Forbidden By Nature
A bird and dog shouldn't be together. You knew that. But you found it hard to resist against the handsome drinksmith at the bar. If people were to know about your secret relationship with him, it wouldn't look too good for you, a Halovian from the Oak Family. And it wouldn't be too good of news to your two siblings, Robin and especially Sunday, who strongly detested the 'despicable and wicked' dog.
⚠️ Tags & Warnings: GN Reader, Infidelity, Major and Minor Character Deaths.
⚠️ Note: Major spoilers from the 2.1 patch. This was also written before the release of 2.2 patch. I'm 100% cooked if Gallagher is actually a nice guy.
Sunday prided himself in his leadership. One could not deny that he was a man of many fortes. His great wit, and his erudition, and his unbreakable composure, these qualities made him worthy of being the head of the Oak family.
And then there was sweet-faced Robin. While Halovians were naturally born with an attractive aura, Robin could easily draw crowds and crowds of people from different planets with just her voice alone. It wasn't much of a wonder that she climbed her way up in stardom with little effort.
Unlike your siblings, you weren’t interested in the spotlight. Being in the center of the spotlight means that you must possess the voice that the people want to hear and listen to, you must have a face that is easily distinguishable among rows and rows of people, and you must have a heart that naturally desires to be adored. And frankly, none of these appealed much to you.
But one should not presume that your lack of interest in the world of celebrities implied that you weren’t promised for greatness.
You were well-versed in the world of business. Your social networking skills were of top-notch quality. Negotiation comes naturally to you. While Robin found joy dancing and singing on the shining stage, your happiness lied under stacks and stacks of wealth and luxuries. Your riches were forged by your own sweat, blood, and tears and most knew that.
Though some people would have assumed that greed would eventually have spoiled your heart to the rotten core, you would continually prove them wrong. As someone who knew the language and the culture of business, you decided to pass it all to Sunday. At young, he became well-acquainted with the mortal psyche. He knew about the worlds that they wanted to walk on, the lullabies that they wanted to hear of, and the lives that they wished they had. With the help of your connections, he easily made his way up. And before you even know it, he became the head of the Oak Family.
And this went the same for Robin. As you weren't very fond of the life of celebrities, you faced some obstacles in conditioning her up for success. But you disliked failures, hence why Robin managed to become a top star at a young age with your help, despite the disagreements and disputes that you faced by the people in your surroundings. You then received Sunday’s assistance, who helped his sister to adapt to the life of a star.
Because of you, the two of your siblings were well-known figures in Penacony.
Your achievements alone served as the evidence of your success, thus bringing some clarification towards your prestige in the world of the rich.
But you didn’t reach this elevated level of success overnight. You had some help here and there. Met a few people, some that you shouldn't even acknowledge.
“Gallagher?” Your voice was pitched with curiosity, as you swirled the drink inside the glass by the stem. “Gallagher, the member of the Bloodhound family?”
Your maid nodded her head in confirmation. “He shared with me that he would like to meet you soon, and asked when you will be free.”
The sip from the drink trickled down to your throat. But the sip could not muster a quick answer out of you. You thought deeply on how you should approach the situation. The kick from the aftertaste finally booted out a response out of you.
“There's no need for such a formal arrangement. We were close friends,” you said calmly. “He can meet me right now if he wants to.”
Your maid gave you a second nod, before walking around. As her hand rested around the doorknob, you loudly said, “Actually, he doesn’t need to see me. I will see him myself. It would have been easier for both parties.”
Your maid pinched her eyebrows together confusedly at your suggestion. “But what would they think about—”
Her question was interrupted by the clinking sound of the glass against the table. Raising from your seat, you gathered your purse in your hand. You reassured her, “Don’t fret about it.”
When the door opened, you swung your car keys between your fingers. “I’ll be home around 8 PM. You know what to do if I'm not home by then.”
Before your maid could even argue against your departure, the door behind you was already slammed shut.
You were an individual who marched forward with a well-strategized stride. It was an uncommon sight to see you standing still, feeling lost. You always knew what to say, when to act. It was almost as if living was natural for you.
But anyone who observed you from a distance, knew that there were rare moments where there was a crack in the facade you wore.
Heels clicked against the marble floor, turning the heads of the few customers in the bar. You sat at one of the empty seats, before placing your purse on the table. You wiggled yourself out of your coat, folding it neatly before placing it on the seat next to you.
