SUNKISSED

ORPHEUS AND I, WE ARE NO DIFFERENT.

𝄞 akemi-21-she/her.

𝄞 angst-hurt/comfort-soft hearts & ruffle bows.

𝄞 requests are always open, >_<. will accept reqs for jjk and hxh. Love you.

m.list,

assassin!Higumura x assassin!Reader. tw: slight gore(?)

"what do you mean, no?"

Higuruma fumes, his features contorting to almost predatory. The pitch-black suit he wears is stained with blood and grime, slick under the harsh lights of this basement. 

"I mean, no, we can't just drive a fucking scalpel through his head, you lunatic!" he hissed, nostrils flaring up, a feral expression in his eyes as he swipes the plate full of "tools" away from my reach. "Boss wants him alive, understand? he needs to fucking breathe."

"oh i think he can breathe just fine with a few more teeth out." i tap the scalpel to my chin, musing at my words, my eyes fly to the lone chair in the centre of this room, taking in the figure of the man there-- "can't you, honey?" I cry out sweetly, as if me and my dear  accomplice aren't just discussing on the last few seconds of his life.

The man has the audacity to spit at me.

 "die, bitch" he barks out, the syllables mangled as there's not enough teeth of him left to form the words, "I ain't giving out that info to a shitty sl--"

As if I'd let  him finish that.

In a blur of motion, I free my hand from Higuruma's hold, snatching the scalpel from his grip in the same heartbeat. The man has about two seconds before his tongue would never work again. But he'd been pissing us off for so long now, and two hours of 'interrogation' has culminated in this moment. The tool in my hand and his carotid artery under my thumb.

Let's see how  he curses at me now. 

A splatter of red blows across my transparent mackintosh, blooming an spreading, dripping down as the light in the man's eyes go out without a fight. He was lucky bastard, I was so quick with him.

My chest heaves, this was never easy, the guilt that comes out of it. I know it's obscene, but I don't feel joy for a kill. it unnerves me everytime, my stomach churns with disgust eveytime i see another human's blood coating my cloathing, staining my garments as much as my soul. 

But those are the choices i made when in walked down this path with Hiromi.

I feel his warm palm on my shoulder, my body bracing up for a blow. before i realize it's just him, and  i let his heat seep  through my tactical gear.

"I hate you." he mutters, though the way he's gripping my shoulders makes me feel otherwise "Boss is gonna have a field day without that drive info "

I smirk, of course. the Boss. "I've got it covered, Hiro" I turn back to face him. The flurescent lights cast his sharp features into something made of shadows, he looms over me. Certainly baffled by my answer, about how 'i've got it covered' when i'd just killed our main lead on the drive info.

slowly, i thumb through my breast pocket, my eyes never leaving his, as i reach for the cold metallic thumb drive hidden in there, the one i swiped from the target two hours ago. 

 I hold it between us, like a prize. The metallic edge catching the light above, glistening in this basement. The thumb drive that'd pay our bills for the next three months.

Hiro's eyes gleam, twinkling in dark as his eyes take it in, his hands coming up the grip mine, enclosing the drive between our joined hands. lips quirk up into an almost smile as he leans in more, the sweat and blood on his skin making my skin prickle with heat. 

I feel his breath ghost over my lips, warm and inviting, his eyes half lidded.

"You're a fucking piece of work, you know that?" he slurs before the heat of him completely encloses my mouth, tongue sliding in, in the middle of this basement where we'd just finished a hit. sin upon sin.

yeah, we're both some pieces of work, and shit.

a/n: random burst of motivation i had after a fricking TEST.

SHOOTING STARS

synopsis: you've read too much smut. time to relapse on a pathetic yearning for your attorney best friend?

contains: depictions of mental illness, handling and consumption of related medication, toxic work environment, rage, angst, yearning, daydreaming, Higuruma being himself, BANTER(?), fluff.

note: divider by @uzmacchiato, header cr/4straeusx on x. wc: 2323

3.30 PM

The heat is unbearable.

Thick humidity blows in the wind, and beads of sweat that are caught in my blazer make it impossible to move about in this office.

I stare at the blue glow of the laptop in front of me. But nothing makes sense anymore. Nothing has made sense lately.

My nails scratch at my hairline and nape; the itching in this heat is incessant. Like I said, the heat is unbearable. And in this hot cubicle, everything overwhelms me more than it should.

