#and ive been getting into passionate screaming matches ever since. the worst of it was right before i moved out in 2013 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thelifetimechannel · 6 years

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The Dave and Dirk log, for obvious reasons, was something I wanted to try very hard to get right. That meant although we drafted it together via msparp, as was our custom, I ended up overhauling it way more than any of our other combo walkaround logs. A few chunks did survive the transfer, though.

In other news, we’ve made a solemn pact to finish TLC over winter break, which is good because I’m running out of bonus content. Hopefully we’ll have some assets to show off soon. I’ve already seen a few; they’re very nice.

DIRK: Hey, dude. You did pretty well out there. DIRK: Didn't even die once. DAVE: twice in a day is my max im satisfied with keeping that record DAVE: even if getting machinegunned is rapidly becoming my "thing" DIRK: Seems we each have our respective "signature deaths". DIRK: Or at least it ain't a party until I get decapitated. That sure was something we needed to do again. DIRK: Just once, for old time's sake. DAVE: well that puts the nail in the meme coffin DAVE: any time you panic someones gonna tell you to keep your head on DAVE: like keeping your hair on except you know that shit aint going anywhere its probably shellaced DIRK: That shit is bolted to the floor. Did you know I walked around with a girly-ass pink tiara on my head this whole day and had no idea? DIRK: I had no idea. Couldn't feel a thing. DIRK: And people let me do that. DIRK: Can't fuckin' believe it. DAVE: oh DAVE: i figured you knew DIRK: I am less than pleased with my Skaia-ordained divine color scheme. DIRK: But I guess I have to live with it. It's part of the team aesthetic. DAVE: you could always change DIRK: Nah, with the tiara and tights ditched I have at least mitigated the enforced flamboyance. It's bearable. DIRK: I can't be the one dude out of uniform. Couldn't bear the shame. DAVE: my outfit is pretty sick ngl DAVE: sburb knows everyones secret desire is to have a cape DIRK: Unfortunately, mine isn't long enough to also make for a good tactical maneuver. DIRK: Not gonna lie, that was pretty funny. DAVE: if nothing else my attempts at combat can provide a source of humor in our lives DAVE: but honestly id be fine if my fighting days were over DAVE: i was never into it DAVE: rose on the other hand was obviously itching to beat people up DAVE: one of those 12 year olds who wants to get jumped in an alley to work out her suppressed anger DIRK: Maybe Skaia did make a few miscalculations in dumping your asses with your respective guardians. I think you'd get along well with Roxy and her cats, make her budget her time away from the alcohol. DIRK: ...in theory. DIRK: Rose can go a few rounds with me if she wants, we still need to sort out who has the rights to document our legendary journies. DAVE: ill plan your funeral DAVE: what kind of flowers do you want DIRK: ...there's different kinds? DAVE: damn thats right you grew up in waterworld DAVE: these choices matter DAVE: allegedly theres a thing called "flower language" DAVE: whether you can actually send someone a boquet telling them to meet you in the pit i dont know DIRK: Like, I get that, in theory, different kinds of flowers exist. But I fully anticipate any attempt on my part to conjugate in the language of said plants would end in my coffin declaring my hovercraft was indeed full of eels. DIRK: Maybe it'll have thorns on it. Or it'll be like the sixteen millions tons of green bullshit covering my land and making my nose itch. DAVE: probably DIRK: Worst case scenario, I'll pick out something orange and present to a prospective love interest and it'll mean something like "my brotherly passion for you knows no boundaries, and also no homo". DAVE: my bro wouldnt go for flower arranging DAVE: or pink tiaras DAVE: he was pretty uptight about the whole rah rah macho act DAVE: probably subscribed to alpha males weekly DAVE: which is weird considering DAVE: well DAVE: youre gay right DIRK: Uh. DIRK: Well. DIRK: My symbolic quest land is not covered in green bullshit, but I. DIRK: Happen to like watching birds, if you know what I mean. DIRK: Fuck, you probably don't know what that means. Jake and his goddamn thousand euphemisms. DAVE: cant say i do no DIRK: Nobody knows what it means but Jake. It's an old time epithet for being into dudes. DIRK: He knows all the old epithets, including some I suspect he made up. DAVE: so DAVE: thats a yes DAVE: in a roundabout way that includes birds DIRK: I've never denied it. DIRK: I'm just. DIRK: Not a huge fan of the word. Why, in this world post-society, do we need to confine ourselves to labels like "gay"? Such constraints were washed away from my world with the rest of the human race. DAVE: holy shit that was such a pretentious dodge DAVE: dont let rose hear you say that DIRK: Rose can hear all she likes. DAVE: but anyway DAVE: i wasnt asking to get up all in your business like SOME PEOPLE DAVE: who are so into getting into other peoples businesses theyre basically the fucking mafia or the irs DAVE: but DAVE: it explains some stuff DAVE: but on the other hand it doesnt DAVE: the way you raised me was kinda aggressively mainstream masculine enough that it wasnt something that ever seemed to come up as an option DAVE: [describe that type of culture and mindset better later, I KNOW what i mean but im tired rn lmao] DAVE: and anything outside of that id just brush off because it couldnt apply to me DAVE: and that went for pretty much everything that went against what you wanted for me DAVE: including that DIRK: And yet, here the man was, subconsciously shrieking his desire for floppy felt dong through, DIRK: What I guess you could call his art, for want of any other applicable word at all. God, the mental images are crawling up the insides of my skull like the Exorcist child, do I want to know? DAVE: probably not DAVE: guess trying