"what heart?"

It takes him an hour to get ready; primping and preening, applying his skin regime and cologne to his neck. A sophisticated man, Arys makes sure that he truly misses nothing when it comes to self-care. Although it was nearly unheard of, vampires too could find themselves with unpleasant dry skin. He checks his watch and realizes he must move with haste, throwing on his formalwear and driving to Yonsei University for his midday lecture.

Despite the miserable weather, everything goes smoothly—as usual. When his class is dismissed, he decides to pay a visit to his favourite little café on the drive home. He takes notice of a head with red hair, long and sleek; but it’s only when he steps back onto the street – on a hurry due to the weather – that he has an encounter with her. Instinct awakening as they both nearly collide, he knocks whatever she was drinking from her hand, watching it splatter to the ground between them. Stormy grey eyes flicker back up to catch her gaze, and he realizes his rudeness.

“Goodness me—I apologize. Would you like me to buy you another?”

    The wind is soft, picking up to tug at the ends of his trench coat. Arys draws it tightly around himself, although he doesn’t feel the slight May chill. Slender fingers wrap around the handle of a laptop case, slightly worn expensive leather—he’s heading towards his midday lecture, fifteen minutes to go. One block left to walk (he hadn’t found suitable parking, because he is late) with grey eyes thoughtfully hidden behind sunglasses and brown contacts, his thoughts begin to wander to the impending lesson. 

    Usually deft and nimble, his skills momentarily evade him as he narrowly avoids running directly into a woman exiting a coffee shop. However, he’s effectively jumbled her, and the cup falls from her hand to spill open on the sidewalk.

Name: Arystotle Xin-Wehyr.

Nickname: Arys.

Height: 6′0″

Relationship status: Single.

Birthday: October 7th, 1544.

Favorite colour: Crimson.

Favorite singer/band: Amadeus Mozart, Johann Bach, Beethoven, Pachelbel.. 

Last song listened: Bach Double Violin Concerto ...

Last movie watched: Nosferatu, 1922

Favorite book: The Scarlet Letter

Last ‘book’ read: Katherine

Alarm clock sound: I do not possess one.

Currently reading: Die Lieden des jungen Werther

# of siblings: None.

# of pets: 2 Horses.

Best school subject: I went to school in the fifteen hundreds, much different than now...

Cell phone type: iPhone 7+, this case in black.

Current shirt color: Black.

Gamer: Board games...?

Day or night: Night.

Summer or winter: Eternal spring.

Most-visited website: Reddit /r/poetry.

              Send me a ‘ღ’ to generate a romancy drabble.

                                   9; Pianos and Clockwork. [ listen ]

    When the rain falls over the land, when it drenches his fancy estate and closes him off to the world, he turns to his well-worn in piano. Grand as it is, sometimes Arystotle does not find the time to use it. Ironic, given that he has until forever…

    His fingers dance over the keys as he tries over and over again on the most difficult part of a composition called Clocks, unsure why his perfect slender fingers must fail him when he needs them the most. Frustration fades away when the rain’s cool breeze floats through the open window, and he overlooks the garden from his seat. Inhaling that rain-smell deeply, he allows his eyes to linger on the clouds that mimic his mirror-grey eyes. Arys bears no expression, stormy irises flitting over the sodden landscape as he begins to see the forest for the trees, and turns back to his piano. Every trace of anger is washed away from his motions, and he isn’t playing with ferocious passion any longer.

    He starts up Yiruma’s Love Me and begins to close his eyes, playing without sight. he knows the tune well, timing perfect and key just right. The rain beats on in the background, a mist rising from the moor-like country that is his backyard. He feels the presence in the doorway long before she gets there, and turns to pierce her with his stormy grey eyes. There’s a hint of a smile on his face, but not enough to break through the intensity of the moment. It’s his silent cue, and she crosses the room to seat herself on the bench alongside of him and harmonize to the melody on the keys.