ahold of yourself for 15 minutes because you keep making eye contact and losing it again. he’s sunlight on the worst day, not actual sunlight but sunlight sunlight, he’s gentle touches to your hair and cheek, he’s barefaced glowing skin and glossy lips, he’s the softest Soft has ever felt. he’s cheeks stuffed full of smiles, long elaborately-planned adventures, and a heart too soft for the hardness of the world sometimes. he is always, always blooming, always prettier and lovelier than yesterday, always reminiscing on the small beauties of all that has passed, he’s saturday nights personified, free and kind and loved.
felix is hair dye in a locked bathroom, the last one awake at a sleepover, the kind of pretty that’s almost too bright to look at. he’s stuttered confessions and messy cuddles and waking up all over the place, he’s fluffy hair and whispered conversations over the phone, he’s texts in the middle of class that make you laugh out loud, he’s loud. he’s, “everything is better when you say it loud,” he’s loud, in the best way, but he also exists so within himself you can forget the physical boy is even there. he’s every star in the sky and a few of the ones on earth too, he’s oh-so-clingy, dramatic back-alley scenes that should earn him an Oscar, tripping as he walks backwards and laughing through the stumble, he’s the easiest thing about being alive.
seungmin is the kind of quiet that grows into screams into the void when no one else is awake to hear our vast demands from the universe. he’s every cliché about love but a thousand times better, he’s oversized sweaters, soft blue aura and soft blue words you have to want to listen to in order to hear, words that everyone wants to listen to, words spun from glass and cotton and sunlight. he’s shy smiles and cutecutecute, forehead kisses and long sleepy hugs, warm milk and laundry detergent and moonlight through the windows, a sharp kindness and a blunted beauty, soft skin and smiles and front teeth, he is the palest shade of blue, the prettiest melody, your favorite song.
jeongin is the lightest sort of affection, makes everything in your body feel ok again, all smiles and dimples and sharp limbs. he’s still growing into a brand of love, he’s that straightforward brand of love, that honest brand of love, he lets love fall from his lips like snowflakes, or time. he’s all the time in the world, he’s big wide futures and roads touching the horizon, he’s the horizon, he’s early mornings and the dew in the cool air. he’s waking up to see the sunrise, bare feet on wet grass, silhouettes against bright light. he’s nervous fingers locking together and brightly colored hoodies and just love, overflowing with love, always with love.
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