{ ` he's swinging an arm around his shoulders, not caring much for the fact that he's invading their personal space. } Look here, man. I get it, girls like stony-faced guys. Trust me, I get it. I've been turned down one too many times because they liked their boys more stoic, more emotionless, the whole tall, dark and mysterious package. So trust me, I get it. But for once will you just -- ? { ` he's clearly crossing the line now, but when has he ever cared? hooking his fingers into the corners of the other's lips, he forces them up with a grin of his own. } Much better.

     There are nights when she can’t keep herself asleep. Nights when the air seeps in through the window, thick, like the smell of desire lingering on pristine white sheets. Nights where she feels time chime among her aching bones.This just happens to be one of those nights.     Cold air claws at her skin, exposed from the tattered, torn dress her body adorns. It curls around the column of her throat and pulls her out of the darkness, and into the light. Only the light isn’t white, it’s a dull crimson. It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust, and another for her to push herself up into a seated position. Note the breath that hitches in her throat, the ache in her bones, the red that taints her once porcelain skin.      She doesn’t want to look, but she knows she has to. The moon hangs low in the sky, its light whispers it’s okay. Gives her the strength to glance over the slope of her shoulder, but instead of an empty bed, instead of pristine white sheets she sees him, laid out beneath a sea of red as if he was always meant to be there.  fuck, fuck, fuck.      Her imagination paints images in her mind, and she can’t discern whether her memories come from her own recollections, or those gathered by the mist from the dead. From his dead, their dead. She rubs her ring finger, its bare, skin dry in the spaces betwixt her fingers.      She is constantly caught unaware by the destruction he wreaks. He has known her for a while, he has seen where she has grown, where she is most powerful, and so he knows where her soft spots are. Knows where she doesn’t have roots strong enough to shield his strikes of lightning from burning her heart. It burns, it always burns, it catches, and she is left with a wildfire that chars the roses in the garden of her heart, it leaves white petals, once pure now singed black around the edges. But it’s just a game. It’s always a game. An exchanging of words, an absence of actions.     She rises from the bed, and lingers over his body. The candle they’d left burning flickering now, the wick burning too hot. “Never—” hushed she grips the sheets between the tips of her fingers and peels it away from Hwan, revealing his fully clothed body.                                      Her body is a piano, but he never learned how to play

[ sms: rose. ] I’m always ready you should know that by now. [ sms: rose. ] Might be. Whatever I am, you should also know that by now.[ sms: rose. ] Ah you know I love the poetic crap hwan[ sms: rose. ] Makes me all tingly inside.  

[ sms: rose. ] Well. I was already working on something but..[ sms: rose. ] that kind of sounds fun [ sms: rose. ] are you going to kidnap me?[ sms: rose. ]  I expect something too though, something extravagant.