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Changbin doesn’t understand people who don’t like summer.
Actually? If you don’t like summer, Changbin doesn’t like you. Simple as that.
Changbin loves summer—in fact, he doesn't trust anyone who professes love for any other season. Autumn has its merits, sure (mostly in the form of Halloween). Spring is fine. A bit finicky, but the cherry blossoms are lovely, so he tolerates it. Winter can go jump off a cliff, as far as Changbin’s concerned. Summer? Summer can do no wrong, in Changbin’s book. No school, for one. Enjoying the beach to its full, refreshing potential? Hell yeah. Barbecues? Every damn night! Wearing as little clothing as possible, and it being socially acceptable? He can’t get enough of it. The slightly-off putting jingle of ice cream trucks chugging along through the streets? Why, it’s the soundtrack of the season, along with the screech of the cicadas on the trees. Fireworks and parades and community festivals? You don’t get it any other time of year.
There’s a certain magic to summer, that inherently and permanently hangs in the air as soon as spring bids the world farewell. The way the sun makes the fresh crabgrass glow ethereal green; how that verdant carpet feels like velvet between your toes, when you run barefoot through a sprinkler. How the moon doesn’t rear its ghostly, crater-ridden head until 9 in the evening. How whizzing fireworks pop and crackle through the night, mingling glittering gold with the deep orange of sunset.
Summer is like another universe, every year. A pocket dimension sandwiched between spring and autumn.
There’s hot summers. There’s humid summers. There’s windy summers. There’s rainy summers, which Changbin considers the absolute worst, and he will take no criticism on the matter.
Summer is like love. No summer is the same, from year to year. Autumn and winter and spring are a tad more uniform, but summer is unique. Summer is a rebel. Summer is like love.
Their love is like the summer.
There’s as many specific brands of love as there are distinct varieties of summertimes. Because, like summer, love isn’t one dimensional. Summer isn’t just the sun. It isn’t just the heat and the beach and the golden sparklers lit once lilac dusk hits. And like summer, when you love someone, there isn’t just one type of love. That much Changbin knows.
There’s sad love; the kind where there’s two distinct aches in your heart. One from agony, and one from adoration that is so overpowering it threatens to send you to your knees.
There’s angry love; the kind where you feel your tummy clench and your heart pound and your skin prickle with zips and zaps of electricity. The kind of raging enamour that, if you let it sit in your mouth too long, you’ll be able to taste on your tongue.
There’s sappy love, genuine and movie-script worthy. There’s goofy love, tongue-in-cheek and wonderfully dopey. Love is like the seasons. Never exactly the same, despite the proverbial time of year being the same. Every love is unique, day to day. Person to person. Season to season.
Take Changbin and Chan—their love is hot. Hot and feisty. Perfect and idyllic. Never rainy. Never windy.
A perfect mimicry of the world outside their apartment window, in fact.
Because right now, they’re stuck deep in the middle of a hot summer. A sweltering summer, even. So hot you can see the horizon line undulating with the intensity of the heat. They have their AC unit turned onto maximum, but it does little to combat the your-sweat-has-sweat roast of the August sun through their windows. They don’t have a leather sofa, but Changbin’s meaty arms are still sticking to the microfiber textile of their sectional as if it were treated lambskin. Chan has his fluffy bangs clipped off his forehead with a glittery pink alligator barrette, which sparkles pastel in the sunlight and makes his otherworldly blonde dye job look even more ethereal.
Changbin readily admits to his extreme love of summer, but this is a bit too much.
It’s hot. They’re hot.
Chan insisted on keeping their windows open, to let in a cross stream of natural, fresh air. Changbin balked, and shut them immediately. “You’re letting all the cool air out!” He squawked indignantly, at the sight of Chan making move to wrench the living room window open again.
Chan chuckled, like he always does in the face of Changbin’s dramatics, but elected to leave the panes shut this time. Once his boyfriend is sufficiently satisfied, Chan went back to work on his laptop.
The hum of the AC unit in the wall is beginning to give Changbin a headache. The air pouring from the vents is frosty and icy cool, but by the time it languidly makes its way to Changbin, the chill is expired and sickly.
Minutes eeked into hours, as Changbin splayed his muscular limbs on the couch cushions, and prayed for relief from the heat. He carded deft fingers through his black fringe, peeling sweat-damp locks from his forehead each time. Their apartment is so stuffy, and stale, and—
He needs some fresh air.
Maybe Chan had a point, with his window-opening obsession.
