In love with colours

His eyes were brown like autumn leaves when you first met. His hair was bleached blonde, almost white like the first snow in winter. His smile was guarded just like fragile white petals in the bloom of spring. His laughter was bright and vivid like golden summer days yet he was calm like those dark nights spent lazily lying down on the grass while gazing shooting stars. He was the epitome of the colours you adored so much.

White.

His favourite colour. A blank canvas. His soft locks tucked under his black beanie. Your skin beneath the pink of your cheeks in the chilly weather. The snow in early January on both sides of the road leading home. Your headphones lying on your knees. Music sheets pulled out of his backpack. His lazy smirk when you asked him if he was a musician. The sparks in his eyes when he showed you one of his songs and you told him you liked it.

Cornflower blue.

The seats on the bus you met. Your veins showing through your pale skin in the cold. His fingers intertwining with yours. His careful question, Better? Your jeans that you were staring at while replying bashfully, Yeah. The clear sky above you shielding birds that accompanied you during the journey. The calm atmosphere between you talking about little nothings and everything else. Like you’ve known each other your whole life. The river in Daegu when you finally arrived home. When he asked you to stay a little more and you nodded right away.

Goldenrod.

The sunset lightning the street ahead of you. The cheap ramen he bought in the corner shop. The awe in his eyes when you mentioned your major at university. You paint? You shrugged and answered: I just add colours to an empty canvas.
Two artists sitting on a bench talking about stars. The dim light of lamps when he walked you home. The way he was close enough for you to feel his body heat but not uncomfortably much. That feeling you had: you didn’t want this night to end.

Coal black.

The typed letters in the million plus one messages you exchanged. The coffee he drank next time you met in a hidden place. His eyes looking at you like you’re something precious. The way he spits words when he raps. His tears shed because of regret. His scarf covering half of his face. Half of his wardrobe because I am not cute damnit, he says. The ink on music sheets. His earrings you love playing with. He never stops you.

Hot pink.

Your first kiss: slow and tentative. After months of avoiding the topic, never talking about the what ifs, ignoring his friends’ teasing it just happened. You hang out in the studio helping him – more like bothering but he didn’t care. Maybe he wasn’t good with feelings but he sprays words into lyrics like an artist. His parted lips when you were suddenly too close. Maybe he wasn’t good at talking either but he put his thoughts into actions like a man. Your blush when you buried your face into his slender neck. His lovely laughter and gentle touches.
The roses he left in your apartment on your 100^th day together. He insisted he wasn’t a romantic person and you let him be.

Peachpuff.

Your nail polish on your first date. His gummy smile when he laced your hands together. His butterfly kisses. The cuddles you share. His sleepy voice that's so deep you want to bath in it. His jokes you find so funny you have tears in your eyes. Your sketches about him. His songs about you.

Chartreuse.

Jealousy that poisoned you every time he met famous and beautiful girls. Or the other way around: his arm around your waist to show you belong to him. That you’re his. And I’m yours, he says but you know better. He's an idol after all. Are you? you ask and it’s the way you fight: with painful words. You regret it right away murmuring sorrys into each other’s shoulder, jaw, lips.

Crimson.

Your dress that night. The love bites he left on your collarbone. The crescent moon scars you painted on his fair skin. The lust in his eyes. His lips on yours. You couldn’t have enough.
The sunrise through the window. His morning kiss. Strawberry cake for breakfast. His new hair and the fake tattoo that made you go crazy. Crazy in love.

Spring green.

Those happy moments in life. Your and his friends. Group hugs. Lying casually in parks of Seoul and travelling home together. Spending time with your families. His concerts and his proud smile when they won another award. Your exhibitions and his sneak-ins to your university. Secret dates. Blooming flowers. Your anniversary.

Lavender.

Sheets on Sunday mornings. Backhugs in the kitchen. The peace you find in his arms. Lazy afternoons under a blanket whispering secrets. His scent stuck on his shirts you wear too much. His voice on the phone when he’s abroad. Missing him. The way he kisses away the happy tears when he’s back. Holding hands. The I love yous.

You are in love with colours, he once said.
His smile was beaming at you when you showed him your latest piece of him. The canvas was full of baby blue and wild purple and deep pink and every possible colour of rainbow and full of him, him, him. Delicate figure, strong hands, fierce eyes in the middle of the colourful storm.
But no. Colours meant nothing because without him everything was grey.
You wanted to say it so, to argue but instead you agreed easily. Aren't they pretty?
Your colours, you meant and he smiled like he knew. You shut him up with a kiss before he could say anything.
His colours never faded, not even after so many seasons changed and you realize there's no going back. Not when every shade on your palette remind you of him.
Maybe you aren't in love with ash silver, turquoise or shiny yellow but you’re definitely in love with Min Yoongi.