to act peak male has its drawbacks DAVE: weirdly enough troll culture is obsessively hyperviolent but doesnt give a shit about sexuality DAVE: they dont see the difference most of the time i guess DAVE: and so like DAVE: maybe it rubs off on you because in some ways that kind of makes sense DAVE: but after so long its hard to know what i feel and what it means because i spent so long ignoring it DAVE: so i guess i was wondering DAVE: if you had anything that might help with that DAVE: or if youre also trapped in this whirling screaming maelstrom of bullshit DAVE: while kinsey sits in the eye of the storm laughing DIRK: Wait, wait, wait. DIRK: You're coming to me. DIRK: For advice. DIRK: Do you know what a laughable hurricane of disaster my interpersonal life has been? DIRK: Like, in a weird way, I'm kind of honored, especially since about five hours ago you were scared shitless to be around me, but. DIRK: I'm standing here and waving my credentials in the air just to display how I don't fucking have any. My degree is a sham and my hands are empty except for a crudely scribbled on piece of construction paper. DAVE: are you suggesting theres a gay university DAVE: where you study bird watching DIRK: Do I look like a man who's been to college? DAVE: fair DAVE: but like DAVE: your friends know DAVE: how did you broach the subject there DIRK: I might as well have been dating a Yoko Ono for the devastation it wreaked on our friend group, so yeah, it was a little hard to ignore. DIRK: Compounded by the fact some smartass from Gay University was using my social circle for romance geometry homework. DIRK: It wasn't even a love triangle so much as a love roundabout. DAVE: ok but thats just because you were a dipshit not a gay dipshit DAVE: they were chill about the first part right DIRK: Thanks. DIRK: I mean... Roxy always seemed disappointed. DAVE: luckily i dont think anyones waiting in line for me DAVE: i guess im blowing it out of proportion DAVE: i dont think anyone will MIND DAVE: no one did about rose and kanaya DAVE: didnt even question the vampire bit which goes to show what our lives are like these days DAVE: like ok our outfit has vampires now DAVE: thats a thing that we have DAVE: if i say oh hey i might be bisexual theyll just say sure pull up a chair at the acronym table DAVE: the only one who might be weird about it is john DAVE: but hed be just as weird if i told him id changed my favorite color hes just like that DAVE: the only person its really a big deal for is me DIRK: Jane was a little bit like that. I'm pretty sure the only reason she had to object was because she found out the day I made a move on her crush. DIRK: It might just be growing up in a household where you're not regularly fighting for your life, and thus what genders are kissing whom has the space to be higher on your priority list. DAVE: that aint anyones priority these days DAVE: im prepared to acknowledge the concept that hey maybe everyone elses lives dont revolve around me and my personal drama or self revelations might have some merit at least as a hypothesis DAVE: when i met kid english he kept going on about how i was the most important person and everyone else was side characters DAVE: and maybe ive acted like that sometimes DIRK: Yeah, like you alone are the one responsible for everyone around you. DAVE: and maybe ive acted like i think that way too sometimes DAVE: ive been wrong about people DAVE: people i care about people i shouldve known better DAVE: i was wrong because i wanted to believe things that matched how i wanted the world to be DAVE: things that made it easier for the story i was telling myself DAVE: i dont think kid english meant to call me on it but damn DIRK: Reality is, after all, something we construct for ourselves. DIRK: I think maybe I knew that all along when I surfaced for air inbetween shoving my head as far up my ass as it would go. DIRK: Or maybe that's just what I try to tell myself in hindsight. DAVE: well if it takes a hyperactive 12 year old version of the final bosss creepy hero worship of me to make a point i guess thats not the least subtle way the universe has sent me a message lately DIRK: You want unsubtle? Let me tell you about my damn planet quest. DAVE: haha DAVE: i didnt have to do much of my quest because im invisible DAVE: thanks mom DIRK: My denizen practically sat me down like it was my life coach and growled in my ear about improving my communication skills with a guy I told to go fuck himself not eighteen hours prior. DIRK: So while I'm glad SBURB has a vested interest in me repairing my friendships, playing electroshock death DDR with him was a little on the nose. DAVE: maybe getting shot again wasnt that bad DAVE: so weve all learned our life lessons good job team DIRK: Exactly. Can we wrap this up now? Can we please go rest? DIRK: I'm so exhausted I haven't even noticed I'm still hungover. DAVE: sure thing DAVE: but if i need tips on leaping out of a closet to intimidate passerby i might text you DIRK: I mean, I can try. As long as you don't ask me for dating tips. That, I definitely shouldn't be helping you with. DIRK: Go talk to your sister for that. DIRK: ...wouldn't she, by the transitive property of siblings, also be my sister? DAVE: yeah i guess DAVE: but theres no way in hell im asking rose for dating advice DAVE: on her first date which she refused to admit was romantically oriented she got wasted in anticipation forgot to show up and then fell down the stairs DIRK: Oh my god. DAVE: she tries to look like shes got her shit together but its a lie DAVE: if you find my corpse floating on lolar in the next few hours dont let the truth die with me DIRK: Why are we like this? DIRK: Is there actually something hardwired into our DNA that predisposes us to being disasters? DIRK: But, that aside. DIRK: I won't object if it's me you come to talk to. DAVE: ill hold you to it DAVE: and if you ever want to publicly you admit you DAVE: "enjoy birdwatching" DAVE: in less vague and evasive terms DAVE: ill have your back DIRK: Thanks.