Changbin pried his body off the sofa, and stretched at the waist, making his joints pop and crackle akin to miniature firecrackers in his bones. The sun is still sitting nice and high in the sky, and he has a good few hours to enjoy the solar glow before evening hits.
He just got the perfect idea, to make the best of what the sun’s fury has to offer. There’s no point staying cooped up inside, right?
“Hey Channie, I’m gonna go sunbathe on the rooftop. Wanna come?” Changbin posed, in between sloughing sweat off his brow.
Chan hummed, and spun around in his ergonomic desk chair. “Wish I could, Bin, but I still have work to finish.” He sounds genuinely remorseful as he nodded at his laptop screen, and coupled with the sweet pout of his lips, he appears awfully close to a cartoon puppy dog.
Changbin whined, but in the same breath, he knew this would be his answer. Chan barely pauses from his work to take a drink of water, let alone unwind in the sunshine with his boyfriend for a bit. Stupid work. If only that could go on hiatus during summertime, too. Then the season would be absolutely flawless.
“But,” Chan added, before Changbin could wallow in his disappointment for too long. “I’d be happy to walk you upstairs? Maybe help you apply your sunscreen, or something?” He bit his lip, reddening the pink flesh. He waggled his brows as he said it, and Changbin fought the urge to cringe.
Chan is so...Chan.
That’s all he can say.
Changbin rolled his eyes, but the playful gesture is tempered by the airy chuckles that flowed through his smile. “Sure, Channie. I’ll let you apply my sunscreen all sexy like. Sound good?”
It sure sounds good to Changbin, alright. Anything concerning prolonged exposure with Chan’s hands sounds positively delightful, no matter the occasion. Plus, sun protection is important in the summer! He wouldn’t want a sunburn, right? Right!
Chan pushed out from his rolling chair, and popped up gracefully. He grabbed Changbin’s hand, and dragged him into their kitchen; so they could grab the aforementioned bottle of suncream from a drawer before leaving. Chan’s smile is so big and beaming, Changbin almost confused it for the reason for the season—that beautiful, swirling ball of gas perched in the sky and bathing the world in its warmth.
In fact, Changbin can say wholeheartedly that the sun can take a few notes from Chan’s smile. It can learn a few things, from his boyfriend.
Chan grinned, and Changbin almost shielded his eyes from the glow. “Sounds perfect, Binnie.”
☀️
The rooftop patio above their apartment’s residential ninth floor is an oasis.
Well, that’s a bit of an overstatement, given that it’s...well...just a fenced-in tile expanse on the ninth floor of their complex, but anything in the open air is leaps and bounds better than the thousand-pound air of their flat. There’s aqua blue chaise-lounges set up randomly across the patio floor, and a white picnic table sits off by the far left corner of the metal fencing. There’s a grill in the other end, which was only used once, during their complex’s tenant barbeque last year.
Maybe it’s not an oasis on second thought, but it’s nice.
And when you’re as hot and sticky as Changbin, nice is just as good. And with it only being a short flight of stairs up from their eighth-floor apartment, what’s not to like?
Changbin pulled his shirt off his head in one fluid movement, taking care not to jostle the pair of polarized sunnies nestled onto his hair, and flopped down on the first lounge to catch his eye. Right in the middle of the patio, directly under the sun. The vinyl lattice is baked pleasantly warm from the sunshine, but not to the point of searing his skin. He flipped his sunglasses down from the crown of his head, and the harsh rays of the sun are instantly blocked. Perfect.
There’s a breeze up on the rooftop that they couldn’t achieve through the open window of their apartment, and it gently blows the sweat off Changbin’s brows and the dip of his clavicles. The cool breeze cups his cheeks, pecking away the red tint of his flushed cheeks.The clouds cover-reveal the sun at a rapid clip as the earth spins, and it’s perfect. Everything is perfect.
Speaking of which;
“It is nice up here,” Chan mused, as he strolled over to Changbin’s lounge. He held a hand over his eyes, as he forwent the sunglasses Changbin offered him before leaving their flat. The blonde ringlets not pinned off his forehead with the pink barrette shimmied in the wind, bouncing and shining in the light. Everything is perfect, but no earthly wonder can compare to Chan. He may as well be his own distinct season. Some amalgam of the floral sweetness of spring, and the bold oceanic attitude of the summer time. The mysterious coolness of autumn, comingling with the cozy warmth of winter, all at once.
But at the same time that Chan is a mixture of all things familiar, he is something completely different just as much. Something new. Something that simply can’t be duplicated, by man or beast or nature.
