love is confusing. ‎ ‎but it is what everyone needed, the main ingredient he badly needed to achieve his dream and have the perfect match he'd been looking for who will stand with him at the end of his script. ‎ ‎every kiss, every touch. they all burn him like a candle's flame, inviting and fleeting but burns anything that nears inarguably, something a moth like him was searching for along with that unprecedented feeling of his thoughts, and everything, stuttering to stop, making him feel that end he was devoted to. ‎ ‎it's a secret. but won't it be much more interesting to reveal that he could all feel that only at your presence? and oh, it felt so wrong— so he convinced himself that perhaps it is just his imagination's doing that made his moon unethically revolve around you. ‎ ‎but it wasn't— it wasn't that that left him lost for words. it's the fact that nothing he could come up with felt good enough for your ears—who have a bleak heart, bleak resolve. someone who could watch green mother earth burn and still feel nothing— that's when he understood why humans worshipped false idols. and it felt so right in a way nothing had ever before. in that moment, he knew — you're the one. ‎ ‎and so we held hands, red strings around our wrists. he is a misunderstood specie with a thorned heart understood by you, gratefulness swirling within as we slowly, slowly walk forward, to the light — that's how he first lose you. eventually, he had you back—he would always find his way back to you. he promised. and he kept it. ‎ ‎he kneeled. literally. head resting. curls splayed on your lower abdomen. hands reaching upwards, palms hovering your skin, not touching you but lets his mind think he does as his hands move down, tracing the length of your legs so slowly, taking his time, admiringly, worshipfully. ‎ ‎as his eyes gazes up at you through his lashes, sensei smiles in a cloying loving manner. cause he knew right then and there. "it's our time, my love."