The color pink reminds Jisoo of many things.

It reminds him of the walls of the local diner where he worked for the summer, decorated with vibrant illuminates, old-school vinyls and a signature from the King of Rock and Roll himself. It also reminds him of cotton candy, like the type he buys along the Santa Monica pier when he visits Pacific Park with his friends. Sometimes, it sparks memories of when he was really young, of the small, palm-sized strawberry milk bottles his mother would buy and he'd drink within seconds.

But most of the time, the soft hue of pink reminds him of Jihoon. The head of hair dyed the shade of pastel that tickled Jisoo's nose when he rested his chin against it, the pastel that smelt strongly of coconut, the pastel that he so fondly thread his fingers through, time after time until the latter slept soundly in his arms.

Jisoo prefers if pink reminds him of Jihoon, reminds him of the bittersweet, short-lived summer where they spent eight weeks nowhere but by each other's side. 

Pink reminds Jisoo of the first time Jihoon wandered into the diner with his rosy cheeks and sunburnt skin, pink hair shining in the swelting sun that beat down. He asked for a cold, cold glass of soda and a salad, not commenting on it but Jisoo assumed it was because he didn't know anyone who would want to eat something hot when it was 90 degrees outside.

His eyes didn't leave Jihoon the whole time he sat and ate, all alone at the far table of the all-American diner. Granted, it was creepy to literally stare at a customer as they ate, but Jisoo really couldn't help it. Pink was just such an uncommon hair color. (Also the fact that Jihoon was belatedly and undeniably probably the most handsome stranger Jisoo had ever seen, but he wasn't ready to admit that just yet).

"Joshua, you shouldn't stare," one of his co-workers, a nice, polite woman in her forties, comments, nudging Jisoo with her elbow. "It's rude."

Jihoon didn't seem to notice for the most part, and when he spun his eyes around and did Jisoo's, he didn't seem at all bothered. He was much too busy occupying his mind with the outside, his attention following people as they walked along the dusty pavement by the two-lane road that led straight to the beach. A people-watcher, Jisoo guessed, like himself.

Jisoo wanted to introduce himself, but didn't, finding no suitable grounds to do so. He could use the cliche: "I've never seen you around here before, are you new to town?" which would hopefully be followed by an affirmative response, to which Jisoo will put forward his name and offer a tour around the local area. Not only will he have garnered the attention of Jihoon, but will have guaranteed a second meeting. 

Or, he could just do the rather brash, less popular: "Hi, I've been watching you eat your food for the last thirty minutes thinking about your odd choice of hair colour and how attractive you are, do you want to go on a date?" which would probably end in him being hastily given the bill and a weird expression thrown as the stranger scurries from the diner. 

Ideally, Jisoo should have enforced the former plan, but by the time he'd handed over Jihoon's bill and returned to collect it, he was already gone.

But like the stars were aligned and fate really was on his side, Jisoo met Jihoon again.

On a warm, Thursday evening, Jisoo's best friend had invited him to a "small gathering" at his father's beach house over in Malibu (perks of having rich friends) and more than gladly tagged along, of course, aware that in California, a small gathering constituted the literal party of the summer.

Knowing that parties weren't exactly his scene, but not willing to miss out on any fun when practically everyone he knew was attending, Jisoo kept on the sidelines most of the celebration, where he once again, met Jihoon.

"Jisoo, this is, like, my really distant cousin, Jihoon," his friend announced, slightly tipsy even though the sun was yet to sink below the sea, "Jihoon, this is Jisoo, my best friend. He's socially awkward, like you, so you guys should get along great." He leaves then, and Jisoo can't do anything but grin.

Jihoon reached his hand out, which Jisoo shook. "I remember you," he said, and Jisoo feels weirdly giddy inside. "You work at that diner near the beach, right?"

"Yeah, that's right, you ate a few days ago." Jisoo nodded, sipping lightly at the drink in his grasp, no intention of drinking himself into oblivion that evening. Don't say anything cheesy, he begged himself, don't do anything weird... "I've never seen you around before..."

Eh, it'll do.

