snippets of VCY

i vowed i will always be yours ('cause we survived the great war)

She's awake first this time.

In the soft embrace of morning haze, her gaze lingers upon the man whose arms envelop her waist, his breath a gentle rhythm and for once, sleeping well and peacefully.

She smiles.

She doesn't even need to check the calendar, the date or the time.

The faint rays from the white curtains of the sun fall on his face casting a gentle glow on his features as she softly weaves her fingers through the strands of hair that rest upon his forehead.

The crashing of waves is inaudible to her as the irregular thump thump of her heartbeat succumb to a more profound symphony-a tale of them.

His warmth remains unchanged, a familiar flame that defies the darkness.

She recalls when she ran to embrace him in the tunnel aiming to sought solace in his arms, heedless of the crimson on his hands and the evidence of violence surrounding them-the massacre of those who deserved it.

The symphony of moments—the warmth, the vague memory of his blood-stained hands, the whispered justice—coalesces into a singular truth, today is the 7th of July.

An ancient tale and a promise-his promise of returning converged upon this day.

In those few years of his initial absence-this day made her yearn the most, his whispered quotations ringing in her ears.

The day she lived for the hope of it all the most.

And now, the day she celebrates not only as their anniversary but as a celebration of him always being the steadfast keeper of his words.

She's lost in the memories, waves of nostalgia drowning her in a pleasurable way when he stirs awake from his slumber, eyes fluttering open, hands tightening on her waist and a smile like the crack of dawn unfurls on his lips as he hums in satisfaction.

She shifts closer to him and he greets her morning, voice hoarse and warm just the way she likes.

"Buongiorno Cara. Did you sleep well?"

She reciprocates his smile with her own and it answers his question wordlessly.

And then because he is her twin flame, sharing half her soul, he can feel it too.

"A decade has officially passed of us together."

"And your promise."

"I didn't keep it well, did I?"

She slaps him on his shoulder in response-always taking the blame of everything on himself.

This old cornsalad of hers.

"I came back and took you away." He admits, as he caresses her hair.

"You took me home." She tells him.

"To our Jipuragi and to a place we can be us."

He hums.

They both fall silent, basking in each other's presence, enjoying the warmth like satiated cats.

The silence breaks when there's a knock on the door.

Cha Young knows who it is.

Their youngest daughter.

"Papa!" They hear her say.

"Oh yes, your cuccoila's call, jagiya. I have a video conference with Mr. Nam and others today."

"It's the weekend, Cara."

"Does the weekend stop the evil?" And he grins, shaking his head and kissing her softly.

"Papa! It's six, you promised!"

They break apart.

"Papa's getting up, cucciola." He lets her know.

"Keep your promise, Papa and get up now." Cha Young pats him on his back.

There's another knock, accompanied by a silent "Papa."

"I am leaving for the docks with Zio Luca."

There's their son.

"Where's Vianne?" Their eldest daughter.

"She left with Zio Marco to check the vineyards."

"I told her to." Vincenzo asks her wordless question.

He kisses her one more time, before moving out of the bed.

"We'll have breakfast at the balcony, bring her there after you're done with horse-riding."

"Si, Cara."

Life has never been this better.