Lee Jihoon was like the snow.

    In every factor ranging from his impossibly fair skin to his icy gaze and everything else that may be found in between, he was certainly the epitome of winter. One felt a chill down their spine just by so much as looking at him, though they could never be positive of whether that was a byproduct of his omnipresent coldness or his undeniable good looks. Regardless, that shiver could never be avoided, and it didn’t take much for one to grow addicted to it - addicted to him.

    He was nothing shy of intoxicating, purity and poison entangled in an inevitable combination. So beautiful, yet so cold. If ever the snow could take the form of a human being, Lee Jihoon was undeniably that being.

    Even when clouds of silver and gray blanketed the sky in its entirety, that confetti like substance of snow could still be found tumbling gracefully downwards, ever set on its course to cover the ground. It was such a peaceful sight to watch, the delicate flakes of white breaking apart the darkness and monotony of everyday life to show something beautiful, something special. It was an easy task to get lost in the musings that maybe, just maybe, these chilling decorations were for one in particular, fell solely to land on that one person’s eyelashes and bring a smile to their red, cracking lips.

    As easy of a thought as that was to entertain, however, it was as plain as day that such ideas were the mere dreamings of children.

    The snow couldn’t be only for one. It was an impossibly selfish thing, to try to hoard such a beauty just for oneself. The truth was, the snow didn’t go out of its way to land on a single eyelash. That was merely a hindrance in its path to empty tree branches, uninhabited park benches, and land as far as the eye could see. The snow wasn’t saved for one person, but for all. That, however, did not prevent an individual for falling madly in love with the freezing fraction of a second before the snow was but another puddle on their skin.

    These feelings of insatiable longing were precisely those which Choi Seungcheol felt towards Lee Jihoon.

    How many days, weeks, months, years had passed since he had first been enraptured by the intensity of the younger boy’s stare? Since he had first noticed what a stark difference there was between his own heat and Jihoon’s icy touch? Since he first acknowledged the fact that his heart raced every time they were near? Too many to count, undoubtedly. Seungcheol could no longer remember a time before there was Jihoon, and frankly, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to remember such an empty time of his life.

    Still, as much as he would like to believe that the smaller boy was a gift sent down specifically to brighten his life, that was not the case. Seungcheol was not the only one who came to know the radiant beauty of Lee Jihoon.

    Everywhere Jihoon went, so went everything that he had stolen Seungcheol’s heart with. His unmatched ability to write music, the aura of a natural born leader, his unbreakable determination… Jihoon had it all, and he certainly wasn’t stingy with his talents. He gladly shared them with all, letting everyone partake in his magnificent abilities. That was a great thing, wasn’t it? Everyone could know what an amazing man that he was.

    The flaw lied in the fact that Seungcheol was selfish. He couldn’t share Jihoon with the others - he wouldn’t share Jihoon with the others. He wanted to take all of the beautiful snow and hold it in a globe of his own, keeping it close to his heart so that no one else may take it away from him. In the end, though, he couldn’t. Jihoon was not his to hold onto, so it was all that he could do to watch as the others admired Jihoon much the same as he.

    Inability to be claimed aside, however, Jihoon was just so cold. Seungcheol could feel himself freezing with every attempt at interaction made. Yet, for some unknown reason, his attempts continued.

    “Hey, Jihoon, you’ve been working hard today. Do you want to go get a coffee or something?”    

    “No.”

    Rarely was there any shred of explanation to be heard; there was only a denial, and then silence. Seungcheol wanted to say that he got used to it. That, however, was nothing but a lie. He was stung by the rejection every time that the boy turned him down. Nearly every day, he asked the boy to spend time with him, though it was perhaps once a month that he would actually agree. His rejections were as cold as ice, but, still, Seungcheol resolved that if the case was that Jihoon was cold, he’d just have to wear a jacket.

    Day after day, week after week, month after month, he was given the shoulder. Still, he refused to give in. He thought on it time and time again; what about Jihoon was so special that he continued to sent himself through hell and back just to talk to him? No matter how many times he mulled it over, there was one answer that came to mind.

    Once - and only once - he had addressed the issue with the boy in question.

    It was late at night - far later than any of the other members would’ve liked to stay in the studio. As always, that was the prime time for Jihoon’s writing, and even after all the others had long since left, he could be found locked away in his office.

    Normally, this wouldn’t bother the leader; he knew that this was how Jihoon worked best. However, when he awoke to find Jihoon’s bed still empty, he knew that he had to intervene.

    “Jihoon,” he called out, hanging in the doorway leading to Jihoon’s private office. When he received no answer, he tried again, voice firmer. “Jihoon.”

    The only response this time was an uninterested ‘hm?’, Jihoon’s back still turned to him.

    “You need to go to sleep, you’ve worked hard enough,” Seungcheol said gently, not wanting to upset him.

    “Maybe I wouldn’t have to work so hard if you’d stop interrupting me.”

    At the harsh words, Seungcheol couldn’t help but to let his thoughts slip out. “Jihoon, you’re like snow.”

    That was enough to catch the pink haired boy’s attention. He turned back to Seungcheol, sharp look in his eyes even with the prominent violet bags beneath them, a clear marker of his lack of sleep. “And what do you mean by that?” He asked, keeping his tone even as his eyes remained locked onto Seungcheol’s.

    “You’re so cold to me,” answered Seungcheol, keeping his gaze just as steady as the other’s. “I might just freeze to death if you keep this up.”

    An uncomfortable amount of time passed before Jihoon replied. He simply stared at Seungcheol, eyes all but boring into his soul, before finally turning back to his computer. “If I’m snow,” he spoke finally, “then you must be the sun.”

    That, Seungcheol concluded, was what kept him going.