The clicking of a stapler nearby, the tap-tap-tap of my neighbouring employee's broken keyboard, the hushed conversations of my other colleagues by the water cooler, and the muffled booming voice of my boss scolding a janitor. It's all too much. 

My neck itches, my nails are digging into raw skin, now reddened and irritating, needles prick at my skin, and the base of my skull, my fingers are shaking, and a ringing starts at the back of my skull. I feel it now, the familiar pulse in my temple as everything in my vision swirls with red, and the pen I'm holding is suddenly too heavy. I'm starting to shake. 

My vision starts to tunnel, My hands are no longer steady as I pick up the pen. 

tap-tap-tap- whoosh.

The keyboard of my neighbour has given up, my hands shake, He's gonna ask for mine now. But I can't-- I can't-- I have to take this blazer off, I have get out, I have tell those gossip-mongers to shut the fuck up, I need to-

the pen clacks to the ground again. 

I need my meds.

I need to take my meds. The ringing in my ears won't shut up, the boss won't shut up, the people-- the people by the cooler, they're... they're probably lamenting their cut bonus, they won't shut up... The itching in my neck is getting worse, I need to get to my drawer, I need--

Incoming call: Higuruma Hiromi (3 missed calls)

I want to hurl the phone into he wall. The ringing is cutting into my nerves. i need to get to my drawer, I need--

Incoming call: Higuruma Hiromi (4 missed calls)

I pick the phone up, turning it toward me, I squint at the caller ID. Higuruma Hiromi. My fingers are still shaking, I squint harder, as if I'd read the ID wrong.

Hiromi.

Hiromi?

I force my breathing to even out. I can't do this to him. I can't let his see this side of me. Not him, Not Hiromi. I swipe answer button and hold the cold phone against my ear, frantically smoothening my damp palms against my skirt.

"Hello?" The voice on the other side, Hiromi... I squeeze my eyes shut. I hate to admit how much I needed this, How much I needed to hear my best friend's voice. It's better than the meds I take anyway.

"Hey, Hiro... did you...do you need something?" My voice is still breathy. Shit. I try to force a breath.

"No, no, I... I was just checking in. It's Friday, and my colleagues insist you join us for that house party at Kyle's... That guy, remember?  the one you said looked like a squid?" He chuckles low on the other side, and i can feel the ringing slowly fade. The corner of my mouth twitches. 

Gosh, this man. Making me blush through a goddamn panic attack.

"Yeah, I mean... you'll be there?" I wince immediately at my stupidity. of course, silly, it's his colleague for Christ's sake.

"Let me see, you're asking stuff like that, you seriously need to loosen up you workaholic" I  swear he's grinning from ear-to-ear now. I can almost picture him, Hiromi, in his dim office, pouring over legal jargon while he swirls his pen and teases me even over the phone.

"says you, Mr. Blah-Blah Attorney" I sit down at my cubicle. I doesn't feel that hot anymore.

"Hey! you know that's defamation, right? I could put you in for 2 years over this bullshit.." there's a playful lilt to his voice. I don't mind if I go to jail if you're my defence attorney, you idiot.  But I can't say that, of course.

"'kay, see you there at seven?" I can't stop the giddiness from bleeding into my voice. Hiro will be there, after all.

"Nonsense. I'm picking you up" He snapped from the other end, then, almost bashful, "you know how the subway gets this time of the day..."

I have to bite my lip to keep from smiling like an idiot in my workplace. I look side by side, ensuring no one caught me looking like a wet teenager in love.

"'kay, Hiro. see ya." I choke out. he just hums from the other end, mutters a quick goodbye. And the line cuts into beeps.

 I finally let that smile break across my face, I draw in a breath, setting my phone on the desk, as I instinctively reach for the drawer. I pull it open. There, settled neatly between two staplers is a brown bottle. 

The glass bottle feels cool in my palm. I slam the drawer shut. 

I don't need them.

5.50 PM.

I feel it before I see it.

Hiromi's sedan is parked in the underground garage of my workplace building. I descend down the cranky elevator, heels clicking on bare concrete for the parking spot he'd texted me earlier.

The darkened garage is damp, smelling of stale cigarette smoke, the dim lighting makes the shadows stand out more. I think of Hiromi's eyes, the way they look when he's focusing on some legal deposition. It's the exact shade, I think.