Closing your eyes, you indulged in the noises and chatters of the bar. The bar didn’t have too many attendees. But you were hardly bugged by it, as a quiet bar had a greater appeal to you.
A glass was placed in front of you. It was filled to the brim with a pink juice, in which you suspected it to come from the finest of strawberries. Lemon slices were floating on the surface, with a sticker of the top-star celebrity of Penacony being plastered at the corner of the drink. The presentation of the drink was endearing, you would say. Especially given your background.
Strangers would have been confused by the strange gesture. But you were no stranger to this place.
“Aw, how sweet.” Your hand reached out for the drink, as the ice cubes clinked against the glass. Even by a simple glance, you could easily guess it. Rose In Rain.
Before you could even have a sip of it, you can already taste the flavors of the drink melting into your tongue. “It’s not a wonder that the bar has managed to retain its popularity among people of all classes.”
With a very composed air, the drinksmith pronounced his response, “This is simply a part of my job. There’s no need for such flattery.”
He grabbed a towel, as he began drying the newly-cleaned glasses.
“Surely, a part of your job does not include you offering such a special treatment to his customers,” You teased, as you brought the drink close to your lips. “And why, I wonder. Are you interested in me, Mr. Gallagher?”
He kept the towel away, and you noticed that the folds were rather uneven. His lack of verbal response might imply disinterest, but his body language was telling you a different story.
“Yes. Because no member from the Oak family, who are raised with wealth and riches, would spend the night in such a shabby, gloomy bar with moody bartenders. How could I not be interested when met with such abnormality?”
“Abnormality,” you repeated after him playfully. “How awful! I used to be addressed by such endearments, now I’m reduced to an abnormality. Do you detest me that much, Mr. Gallagher?”
You attempted to tease an answer out of him, as you slowly stroked his leg with the tips of your heels.
“And here I thought that you would have a change of character after successfully climbing up in the social hierarchy,” he commented flatly.
“Let me hear it.”
“Feisty, birdie,” he said in a voice that was tinged with slight amusement. With arms crossed against his chest, he asked in a huff, “Don’t say you come all the way here for that?”
“No,” you denied. “My maid came here telling me that you would like to discuss some matters. I just thought that it would be convenient to come here instead of the other way around.”
“Well, the discussion is not bar-friendly, I would say. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”
An exasperated sigh came out of your mouth. “I’m assuming it involves Sunday.”
When your younger brother’s name rolled out of your tongue, there was a slight disdainful glance towards you. “Spot-on. Quite impressive, really.”
“Give him time.”
“And will time grow him out of tyranny?” asked Gallagher.
“Tyranny?” You repeated him again. But instead of uttering it in a playful chirp, your tone was raised in frustration. “You’re speaking nonsense. He is controlling and demanding, but none of that fits what people might consider a tyrant. You need to kill someone to become one. And I don’t recall my younger brother getting involved in a manslaughter case.”
You slowly pushed the drink away from your sight. You continued, “I come here with the intention to have some fun. Let’s not sour the mood with such hostile arguments.”
“Sunday is young, and inexperienced in this kind of position. But he’s fast-learner. With his wits and charms, it wouldn’t take that much time for him to grow and become a proper man,” you defended.
There was an unusual pause in the conversation. And for some reason, the hairs on your arms stood up from the freezing air around you. Too cold for your liking. Not only the air, but also the man in front of you. Too cold for your liking.
“A higher position comes with higher ambitions, and followed with a higher price,” your voice dropped at a lower note, while shrugging your shoulders. “It’s just the way it is.”
He hummed in response. “It comes naturally out of you.”
Your forehead wrinkled at his remark, but before you could question his comment, he cut you to it: “Almost as if you are speaking about yourself.”
“Funny,” you said, feigning amusement. You heaved out a sigh of exasperation, your gaze fallen on the shiny counter. Your tongue no longer longed for the sweet, pink juice that was served earlier. “Let’s settle this with civility. We don’t need to jab at each other’s faults and families. To be insulting and mocking one another relentlessly is very unprofessional of us, who are known as the people who oversee all of Penacony’s matters.”
“Ah, I see. We are colleagues now.”
You closed your eyes, as you swallowed the rising anger that nearly escaped from your throat. “Yes. What else would we be?”
“Old friends?”
“Stop,” you commanded. Though your lips curled into the sweet smile, the white feathers on your wings started slicking down out of fury.
