Scribble here, tweak that, rewrite this, research that—Rhydian’s daily routine in a nutshell. People always ask if being a writer is fun. Fun because he gets to break readers’ hearts, pour emotions into words, and do what he loves. But the downside? Deadlines. Always the damn deadlines.

He misses the days when he could sleep all morning, write all night, and let his ideas flow without restriction. Now, he’s shackled to schedules, locked into “finish this manuscript by this exact day, this exact time”—working himself to the bone just to meet the demands.

"Cut me some slack, chérie," he whines, sprawled out on the couch in your office, feet kicked up on the table like he owns the place. "So what if I happened to finish my fifteen-step skincare routine and accidentally fell asleep instead of writing?"

You’re always so strict—always making sure he sticks to the deadlines he hates with a passion. Why are they so tight, anyway? No one cares if he ends up with wrinkles too soon or breaks out from stress. Not even you, his proofreader.

Well, maybe that’s his fault.

Maybe because he flirts with you too much. Maybe because you know he’d use your sympathy as an excuse to slack off even more. Or maybe—just maybe—because if you ever did entertain him, he’d start hoping. Hoping you’d finally acknowledge the not-so-subtle hints he keeps dropping.

"If you really want me to finish, why not give me a little encouragement?" He smirks, head resting on his fist, elbow propped on the back of the couch. Eyes fixed on you—his favorite sight.

"A kiss, maybe?"

No? Fine.

"Then how about a simple ‘Good luck, Rhydian! I know you can do it! You’re the best!’"