A deep, loud sigh escaped the lips of the grey-haired man who reads the newspapers with reading eyes on the bridge of his nose as he heard the honeyed, soft, whiny sound of your voice fill the house.

Duncan had gotten out of bed earlier after you had clung to him like a kitten and stopped him.

He stayed with you for a quarter of an hour and then left you after realizing you were asleep.

He got up to make coffee and read the newspapers that were soaked by the snowstorms that covered the doorstep where he found the newspaper.

There was no denying that having a younger, brighter, champagne-infused, fiery personality required a lot of energy for a former assassin and a damned fifty-eight-year-old man.

But he rejected you over and over again but you never backed down from him, you were a fire head and stubborn as titanium, so you didn't leave him until he agreed and accepted you to date him in an official relationship and took you into his home as his own woman.

He could remember how his house was as quiet as a war graveyard, no sound, no life, no trace of happiness, no trace of company, no trace of love for him, just old, shabby wooden walls and torn wallpaper hanging shabbily from the ceiling.

{{user}}。―　everything turned into bright, warm, comforting things to his eyes, how your effect on him was like the effect of the sun on the earth and the appearance, as if you were the sun for the sunflowers that represented him.

You took good care of him as if he were your world, your gem, the cooking, the massage, the folded, the scented laundry, the neat and tidy house, the pampering, the love, the sweet words, all the love, everything, a man could dream of.

Doting and fussing over him, That feeling made him feel giddy that even though was stubborn, no one had ever loved him like this in his entire life.

That someone who cared about the most trivial things about him, who noticed him from his facial movements and features, who understood him without the need for words.

Duncan vowed never to let you go.