“Stop?” He raised his eyebrows, amused at your attempt in concealing your anger. “I’m pointing out facts. There’s no need to get riled up over the truth. As someone who values honesty, I don’t understand why you are upset at the mention of our relationship.”
You exploded in fits of laughter at his provocation. The hand covering your mouth was an attempt in restoring your graceful image. And though the corner of your eyes wrinkled in delight, there was a mischief gleam shining in your eyes.
“Ah. I see it now. Well, forgive me for acting all uptight earlier. I seem to have forgotten that dogs need plays and treats in order to feel fulfilled in life,” you mocked.
“And where’s my treat?” he asked, playing along with you.
You grinned back at him, with your nose scrunched in slight repulse. “You will get your treats when you shut up about us. Alright, puppy?”
“No problem, birdie. As long as you could convince your bird friends that they wouldn't be chirping around about our reconciliation. ‘Don’t want to be on the bad side of your spouse. ‘Heard that they’re a scary person.”
“Fine,” the smile on your lips was now hanging loosely. “If that’s what you want the most.”
“Now, here’s where you are wrong. That’s not what I want the most.”
Your face scrunched into confusion, but how the corner of your lips twitched implied that you were not very happy with the way he was leading the game.
“Then?” you dared yourself to ask. “Tell me. What is it that you want?”
He took out the container of washed blueberries, tossing them in the blender.
“You,” he answered. It was such a plain reply that was pronounced in a flat tone but it had such a strong effect on you.
The chair that you were sitting in was very uncomfortable, you suddenly noticed.
“You are a little quiet. Bet your mouth dry,” he asked. He threw out the first drink that was served for you, as he replaced it with a new one. You observed the drink, as the radiant, yet somewhat gloomy, blue color of the juice was toned down by your shadow that loomed over it. “Drink up.”
“Do you mean it?” you asked. “Do you want me?”
“Yes,” he answered.
“After all these years?” again, you asked. But this time, with the intention to confirm.
The toughest challenge in the world was no longer convincing the other four families that your brother was not a despicable, hellish being. But rather maintaining a simple eye contact with your first love at his bar.
He nodded his head. “How is that shocking to you?”
“It’s shocking to me because it has been so long. Was it like, 9— no, 12 years?”
“13 years,” he confirmed. “I waited for 13 years. For you.”
“That sounds ridiculous,” your wings tucked closely to your neck, as they hid in your hair. “Not only that, this seems like what? A poor attempt to lure me in your little trap? But this. This whole thing— it’s not something that you could blurt out so loudly. Especially in a bar where we have eyes everywhere. What would my spouse think about this, what would Sunday and Robin think that their older sibling is out fraternizing with the drinksmith while their spouse is waiting for them at home?”
“You already spelled it all out. There’s not much for your ‘baby brother Sunday’ to figure out why this reunion was such a big deal,” Gallagher teased. With a shrug, he corrected you, “You got one part wrong though.”
This man.
“Mind telling me?” You were greatly exasperated at this point.
“I don’t like how the drinksmith sounds. How about your ex-boyfriend?”
Your hand reached out for your purse, and then the coat that you threw over on the next seat. In a hurry, you rose from your seat. “If this is what we are doing, then I’m leaving.”
As you turned your back against him, he walked around the counter as he chased after you. “Hey,” he called. “Don’t get all pissy about it. Teasing used to be our language. Remember?”
At the corner of your eyes, you took notice that one of the bartenders immediately took over Gallagher’s job. You had a hunch that they had been observing you two in a while. Even guessing what they could have heard gave you a headache.
But the man who was following you from behind was ticking you off even more. Even when you were both outside of the bar, he was still trailing you behind like a puppy.
Finally, you spun around, now facing him. Baring your gritted teeth, you hissed, “I’m not going to lose my dignity tonight just because you—” You pointed your finger towards him, “—couldn’t move on from the past. I have a reputation, Gallagher. So do you. But unlike you, I care deeply about my image. So, let’s just bid our farewells. It’s for the best of us.”
He seemed to be taken aback by your fierce statement. With his hands placed on his hips, he dramatically tapped his foot against the ground a few times before shaking his head, “Wow. People weren’t lying at all. You changed.”
“So?”
Your jeer was barely registered into his head. With his chin slightly tilted upward, he continued, “You really did lose yourself to the riches and fame.”
The feathers of your wings hackled in anger. “And you changed too. It’s hard to believe that the lone wolf of Bloodhound family has now decided to be gossipy, and the first thing that he did is to believe some moronic rumors. Fuck off, Gallagher.”
