Felix is the sun at mid-day, shining brilliance that is frayed at the edges. He is eternal summer with a hint of spring and none of winter, a most incredible walking contradiction. Soft smiles and jagged grins, crinkling corners and smooth panes. The deep rumble of his voice soothes, the most entertaining contrast to the alarm blaring in the morning that he stumbles to snooze. He is the light streaming in from the window at 9 A.M., holding promises of a bright today and an even brighter tomorrow, and the twinkling of the stars at 9 P.M., comforting whispers and stolen kisses against the vastness of space. Felix is love that lives off of stolen glances turned into staring competitions, that expresses itself through hand squeezes, elbow nudges, and ordering large fries without having to ask.
Jisung is the jolt of caffeine in the morning and the first shot you take at night. The fizz in the pop that hits the back of your throat, the bubbles that you feel in your stomach. He is roller coasters and drop towers, the thrill of adventure with all the exhilaration of falling but none of the fear. The tea cup ride that goes on forever, the dizzying feeling followed by the comfort of falling into warm, open arms. He is junk food at the break of dawn and rising just to eat again, groggy smiles turning into laughter while bumping hips and dancing in the mirror. Jisung is love that thrives on excitement and produces enough jubilee to overcome any sadness, that patches a kite up with dreams and prepares it to take flight once again.
Chan is the steam rising from freshly-brewed tea, the inviting fireplace in lasting winter. He is the calm that outlasts the storm, the light raindrops on the roof that soothe you to sleep. Toasty blanket draped across plush couches and cold knees, soft pats on the head and the most sanguine of pinky promises. Gentle poems murmured against your ear, soft smiles formed against your kisses. He is the kind of sleepy that embraces you and makes you think of how thankful you are to be alive, the rest from which you awaken feeling more rejuvenated than you ever have in your entire life. Chan is love that knows to let the petty things go before they turn into arguments, that treasures cozy nights in just as much as grand evenings out, knowing that both will end inevitably with comforters and TV shows and microwave popcorn.
Hyunjin is sporadic spring transitioning into ephemeral summer, the anticipation of all that is to come. Even the cloudiest days are bright with him, lit up by beaming smiles that blossom into fresh laughter. Time passes quickly, but he is the nonchalance that makes you forget the fear of growing up, the satisfaction of knowing that you have loved and been loved. He is the child-like naïvety that helps you notice life’s infinite wonders, the reminder to stop and smell the roses, the golden hour that inspires you to take a walk in the park for the first time in years. Hyunjin is love that is stubborn, that fights for the right reasons but with the wrong words, that, with patience, is made all the more strong, reveling in the glory of the knowledge that it has weathered rough seas and emerged victorious.
Changbin is the petrichor that comes after the softest rainfall, the reason that flowers grow back with the change of season. He is the light chime of the bell atop the door in the café around the corner, the music and novelty in things you’ve seen for years but just now truly noticed. Good heart hidden behind blunt words, soft chapters of empathy and kindness closed in a worn hard cover. Running in the rain, casting the world behind and squinting through the droplets falling from eyelashes, breathless with euphoria. He is the coming of autumn, leaves turning red and yellow and orange, beautifying the world in a way you still can’t fully describe. Changbin is love that builds, that pulls you slowly but surely into a gentle embrace that tells of affection unable to be expressed in words.
Seungmin is the birds that chirp outside the window in the morning, exemplifying joy and embodying life. He is the early dew that gathers on the leaves, the fragrant scent and aesthetic pleasure of freshly cut grass and carefully trimmed hedges. Melting marshmallows and chocolate pressed deliciously between crisp graham crackers, the pleasant satisfaction and sweetness of the first bite. Pictures of cute hedgehogs and the giggles from watching a dog video compilation. He is skipping stones on river surfaces and walking hand in hand along the train tracks; he is waking up at 5 A.M. to catch the sunrise over the mountains and laughing through stumbling all the way back down the trail. Seungmin is love that is filled to the brim with adoration, with adorable baubles and even cuter compliments, that sets butterflies free in your stomach over and over again.
Woojin is the book that you cannot put down despite not having taken the time to enjoy a novel in years. He is the reminder that you can revisit your past without being stuck inside of it, the relaxation of a deep breath in and a month of worry out. The welcome surprise of a trinket you thought you’d lost long ago, the nostalgia of times you didn’t live through or can’t quite remember, forever captured in phonographs and turn tables. Afternoons spent dancing in the living room, evenings spent bundled in bed going through photo albums, hours passed with gentle strumming and even gentler melodies. He is the note played on the piano with which everything stills, the wistful chords that bring back fond memories, the solace of harmonies that keep you rooted in the present and inspired to grown from your past. Woojin is love that is easy, that doesn’t ask more from you than you can offer, that gives the silent promise of support that provides you with the courage to become a better version of yourself.
Minho is the feeling of riding an elevator up one of the tallest buildings in New York City, the vertigo that catches you off guard in the best way. The feeling of wind running through outstretched fingers, of standing on a rooftop and shouting above the noises of the lively street below. Quickened heartbeat from skiing down the highest slope, magnificence that takes your breath away upon reaching the clearing at the top. He is going eighty down the freeway at night, windows fully open; he is the thousands of lights twinkling in the skyline that replace the fading radiance of sunset, the sparks of luminous laughter that outlive the dark. Minho is love that announces itself through loudspeakers, that lives in the moment and has no time for hesitation, that spends each second with due exhilaration.
Jeongin is the moment of take off, the sensation of floating that hits just as the wheels leave the pavement. He is the glee that comes with finding your new favorite songs and the gratification of the dozens of plays that follow. The carefree bliss of going down the highest slide at the water park, the cheers of victory after finally picking the toy up in the claw machine. Puffy parkas and fleece hoodies that weather the cold, mittens and scarves interchanged in an act of composed charity hardly shielding animated affection. He is finding the four-leaf clover after hours of searching, the joy of the simpler things in life. Jeongin is love that is unrestrained, bounding exultantly across open meadows, paused only by the shyness that comes with youthful endearment.
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