"I'm here for the summer," Jihoon said, raising his voice, for someone decided to crank the music up so loud it was almost deafening He repeated himself when Jisoo squinted in confusion, not having caught it the first time. "I'm on vacation." He stood on his tip-toes (something Jisoo found improbably cute) to bring his voice closer to Jisoo, but shook his head in dismissal when Jisoo again didn't hear. 

The next time, Jisoo leaned down and uttered right into Jihoon's ear. "Do you want to go somewhere quieter?"

Jihoon nodded. "Please."

The sand underneath his bare feet felt familiar, but when he walked, the slow waves lapping over against his legs with Jihoon, it felt different, like he hadn't walked that way along the beach every day of his life for the last nineteen-and-a-half years.

"Brendonー" his cousin, Jisoo's friend, "ーwas telling me," Jihoon began to avoid any awkward silence between them (though thus far, they had done well), "that you play guitar?"

"Yeah," Jisoo nodded, "I've been playing since I was, like, eleven, I think. Do you?"

"Yeah," Jihoon smiles, lips curving to reveal, sharp, bright teeth, "since I was six."

"Wow, I don't even think I could even read when I was six," Jisoo joked, making Jihoon laugh.

"I grew up with music," Jihoon admitted, "mainly classical instruments, but I've branched into others."

"Such as?"

Jihoon thought for a moment. "Uh, piano, guitar, drums, bass, sax and clarinet."

"Jeez..." Jisoo chuckled, "all that in eighteen years? Do your parents own some instrument boot camp or something?"

Jihoon smiles. "I guess it's in my blood."

By the end of that night, Jisoo found it safe to say he liked Jihoon. Like a cliche romance novel, they had so much in common, it was astounding. Music, their shared loved of songs, artists, to films, their equal passion for cult classics and gruesome horror, to even books, both regularly indulging in the mystic world of fantasy and adventure, they were both totally on the same page.

The only thing he was yet to ask was why Jihoon chose to have pink hair, but he let that question linger for just a while longer. The mystery intrigued him beyond belief, and it drew him in more than he thought humanly possible.

More and more, Jisoo and Jihoon met, and more and more, Jisoo was sure he was falling in love. Brash and broad as it may be, Hong Jisoo was the type to fall in love at the drop of a hat if he finds someone who's even remotely a good person. And Jihoon was more than good, he was perfect. Like, a literal gift from God in his eyes. People say, if you fall in love quick, it's not real love. They say it takes time to truly fall in love, but Jisoo digresses. From the way Jihoon smiled and he got shivers on a perfectly hot summers day, from the way he felt the sudden jolt of electricity when their hands simply brush, from how his breath got caught in his throat when Jihoon leaned close, pointing out the right keys on the piano he promised he teach him to play. From everything, from the very pink hair at the very top if his head, to the very sandy toes at the very tip of his feet, everything, Jisoo was sure he was in love with.

Halfway through summer, Jisoo moved on from sure, and become absolutely certain. It was a Sunday, if he remembers correctly, and Jisoo had coaxed his dad to give him the keys to his classic convertible Mustang, wherein he took Jihoon - without a license, he might add, but he still could decently drive - for a ride around town. They ate the best pizza L.A had to offer, drank nostaligic, small bottles of strawberry milk, parked on the cliff that overlooked the sea and talked. For hours, they stared up at the sky until the sun had long disappeared, and until tiny, tiny stars blinded their sights. 

Jihoon was on edge, Jisoo could tell, but felt determined to change it.

He asked: "Jisoo," calmly and quietly, "do you like me?"

Jisoo had thought he made it pretty obvious over the last four weeks that he liked Jihoon, but nonetheless, he nods, leaning back against the warm hood of the car and feeling the worry grow too much to actually look at Jihoon. 

"Oh," he replied.

Jisoo bit the inside of his cheek. Oh...what? Oh, I like you too...Oh, I don't like you... There had to be some follow up to just oh.

"What..." Jisoo began, slowly, feeling Jihoon gaze over him, "...do you think of that?"