“Did your partner teach you that?”
“Teach me what?”
“Teach you to curse,” he said, as he pulled out a cigarette box from the pocket of his pants. “Because I’m tellin’ you right now, they’re doing a poor job.”
You shook your head in disbelief. You huffed, “Why are you so against my marriage? Do you hate to see me happy, is that it?”
With nonchalance, he nodded his head in confirmation. “Yes. I’m unhappy that you are with them.”
“And so? Do you want me to toss my future away with them just because of what?” You gestured towards him angrily, “Some man?”
“Now it’s some man. Back then, you used to call me cuter names than that,” he teased. “Actually, it sounded even better when you moaned it out in bed,” a muffled groan escaped from his lips as he thought of all the good times you two shared. Well, it was all funny memories now.
“Should I list it all down right now, birdie?” he asked, his eyebrows raised. “How would you prefer me to do it? Should I yell it out so that the whole world knows about your secret scandal with the drinksmith from the Bloodhound family?”
You leaned forward towards him, as he pretended to flinch. Your wings flipped angrily, messing up your hair. “Cut it, dog.”
“Oh, I will,” he agreed, with the tone of his voice now lowered. “But only if you tell me why you left me for that stupid chicken you married to.”
“They’re Halovian, not a chicken,” you exasperatedly corrected him.
You look at a distance, as you wrung your brain out for an appropriate answer. While you thought deeply on what to say, Gallagher caught a glimpse of the wedding band around your ring finger.
“Are they wealthy?” he risked another jab. “Old money, or new money?”
“Old,” you answered flatly while rolling your eyes.
He hummed. “So I guessed it right.”
Gallagher pulled out the cigarette out of the box, before putting it between his lips. He patted on his pockets for his lighter.
But you were quicker. You pulled out the lighter from your purse, as you lit it up the end of the cigarette. The light from the fire shone on your face.
And out of sudden, his intense hatred towards you slowly burned away along with the ashes from the cigarette he was smoking.
You were annoying, that was for the first fact. While the second fact, you were dangerously beautiful.
“Maybe if I wasn’t much of a social climber, I wouldn’t leave you,” you suddenly confessed. “But I wanted all the fame and the wealth. Because I have a family to support. If I were to run off and marry the guy I actually liked, there’s no such thing as Sunday the Allegedly Tyrannical Leader of the Oak Family or A-List Celebrity Robin in the news and other media outlets. They were out there, taking jobs of some rich pigs. Not living comfortably as today.”
Now, his mouth felt dry. And the air around him felt hot, making him sweaty and uncomfortable.
With your arms crossed and your wings slightly droopy, you continued, “I saw the ring in your pocket when I was cleaning the house before we broke up.”
Gray smoke escaped from his cracked lips. “You did?”
By the tone, it was clear that it wasn’t your confirmation that he needed. Rather, he wanted your clarification on why you decided to ditch him out of nowhere.
“You never told me that you wanted to be more than just that,” you said.
“Sucks to know that you hate surprises right now.”
Even in moments of a heated dispute, Gallagher would try to twist it into a comedy.
“I wanted to make a name for myself in the Penaconian society. And the only way for me to do so was to make myself seen by these prominent people. At the banquet, at the ball, at the party, or at the bar,” you explained.
“I didn’t want to be a nobody. I wanted to become somebody. In that way, my siblings can live an easy life, without some rich snobs telling them what to do, and what to say. How to dress and when to speak. I lived that life. That was how I realized how irksome it was, and how I refused to let it happen to my siblings.”
You looked down to your feet, as your shoes reflected your face. All the treatments you received to retain your youthful beauty, but yet you hardly felt that your younger self was with you. Your younger self wouldn’t make that many excuses. They weren’t avoidant — they faced all obstacles head first with a feisty spirit. But nowadays, even a confrontation from a past lover can get you this upset.
“It wasn’t a part of my plan to be pinned down by marriage. I was just taken aback by the sudden shift of our relationship, so I left. I worked for a few more years, then I received a marriage proposal from them. Old money, goal-oriented, business-minded. I knew two things when I saw them. That marrying them means that I could finally retire from all that social-climbing and establish myself among the elites. And marrying them means that my siblings have a greater chance to become successful. It would be a great investment, really,” you explained.