#bonus content

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dreamyfiction · 7 years

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it started w a wrist

triggers: slight language??

also excuse this i wrote it at like 2:00 am and ive been periodically adding to it during the day

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he cheated. how could i have known you would cheat?

well, if i said i never thought you could possibly be trouble i would be lying.

it was a loud, raucous Friday night at the local bar when I first saw you. I went there almost every weekend, trying to drink away my feeling, my worries, my fears. the red strobe lights illuminated your tangled mess of dirty blonde curls. we were sitting to the side on an uncomfortable looking plastic stool, the kind you have to peel off of your thighs on a hot summer afternoon. who was he watching? a girlfriend? god, i hope not, i thought. i bit my lip as i saw you taking a hair tie off of your delicate, bird-like wrist, a completely unique wrist that was the only one of its kind in its utter perfection. i think it was that moment that i realized that you would break my heart one day. it was but a matter of time, my love. my life. my death.

fast forward a few weeks. i took you on crazy, stupid adventures, and you muttered statistics in between passionate, heated kisses about how there are less germs on the face than the hands, so it’s safer to kiss than shake hands. of course it was probably just an excuse to kiss again. you were always good at words. you created a piece of art with every sentence, weaved a tapestry with each letter, each word being a thread of its own kaleidoscopic color. and when you finally said those three words? it was Michelangelo and the Sistine chapel.

we were idiotic, we were wild, we were living off of the unadulterated drug called happiness. we saw everything through the rose tinted tones of our youth, never imagining that we would have to grow up eventually. but for that year, we were stuck in our own private neverland, perpetually living the same twisted version of adolescence and adulthood.

