It feels like listening to the instrumental version of your favorite song for the first time and waiting for the lyrics to start, only they never do- that’s what it feels like. Falling in love, that is.

He knows it’s not much and there’s still a lot of work to be done, but at least they’re talking to him now, and he’s willing to accept it.

Junmyeon never really payed attention to the seasons, and it wasn’t his job anyway.

It’s not until 11PM that Junmyeon notices that Yixing’s not there.

Confetti falls down like rain and everything’s too bright and so incredibly loud for a change.

Zhang Yixing is made out of light and freedom and birds spreading their wings and flying away; it’s Junmyeon’s job to sit there and admire that about his husband, because he knows that he himself is made out of metal and salty ocean water, and those things are not even close to being as perfect as Zhang Yixing.

Junmyeon’s not really good with words, but he knows his lips finish his stories for him, and he knows that Yixing understands. He always does.

Kyungsoo swallows and makes a nervous gurgling sound in the back of his throat, knowing that it’s too late to try and hide everything now- Jongin’s eyes dart from his wrist to the blood drops and the razor on the floor and back to his wrist, over and over again, and then he talks.

Daehyun is four. Youngjae is three. They both live in close, but not quite, neighborhoods in the outskirts of Seoul. The year is 1998, and their lives are about to change- probably for good- and it all starts when Daehyun hits Youngjae over the head with his lunchbox in preschool, and Youngjae starts to cry.

"Unique"; that’s exactly the word that fits Jang Hyunseung.

Sometimes, you need to have someone with the ability to see things that you consider to be out of sight.

A heart attack, Jongdae thought. A heart attack at such a young age.

Junmyeon has never been more proud in his entire life.

It was 2AM and rain was falling, but it’s alright, because he has someone to keep him warm.

The waves glimmered crystal blue and the air smelled of salt and oil. The seagulls cried above their heads, as if bidding them farewell.

 “I’m a freak, aren’t I,” Jungkook sobs suddenly, and Namjoon blinks in surprise.

Jongdae clings on to humor, because that’s all that he has left.

It’s been six months since the apocalypse. Earth was withering and the skies frowned down at them; the wind wept and the seasons halted.

White. That's all that ever was.