"Why won't you just live a little?"
When elite-student Han Jisung starts the day off with bad luck, the last thing he expects is a one way ticket both downtown and to a series of events that stray far away from his beloved textbooks.
But just before...
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Jisung
"There's no way in heaven we're returning it," the older boy panted referring to the wheelbarrow that looked as if it were about to topple over from where they had abandoned it on the grass. Unlike them it seemed almost sleepy, worn down after they had taken it in turns to push one another as they sat inside, laughing so loud it was a surprise no one had come out to scold them for their disturbance at such a questionable hour.
No way in heaven instead of hell, he observed. The understanding of the phrase was popular, yet like always Minho's perspective of life seemed to be like dust, swiriling and twirling through the atmosphere, mingling amongst common things and phrases yet never quite keeping them the same.
They had found their way into a small courtyard after pushing a gate to an apartment complex and finding to their surprise, that it was open. It wasn't much, a decently sized patch of grass and a few play sets who's plastic had been grayed with rain, but it was enough for the boys to lay side by side and catch their breath, chests steadily falling and rising as the cool night's air relished their drying throats and they stared up at the three-story apartments surrounding them.
"We need to go somewhere else," There was a feeling of aliveness that Jisung had never felt before, the pure desire illuding him to feel a need so strong that if it were not for his comfortable position he would've surely sprung up, "See something new."
"You've gotten bored of me already?" Minho teased, his mock offence hardly belivable as his eyes stayed focused on the younger, a smile dancing across his lips. Jisung had never seen anything quite as gorgeous as that grin in his life.
One of the male's earliest memories was sitting upon his high chair, holding a burning orange crayon and gliding it's wax tip across the microscopic bumps making up the paper. That had been when he was three, yet it was only now a decade and some years later that he felt the sudden urge to draw Minho with the vidivid colours of his imagination. It was only at that moment all those years later, that he finally allowed himself to submerge into his creative desires, lifting a curious finger and claiming it just like that crayon, gently running it across the boy's face; beginning his sketch.
Unlike the paper, this new media of skin was far more exhilarating. On it Jisung could feel Minho's soft even breaths tickle his finger as he traced the small dip of his Cupid's bow, felt his eyelashes flutter softly against the pad of his thumb, the boy closing his lids so Jisung could trace the curve of them too. There wasn't an inch of skin on his face that Jisung hadn't touched in order to create the art of a beautiful memory.
Minho said nothing, closing his eyes and accepting the boy's touch.
"I wouldn't dare do the first thing I feel like doing. Or even state the thoughts when they come to my mind," Jisung admitted silkily, not in order to sound tempting but rather because for once he was at a stage where fast words and presure upon syllables hardly seemed to matter, " You've done something to me."