“Maybe I’ll come up later, when I’m done.” Chan said, as he sucked in a hearty breath of fresh air. “We can watch the sunset. I’ll bring that unopened bag of hot Cheetos we have in the pantry. Nice and romantic.”
Changbin laughed, and the severe bunching of just cheeks almost sent his sunglasses flying off his face. “Yeah, nothing says romance like hot Cheetos, Channie.”
Chan didn’t miss a beat with his reply. He never does, when Changbin is involved.
“I don’t know about you, but I’d much prefer a bouquet of Cheetos over a dozen roses, Bin.” Chan quipped, as he sidled up to Changbin’s lounge, and plucked the tube of sunblock from his short’s pocket. 100+ UV blockage, with hyaluronic acid for extra hydration. Rubs in dry, with no sticky after-feel. The real good stuff.
“Touché,” said Changbin, as he tore his gaze off the clouds, and over to see Chan. He doesn’t want to miss a minute.
Chan easily unscrewed the cap of the baby blue tube, and plopped down on the slim exposed edge of Changbin’s lounge. Not exactly a comfortable position, but he made do. He squirted a healthy dollop of gooey white cream into his hands, before rubbing his palms together to spread it around evenly.
Changbin mellowed into the lounge, as Chan placed two sun-creamy hands on his tummy. His palms are tacky and thick with the stuff, but even below that sticky layer of white cream, they’re still Chan’s hands, and Changbin’s body reacts to them as if they are a lullaby given bones and knuckles and swirly finger pads. His eyes fluttered shut, as Chan’s hands worked their magic.
Sweeping a generous layer of sunscreen over his belly, before doubling back and gently rubbing it in. Changbin’s doesn’t have abs, so the sunblock is easily spread across his body. His tummy is soft and pillowy and perfectly valid, thank you very much. Chan considers every facet of Changbin’s body as a work of art, but he has a special kind of reverence for his tummy. He loves the gentle curves and velveteen softness of his skin, and how it so beautifully contrasts with the iron-cut of his biceps. If Chan’s hands are Changbin’s 8th wonder of the world, Changbin’s tummy is that and more to Chan.
Chan has the abs in their relationship. Deal with it.
Chan’s hands traveled up, and kneaded sun cream covered fingers over Changbin’s chest and shoulders, before migrating over to apply the goop to his muscular arms. Chan’s hands are so nice, so gentle, so tender. Changbin felt his eyes getting heavy, as Chan ceaselessly worked away.
“Thanks, Chan,” Changbin muttered through a sigh, completely blissed out.
Chan hummed, and pressed on. Literally, and figuratively.
Suddenly, Chan’s loving ministrations changed, just a bit. Rather than using both palms to rub a healthy layer of sunscreen over his boyfriend’s exposed torso, he now employs the delicate tips of his fingers to get the job done. Elegantly swooping his pointer finger across the skin of Changbin’s left flank, up and down and around and then doing the same treatment to his right. Swiping the pad of his finger over Changbin’s tummy, and then back again. A curve here, a curve there. A line here, a line there. Abstract through the darkness of Changbin’s lids, but he can feel them. He can feel the almost artistic detail Chan is now utilizing, how each drag of a finger tip is calculated and purposeful.
Almost as if he’s drawing on Changbin’s skin. As if his finger pad were a brush, and the sunblock the paint, and his body the canvas. Not the optimal sunscreen application method, Changbin can only assume, but who is he to judge?
His touch is so light and feathery, a shiver ran down Changbin’s spine, despite the temperature and the fiery heat of the sun. He doesn’t know what Chan is doing, exactly, but Changbin is far from complaining.
But then, much to Changbin’s chagrin, Chan’s makeshift-sunscreen massage ended. He pulled his hands away, and Changbin wanted to cry at the jarring loss of contact. “Alrighty, I think that’s good.” He chirped, audibly satisfied with his job.
While Changbin has to admit he can’t foresee himself getting a sunburn in the near future, he’d be remiss to agree with Chan’s assessment of his finished handiwork and the implications of it as such.
“Well, I’ll see you later, yeah?” Chan mused, and he suddenly sounds far, far away.
Changbin opened his eyes, only to see Chan making his way towards the door leading back into the apartment complex. His head of blonde hair is glimmering in the sunlight, as much as the barrette keeping his curls tamed permits. Changbin’s heart panged, but it didn’t last. The longing is soon snuffed out by the loving smile pulling onto Changbin’s lips.
