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Jisung is the first to notice, probably because of his propensity for nosing his way into everyone’s business. While possessions had a natural tendency to become communal items when they were all but living on top of each other, a habit that had only continued after they split into 2 dorms now that they had actual reason to miss each other (despite still working together for at least 12 hours a day), Jisung especially had a way of wriggling his way into Chan’s closet space, burying himself between the hangers like he was just another one of Chan’s sweatshirts. He said it smelled cozy, or... something, and Chan never really minded as long as Jisung wasn’t sweaty from practice.
Regardless, it’s Jisung who looks confused one day when he’s no longer the only spot of color in Chan’s abyss of a wardrobe.
Chan is sitting in bed one day, hunched over his laptop with posture reminiscent of a fairytale crone, when he hears a door creak open and watches Jisung tumble head first out of his closet.
“Hyung!” The little extraterrestrial calls out. “What’s this doing here?” He pouts. “I thought I was the only one who sat in your closet.”
Chan, startled and sleep-deprived, takes a long moment to blink the little Martian in his sights back to a more human-like gremlin. Ah, it was just Jisung, waving a baby blue hoodie around.
“That’s... my clothes,” Chan replies slowly. “Where else would it be if not in there?”
“It’s not Jeongin’s or anything? It’s actually yours?”
“Uh, yeah?”
“Oh, so you bought it for Jeongin?”
Chan stares. He’s not entirely sure this conversation isn’t a simple delusion. “I bought it,” he enunciates, “for me.”
They stare at each other, Jisung pointedly staring back and forth between the void he’d been squatting in and the pastel pullover in his hand. “Hyung. You don’t wear colors.”
“It’s mine,” Chan insists, very aware of just how bright red his ears have become. “What if I wanted to diversify, huh?” It comes out more like a defense than a declaration.
Jisung still looks skeptical. “Hyung, color blindness is a sign of old age.”
It’s not. Chan doesn’t want to debate this, though, not in the off chance that Jisung’s two remaining brain cells will finally collide and spark a realization of why, exactly, Chan might own an article of clothing that wasn’t pitch black.
When Chan doesn’t say anything more, Jisung gingerly brings the hoodie up to his nose and takes a big, loud whiff.
“Huh. It is yours.” He sounds far too amazed. Chan kicks him out.