#we r NOT talking about how i accidentally wrote live instead of leave 💀💀

[planetkiimchi]

leave it to the poets | t.l

featuring: bf!ten x gn!reader

word count: 508 words

a/n: back from the dead!! just a li'l drabble because i was sick of doing my philosophy homework & @slytherinshua was complaining about the lack of ten fics 🙄

Ten looks up from his book, looking over at you settled on the other end of the couch. Far enough to have your own space, yet close enough for him to reach over, laying his head in your lap, snuggling into your warmth.

You gently pat him to get off, shifting to the middle of the couch where it’s cooler, and he jumps into talking about the new book he’s reading. It’s a fascinating study on the effect of hormones on “love”, he says.

The idea that love is a byproduct of hormones and not the emotional expression of affection is a concept completely foreign to you. You’ve always considered love to be the manifestation of emotions you feel towards people, or even things, that bring you comfort and joy.

To you, love is a very precious thing that is entirely emotional in nature.

However, the way Ten describes his book is completely different. Love is described as something biological in nature, related to the way your brain functions and the natural body processes that one goes through during puberty.

Hearing love being reduced to something so scientific and unemotional makes you sad. Your pout slowly turns into a frown as the forgotten sweater you’ve been making starts to fall, and Ten chokes on it as it smothers his face.

“Y/n! Are you trying to kill me?”

You shake your head quickly and keep the sweater away, focussing your attention on Ten.

His gaze softens when you look back at him. “What’s wrong?”

You sigh softly. “It just sounds so cold when you describe love like that. Why are we trying to make it scientific anyway? There are some things better left to the poets.”

“Like love?”

You nod. “Like love.”

Ten pushes himself up, his face just centimetres away from yours, staring into your eyes as if he’s deep in thought. Sometimes you wonder if, like people say, he can see into your soul from this angle. Maybe when the sun hits your irises just right, the light catches on all your thoughts and emotions, exposing them to the viewer just outside the window of your soul.

He hums, and you decide that you’re probably right.

“Then what is love to you?”

The eye contact between the two of you never breaks as you say seriously. “A conscious choice that we make, every single day, every waking minute. A choice to stay, when there are a million reasons that you should leave. A choice to keep searching, to keep looking for more to love and enjoy in the moment, with this person. To me, that is love.”

Ten’s eyes flutter shut, and he tilts your chin towards him in invitation. After a short pause, you close the distance between the two of you, pressing your lips to his.

As always, his lips are soft, like his cats’ fur. He smells like the jasmine-scented cologne you bought him for his birthday, and the scent of mint chewing gum lingers slightly on his breath.

Ten smells like home.