“See you later, Channie. If you need me, I’ll be getting my fair share of vitamin D.” Changbin happily replied, and relaxed back onto his lounge. He crossed his legs at the ankles, laced his arms behind his head and pillowed his noggin on the firm muscle, and just breathed.
He heard Chan chuckle, even from the other side of the rooftop patio. “Vitamin D? I could’ve given you that a while ago, Binnie.” He also easily heard Chan drawl, but he very much pretended he didn’t. Chan is so...Chan.
He’ll never change.
And Changbin never wants him to, for as long as they live.
So with that teasing remark, and the telltale squeal of the patio door hinges signifying Chan’s exit from the outdoors, Changbin is all by his lonesome. Just like that.
But he’s not lonely. He’ll see Chan later, after he’s sufficiently cooled off in the open air paradise, and soaked up as much sun as his body can handle. Plus, he’s not totally alone. There’s a pair of pigeons by the overstuffed trashcan adjacent to the picnic table, eagerly cooing and fluttering their iridescent wings as they pick at the tasty remains overflowing from the mouth of the bin.
Changbin smiled, at nothing in particular. Not at the pigeons as they gorge themselves on leftover snacks crumbs. Not at the sun, as she beats white-bright light onto his body. He smiled, at life itself. He smiled at the summer.
Changbin pulled an almost-forgotten can of watermelon sparkling water from his short’s pocket, and cracked open the tab.
He toasted the lukewarm can towards the duo of pigeons, “Cheers, queens.”
He took a sip. It's bubbly and refreshing, if not a tad too warmed from a prolonged stay in his pant’s pocket. He had to squint to even somewhat taste the fruity flavor on his tongue, through the fizz of the seltzer. And yet, like everything else on the patio, despite the obvious mediocrity, somehow it’s absolutely perfect.
Changbin sucked in a nice, big breath of summer air. It filled up his lungs and made them expand to the point of bursting, but it reinvigorated him. He placed his can of sparkling water onto the tile work, and closed his eyes again. The comforting weight of Chan’s touch is still ghosting over his skin, and serving as an invisible momento of his affection. Changbin reveled in the lingering heat of those hands on his body, and allowed the sensation to tug his cognition towards dark, velvety nothingness.
Even though the city is rumbling and screeching nine stories below, Changbin fell asleep with the chirps of the songbirds in the air and the occasional drone of a jet plane soaring above the clouds.
Changbin fell asleep in the sunlight, with a smile on his lips.
☀️
Changbin awoke from his nap when a particularly full bodied cloud completely blotted out the sun's light.
He jolted back into consciousness, and immediately knew something wasn’t right.
The sun has set dramatically, now hanging between the spaces of two other apartment buildings out to the western city line. The sky is fiery and orange, the sun a blob of angry red above the horizon line. But that isn’t what caught Changbin off guard. The air is significantly cooler now, as dusk trudges closer. But that isn’t what took Changbin aback.
What made his brows furrow, is the sudden and distinct pain he felt across his skin, as he roused his body into movement.
“Wha— ouch!” Changbin winced, when the skin over his ribs burned as he sat upright. What? He thought, utterly baffled with the onslaught of stinging pain.
He knows this kind of sting. He knows this burn, it’s unmistakable. Like a brand was stamped across his tummy and over his sides. He plucked his sunglasses off his eyes, and set them back in his messy fringe. Changbin frantically looked down at his exposed torso, and he gasped.
Red, red, red.
Red, all over his skin. Angry scarlet squiggles mingling with the otherwise pristine milkiness of Changbin’s flesh.
He got sunburned!
How did he get sunburned?! It doesn’t make sense! Chan literally applied a good half of that damn tube to Changbin’s chest and tummy and arms! That shit was 100+ UV protection! Not some cheap 50+ crap! He just doesn’t get it.
And it’s not even uniform! It’s not that his entire tummy is reddened and burning, only a couple sections of his belly are affected! And now that he thinks about it, they don’t even look like sunburns. Not the amorphous rorschach blots of pain he’s so used to, tattooed onto his skin in a perfect mimic of the holes in his tank top or the bands on his sandals that he forgot to cover in sunblock.
As he uncomfortably cranes his neck down at his tummy, as he squints for any scraps of clarity, those odd little ruby lines almost appear to be... words? Or even... images?
The furrow in Changbin’s brows deepened, as he scrutinized the mysterious burns on his belly. Is he seeing things? He must be. Those can’t be words! Or pictures! Chan must have just missed a couple spots...right? His eyes must be severely playing tricks on him...right? Sun blindness, and all that?
