A/N: Much fun was had writing this chapter only because I missed sprinkling some of that sexual tension, only for the spice cap to come loose and completely fall off, turning what was meant as a tiny dash of yum into a full-on meal. Vanilla and Leroy always surprise me. I never know what I'm going to write sometimes, because during those moments I feel as though they are the ones in full control and I am literally a witness of these events! A mere by-stander. A historian. Recorder of events. T R U E.
Anyways, enjoy the 6.6k word chapter after three weeks of wait ;v; Thank you for being patient while I get used to my life here in Tokyo and balance work on top of it. Some of you are still asking for my IG and here it is: hisangelchip.
Enjoy.
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On habits and cravings by V. J. White
The greatest misunderstanding of all mankind is the belief that love is a promise, made once in a lifetime and never to be broken because that was simply the nature of promises; one grand gesture, a declaration, a vow, written in ink, sealed in wax, carved deep in the minds of the ones promised. Such a belief can only lead down an erroneous path of heartbreak and disappointment, though many would argue that a thing as abstract as love cannot possibly be defined and should be left up to the minds of every individual with an answer. In this excerpt, I will attempt to prove otherwise by first and foremost, providing a claim.
Love is routine.
It is waking up to the filling of the mind that is an empty cup; the first coffee of the morning, the final breath of the day. A habit; warm as any craving that longs for the sweetness of that it craves at a specific time of the week, day, hour, second. If spontaneous, it is driven by the state of mind at its height of distraction—unable to function without the seeming fulfillment of that which it desires.
And should that craving last till the end of time and that routine, no longer a part of one's life, become dull and grey, what then, should the mind be filled with?
It is dangerous for one to fall in love with a certain dish made by a specific person because it does not matter if the world consists of a thousand other variations of said dish made by many other chefs—there will never exist one that is better made by the one special individual. After all, love is a habit.
And should that individual one day be removed from the world and the dish never again had, there would live in the mind of the once-happy man, remnants of the taste he once cherished and so loved.
But what should happen if said dish was made by no one other than the man himself, for the sake of a craving that was his own, only to one day discover that this craving of his may no longer be sated because he'd lost it all?
To the man, there is death in two parts; the one making the dish and the one tasting it. And in that death, there is to the man, the breaking of a habit. It is difficult for the common man to describe the taste of something he has never had just like it is for the blind to describe a color they'd never seen or the deaf, a sound they'd never heard. To describe a forgotten memory on the other hand, though equally difficult, would seem less impossible in the eyes of many. Reminiscing a time regardless of its nature is an attempt to clear the fog that has settled over the cold and frozen lake in the early hours of the day.
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Wax
Romance[Sequel to Vanilla] Seven years later, childhood sweethearts Vanilla Julian White and Leroy Cox reunite in the City of London for an unlikely reason. The latter-once a burning flame unfazed by the wind-had, since a couple of years ago, left the heat...