I waited, desperately, for someone to give a damn. for our parents, or our friends, to even give a shit that we had no sense of real life. To tell me to finish getting my masters degree, or let that genius boyfriend of yours get you a job. our fluffy cloud of naïveté was soon becoming a furious, storming gray. so he fell. a big fat plop on the earth. he got a job. and not only a job, a job at the FBI where he travelled constantly.

at first i was proud of my one true love. yes, I took ownership of everything that he had become. wasn’t it me who taught him how not to be afraid? to not hide from the bruises and scars on his back, and share his utter hurt and pain with someone?

everything was fine at first. until his deep set eyes became sunken with stress, and bloodshot with exhaustion. those beautiful eyes that i spotted across the room and fell in love with. a swirl of amber and melted chocolate, drip drip drizzling on my taste buds, and the smell of fresh baked cookies, the sound of a clicking keyboard. now bitter cacao, burnt, smoking embers, the screech of the smoke detector that always seemed to go off at the exact wrong time. this exact moment, when he got of that goddamned jet for the 8th time, was the moment we broke. but like a broken glass that a child hastily tries to glue together, we tried to fix it. like the spiderweb cracks, it didn’t work. why I’m the hell did i think it would work?

that’s when the fights started. huge screaming matches, waking up everyone in the near vicinity of us. i smelled her perfume. lavender, rosemary, smells that disgusted me to the core. i’ve been allergic since i was 12. i dismissed it. said that maybe you were consoling a crying woman, who just lost her husband or her cousin or her daughter or her brother. but that was the problem. i was still stuck in the cloud of naïveté. every time you came home, i thought it would be different. that you would say “how are you honey” while i cooked a delicious meatloaf, as our two twin boys kicked a soccer ball around. “don’t play in the house” i would have said. now i’m stuck in a choking cocoon of loneliness and despair and i can’t get out. no matter how hard i try or struggle, i can’t breathe, and no one can hear a sound.

I remember the calm before the storm, the yellow sky in the eye of the incoming hurricane. We had just moved into our apartment, an utterly inexpensive, tiny, cramped room in the bad side of town. But none of that mattered, i thought. The only thing that mattered was that we were together, united to take on the world and all of the murderers, rapists, and kidnappers that it would throw at us, or our relationship. Our hairstyles were both messy buns, as we laughed, and threw empty boxes at each other, and we revelled in the reverie of innocence and cluelessness of our young adulthood. We bought our first furniture, and yelled, and giggled at Ikea. and we jumped on our mattresses to break it in. our stomachs hurt from laughing, we both twisted our ankles at least three times, but we were completely and utterly drunk on the potent poison of carelessness.

Remember when we fought about the photos? Or did you forget them, just like you forgot how to love me? The photos, which under a glossy facade of perfection showed crimson liquid dripping, staining her blue face and everything pure and happy? That was one of your biggest fights. How did he look at that all damn day? That horrific display of how truly evil human nature can be, and what we can actually do to each other? That night, i had to change something in myself to survive. Or maybe it was always there, and it subtly revealed itself, day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute. I looked over my shoulder in grocery store parking lots, and i learned how to walk backwards up a stairwell. Who knows? Maybe that genial, stout looking middle aged man was a psychopath that would slit my throat, or sew my mouth shut. Maybe i would feel the burn and hiss of hydrochloric acid on my pale arms, while i syared in the crystal grey eyes of a blond haired, beautifully sadistic woman. I was never safe, except when i was in your comforting embrace. But i was never in your arms.

That embrace. It could make me escape our neverland, with broken glass littering the white sand beaches and crimson colored water. The blood-thirsty mermaids and pirates that we ran away from every day. I forgot everything about you that was broken, or toxic, or told me that you were nothing. A sweet nothing nevertheless, an inkling of a dangerous thought. A bad idea. No, the worst idea. You rested your head on mine and i could hear you breathing, and i thought i could hear your thoughts and mine embracing as well, intermingling to create our own blithe, amaranthine idea of affection, and beauty, and joy. We were the definition of forever.

then there it was. the fight to end all fights. the bleak thread of our still surviving relationship was snipped in half. you got a text from “maeve”. some joke about physics or some obscure chemistry. i screamed. but then i cried. cried for the hazy innocence of our youth. when did we lose it? during our angry shrieks, or the ringing echoes after? i cried for your eyes. goddamn those eyes were gorgeous. what i’d give to go back to your apartment and retrieve that faded, lipstick-smudged Polaroid of me kissing you in front of the Mona Lisa, thinking that we were a more a piece of art than some half smiling old crone could ever be. it’s in the top drawer of the dresser in the library, where i kept my stacks of memories. But it’s too late. There’s no going back now. Not ever.

