Winter - namely Christmas time - had a special sort of atmosphere that was utterly impossible to imitate or emulate. Everything from the sights to the smells to the tastes was just so inherently December like that one simply could not hope to ever comprehend it - not that one would even want to understand something so magical and so beautiful anyway.

    Such were the musings of Jeon Wonwoo as he stared out the window with a mind that was quite nearly pleasantly empty, not at all burdened with the unbearable weights of thoughts that so many carried with them at all times.

    Beyond the thin glass that separated him from the happenings of the outdoors, the world was beginning to lose color; everything seemed to grow unsaturated, but in the most beautiful of ways that there was. The grass that was once lush and a vibrant shade of emerald was slowly being drained of its color, turning to a pale shade that seemed blueish in spots and yellowish in others, but never quite that initial rich green. The trees were barren now, no flowers or leaves to adorn them or add a splash of color to the otherwise quite plain shade of brown which composed the bark. Even the sky had grown weary, had begun to seem tired, as the usual cloudless blue had been replaced by an incessant haze of grey. Some may have called it bland, may have called it dreary or monotonous, but that was not at all the case to Wonwoo. No, to him, it was stunning.

    He supposed that he had a certain affinity for those things that others failed to appreciate, anyway. He was drawn to all that flew under the radar, inexplicably attracted to anything that he may be able to call his and only his; these things were his treasures, of the utmost important to the sharp eyed boy.

    Perhaps that was why he had found himself in the company of Wen Junhui.

    The Chinese boy sat beside him on the couch, hardly draped across him but just close enough that his shoulder brushed against Wonwoo’s - exactly the kind of tantalizing affection that the latter went insane for. His eyes were not trained outdoors or even on Wonwoo, but rather on the book lying open in his lap, a small smile playing across his lips as he narrowed his eyes to read the words printed finely across the page. The scent of books - that stale, antique like scent that was just so pleasant in a way that couldn’t be described - hung heavily in the air about them, and Wonwoo had to say that he didn’t mind in the slightest.  Junhui’s hair was mussed up in a beautiful, eclectic, flawlessly flawed way, having not paid any attention to it after waking up and simply assuming his position on the couch beside Wonwoo who had awakened just a matter of minutes prior to him. He wore only his boxers and a large t-shirt, an English word printed across the front that Wonwoo really didn’t know what to make of. In the past, he may have been set on edge by the fact that the boy was just wearing his underwear - he wouldn’t have known what to make of such a lascivious sight, his mind ending up in places that it really shouldn’t have been. As time had passed, however, he had come to see the beauty in that as well. There was, after all, nothing inherently ual about the boy wearing his underwear; if anything, it solely displayed that he felt comfortable around Wonwoo, enough so to be so exposed. Before long, Wonwoo had found that he was doing the same around the older, which was why he was in no position to judge that morning as his attire was precisely the same as the former’s.

    These were exactly the sort of mornings that Wonwoo loved, the kind that he could only dream of half of the time. The numbers on the clock read eleven fifteen, early by no accounts whatsoever, but with the boy beside him just as groggy as he, it was quite an easy task to make believe that they had been up along with the sun. The television was turned off - rather than the hecticness of a show, the noise of the actors, they had opted to turn on the stereo, a soft song that he may have classified as indie playing gently throughout the dorm. Regardless, he examined the black TV screen thoughtfully, primarily because he was able to see Junhui’s reflection in it (though he would, of course, deny that fact with a teasing smile if asked, which he indeed was only moments after realizing that he had been staring). Even the lights were off in the room, the harsh artificiality exchanged for the gently glow of the sunlight seeping in through the windows with blinds thrown open wide.

    It was then that Wonwoo’s eyes were drawn once more to the window, squinting into the faded colors lying outside. His eyes most certainly had to be deceiving him, had to be playing tricks on him, had to be -

- no, he had been correct. That was indeed a snowflake that he saw tumbling down from the clouds, quickly being joined by many others of its kind, all dropping down ever so slowly, forming a sheet across the ground so thin that it was yet undetectable.

    Excited to share the news, Wonwoo made a move to alert Jun, tapping him on his arm. “Hey,” he said softly, low voice coming out rough as he was still groggy from having woken up not too long ago.

    Jun looked up at the sound of Wonwoo’s voice, wide eyes twinkling in the faint light, the backdrop of the falling snow making him look somehow even more ethereal than he had before, as if that were even possible. “Hm?” he asked, watching Wonwoo with rapt attention.

    “It’s snowing,” Wonwoo answered simply, “for the first time.”

    Junhui then turned his head to face behind him, taking in the gorgeous sight for himself, a smile finding its way to his mouth as he watched the phenomenon with adoring eyes.

    Wonwoo, however, could no longer be bothered to look at the snow, regardless of how stunning it was, as the sight just beside him was infinitely more stunning than that could ever hope to be. With the pale light illuminating his face with the faint blue tint so unique to the winter, Jun looked like nothing shy of a god, a being that far transcended the limits of human attractiveness.

    “Wonwoo,” came Jun’s voice after a period of time that the younger frankly couldn’t judge the length of, “you’re staring.”

    He didn’t bother denying it this time.