-San-
He wasn't much of a romantic. Sure, it wasn't like he hated cheesy stuff either. Sometimes, they were good too and made him feel warm and tingly inside. But still, San wouldn't count himself a romantic. He thought himself as a simple guy, that as long as they gave their attention to him, have some quality time doing whatever, as long as it was together then he knew he was loved.
But, if he was to describe Love through his senses, it would go more like this:
Love was the sight of messy hair in the morning, of soft brown eyes looking at him or blinking, looking just at him. It was the starry sky at night and the sunshine in his eyes. It was the sight of their smile when he said something particularly funny, or not funny, but they would smile anyway because they love him.
Love was the sound of their laughter, their voice when they call his name. It was the sound of their voice as they sing along to what music was in their playlist they were feeling worth singing along to. It was the loud 'I love you' exclaimed every morning and night, when they feel particularly happy or insecure, or when they just feel like saying it, and the soft whispers of 'I love you' shyly spoken, just for his ears only, in the secretive bubble they made for themselves.
Love was the fresh scent of soap they used every morning. It was the scent of sea breeze and ocean wind in the summer day. It was the sweet scent of their favourite ice cream flavor, shared after a long or stressful day.
Love was the taste of home-cooked food, that sometimes tasted bad and sometimes tasted so good he would ask for more. It was the sweet taste of ice cream and the salty-sweet taste of a shared pineapple pizza. It was the taste of their skin underneath his lips and the taste of their kisses shared in secret.
Love was the feel of their warmth against his skin, comforting and reliable and always so familiar. It was the feel of their shape in his hand, every slope and every mound, always known and ever-changing. It was the weight of their arm on his shoulder and their warmth on his back. It was the feel of their hand in his, an unshakeable connection he either took for granted or felt it too much he gets afraid of it.
It was Love. Whatever people say, whatever people may think, there was no doubt in his heart that it was Love. He Loves and he was Loved and it is Love.
How could it be anything but Love?
♡
He loves, too much, not enough, so
much it scares him how in love he was.
Love scares him, afraid of getting hurt, afraid of being weak, afraid of not being enough, scared to death at the thought of losing them.
And yet, Love he did, and he never felt more complete.
******
-Wooyoung-
He's a romantic, he always knows that. He loves the cheesy lines, they always make him smile and warm and all tingly inside. He's an absolute romantic. His language of love involves doing things for the ones he loves, feeling their appreciation of him as proof that he is loved. He loves it if he thought he was making their day easier, better. But, he also knows how easily he can be used for it.
Still, when he loves them, it doesn't seem to matter much, as long as he is loved in return.
(Sometimes it hurts. He couldn't help it anyway.)
And when he loves, he feels it with everything he has.
He loves the sight of them, of their messy hair and puffy eyes in mornings, even while he's also infuriated. He loves the sight of the starry sky they share, a moment of their life when it seems they are the only two people in the world. He loves the sight of their smile and grin, the summer sun shining bright above them, the beautiful scenery that filled him with so much happiness he wished time would stop right then and let him stay in that moment forever.
He loves the sound of their cheerful laugh and the way they say his name, either with fondness or annoyance. He loves every stupid word that came out of their mouth, making him laugh or making him scream in exasperation. He loves the whisper in his ears, the sweet nothings they'll stutter out to say, the words difficult to form on their emotionally-stunted tongue, but never a lie.
He loves the sweet smell that they favor, though he doesn't really care for it for himself. But, on them, it simply becomes another facet that is them. He loves the smell of peppermint in their breath when their face would come close to his, so close their noses would touch. He also loves their scent under the cologne they always wore, the smell that was so viscerally them, whenever he could be close enough to smell them.
He loves the taste of their pancake when they would make it for him, on a rare whimsical day. He savors the sweetness of their kisses, always hungry and longing for their taste. Even the bitter tang of its secret can't stop him from loving it.
He loves the feel of them around him, their warmth surrounding him in the cocoon of their embrace. He loves having their hands on him, his hands on them, as long as they are touching and he can feel their warmth with his, hand to hand or skin to skin, he loves it. He loves the feel of them against him, with him, in him, closer and closer, connected forever.
He loves, loves, loves with everything he is, with everything he has. Love makes him feel he is living and Alive. He loves, loves, loves. He doesn't care what other people say, how can they know? He is the one feeling it, so of course he knows best what it is.
There is never a doubt he Loves.
And sometimes, he thinks he is also Loved in return.
♡
He Loves and Loves and Loves. He tries not to show too much, he doesn't want to make them uncomfortable, but he Loves.
Love breaks his heart and mends it together. Love makes him miserable and brings him every joy he can ever hope to feel, Love makes him reckless and mindful. He Loves, so he Feels.
And when he Knows he is Loved, then he is Happy.