I screamed. I planned to meticulously exact my revenge, and you would come back, and we would once again be in our unctuously sweet bubble of innocuous, ignorant love. but most of all? i cried your name. it was the tap tap tap of the rain on our apartment complex’s cheap tin roof. it was the smell of the pei wei chicken lo mein we would eat during our chess games, or while we were watching doctor who (always your favorite). it was your wrist, your wrist that i fell in love with before i fell in pure, unmitigated love with the rest of you.

“Spencer Alexander Reid.” “spencer alexander reid” spencer alexander reid

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ripkpop-blog · 7 years

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"Paintings and Melodies" — SEVENTEEN Jun

Authors Note: I am supposed to be Jai, so the two fears mentioned are my worst and only fears in this world. Anywho, enjoy. Word Count: 3640 Genre: Smut, angst, just overall weird

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I looked out of the window at the nighttime sky. I always loved the stars, how they calmed me. How I felt peaceful, the constant screaming in my head reduced to a soft whisper. The color, not black but darker than navy blue, covered in white stars like sugar spilled onto a countertop. I smiled, feeling the breeze. I would stay here forever. One day, I’ll be buried under these stars. One day, I’ll be gone from this earth, leaving everyone I love behind. One day, my voice will be snuffed out as everyone realizes that I’ve left them.

I felt the wind go through my hair, gently tossing it behind me. The rain had soaked through my hair, and my back was freezing in the cold air that was blowing in my direction. I bit my lip, the wind blanketing my body in its cold, lifeless embrace. I closed my eyes against the breeze, then opened them to the feeling of falling.

I’ve always been afraid of falling.

I looked off of the balcony of the apartment building, grabbing onto the guardrail. The breeze stopped, and so did my heart. Everything just stopped. My flowing dress fell and so did my stomach, along with my hair going back to cascading down my shoulders. I looked away from the edge, sitting on the hard concrete floor of the balcony that I was standing upon. I closed my eyes again, feeling an ice cold tear run down my even colder cheek. If I even have blood anymore, I wouldn’t know. Everything just feels like ice. I have been out so long since it rained. I’m soaking wet, I was soaking this whole time. The wind, no longer a gentle breeze, but a rough storm. The rain coming back, harder than it had prior. It’ll be a long night out here, but I’ll stay out until I no longer feel alone.

But I was always alone, nobody was ever going to come for me.

I have a fear of falling. But that’s only minor in comparison to my worst fear. And I’m deathly afraid of falling— Funny, that you can die from falling. I’m only afraid of falling because of how beautiful everything becomes when you fall. When you fall, the world becomes a blur of colors and sounds, with the soft backdrop of the wind making falling into a beautiful—yet deadly—harmony. Falling feels like a strong breeze encasing you, except it’s no longer lifeless. It’s alive, but dies once you hit the ground. Because once the breeze stops, it’s silent. Not an animal, no bug, no human makes a sound once a strong breeze ends.

That’s the same with falling. Except instead of the world around you being silent, it’s your heart. Your heart doesn’t beat, no thoughts come into your head for a second once you hit the ground. But a few seconds after, you ask yourself— Am I still alive?

Nobody truly knows. But Ive fallen before. Not nearly in the way I described, but I fell in love. It’s not that far from literally falling, you feel the same thing. Instead of a blur of colors, it’s a painting of emotions. The harmonious deathlike melody becomes that of a bird’s song. But you never hit the ground, you simply remain in this form of torture, floating.

The tears raced down my cheeks as though they were in a competitive match, trying to see which could get to the bottom first. The sobs that left my mouth ruined the harmony in the air, the silence after the crash being broken. Have I truly hit the ground, or will I never hit the ground? Whenever I touch him, It’s as though I experience everything happy in my life. It’s as though I am reliving the feeling of going through that air again. The colors are dull, the song is not a melody.

I’m alone. And that is my worst fear, the hurricane of my thoughts. The feeling of alone was no longer ice piercing my heart, but a burning sensation. In an icy heart, one cannot make any noise. But in this fiery cold piercing my heart, I was screaming. The silence of this night was an icy storm, piercing through my body. But this feeling of loneliness was so hot that it was cold. It hurt more than this frost could ever do, all because of one person.

