Work Text:
mingi suits the colour orange.
in the low-lit alleyways, amber street lights bouncing off his skin, fire meeting bronze, mingi has never looked more beautiful.
the brightness touches him barely, hovering in the air as if it is scared, like it is wondering if it is okay to touch something so lovely. it frames him gently in a glow, emphasizing his own brightness - the fire in his eyes, in his heart and his spirit. the flames in his lungs burn gently, each breath he breathes, speaks, meant to provide warmth and comfort.
fire is always painted as something wild and strong. something burning, capable of giving life as much as taking it. no one has ever thought of fire as home, as a gentle hug. they don't think of fire as a spark - a spark to them is something smaller, the beginnings of a larger picture but they don't see that it is all intertwined into one simple being of warm. an infinite thread that has no beginnings or ends, that just is.
that is mingi.
mingi who is both larger than life and metaphorically small enough to fit in your pocket. he is fire, simply existing, simply present. he laughs and the space between his eyes crinkle, and the sound of fire crackling joyfully resounds in reply. he cries, sniffling muffled sobs into his pillow, and fire simmers. hot wind blows so fast that a contrasting cold follows suit, much like tears that have long gone, leaving behind tracks too cool for comfort on cheeks - an ironic scorching feeling.
mingi is fire in ways the sun is a star.
we know it's a star, one amongst many others, but it's closer than they are. it's warmer than they'll ever feel. we have given it a name because it is special, because it matters. the earth revolves around it, axis spinning in delight, and the sun. the sun is not always in front of us, but it is always there, and isn't it sort of amazing, the way the sun is still the sun, and not just a star, even when we cannot see it, when we do not see it?
to be something that holds meaning to a person, to be a person that holds meaning to someone, to be seen as someone, someone with a name, and not just a person.
orange is not just a colour created when mixed by red and yellow. it exists within itself, given a name to differentiate it from others. given a name because it held a meaning, something, that set it apart from the rest.
and meanings. can be very scary things. what holds a meaning to one can mean something else to another. orange could mean the fruit to one person, and to another it could mean the world. but that also shows the beauty of similes - different words, different sounds, none at all alike, that hold the same meaning.
the sun, the star, the earth, the colour orange, and fire.
and mingi.
under the amber lights of the alleyway, you stand with him. holding his hand as he walks you home and like bees to a flower, you're attracted. it's not his laugh or his looks or his dorky personality but his glow, his existence. you find him mesmerizing. the streetlights do nothing but highlight his existing light as you pass them by, and in-between the shadows of each one, he looks to you and smiles.
its beautiful. another word to add to the ever growing collection of similes, falling under the definition of love.
you smile back, and add another: alive.