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Summary
There’s a helplessness to it. He goes to bed with Jisung’s face on his mind and wakes up with Jisung’s name on his fingers, typing out a text to send to him. He can’t control the vast space Jisung has taken up in his life, wouldn’t change it even if he could. Because he loves Jisung. He knows this with the same surety he has in the stars in the sky, the moon at night. He knows, he knows, he knows, with every fiber of his being.
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Or, Minho has giant, fat, excessively poetic crush on Jisung. Emphasis on the excessive, but really, emphasis on the poetic.