It’s been months since I’ve seen him, weeks since we’ve spoken. The warming feel of his touch leaving every day, the honey of his voice fading from my mind. I could no longer hear his voice saying that he loves me, I could no longer feel his breath on my neck as he left tender kisses of love. Every place his lips have ever touched froze first, and now the rest of my body has frozen. But not my heart, because that’s where the loneliness began. The icy fire of loneliness as I realized that he may not be coming back.

Where are you.

My silent scream sounded to me as a cry of a wounded dog, or a dying animal. And who knows, I might be.

Suddenly, all I felt was warmth. All I could feel was the feeling of warm arms wrapping around the block of ice that was the fragile body my soul kept. The warmth of his body touching mine began to thaw at the ice, as if arms came and started to rip at the frostiness, pulling it apart to reveal by body underneath. The ice of loneliness in my body slowly replaced itself with blood as it melted, leaving my eyes. The tears on my cheeks became warm. His lips made flowers in my body start to bloom again after being closed from his absence, the rain no longer feeling as cold.

His soft lips pressed against mine, and I tasted the salty water of the rain in between our lips. He pulled away from my lips, but his hands never left my back. His arms never stopped holding me close to him. His voice, whispering my name as if it was a prayer, but then he left. I felt empty again, and I opened my eyes. He stood in front of me, glaring at my body. Staring into my eyes as though he’d understand my pain once he looked long enough.

“Why are you crying?” He whispered, but to me it didn’t sound like a whisper. It sounded like a scream, a plead for an answer. A wish that could never be granted.

“Junhui…” I sobbed, lifting my arm to reach for him but pulling it back. I looked down, at the soaking black dress I wore, that resembled the night sky I had been looking at before. The soft whisper in my head returned to a scream, piercing through my body. Being under his stare again, he was going to hurt me. I looked up at him, but only with my eyes. His arm was raised, the sound of his palm colliding with my cheek rang out against the silent night that he created.

Now, my entire attention was focused on him. The screaming stopped. The raining stopped. The melody is no longer playing. It’s just him, in his shock. I lifted my hand to my cheek, pulling it back to see blood. Blood the color of my emotion, passionate and entranced. The color I see when he touches me, the color of the flowers he gets me constantly. But no, this color is angry. This color wants to hate me, to only hurt me.

“Baby… I’m so sorry. Jai, forgive me. It was an accident.” He said, going to me and grabbing my wrists. I looked at his eyes, the large brown orbs that held my heart in its deep warmth. But, even in the time he’s been gone and the arms length he is from me, I’ve never felt more alone.

“Why…” I whispered, my soft voice trailing off as if it was a cloud and there was wind. Maybe I hadn’t spoken at all, and I was just in a lucid dream. But somehow, feeling the blood trickle down my cheek in it’s cracking intricacy made me know that it was real, that I was not dreaming. I couldn’t feel anything, but then I felt heavy. Like my legs could no longer support my weight, and my world was collapsing under my very fingertips. I only saw black, I only heard silence. But I can feel the concrete underneath my fingertips, I can feel the cold of the rain once again piercing through the warmth he gave me just moments ago. The loneliness of this darkness and silence once again piercing through my heart, my silence of my loudest scream piercing the silence.

“Jai!” He breathed, his arms wrapping around me. His hand, caressing my back; His arms, holding me tightly as if I were to fly away. In this floating, I might. I felt my body becoming weightless, nothing touching my fragile skin except for his arms. My arm dangling down, as if I was a dead body; a dead, soulless, lost body.

The warmth of the couch by the fireplace welcomed me. I opened my eyes, my skin feeling cold in contrast to the warmth. Can he feel the cold? Or is it just my imagination running wild— Could his being here be a figment of my ever-growing imagination, could today just be a lucid dream?

He slowly undid my dress, his strong, calloused hands touching my back tenderly. These were the hands that just hurt me, but I couldn’t stand to be angry. His hands touching me were a baby pastel color, the song mimicking that of a piano. Anger is a deep red, the song a loud drum. The colors don’t mix, the song isn’t a harmony. The moment, however small, would be ruined by my anger if it came out.

The cold, black, lifeless dress slipped off of my icy body, my eyes snapping open as if to bring me to life. I looked into the love of his eyes, then felt his arms around my bare body. His short hair tickled my jaw, the tip of his perfect nose grazing along my neck. His hands were gripped around my arms, pressing my body against the couch.

