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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Your big brown eyes stare straight back at mine I have underlined the words i wanna say to you Your rosy cheeks and the way you smile Is enough just to get me through
Flowers in your hair Lipstick stains on my neck The way you make me care Without you i'm a train wreck Your lips on mine, im the lucky one - Lucky One by Mich.
HER EYELASHES FLUTTERED, orbs gleaming gold. The prince beside her slept peacefully, breathing slow. She'd been watching him for a while, admiring the slope of his nose, the splatter of freckles, the tiny mole under his right eyebrow.
Her palm was resting on him, fingertips buzzing with his heartbeat. She drew lazy circles on his smooth chest. They were so close that his hair brushed her forehead, tickling the brunette. She smiled, watching the corner of his lips tug upward, a tiny dimple forming slowly.
All this time, she thought it was the smell of Ithaca that she missed. Now, she realised that it was him. His scent. That strong smell of rain and paint and wood. It was intoxicating.
With his mercury hair styled up, he seemed formidable, unapproachable. Now, in the messy hairstyle she'd involuntarily given him the night before, he looked like a boy. Like someone innocent and lonely, with a story to tell.
"Morning, Aphrodite," he murmured, eyes still closed, "Like what you see?"
"Good morning," she whispered back, smiling, "Cocky much?"
He opened his eyes, lips forming the same grin as whenever he cracked a stupid joke, "Wouldn't you like to know that."
"Oh, shut up. I liked you better when you were asleep, Adonis," she joked, lightly slapping his bicep.
She trailed her fingers up his neck to his jaw, admiring the lines and curves. Legs tangled under sheets, she climbed on top of him, palms flat on his chest and her chin resting atop. His hands were on her back, running up and down, leaving little explosions in their wake.
Jimin wasn't used to this, the way she looked at him. Eyes so full of admiration, of love. He never let anyone get this close to him. He couldn't allow it. No one deserved to die for loving him the way Taehyung and his mother had. He couldn't take another life.
Murderer.
You did it. You hurt them. It's your fault.
You're the reason he's hanging from the ceiling fan.
You're the reason she didn't make it through childbirth.
"What are you thinking?" She smoothened the frowns forming on his forehead, running her hand through his hair.
