What Happens After You?

This is literally about Park Jimin. Don't come at me.

What makes someone a person? What makes them who they are, and what about that makes me care for them so much? There's someone that I greatly look up to. Literally. To most, he's short and small. But if I wanted to look into his dark eyes, I'd have to stand on the tips of my toes. There's something that makes him who he is. So vast and forever flowing. An ocean that could contain so many unknown things. Some beautiful, and some dark and treacherous places where the storms throw around the sea, and strike the water. I've had the pleasure to learn about the beauty of it all. The calm water, and the places that hurt. Is that what makes him who he is? His ocean? Or is he much closer to the surface? Is who he is simply materialistic? Like his favorite food, or color? Is he simply the DNA in his cells? Is it his heart that makes him who he is? The blood that pumps through it? Or is it the way that I see him? The way I view the things he enjoys, or his heart every time I listen to it pumping the blood in his chest? The way I view his personality, his looks? Is who he is, the way I see his ocean?
He craves attention the way that a small child would whilst clinging to his mother. Most days, he takes his short and boney fingers, and wraps them around my forearm, or slips them in to my palm. His fingernails are always longer than mine, causing them to release a pinch on the surface of my skin. It contradicts his soft hands. They glide over my skin so well that sometimes I wonder if he soaks them in lotion for hours a day. These are the days the sun shines. The days his cheeks light up with his smile, causing a crease in the corners of his nearly closed eyes. The days he initiates a hug from behind, and rests his plump cheek against my shoulder. The days that the sun shines, he lets it in, lets it hit the water, lets it warm his chest.
Other days, he still craves human contact and attention, but is too afraid to let anyone in. These are the days of the unknown. The days his sun runs and hides behind the clouds, that are his depression. Just like storms, it comes at random times and the effects last long after the storm has passed. The waves still crash days after the storm has left, and the redness in his eyes, and the heaving of his chest remain. These days, he remains in his room, under his blankets, allowing his golden locks to be a mess scattered across the pillow. These are the days his ocean drowns him, and all the parts that normally seem beautiful have disappeared in his eyes. The parts of him that I enjoy looking into so deeply, he no longer believes in. These days, I creep into his room and lie under the covers with him, allowing our waves to crash together.
    Despite the ocean's unpredictability, I enter the water. I allow him to breathe. I sit with him, and hold his hands while he speaks. Sometimes he wants everything to stay silent. In which case I lie on the pillow next to him and admire his features. The way his hair rests on his forehead, the almond shape of his eyes, the bridge of his nose. I watch the way he parts his pink lips, admiring the shape. The freckles he has above his mouth, on his cheek, and his forehead. Even the barely visible acne scars he has covering the sides of his cheeks. At the end of the day, when the storm has passed, his sun appears again, very faint. Although exhausted, I feel as if we've accomplished something. We've gotten through another day, another wave. He smiles at me, expressing his gratitude. That's the best part. When his sun becomes contagious and I can feel it in my heart. It makes me grateful to have him. To feel like I could whether any storm. As long as we did it together. That's what makes him a person. That's what makes him who he is.