God, stop thinking about your best friend's eyes! . I scold myself as a draft through the underground garage sweeps over my body. I shiver.  rubbing my palms against my crossed arms, I follow the lighted section, eyes raking over the parked cars--  baby blue sedans, the rusty hatchback of the clerk, the midnight shine SUV of my boss---then I see him. 

Hiromi. looking almost bored, In a casual button down, top buttons undone, and dark slacks. Leaning casually against his black sedan while swirling lazy patterns on the dust of the hood. His sleeves are rolled past his forearms, revealing the corded tension in his forearms from the day's work. his suit-jacket probably tossed into the car. He held an unlit cigarette between his fingers, looking lost.

"Hey," My voice is raspy from the day's exhaustion. I glance at the cig, i hate to admit it, but it sets me on an edge. I look at his knuckles instead, wanting to avoid the amber-and-white thing sitting in Hiromi's grip. get a grip, he needs it, it's just one.

"god, you look like hell" Hiromi stands up straighter, his shirt straining against his shoulders. I have to look away, my ears burn. his head tilted in an almost tender display of concern, "hey, take that thing off. it looks like corporate nightmare" he gestures to my blazer. which, ironically, does look like a corporate nightmare.

"things we do for the bills, Hiro. I don't get to sue people for broken keyboards like you, y'know?" I force a smile, my traitorous gaze travels back to the the cigarette anyway. gosh, why does he have it, of all people? It's unlit, still, my arm burns. I need to shed my blazer, I need to--

"I'd like to sue this weather is what I'd like to do..." he grunts, stepping toward me to slide the garment off. large hands lingering on my shoulders to ease off my blazer. It falls neatly in his palms, and he drapes it over his arm, his fingers tracing the seam absentmindedly.

Thankfully, he'd tucked the smoke into his pocket. I breathe easier, a little bit. "I'm telling you, kid, if this heatwave doesn't let up this week, I'm seriously gonna eat the case files at this rate"

A warm feeling bubbles inside my chest, like honey washing over lavender. I watch him turn away, heading for the driver's side. I follow my way into the passenger's.

"Oh, I see, I've got to get you drunk if you're talking like that, Hiro" the click of the door punctuates the tease,  "what, poor Higuruma Hiromi being crushed to death my his dear mistress the Law? is she giving you the troubles, love?" I say as I round the car. Hiro climbs onto the driver's side, me on the passenger's. I throw my blazer into the backseats, where it lands on a heap over Hiro's own discarded suit-jacket.

"Oh, shut up" he grunts, and puts the engine on.

he eases onto the seat with the grace of a seasoned driver, hands gripping the wheel at ten-and-two. My eyes trace the build of his hands, the thoughts that swirl in my head-- none of them appropriate for the man who's supposed to be the 'best friend'.

I let out a shaky exhale as i turn to the foggy window, rolling it down against the damp heat of the car's interior. wanting the stale city air on my face.

as if a breeze could wipe away the heat at the tips of my ears.

We make out way through the friday traffic. the winding roads and the honking of impatient cars a welcome distraction to my incessant thoughts. Higuruma, however, curses everytime we hit a slow pill at the road jam.

neon lights streak by, blurring my thoughts, painting them in shades of blue and red. I lean my head against the window, the vibrations of road soothing my restless thoughts as i look up at my best friend.

His hands grip the steering wheel at ten and two, forearms bare against the rolled up sleeves. With his tuxedo gone and his shoulders free of the tension i'd come to revere, he looks almost human. almost as any man in the backdrop of my life.

He looks as if he could be mine.

"What?" He notices me staring, voice gravelly as he throws me a glance, never taking his eyes off the road. a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, so small I almost miss it. God, Hiromi. You gotta stop smiling like that.

"Nothing" I blurt out, quickly averting my gaze as the heat in my cheeks spread to my ears and chest, threatening to spill over the depth of my love for the man who's supposed to be my best friend. "Nothing"

I want us to be more than this. I want you to stay. I want you to call me yours.

the words crowd against my teeth, begging to be laid  bare in the space between us, begging to be heard by Hiromi. But I should know better. If they ever find their way outside the confines of my mind, I know things won't be the same as they are now, Hiro won't look at me the same.

Worst of all, I could lose This-- this, what I have with him. The easy trust, the traded grins, the pillow talk. 