I can’t make anything out upside down like this, Changbin thought with a frown, I need a mirror.
So with that thought in mind and spurring him up with newfound determination, Changbin snatched his can of watermelon seltzer off the tilework, balled up his shirt and tucked it under his arm, and toed his flip flops back on.
“Ow, ow, ow!” Changbin whined, whenever a particularly severe movement agitated one of the burns on his torso. Damn, that shit hurts. How on earth did he get sunburned? It doesn’t add up!
Changbin waddled over to the rooftop patio door, steps cautious and careful so as not to ignite the burns seared onto his flesh.
He still doesn’t understand…..
How did he get sunburned, in the first place?
☀️
“Oh my god,” Changbin gasped, as he stared wide-eyed at his reflection in their bedroom mirror. He quickly greeted Chan upon reentering their flat, before making a beeline to the floor-length mirror propped up against the wall in their room. He was on a mission for answers, and now he’s got them.
Oh, he’s got them, alright.
His eyes are popping out of his head in disbelief. His lips are parted and unhinging his jaw. He can’t believe his eyes! He...he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
He thought he was delusional on the patio, but there’s no mistaking it now. There’s no question.
Changbin’s sunburns aren’t just irritated red nothings. They’re words. Messages burned onto his skin from the prolonged kiss of the sun.
He crept closer to the mirror, and cocked his head to the left. Made his vision go a bit cross eyed.
I love you, is written— burned?— onto his tummy, front and center. The little ‘ o’ drawn right over the cute dip of his belly button. Below is a heart, sweet and awkward as each lobe is uneven and crooked.
Changbin turned to the side, and peeked at the right side of his flank. He focused to make out the sentiment sunburned onto him, despite the shock clogging up his brain.
Chan Wuz Here is scrawled over his ribs, the red marks ending right above the knob of his hip bone.
He already knew the culprit without a shadow of a doubt, but that settled it. That confirmed it. Chan really did draw in Changbin’s sunscreen while he was applying the cream. He really did write in the protective goop, forcing his sweet nothings to be seared in furious scarlet onto his boyfriend’s skin.
But maybe sweet nothings is a bit of an exaggeration. Changbin shifted again in front of their floor-length mirror, to get a better look at the final pictagram branded onto his skin. He toddled around, so he’s now looking at the left side of his body.
Changbin screamed, at the sight before him. He fucking screeched at the top of his lungs, because there isn’t just a message written on that swath of skin.
Two half circles. A long, horrible, unmistakable shaft.
Chan drew a fucking dick. On Changbin. A goddamn middle-school playground caricature is now seared onto Changbin’s skin. Except not drawn with sharpie on the inner tube of a tunnel slide, it’s...on him. On him! A fucking dick drawing! That will take weeks to fade and crust and peel off! The love messages he didn’t mind (even though they do hurt like Hell), but this?! This hurts physically, emotionally, mentally–the whole nine yards!
There’s many, many, many different types of love. Happy love, guilty love, comforting love. The list goes on and on. But right now?
Right now, Changbin is very much feeling angry love.
Angry, angry, angry love. Hot and humid, like the summer.
Changbin still can’t believe his eyes, but that didn’t stop him from shouting, “Chan! Get in here, now!”
Changbin is fuming with rage, but god does he love Chan.
He heard fumbling outside the bedroom door, before it is hastily thrust open. Chan all but tumbled into the room, eyes wide with worry and his lips hanging agape. His parched curls are now loose and upclipped, extra fluffed up and barely styled over his forehead. “Changbin?! Are you o—oh,” Chan mellowed instantly, at the sight of Changbin examining himself in the mirror.
“I see you finally noticed my messages.” He quipped, triumphantly.
Changbin seethed, and stalked over to Chan. He pointed an incirmiting, accusatory finger at the dick-shaped sunburn, “ Messages? You call this a message?!” He growled, and Chan couldn't stop himself from shrinking under his boyfriend’s fiery stare. He didn’t wipe the smile off his lips, however. He didn’t blink away the impish twinkle in his eyes, either.
Chan giggled, and rubbed at the back of his neck. And least he had the sense of mind to look a little sheepish. A little regretful. “Sorry,” he grumbled through his grin, “I guess I got carried away?”
Carried away? Changbin thought with a scoff, yeah, I’ll say.
Changbin carded an exasperated hand through his hair, “What possessed you to write in my sunscreen, anyways?”
