She's not perfect, she's a raging storm.
He's utopian, yet far from Elysium.
Kang Ambrosia: the quintessential femme fatale, an austere workaholic with absolutely ZERO time for romance.
Perfect on the outside, yet an unfinished masterpiece.
Park...
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But I don't like a gold rush, gold rush I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch Everybody wants you Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you Walk past, quick brush I don't like slow motion double vision in rose blush I don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bone crush Everybody wants you But I don't like a gold rush -Gold Rush by Taylor Swift.
GOLDEN BEAMS OF SUNSHINE. Hair damp from the ocean mist. Fingers entwined and bodies tangled in sheets.
His face luminous, eyelashes casting gray shadows on his cheeks. Eyes pools of warm earth, a pink blush tinting his nose. Silver hair like liquid platinum and diamonds. The lazy evening sunlight did wonders for his face.
Adonis looked like a Greek god. Eros himself.
And Aphrodite was absolutely enthralled.
"You look like you're in love," he chuckled, a melodious voice like the tinkling of a wind chime.
She reached out and brushed his cheek, a fingertip resting on his plump bottom lip, "Love's a long shot."
"Come on. Just a little?"
"We're not in love," she raised an eyebrow, daring him to challenge her, even though a smirk set on her lips.
"I'm not. But I'm sure you are," the fallen angel in Aphrodite's bed reciprocated, tilting his head to nibble on her fingertip. His candy-like luscious lips kissed her hand, sending a sparkly tingle through her body.
It was inexplicable, the way someone she'd met two weeks ago had changed her. Started to turn Kang Ambrosia into Aphrodite. She would smile. And giggle. And cackle loud enough to have people wondering whether she was psychotic. She loved it.
"In your dreams, dork—"
"Aw, crap!" A daily-wage labourer exclaimed. She almost dropped her tablet. Her precious tablet. Someone was definitely going to get a serious dress down.
"What going on here?" She walked down to the crime scene, hands on her hips. Observably, a stack of violet curtains had fallen on the ground, courtesy of the labourer who was groaning, laying on top of the purple hill.
Normally, if the criminal was Yoongi or someone, she would've really chewed him out. But she had a soft spot for labourers. Her dad was one for as long as she could remember.
"Hey, are you okay?" She kneeled down, helping him up, "What happened?"
He gingerly stood, skinny legs wobbling even with her support, "I—I tripped."
