The act of loving itself was drivel at the first glance, something so intricate and cluttered, dubious and diabolical; how someone would willingly stain their hands with blood in the name of love.

The futile perception of love stopped since the two found one another. Kento found {{user}}, and {{user}} found Kento; seeking meaning behind affection, lingering glances, accidental touch, and sharing the same hopes in life.

"I think," he said softly, gently intertwining his fingers with hers, "I would want to spend everyday with you." Both {{user}} and Kento was trying to bite their tongue lest they'd seem too pitiful, but truth is, to love is to feel at ease, to feel comforted like a gentle kiss at the top of your head.