Chan shrugged, his dimples greeting Changbin as he grinned, “I don’t know,” he mused, honestly. “Just felt like it? Thought it’d be cute.”
“Me being sunburned and in agony is cute to you? Ok, I see how it is,” Changbin drawled, but the quirk at the corner of his lips shows his stone-faced facade is chipping away. Maybe he’s exaggerating, just a bit. Maybe he’s not mad at Chan. Maybe he never was.
Maybe Chan was right. Maybe it is cute. All of it, except the dick drawing, of course. Duh.
“You’re such a dummy,” added Changbin, as he waddled forward and wrapped his arms around Chan’s neck. Pulled him close—and happily ignored the dull sting of the burns on his skin. Changbin buried his head in the crook of Chan’s neck, and suddenly everything is ok again. Changbin may be shirtless, and Chan may be fully clothed, but it doesn’t matter. They don’t care.
Just like that, the world is perfect again.
Chan took Changbin’s poor-excuse for an insult in stride. Chan slung his arms low around Changbin's waist, taking care not to aggravate the fresh burns with unnecessary pressure. He laced his hands around the small of Changbin’s back, and stroked his thumbs gentle across the skin.
“I love you.” Changbin murmured, and it’s all he feels. He only feels love. And the occasional sting of a sunburn when he shifts in Chan’s hold, but that’s just details.
“I love you too,” said Chan, instantly. He soon tacked on, “But you could’ve just read your tummy, and known that.” His voice is bubbly from giggles, and Changbin's smile grew and grew until it hurt his cheeks with its force. What is he going to do with Chan?
Love him.
He’s going to love him, until the end of time. Seasons change and summer comes and goes, but their love won’t change. It’s permanent. Like a tattoo. Like how the sun hangs in the sky, never to change its position.
The silence between them lasted a minute. Maybe two.
“If we leave now, we can still see the sunset from the roof. Wanna go?” Asked Chan, and he nuzzled their foreheads together.
Changbin heaved in a big gulp of Chan’s scent; rosewood and teak. Earthy and sugary sweet. “Are you done with work?”
Chan hummed, a simple confirmation. The easy note rumbled through Changbin’s chest and heart like a big cat’s purr.
Changbin found himself smiling into the crook of Chan’s neck, as he tightened his arms around his boyfriend. “Only if you promise to help me put aloe on all these burns later, while we cuddle.”
Honestly, Changbin is just grateful Chan didn’t make some manner of “sick burn” joke yet. He’ll take the little victories, when he can get them.
Chan pecked Changbin’s temple, as he said, “I’d love nothing more, Binnie.”
With that, they regretfully pulled out of each other’s embrace, despite the ache it caused in their chests. And the literal ache it caused on Changbin’s skin. His tummy burned just a tad with the movement, but he doesn’t care anymore. He’s had worse.
He shrugged on a t-shirt and slipped into his flip flops again, as Chan retrieved the fabled bag of hot Cheetos from the kitchen cabinet. And two more cans of watermelon seltzer, now perfectly frosty from their time chilling in the fridge. Changbin made sure to grab their bottle of aloe gel from the bathroom vanity, before they left for the rooftop again.
It’s not all bad; Changbin’s new sunburn message board, that is. Sure, it hurts if he twists his body the wrong way, but he’ll gladly deal with that, if it means he gets to see how much Chan loves him whenever he looks in the mirror. It’s weird, but he can visually see that Chan loves him, whenever he wants. Or at least, until the burn starts peeling. But of course, it’s not like he needed a sunburned note of affection to fully grasp the depths of Chan’s love for him. But it’s nice. Honestly.
If anything, he now realizes that he...kinda likes it? He has a love message from Chan temporarily branded onto his skin so...what’s not to like?
The dick. Right.
That’s what’s not to like. But if Changbin just ignores it, it’s like it isn’t there. Yeah. He’ll just focus on the love note, until the burns heal.
Should be easy enough, he thinks.
Summer is like love. Sometimes it’s hot to the point of being suffocating. Sometimes it’s humid to the point of drowning you from the inside out. Sometimes it’s perfectly temperate and soft, like your heart is resting on a puffy white cloud.
Their love is like the summer. Hot and heady and feisty, but still soft and gentle and tender. Perfect, in every way.
Changbin loves summer, like he loves Chan.
He wouldn’t have it any other way. He wouldn’t trade the heat in his heart and on his body for anything.
Chan loves him.
It says so, right on his skin. For all to see.
Deal with it.