#anyway cuong won't damage her window AND he doesnt own a boombox

[phantombs]

you’re here every night ,  aren’t you ?

𝑨 𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑬𝑹 𝑹𝑶𝑺𝑬: no longer accepting.

He is. "And that's not a complaint, is it?" Well, he wagers not. Again, as is his wont, Cường, gazing up unto her window, is caught entering through her sweet little garden. He wanders here often, peruses the beds with its April-growing sprouts, and he takes stock of the fragrance of early blooming daffodils and the vigorous growing of climbing trees. Here, he always, always finds it calming. The air saunters differently about her home, shimmery with the afterglow of the now-slumbering sun, and in its dark, shadowed wake, he feels the fingers of the stars. He feels held by the nighttime... And tenderly kissed. It's appropriate, he imagines, as he paces slowly toward her window: Sayuri, last he daydreamed, was always like the moon.

(And he can't keep away. After all, he's a wolvish thing, hasn't he?)

Cường hums. With her window drawn up, he can see the slow, slow shiver of the breeze through her curtains. Rifling quaint her hair, too, she, torched by the lamplight, sits in watch so gauzy. There's something ethereal here. Is he dreaming? "You should sound more grateful," he starts, plain as ever. What a nuisance! "I'm making old dreams you used to have after watching your soppy dramas come true. I'm here to remind you that it's okay to get lost in your head little. And to dream very boldly and boldly of me." How annoying -- and, still, comically familiar. He looks at her backdoor and waits. "I came to visit. I worked late." He always does.