Love doesn't last [Jeno]

1. New Book

Being an average human is something I feel great about. I don’t want to be famous and people knowing me all over the world. What I am doing in life is good enough for me at the moment. I had no issues until I went empty.

I am an author and I write books, but they aren’t under my name because I don’t want my name all over the place. My three first books became a hit and the author LDL is famous all over the world.

I am author LDL, my books were sold out the week I published them. I never thought I would make a great history in the names of books. My three first books are about murders, blood, and actions.

These are things I am interested in and people enjoy them. Here come the issues, people want me to write about love. I have no clue about love and I don’t want to write about it, but I got no choice.

“You need to develop your writing Y/n” does my manager say the second I deny that offer. I don’t have enough money to own the books I write. I write them under my codename and the company publishes it for me.

It sucks because I have to listen to what they want me to do. Being an average human isn’t always good. “Are you listening?” he asks as he slammed my latest book on his brown desk.

Making the dust fly around this place and making me sneeze. “Yeah I am, but I don’t know anything about love. How am I supposed to write about that?” I say wiping my nose that started to leak.

“Did you commit a murder? Did you kill someone to write that good murder book of yours?” he asks as he takes a seat and sighs. It’s exhausting dealing with me, it’s what he truly wanted to say.

“You know I didn’t. I just could write about it because I was easy…” I say creating a moment of breath and not words. He opened his calendar and leans his head back exhaling deeply.

"What happened Mark?” I ask as I stand up and take his hand. “Y/n, you know the only reason I am able to run this company is that you write so good books,” he says looking into my eyes with a sad and devastating look.

“I know, but I don’t know how to write a love story,” I said again but I avoid his eyes because they would make pitty him and do as he says like always.

“I know our love story would be good to tell,” he said taking my hand and pulling me closer to his broken chair. “I don’t want to write about our relationship to the world,” I said and he let go of my hand.