Jihoon took a moment to reply. "I don't know. I'm sorry, I guess."

Jisoo frowned and breathed a laugh of disbelief. "Why?"

Jihoon his side, the car jolting as he adjusted himself. "Because it'll never work."

Jisoo knew what he was talking about. Distance was the single greatest factor that Jisoo felt in Jihoon's build against him. In four weeks, Jihoon would be flying back to Korea, where he undoubtedly would start his life as a university student, starting anew with the refreshing summer behind him, meeting new people and moving on. Or so, Jisoo hoped not. He knew distance was something they couldn't change, but in four weeks, he'd be leaving home and returning to his life as a university student, starting anew with the refreshing summer behind him, meeting new people and moving on. Ideally, the only thing to change in the whole equation was the moving on. Jisoo doesn't want to move on - if he could, he'd like to stay forever in those eight weeks of bliss, but if not, he'd like to take the warm, fuzzy feeling he feels every day when he sees Jihoon, take that and keep that with him until an opportunity arises wherein he can feel something new with Jihoon every single day.

"My mom used to say," he starts, after moments of consideration, "'You never know until you try'." 

Jihoon snorted a dry laugh. "What, did your mom also tell you to follow your dreams, which is why you're following me around?"

"No, actually, my mom told me she didn't care if you can sing, I should be a doctor."

Jihoon laughed, genuinely, his body curling as he giggles. The sound of his laughter alone set a smile on Jisoo.

Calming down was met with soft breaths, as Jisoo turned side-on, lying face to face with Jihoon. He looked so beautiful in the dark, the bold moon, the million upon millions of shining stars, and the soft hue of the city glowing over the hill their only sources of light. On an impulse, maybe a spontaneous burst of confidence, Jisoo leaned in, hand softly on the side of Jihoon's face as he gently, so, so gently, pressed his lips against Jihoon's pink, kissable pair.

Pulling away, Jihoon kept Jisoo close with his hand on the back of his head. He whispered: "You shouldn't fall in love with me." But Jisoo just smiled, slowly moving in again and replying:

"Too late."

That night is forever burned into Jisoo's memory. 

The feeling of the cool summer breeze from the wide open window against his as he pressed Jihoon into the sleazy motel wall, lips everywhere on each other and their hands connect to where their mouths cannot. The feeling of indescribable warmth, sweat over his skin as he pushed Jihoon in the broken, dusty mattress, his breath blowing contradicting goosebumps wherever it met. The feeling of happiness, when he woke in the morning, Jihoon's pink hair tickling his nose as he slept wrapped up in Jisoo's arms. The feeling of nonchalance when he checked his phone, plenty of missed calls from his mother, and the feeling of giddiness when Jihoon woke, and he somehow found then as the perfect opportunity to ask:

"Why pink?"

Jihoon quirked an eyebrow, rubbing sleep crust from his eyes as he moved to rest his head on Jisoo's bare chest. "Come again?" He drawled, still drowsy from rising from his slumber.

"For your hair," Jisoo reiterated, "why pink?"

Jihoon chuckled. "I don't know, why do you ask?"

"It's just a bit odd, I thought." Jisoo reached a hand up, dragging it slowly through the soft pastel locks and trying to permanently burn the feeling of it falling through his fingers. "Different."

"It is different," Jihoon replied. "And I like different."

Jisoo smiled fondly, accepting when Jihoon crawls to his knees and leaned down, pressing a kiss to his lips. "I do too."

When Jihoon left, Jisoo was heartbroken, to say the least.

At the airport, he timidly held Jihoon's hand, Brendon lingering back as he watched his (distant) cousin being led by his best friend (it was as awkward as you think it may have been). He bit his tongue, not wanting to cry, but knowing he could possibly.

"You know, I did say," Jihoon chuckled, pulling a sad smile. "It'll never work."

"Says who?" Jisoo replied, strong, refusing to let the walls build themselves up again. 

"Says everyone who tries." Jihoon held an apprehensive hand to Jisoo's cheek, sighing softly, like admitting defeat which Jisoo could not.