What we have is more precious to me than any intimacy I watch on the TV, any degree of lust and any metric of bodily pleasure I never hope to achieve.

But as I drift away again, something in the corner of my mind recedes to a familiar fantasy. The car revvs, I close my eyes with his form etched into the back of my mind.

My mind wanders into the thought, a dangerous premise. I imagine, I imagine what it'd be like, if we were more, more than what we are. I imagine a different version of this car ride.

In that world, my head wouldn't loll against the window, no. Because Hiro would be filling me in on our date that weekend. My hands wouldn't be cold, because one of them would be interlaced with his fingers on the console between us. 

And most importantly, in that universe, I wouldn't be as lonely. With Hiro, he'd come back to my--our-- apartment every night, and he'd greet me with a lingering kiss on the foyer. And I'd wrap my arms around his waist, feeling the exhaustion that clung to his broad frame.

"You're late" I'd say in that world, "Hiro, tired?"

"Missed you" He'd murmur into my hair, face pressed against the crook of my neck as I'd feel his warm breath ghost there. He'd probably wrap his arms tighter around me, and he'd let us stay there. just us. bathed by amber lights and silent whispers that pass in the spaces between our souls.

In that fantasy-- impossible, beautiful fantasy-- we'd sit on the balcony, me tucked between his arm and chest, listening to his every beat, while his chin would rest on the top of my head. Everytime we'd see a shooting star, I know that he'd press a kiss into my hair, right at the crown.

And neither of us would make a wish. Because we'll have all we'd wanted in each other's arms.

Hiro would let each shooting star pass by, a silent testament to the moments we'd spend on our balcony. He'd probably hum a tuneless hum.

Nothing like the horn screeching behind us, jarring me awake from my fantasy.

The moments of bliss are snatched from my hands, my face probably pale from the ice-water impact of the loss.

"You okay?" Hiromi notices my distress, his brows furrowed in concern as he leans over ever so silghtly. The lines of his age deepened against his eyes, chocolate eyes boring into mine, flicking to the glove compartment where my meds are waiting.

"Yeah.." I choke out, "I'm fine, Hiro"

i want to call you mine. I want to hold your hand while you tell me I'm gonna be  okay.

I want to sit on a cold balcony with you, and watch the sunset.

I want to tell you about the colours of the sky.

I want to tell you that all the songs in my playlist are about you.

I want you. I want you to want me.

And as he turns away, I  finally understand why I like the fantasy of him and me so much.

Because in the fantasy, I don't have to imagine another universe where he's in love with me.

He's beautiful. Hiro. Hiromi. Mine, at least in some corners of my mind that still aches for his love, his hand on mine and my name on his lips.

a/n: yeah yeah I KNOW. no smut. we die like (wo)men.

please do not plagiarise, and yeah, let me know if you liked this!!

;)

◆ From the bottom of my heart, a melancholic tune that sings the words I string together — entirely for you, you, you.

Requests are always open, dear reader, what should I write about next?

◆ORIGINAL WORKS

THE LAST WISH—

↪angst- what words remain buried in my heart while you like at me that way? a story about grief, and being the one left alone, to tend to a friend's memories— and guard words unsaid.

◆HUNTER X HUNTER

⌜SAUDADE—

↪Pariston Hill x reader, angst, fluff, uncertain futures and timeless love. The Black Whale No.1 leaves in a week. Pariston must face the ordeal of letting the only person he's loved go. 16+

⌜FOR THE WORST—

↪Pariston Hill x reader, light angst, somewhat unrequited love. Pariston Hill has been your best friend since forever, but does he notice how you hide the blush when he's around? 16+

⌜MOON DRUNK—

↪Pariston Hill x reader, drunk! reader, absent! Pariston. The alcohol makes everything so dreadfully bleary, doesn't it? 16+

UPCOMING... the legend of the firefly and the sun. (unrequited love, angst,) what's the meaning of life, if not yearn for the blonde man currently dismantling the entire Hunter Association?

yes, yes I'm a bit of a freak for Pariston, I guess...

◆dilf— cough, cough— JUJUTSU KAISEN

⌜MY ONE AND ONLY—

↪an ode to Satosugu, and what they had in the little time they had...

⌜DE(POSITION)—

↪Higuruma Hiromi x reader, age gap— under editing, out soon.

⋆˚꩜｡SHOOTING STARS.