“You’re soaking wet. You shouldn’t have been outside, Jai.” He said, his voice with the sound of watery anger. It wasn’t smooth anymore, cracking with his coming anger and his tears that I heard flowing down his face.

“You were gone for so long. I couldn’t hear your voice anymore, I couldn’t remember it. I couldn’t feel your touch anymore, it was just gone.” I said. His lips pressed against mine, but gently. His hands became gentler, before I realized that his body was on top of mine. He doesn’t care for my body, as he’s said many times. He cares for me, as crazy as that can sound at times. But he does, and I love him. My love for him sounds like a soft piano, his love for me makes the song of a violin. A perfect harmony.

The icy loneliness of my worst fear in my body slowly went away with every passing second our lips were touching, every flower blossoming, every inch feeling alive again. He left my lips, but the feeling stayed as we looked at each other. His perfectly shaped eyes looking into mine, the shape of soft chocolates. His perfect lips curving into a smile. The warmth of the fire not even comparing to the heat inside of my body, that was caused by his perfect touch.

His hands traced along my sides, that were now revealed since he removed the cold dress. Can he feel the heat, or is he just touching me to touch me? His hands weren’t making sexual advances, although they were running along my thighs and stomach— no, this touch, as soft as a feather, was him just feeling me. He wasn’t doing anything more than feeling my body underneath his fingertips. His touch was the sound of plucking violin strings, soft and slight. Nothing too loud, but just subtle enough to leave a mark.

I heard the softest clang of metal falling on the ground, muffled by the sound of heavy cloth doing the same. I heard another sound of cloth touching the ground, and then a soft kiss planted upon my sensitive neck, doing nothing but stimulating my nerves. There was no longer music playing; there was only the sound of our breathing and him kissing my neck, the sound of my moans as he bit down. His lips left open mouthed kisses, however small. He left my neck, his beautiful hands and muscular arms going behind my back.

“Baby, come with me.” He said, standing up. I looked at his toned abs, his perfectly messy hair, his perfect body. I looked down at my exposed chest, covering myself from his piercing glare. I felt his body against mine once again, removing my arms and legs from my chest. His hands grazed along my sides once again. This time, I let out the smallest of moans— a small interference in the silence, a tiny bit of music. I felt an enormous amount of buildup in my lower abdomen, almost as if I would orgasm here and now. And he was only touching me, his hands weren’t even being sexual. But his strong gaze was, his gaze was screaming that he needed this.

He lifted me, the weightless feeling returning yet again. He brought me to my room, laying me on the soft bed. His hands pinning mine to the bed, his undeniable force coming out. He was letting his beast out, which he’s only done in front of me. He’s only done these dirty things to me, his girlfriend. Who even knows if he loves me for my odd personality, the one that describes words and touch as colors and music. Or if he loves me for my body, the curves he traces his hands over? The places his hands have touched, but the words that he’ll refuse to say, who knows if he loves me still.

His cushion lips touched every inch of my porcelain skin, his fingers hooking on my panties before pulling them down. The initial cold air shocked me, causing me to shiver. But his hand soon replaced the cold air, rubbing onto my sensitive spots, pressing onto my lower abdomen. He makes me moan, the sounds eliciting from my mouth erotic and loud. His lips soon replaced his finger, his warm tongue sliding in and out of me. I couldn’t help but let the sounds come out, before my back arched, pushing my wetness towards his face.

I covered my mouth as a louder moan escaped my lips. My juices went onto his face, and I gazed at him. He had a smirk on his face, licking whatever was on his lips off of it. He then jumped towards me, his hand covering my eyes. His hand was replaced with a cloth after a few seconds, and cold metal touched my wrists. Is he going to leave me here, a mess? Or will our bodies paint tonight a passionate purple, a passionate and deep red.

“Baby, you’re so beautiful.” He whispered.

And yet he can only say that when I’m naked, when my fragile skin and fragile body is under his gaze, under his control. He can never call me beautiful when I’m clothed, only when my body is on display for him.

The question truly becomes one of true love. If true love is what I feel towards him, my love for him becoming constant words, constant love. But his version of love is a flat note, sometimes it’s good but other times it’s bad.

