He tapped at the back of his phone absentmindedly (a habit he'd picked up after watching the CEO do it one too many times) as he waited for his friend, if you could call her that. Maybe she was more of an associate, a connection to the rest of the idol world. But he was about to buy her a coffee or two, so he figured she fell somewhere under the realm of friend status. Flipping his phone back over to the front, he puffed out his cheeks, releasing the air with a long sigh upon seeing he hadn't received the 'I'm here' text. Patience had never been one of his many trained skills, but trust me, he's working on it.
51. Our muses are forced into marriage, but slowly realise that although they may not love each other, there is no one they would rather spend their life with
█ ▌ slender fingers tap impatiently against the mahogany tabletop, nails vigorously drumming at an inclined speed. one would think he’d get used to it, the ridiculous amount of time the woman places in perfecting her nonnative beauty, quixotic in her own silly belief yet completely unrealistic. he supposes she has ever right— eyes that shines with the whole galaxy beneath her dark orbs, unwritten rules of grace and beauty between creaking bones and long strands of tresses. complaints should be the last thing that comes out of his mouth as he’s bequeathed— blessed, she thinks— with a wife to be but he can’t help but think otherwise of the unfortunate circumstances his mother has placed him in.
their relationship consists of differences along a drawn line that serves as helpful reminder that everything is all a conspiracy. yet somehow over time, the very same differences they ratted on in each is what made them exactly the same. how dreadful the two to be in a forced marriage, intolerable acts of deception by both families who claimed to strive for the best of their children.
waiting, rewinding, changing, and recharging, all these were a symphony he has memorized by heart. step by step he slowly began to see what his mother sees in her, a gem amidst a jar of stones, ephemeral in transit of ruins. he doesn’t love her, or so he thinks. but he doesn’t think he’d be happier than he is now if it was anyone else.
❝ how long have you been standing there ? you made me wait for so long. ❞
he rises from his seat and offers an arm for her to hold, a routine of theirs similar to that of a show. a show for the whole world, to lure attraction to a perished love that never existed in the first place. or maybe a love blossoming, thomas gives it all to time and patience to do its work.
"Ah.." Peter’s lips part slightly, tongue pressing against the back of his upper front teeth as he tries to decide what to respond with. "I.. No, I haven’t" He finally admits, the long column of his neck prickling with a pinkish hue. The man hadn’t ever even thought of how busy a manager’s life must be, until he had decided to help her with her errands out of both curiosity and boredom. "I— I’ve never been responsible for keeping someone in line.. It takes a lot more effort than I imagined" He admits sheepishly, lifting a large hand to rub lightly at the nape of his neck.
' The broken mp3 player on the ground was totally not Kahi's fault but since she was the last to stay, it had stayed on her shoulders. She didn't know to whom it belonged but she felt like she would hear an earful. She sighed and picked the device up, pushing the buttons a few times just as the door opened. "Is this yours?" She lifted the mp3.
