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Summary
I’ve always seen Mingyu in white.
It’s quite enthralling to see him get mixed in those pretty colors. When he’s happy, he brightens like the sun, and pouts into blue whenever it rained. He gets pink when embarrassed, obnoxiously tries those atrocious oranges, those that are way too bright and distinct in the crowds.
Unlike him, Junhui's always crafted in black.
Of course, I didn’t mind when his hair remained obsidian or whenever his amber eyes viewed nothing but velvet. The stoicity rarely allowed the emeralds or purples to slip, but the crimsons are always free.
So call me unassuming or just plain innocent. Perhaps I’m blind; I could be dumb. Maybe I’m gullible.
That I didn’t realize how dark Mingyu’s black is.
Nor foresee how light Junhui's white could be.
The same how neither men are ignorant of my varying greys.
Or
Wonwoo got stuck between returning to Junhui's restrictive clutches or bind himself to Mingyu as his fake but unfettered husband.