"Can we try?" Jisoo attempted selfishly. He thought, the idea of starting the another year of college devastated and cold brought nothing but sadness. "At least."

Jihoon just smiled, standing on his tip-toes (that Jisoo still finds endearing) and placing a small kiss to Jisoo's lips. "I'll write you," he whispered, turning to wave goodbye to his cousin before gripping his suitcase and walking moderately to the gate. Jisoo hung back, waiting for him to turn around, to which his heart eased when he did, giving one last wave and a wide, toothy smile.

And write, he did.

Jisoo received his first letter off Jihoon a week or so into the new semester. Albeit short, the words were cute, written swiftly in handwriting almost as beautiful as the beholder (almost) upon soft pink paper, which made Jisoo smile. He stated simple things - noted how he was enjoying college already (Jisoo chuckled to himself, knowing he may feel differently after Fresher's week ends and the real classes start), said how the cherry blossom trees outside his campus were already bare and how he hated it, and told Jisoo he missed him (only he a little, which still made Jisoo grin). He also asked Jisoo why they were writing, which takes effort and time to deliver, rather than texting or email, to which Jisoo scribbled in his own letter:

a) Texts and calls to abroad are expensive, and b) it's much more romantic this way

(Jisoo distinctly remembers in the next letter that came through, Jihoon rather expressively called him an idiot.)

By the time Winter rolled around, Jisoo was perfectly aching for Jihoon.

Letters were frequent but they didn't do nearly enough to quench the longing Jisoo had to actually be with Jihoon. His friends, family saw him stupid, being so wrapped up in a boy he met mere months ago, denying how he could possibly be in love with only a certain amount of day of knowing him, half of which, were spent half-way across the world from him.

Regretfully, there were dark times that Jisoo almost agreed, and even darker times where he questioned the legitimacy of Jihoon's case too.

Jisoo purposefully left it until late to call Jihoon (maybe a little too late, for as he checked the time for eight pm in Korea, he noticed it was three am in the States).

"That's coincidental," Jihoon hummed from the other end, voice sounding sharper, higher than it did in real life. "I literally just sent you another letter."

Jisoo's chest was swollen from fondness, an airy laugh passing his lips as he lay with the back against his bed, keeping his voice as quiet as possible.

"What's up?"

Jisoo sighed. "Just...thinking."

"And you needed to be on the phone for that?"

"Thinking..." Jisoo continued, "...about how I missed you."

"I know you miss me," Jihoon answered, "you've said it a hundred times in your letters."

"I wanted to hear your voice," Jisoo admitted, not feeling an inch of shame or embarrassment as Jihoon clearly did from his awkward laugh.

"What's so special about it?"

"It's yours," Jisoo replied, turning on his bed so his body faced the dark abyss outside his window. "It reminds me of you." His eyes fell on the stack of pink-papered letters on his desk, and he adds: "Like pink."

"Pink?"

"Pink." Jisoo grins. "Pink things remind me of you."

"Like..."

Where to begin, Jisoo thought. How about the walls of the diner he worked in, the place he first met Jihoon looking handsome and, granted, sunburnt, but handsome nonetheless. How about the cotton candy from the Santa Monica pier, that he ate with Jihoon while they walked along it, his eyes constantly firing between Jihoon's hand and ahead, wondering if he should hold it or not. Or even the small, palm-sized bottles of pink strawberry milk that they so contradictingly drank with greasy, American pizza the night he became sure. Jisoo thought it must be snowing in Korea by now, and thought of how pretty the tiny, white snowflakes must look in Jihoon's soft pastel hair.

"Just...pink things," he said, smiling as Jihoon snorted over the line.

"Okay, well you're going to be heart broken to know," he began, breathing in, "that I recently re-dyed it."

Jisoo sat up on his bed and tried not to sound offended. "What color is it now?"

"Uh, kinda like an orange?" Jihoon guessed. "But not, like, vibrant orange, more of a...soft pumpkin."

Jisoo broke out into a warm smile. "That's okay," he hummed, "it's still different."

He guessed he could find a list of things orange reminds him of...