He was a patient man.
He wouldn't mind to wait for the right time to reap what he thought he deserved.
He had lived in the dark for far too long, that happiness was such a foreign notion for him.
Until you crossed his path and awakened something dee...
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It was such a busy morning, and you regretted everything that went so wrong by the time you were awakened from your dreamless sleep the previous night.
You regretted the bus that left just a few seconds before you succesfully stepped your feet on the empty stop a few blocks from your house, you watched its departure with heaving chest from the sprinting. The next bus arrived twenty minutes later, and you inwardly grimaced at your watch.
You regretted your neglect to bring your tutu for the rehearsal, because you were too occupied in munching the sandwich your grandma had pressed you to eat before your morning session start, while you let your mind went blank, not really focused on the things that should had been your priority.
You regretted of sleeping a bit late last night, because you couldn't stop yourself to practice the arabesque move many times until your back had to endure a sharp ache, driven by the nearing nervous breakdown that your new instructor brought about almost everyday.
There were so many regrets in your mind, it were all over the place, you didn't pay attention to your direction, when you bumped onto someone at the hallway leading to the theater room.
You tumbled unceremoniously with bottom dipped first to the ground, your bag and half-consumed bread fell scattered on the floor.
There was a deep baritone voice that drew your attention, and when you looked at the face whose hand was extended to you, you almost gasped in reflex. He would be a perfect fit to play the role of Prince Désiré in the show you've been practicing for weeks, even the prince wouldn't be as captivating as him.
"You should be more careful."
The man crouching in front of you was probably the most beautiful man you had ever seen, not many boys you knew with that look like him.
But he certainly wasn't a boy. He was a fine man, with traits on his features almost feminine and delicate, his define cheekbones and sharp projected nose, shaded by perfect slightly arched thick eyebrows. A knot of his fringe covering part of his forehead, his eyes glimmered with curiosity, and from the color of his complexion and facial structures, you could tell he was not an Italian.
