Jongin's cheeks conflagrate in white. When he smiles, it's not his lips but their pocket corners, untouched by the sun, that smile for him. The daylight is a muted scream burning across his face and he thinks of a rough palm warm against his skin, soothing the shadows away from his eyes.

  He leans into the window, fluffy hair brushing up against the glass. January goes by just like that- quiet, demure, unassuming under the sunshine.