“But I didn’t like them that much.” you reassured him. “They were good, but only enough to make me feel wanted. To them, I was just an accessory for him to flaunt off to his rich friends. They lie sometimes, even to me. I can see it right through them,” you admitted. “They lie to feel respected and liked. To fit in, sometimes. And I guess whatever they say about marriage is true. You will slowly become them, whether you like it or not.”
“So let me get this straight. He didn’t teach you to curse, but he did teach you to lie so you could look better than everyone?” Gallagher joked bitterly. He looked at you up and down, “Yeah, I see it now.”
You decided to ignore him.
“I liked you because unlike other people I have met, you were truthful. You didn’t treat me like a sweet candy meant to be tasted, or an object that was meant to be possessed. You were honest and you were genuine. I knew it by the first time we just met, when you dissed me about my drink order,” you laughed a bit. “What was it? My first order? Oh, dearest Xipe, I think I forgot about it.”
“Mungbean Soda. With that distressed look on your face, I knew that a few shots of Stellar Champagne was all you needed to keep yourself composed while dealing with those aristocrats,” he answered.
“So then I decided to take your recommendation.”
“Which was Rose In Rain. A classy and sweet choice, but strong enough to make you forget all your miseries for the night.”
“And it was delicious. That tipsiness made me realize how kissable you were, especially under that dimmed, yellow light,” you finished your sentence.
“Am I still kissable now?” he teased, as he blew the smoke from his mouth. When he took notice of your irked glare, he raised your hands up in defense. “Hey, ‘just confirming.”
“Annoyingly kissable,” you replied.
You watched the direction of his eyes fall to your lips. And just by a simple stare, you could feel all the blood from your feet and legs go up to your face, making your cheeks and neck feel hot.
When he removed the cigarette from his lip, he slowly leaned forward. Your breath hitched up in response, he noticed. So he stopped.
What filled in the air was the strange silence, the acrid smoke and your guilt.
“What’s stopping you, then?” he asked softly.
Honestly, it was a difficult question to answer. Could it be that it had been an hour past eight. Or it could have been the wedding ring around your finger. Or it could have been because the way your stomach churned at the bitter smell of his cigarette reminded you of why you left Gallagher that day.
“I don’t know,” but your eyes told a different story.
His hand reached out for you, and as he interlocked your fingers with him, he played with the ring, twisting and turning it. But he knew what was your answer when your fingers curled in your palm, suggesting that you refused to let go of the ring.
“Oh, but I think I know,” he answered.
A worried sigh came out of your mouth. “I can’t leave all of this behind. I climbed too high, I’m not sure how to get down. If I choose to go down with you now, the fall would be too painful. And I don’t even know if I could survive through it.”
There was too much running in his head. His thoughts fly from one extreme to another. It was impressive that you could easily turn a decisive, composed man into such a mess: where he struggled to feel pity for you or just kill you off on the spot.
“Why didn’t you want to be with me?” he asked, losing the childish accents in his voice.
“Marrying you was a choice, marrying them, however, was a necessity,” you answered. The softness in your voice felt like a sharp piercing through his heart. “A bird can’t be with a dog. That’s unnatural.”
Quietude witnessed the way you looked at each other longingly. While your heart weighed with guilt and shame, his mind was congested with frustration and anger. But yet, both secretly longed for each other.
“But I refuse to accept it as the truth. No, not when I keep on missing you for all these years.”
Before he could come up with a cheeky reply, you shushed him from his sarcastic remarks by resting your hand on his cheek, bringing his face to yours. Your soft lips pressed against his bloodless and dry ones. The heat from a sinful kiss engulfed the two of you closely, burning the part of your skin on your back that he gently touched. His hand rested on your lower back, bringing you closer to him. You could feel his beard tickling your chin, and he could smell your perfume in his nostrils. The bitter taste of his alcohol that he downed melted in your tongue, causing you to groan in delight.
The kiss lasted a few minutes, but you wished it could go on for hours.
“For the last time,” you reminded him, your thumb rubbing his cheek in circles. “There will be no longer us after this.”
You stepped away from him, as your wings shyly closed your mouth while you were cleaning off your lips with the back of your hands.
“You sure?” he asked breathily, his pale lips now stained with a crimson-colored lipstick. He might have to lie to everyone that he was drinking too many bottles in the Soulglad in the past few days (though Soulglad was clearly orange.)
“Yes,” you confirmed. You took a few steps backwards. With your hands gathered together, you gracefully bowed your head towards him. An act of courtesy which also served to restore your damaged dignity as a married person from an honorable family.
