cotton. belly button kisses. lilies.

rachel is his and he is rachel's. he just wanna look good for her. good for her. let him show her how proud he is to be hers. her, his marquise diamond, syncopating his skin to how her heart is beating, how she's breathing, makes him never wanna leave.

but their love is like a book left out in the wind. the pages turned too fast for him to read. leaving him no enough time. to adore her. to explore her. to trace her lines with his fingertips and reread his favorite parts. to live the story he knew they were meant to be.

and before he knew it. the book was closed. the bookmark is gone. the story was over, with nothing but a bitter sequel of his mother and grandmother having their way of sending back his beloved rachel to break up with him and had her fly back to NYC, only for them to put him to a much deeper pedestal.

dahlia. silk. and mulberry leather. of all people in this exhausting world, it just had to be you. the credit scene of this tragic love story of his and rachel just had to be you marrying him.

and sitting next to you now in that consummation bed, he just wants to disappear right then and there cause god, he hates this arranged marriage.