⋆˚꩜｡Higuruma Hiromi x reader, fluff, angst.

◆ NOTE: smut prompts/ requests are accepted, but please refrain from themes of incest, rape, drugging, sexual-violence, abuse, spit/vomit/piss kinks, and any outright obscene concepts. We like to keep things clean over here.

Kay! that's about everything! remember, masterlist will be updated from time to time!!

Have a "fic"ulous day!!

—akemi

me: oh— sorry, I... I didn't mean to...

—THE LAST WISH—

—"death be so kind, would you? be kind enough to let me be the earth to embrace my love in our still sleep for eternity"

—Short story, word count: 1.6k

"You'll be there, right?"

"Sure"

The spot on the wall that I said I'd fix a hundred times is suddenly bothering me. Lex is saying something. He sounds distressed. Blond hair is coming past his eyes as he says something to me. His eyes are bloodshot. Are those tears? I don't know... He's gripping my shoulders really hard; he's telling me something, but I can't hear what. Why is he so panicked? 

He's shaking me now. His honey-blond hair is all dishevelled. The crisp white button down is sticking to his body, Are those tears?  I can't really say, my own vision is starting to get blurred. My eyes sting. It hurts to swallow. My hands are shaking. Lex buries his head in the crook of my neck. His shoulders are shaking too. I can feel his tears in my neck.

I  can't see anything, I squeeze shut my eyes. I don't want to look at these cold hospital tiles.

"Don't you hear me? He's gone..." Lex's voice is uncharacteristically small. I bring my arms around  his body just to give my hands something to do.

Then I remember. I hadn't really been paying attention to what he'd been saying. 

I remember that I stopped listening to him the moment he said Paris wasn't gonna come to our housewarming party.

Paris wasn't gonna come.

Because Paris was dead.

—

"Oh come on— Mil! It's not like it'll kill you or anything —" His face meets with the pillow I just slammed, golden hair spilling down on the bed like a halo. 

We tumble down on the bed, the soft mattress dipping under our weight. It clearly wasn't built to handle a pillow fight on a movie night. Paris's face is framed by fluffy feathers. He's laughing so hard I think he's going to die from losing his breath. I want to punch his face. He's the reason my pillow burst. Now I'm definitely stealing at least two from his house.

On the TV, Mean Girls is playing. But we'd abandoned it because I decided to be mean to him by stealing his portion of the snacks he'd bought. He rolls over, and I catch the pillow before he has a chance to throw it at me.

"Pari! I demand compensation!" I sit up on my heels, prepared to avenge my pillow, as he flashes a goofy grin at me, 

"In the form of choccy-milk, I suppose? " He sits up too, making no effort to pluck the feathers on his hair.

"I want all the pillows in your room, you bastard!" I can't help the wide grin that takes over my lips, barely any edge to my voice as I reach out to ruffle the feathers out of his hair. On the TV, Rachel is crying in the principal's office.

Paris closes his eyes and lets me pluck the feathers from his hair. I rarely see him like this. When he's not rambling about some ROI or not all dolled up in a tuxedo. When he's just my best friend, who likes the same weird strawberry flavoured candy they sell two blocks down.

He's none of that now. He doesn't look like he's gonna finalize a merger or scheming a 'hostile takeover'. When he's just Pari. In a grey t-shirt and sweatpants. The guy with golden hair and brown eyes and a very annoying mimicry voice of SpongeBob. 

I pile up the feathers I've plucked into a small, fluffy heap . I reach for his hand. I bring his palm in front of me and lay the soft , messy pile of feathers in there. "Make a wish, Pari" I don't know why I do it. I blame it on the amber lighting he'd insisted on. 

Something crosses his eyes. Exhaustion, I suppose. Or surprise. Both, maybe.

He closes his eyes for a brief moment. Then squeezes them as if he's trying to concentrate. Then he opens them again and blows the feathers into the window beside the bed. He doesn't look me in the eye when he does it. I think he's going to make a joke or cook up something unhinged.

He turns to me, and a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. 

"Mil, you need to get some sleep" His eyes are oddly tender. He takes my hands in his, and places my palm against his cheek. His skin is warm. Unlike my perpetually medicated cool skin . I hate how he can function without gulping down three meds per day. "the meetings can run themselves for a day, don't you think?"

