Do Kyungsoo, 23 years old, working as a chef’s assistant at a cooking school. Living in a dingy, studio apartment somewhere far from the center of the city. And still, still miserably, unforgivingly, alone. That most of his friends had already met their soulmates was no help to this loneliness. Even the small things, a comment about the color of someone’s shirt, the color of the sky on that day - isn’t it strange? An invitation to watch the sunset at Banpo bridge - what for? For the colors, of course! Jongdae, his closest friend, would take the time to meet Kyungsoo, cook with him, eat with him, but there was still the lurking figure of Park Chanyeol, Jongdae’s soulmate, and between the effervescent cheeriness of them both Kyungsoo wanted to puke.

Besides, he was busy. He had his job, which he went to six days a week, and worked long hours, if only to keep him from the soul- alone-ness of his apartment, and he had his parents, who he went to visit on his day off, and he had bills to pay, and movies to watch, and groceries to buy and food to cook and clothes to wash and floors to clean and-

And?

There was a magazine, propped haphazardly in front of all the others, that Kyungsoo only recognized because Jongdae, his best friend, worked as a photographer for. GS25’s selection of magazines was meager, really, and Kyungsoo had never paid them much mind. This magazine, Jongdae’s magazine, as Kyungsoo always referred to it, was a fashion magazine, with slim, ugly models bedecked in sleek outfits, but this model…this model. Kyungsoo couldn’t tell if the magazine was just using a new method of printing, with covers that could holographically change, but there was something about the model on the cover that seemed…different. He was beautiful, long-legged, with broad shoulders, and he was- 

He was- not in black and white? Kyungsoo frowned, picking up the magazine, careful not to crease the glossy cover. It wasn’t bright, couldn’t be, he wasn’t seeing him in person after all, but the hints were there. A warm color, deep, on his shirt, and his skin, also warm, but different.

The ahjumma behind him cleared , staring pointedly at the space in front of him. The cashier was waiting for him, a bored look on his face. Kyungsoo mumbled an apology, ears hot, and rushed to the counter, leaving the magazine behind.

He came back for it. Not to buy it, not really, just to see if it still happened. He stood off to the side, gingerly paging through the magazine, each glimpse of him a small flash of color. Kyungsoo drunk it in greedily, lingering on the model’s face, until a clerk, her face pinched with boredom, told him to buy it or leave. Kyungsoo placed it back on the shelf, but not before looking at the model’s name: Kim Jongin. And the photographer- oh. Kim Jongdae. So Jongdae knew this Jongin guy.

He formed a plan in his head, magnificent, down to every last detail. Kyungsoo would express interest in Jongdae’s work, get himself invited to a photoshoot, suavely introduce himself to this Jongin and they would kiss, passionately, and make sweet, colorful love-

But, of course, there was the small problem of Kyungsoo’s incredible shyness. Not to mention that Jongdae, with his ever sharp thinking, would be far too intrigued in Kyungsoo’s sudden interest in his work to let it go. And of course, the most worrisome of all the problems: that Kyungsoo would see Jongin in color, but Jongin would not see him in color. Kyungsoo’s stomach flipped. Why would he? A super hot model, see him, bug-eyed, short, near-sighted Kyungsoo, in color? No. It was ridiculous. So Kyungsoo filed it away and headed home, forgetting all about it when he curled up in bed to watch movies.

But it didn’t leave him alone. All Saturday, through the din of preparation, of chopping and rinsing and cleaning and measuring, he couldn’t get Jongin’s face out of his head. Even his mortifying blunder, handing (what the chef told him was) a green pepper instead of a red one (how could he tell? They looked the same, all varying shades of gray), wasn’t enough to distract him. Which is why, during his lunch break, he decided to look this Kim Jongin up, dropping his chopsticks unceremoniously in his bowl of soup when the flash of color came up on the screen. Brilliant, really. As if he wasn’t looking Jongin up precisely because Kyungsoo could see him in (partial) color. He fished them out, the excess broth off and hoping his boss wasn’t in the room to see it. But now he was entranced, by the warmth of Jongin’s skin, the way it contrasted with the color of the shirt (Kyungsoo really wanted to know the name of that color, it was so bright, so rich). Jongin’s jawline was so sharp, and his slim fingers so elegant. So engrossed was Kyungsoo in staring at his phone that he didn’t feel Jaehwan sneak up behind him and snatch the phone.

“Ooh, who is this absolutely delicious five course meal?” Jaehwan purred. Kyungsoo spun around, cursing at him through the dumpling in his mouth. “Kim Jongin, huh. Didn’t take you for the type to moon over celebrities.” Jaehwan scrolled through the pictures, side stepping Kyungsoo’s vicious swipe.

“Give it back!” Kyungsoo growled. He managed to grab Jaehwan’s sleeve, pulling him hard enough to throw him off balance.

“Ah- hey! You’re gonna stretch my shirt,” Jaehwan grumbled, huffing when Kyungsoo snatched his phone back, cradling it. “It’s just some stupid model, anyway. Why are you looking him up?” Kyungsoo didn’t deign him with an answer, returning instead to his soup. “If you want a devilishly handsome man to look at you’ve already got me.” Jaehwan gave Kyungsoo a lopsided grin, but Kyungsoo replied with a scowl. “Oh come on.”

“Go away,” he muttered.

“No need to get so pissy,” Jaehwan huffed, si