His hands touched my breasts, squeezing the softness. His hard erection poking my inner thigh, leaving me a moaning mess. Our erotic scene that of a painting, that of a passionate palette. His hands grabbed onto my hands, as if they’d be left behind if he had gone. If he had left me as he did so many months ago.

He slowly filled my body, our erotic sounds becoming a song. His cold thighs came in contact with mine, and then again and again. He rocked inside of me, his hands running over my stomach.

“You’re my masterpiece, you’re my canvas. I’ve seen you in a bare minimum and when fully painted, and I still see no flaws. I paint over your pale skin in my mind, imagining all these colors. Colors that you’ve painted in love letters, colors that we’ve seen. I’ve heard the songs of your fears, I’ve heard the songs of your joys. So baby, tonight let’s create our masterpiece. Tonight, let me make love to you as I always wanted.” He breathed into my ear, my senses enlightened. “I know how lonely you’ve felt. I believed you hated me, as I’ve left you for months with no contact. I regret never saying the words ‘I love you,’ but let me show you that I do.”

I nodded, moaning yet again as he rolled his hips. The colors became more vibrant, the song hitting a crescendo. He touched my sides once again, his hands adding more splashes of color, more warmth.

“Junhui…” I breathed, my voice airy. His songs of erotica echoed out into our silent night, alone in our bedroom. My arms stayed above my head, as he held them there with his strong arms. I felt the all-too familiar buildup in my stomach, feeling nothing but ecstasy as he made love to me. I felt nothing but pleasure, his body doing things to me that never in my wildest dreams, in these wild paintings of my mind, could he do something of this sort.

“Jai… fuck, baby. I’m close.” His beautiful voice rang out in the night, his movements becoming sloppier. The song is nearly finished, the painter putting his finishing touches on the work of art he had created.

I let out yet another moan as he finished, the last stroke of his paintbrush coming out. He uncuffed my arms, letting my hands go back to traveling his body. He continued, after having just finished his paintwork, waiting for the singer to finish her decrescendo into silence. Once I finished, he exited my body. His body was laid next to me, his fingers tenderly removing the cloth that covered my eyes.

When I looked at him, I noticed a dull color on him. I looked at our bodies, they were dull. The chords clashed, not sounding good at all. His hand caressed my cheek, as if just to touch my skin. Next to him, on this bed, I’ve never had a more natural moment than when his lips connected with mine. Not even the notes of music that came easily to me or the colors I always thought of compared to this. His lips touched mine, and the song continued for its epic finale. The painting was completely finished, and the dull colors of our bodies became vibrant ones of a flower. His hand went to my sides, touching as if to never let go. His tongue explored every crevice of my mouth, our bodies pressed together once again.

I was red again, a passionate and deep color. But this wasn’t anger, but love. Love for Junhui, love for the man I dreamt of in his absence. My world was full of dull colors, but reuniting with him brought back bright yellows and reds and greens and oranges, the song becoming more than just a piano with more instruments, a sad melody becoming a happy tune; a dull ocean becoming a glistening sea.

His lips left mine, his voice replacing our sounds of love.

“I love you, I’ve always loved you. Please, forgive me for this absence. Being alone just isn’t your fear, it was how you lived. Though I was with people, I hope that you never have to deal with that again. I wish to bring you with me wherever I go, I wish for you to be my true love.”

“You held my heart in your hands, you could have broken it. But instead you decided to bring the pieces, shattered from loneliness, and offering to rebuild my broken heart. You will be my true love, for as long as I live. And, I will be yours. I will be your love until the end of time, until our colors and songs become nothing but a background melody.” I whispered against his soft lips.

We met again in a less passionate kiss, but it was short. He pulled away, his arms wrapping around me.

“I missed you. I pray to never leave your side again, please forgive me.” He said softly. “I love you.”

The words he never spoke have been spoken. The feeling was welcomed into my heart, our colors becoming more vibrant. “I love you too, with forever in my vision and eternity in my heart.”

Before the warmth and comfort of sleep with him came to me, he said one last thing. One final word before the saga of tonight came to an end, the story reaching its final page, the song reaching its finale. His words gave me hope that he still loves me, that his love is true. As for my response of forever, his response solidified eternity.

“And Jai, you are the only thought I have. You are constantly are in my thoughts, I can’t get enough of you. No matter if we’re together for eternity, I’ll never show exactly how much I love you.”

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