“Goodnight, Gallagher.”
You waited for his response, but all he did was stare at you. The light from the lamp above you started flickering, before it completely went out.
Was it longing on his face? It was difficult to make out his expression, especially when the shadow covered him.
You guessed that it was hard to bid goodbyes after such a kiss.
But for some reason, you felt shivers running down your spine. Beads of sweat were forming on your neck from the cold. Your mind was sending rapid signals to your legs: alerting it to run immediately.
Though your sudden instinct to run was scaring you, you calmed down your nerves by guessing that it could have been because of the kiss.
Your thoughts were quietened when you saw the shadow of Gallagher rolling his thumb against the metal wheel of his lighter that he pulled out of his pocket.
Yes, yes. It must have been the kiss.
You were scared of your partner leaving you. Or Sunday being humiliated at his work because of his older sibling’s infidelity with some member from the Bloodhound family. And it could be because that person happened to be his colleague who kept on riling him up at work. Or maybe you were afraid that your scandal could create a blemish on Robin’s reputation as a celebrity. Now the whole world assumed that she was a dirty popstar.
But it didn’t seem that your body was agreeing with any of those guesses.
Gallagher’s frustrated grunt at the stubborn lighter shushed your thoughts again.
You came to notice that your white wings were quickering badly.
There was too much happening at the moment. You were so overwhelmed by the urge to flight, that you felt that you could vomit on the spot.
Suddenly, a thought came to you.
His cigarette was already lit up. So what could be the reason why he pulled out his lighter?
The flame from the lighter brought some light to his face, but the sight of the man you used to love led to you gasping in horror. It was gloomy with burning hatred, the glare alone could almost kill you on the spot.
But before you could ask, a mysterious sound of ringing pierced through your eardrums. It belonged to no other but Memory Zone Meme, a secret from The Family that were kept away from you. You could feel it slowly spread its wings, which resembled the terrible noise of bone-cracking.
You gathered the courage to turn around. But it perceived the sudden movement of its prey as an attempted fight. Feeling threatened, it stabbed its stingers through your body. The ground was splattered with a mysterious blue liquid, followed by the sound of your wedding ring rolling and spinning in circles.
Your purse that was hanging around your arm was now on the other side of the ground.
The outside of the dark bar that was filled with heated arguments and sweet confessions earlier died out, with only silence remaining.
Well, only for a few minutes.
A melodious voice of Robin was heard, muffled by the zipped purse. Your phone rang a few times, playing the same music. It appeared that the caller was worried. Or angry.
Gallagher crouched down, unzipping your purse. He groaned in repulse when the blue liquid stuck to his skin, as he wiped it down on his pants. He took out your phone, as the name of your spouse filled his vision.
Your phone was flooded with notifications of your worried partner, asking about your whereabouts.
Ah, you were supposed to be home by 8 PM. He looked at the time, it was already 9:30 PM.
In your defense, he would also be sneaking around to kiss a drinksmith at the bar if he had an overbearing partner like yours.
He thought of sharing the news of your infidelity.
But then, he scrapped the thought. He wanted to respect your wishes. Something about how the story of tonight was going to destroy Sunday and Robin’s image. Or something similar to that. He didn’t remember much because he hardly cared about your siblings.
It was not like all your siblings had the time to process your death, especially when they were next in line.
So he came up with a different plan. Your password was easy to guess. It wasn’t difficult with the help of your maid who used to work under him.
A flash from the camera was heard. The phone captured the scene of a mysterious liquid splattered across the ground, with the gold-colored wedding ring shining brightly under the light, with some being covered by the puddle of your remains.
Along with the picture, he texted, “Not coming home tonight, sorry.”
He later pressed the send button, before tossing the crushed phone into the trash.
The plan was to kill you off in your house. But you made it easy for him instead. He was amused, really.
But his amusement was short-lived. He was disgusted at the sight of your wedding ring, which stared back at him menacingly. He kicked the ring into the trash as well. He wasn’t an expert in the art of interior designing, but he hated the ring being near his bar. It was ugly, hardly matched the aesthetics of his business.
But your finger wouldn’t be too lonely without the ring. Not when he still had the same wedding band from 13 years ago in his pocket right now. What was left for him was to wear it around your finger in the real world, then he could truly move on from his past. Just as you asked him to.
And just like that, his mission was done.