Drinking strawberry music on the school rooftop, sharing earbuds—a daily routine for Hansol and Chan.
Chan doesn't remember how or when it started anymore. All he knows is that Hansol tastes like strawberries and sugar.
He's sweet. Chan thinks as their lips collide for the first time. It's a strange sensation; his strawberry milk is still on the tip of his touch, the taste lingers.
He can't help but wonder if his face is as red as the strawberries around them because Hansol laughs as he pulls away. His lips are a vibrant shade of pink, the curve of his gummy smile contagiously spreads to Chan.
He's like strawberry Pocky and shortcake. His eyelashes flutter to give Chan the fondest look the younger's ever seen directed towards him. Chan would even argue that they rival his own brothers' honey-dipped gazes.
"Chan," Hansol says after a while to which Chan feels himself burn up even more. He's like melting ice cream—a slop of milk and berries on the floor against the hot rays of the sun: Chwe Hansol.
He can't find the words to reply with, his mouth hanging open, dumbfounded. He feels their shared earbud fall out of his ear. The music leaving somehow made the silence so loud.
Hansol only laughs again. And he's one of those people who smile with their entire face: eyes, cheeks, eyebrows, and all.
He's absolutely gorgeous and sweet and everything in between.
Hansol places a Pocky stick on Chan's tongue, manually closing the younger's jaw, bringing him back to reality.
But nothing comes close to tasting as delightful as Hansol anymore.
"You better get used to this. This won't be the last time."
Yeah, Chan sure hopes so.