"You know I have to finalize the audits, right? " I try my best to sound healthy. As if the feathers floating in the room aren't making a wet rasp bloom in my lungs. "Pari... those leeches will suck the funds right under your nose, you know I don't trust them to run the audit. Don't be silly." I try to force a smile. 

I can't bear the feel of him against my palm. I slip my hand away from his face before my oversized sweater sleeves can slip past my arms. But he doesn't let go. He smiles up at me and rests his head on my lap. His golden hair spilling across my black pajama bottoms. He takes my hand again and brings them to his hair. He sighs as I run my run my fingers through the soft gold strands.

"I still have stuff to do, Pari"  I tilt my head and look down at him.

"stuff that's still doable after a 6 hour sleep" he closes his eyes as he relaxed more.

"stuff that's due Friday" I section his hair near the temple and start a little braid.

"Stuff that's not more important than this" He opens his eyes again and lets out a mock-disappointed huff.

"And what is this?" I'm halfway into the tiny braid. I don't look at his eyes

He doesn't answer, though. Just flashes the goofy grin and turns before the braid is finished. He wraps his arms around my waist and buries his face in my stomach. I lean fully against the headboard. I look down at him, his golden hair now a messy thing against my middle. I can feel the steady rhythm of his heart. I wonder it he can feel mine. 

He props his chin up, tilting his head. I ruffle his already messy hair again. 

"Pari, get up! " I blame the heat creeping up my neck on the medicine.

"Not a chance" He reaches out and pinches my cheek. 

I give up and decide that If he's gonna stick to me like this, I might as well just finish it like this. I can't push my best friend away after all. He's not my house-cat— though he looks very much like one.

Paris relaxes more into me— his eyes looking up at me as if trying to cook up a joke.

I reach out and pull out the heavy dossier sitting on the nightstand. But he's right in front of me, so I had to stretch my arms more than I intended to. The heavy cashmere sweater I was wearing rides up at my sleeves. It stings. I quickly grab the dossier and pull my sleeves down. He sees. he sees me pull. my skin burns.

But it's too late. Pari doesn't miss a thing.

"Mil, what was that?" He's using his boardroom voice now. On the TV, the commotion about the Burn Book has begun.

No— No, no, no, he can't see this—Not Paris— Not like this. 

I pull the sleeves aggressively down my arms, my fingers swallowed by the heavy cashmere. My heart echoes in my ears, thump thump thump of the blood rushing though me. I feel cold. So cold. I drop the dossier on the bed. Frantically flipping through the tabs labelled in corporate jargon. 

Pari is sitting up. And I suddenly miss the contact. I don't want him pulling away. I want to braid his hair again. I want him to make stupid jokes again. 

"Mil..." I hadn't realized when he'd come so close. His fingers grazing the sleeves of my sweater. " Mil, please... It's okay"  Why is he pitying me?

I hadn't realized. There are some spots on the dossier page— Logistics and Analytics —it reads. Bullshit.

I hadn't realized when the tears started streaming down my face. I don't realize that the wet rasp in my lungs has broken down in jagged sobs. My chest aches. My forearms sting. It hurts.

I just realize that I'm pressed against him. His arms around me. His warmth grounding me. My tears soaking into his shirt. Him tucking my sleeves up to see the jagged scars underneath. white and pink. Purple and yellow. blood and band-aids. hurt and self-loathing poured into my skin— an incriminating testament of my own handiwork.

I just remember him burying his face in the crook of my neck. His tears on my skin.

Lex is burying his face in my neck . His tears on my skin.

Paris tells me it's okay. Paris tells me he will do the audit in my place.

Lex tells me Paris is gone. Lex is shaking my shoulders.

The Mean Girls is playing on the background. I never knew what Paris wished.

Lex tells me I need to say something. He tells me to say something.

Paris falls asleep beside me. He tells me stories with princes and princesses and happy endings. He hugs me and presses his lips on the top of my head and he says I can sleep now. He says I can sleep now.

He lulls me to sleep.

He says I can sleep now

Lex tells me I need to say something. 

But the words won't come out. I can't tell him that I never said to Paris how much I loved to braid his hair.

Lex doesn't understand I much I love to braid Pari's hair. Pari

My Pari.

i hope you find some one who — not loves— but yearns for you.

I know you know the difference.

This is my original work. Please do not plagiarise, claim it as yours, or feed into ai.