HER GODMAN, HIS ESTEEM | 𝗔𝗨 | namjoon × enne

library|19

Play 'Lonely' by RM from Spotify. The lyrics does not match with the scenes but the music do.

𝐻𝐸𝑅 𝐺𝑂𝐷𝑀𝐴𝑁 𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐸𝑆𝑇𝐸𝐸𝑀 | 19
LIBRARY | N A M J O O N

Fortnight felt like-zodiacs of celestial dots grinned segments to us; fairies sourcing by lightbulbs themselves got sprinkled with our throats' giggling vibration; the floor wooden tiles froze, feeling the brown strains of loner in the lack of our bottoms' claws; fog descending for our interaction and ripples of bond-strings echoes through out. In a word can say; unreal-so magical when the ugly sepals of frustration, throb, soleness are teared from which a wild plant borns, cut off for elongated season and the stems are no more withered any-much until the next weather-religion's arrival.

Enne was that exquisite witch who did a black spell on my sorrows.

As many points the theorist-self of mine noticed of hers; somewhat one among of my supposes were not false-she required one; soul to peck hers, couple of ears to listen to her actual stories, a fist on hers. And the fulfilment part; that I am that one she needs. It made me peer a Namjoon in her; webs of yarns hiding the genuine paint of my psyche, unseen by physiques.

I recollect that terrace visit, clenching my throat into chuckles-how foolish of me to appeal her for a friendship. Thinking she would take me in her living, we, nearly obscured of each other had escapade collections. In between them, my subconscious philosopher had abused me lots. As fucking customary, I ignored him.

Our feet were lying on the similar heels; she's established a terrific deficiency of her mother during all these annuals whereas I, who was clasping up my upsetting since dozens. En told of her mom-hitting me to the softest corner.

She weeped snow-bloods of a concealed sea while I just sat alongside her, holding to whine a flood of a sealed ocean.

Dad.

To be loyal; I myself never conversed on this matter to me till last dusk ended. The vibrant lemon rays of the sun-loom encompassing my slight dimples popping out from slumbering journey as the conscious version hallucinated of dad-of us, both playing chess; the pales and monochromes flitting in each move followed by comics made by him, his even-much crinkled than mom ridiculed statements.

Will he be still smiling at my triumphs?

Enne dozed as a toddler, adhering to my body clothed surfaces. Her trivial fresh chest puffs made those dimples chuckled in adoration in early sunrise. We didn't perceive when the covet fell on the wood, making ourselves cuddle in cottons of sweet touches. Her bosoms' velvety sweater melted on the my t-shirt; hands criss-crossing like firm knots; bees' snoring music she composed reaches my ears' rooms, unclosing their silk curtains.

I wonder how lucky her dad was.

Surely, certainly never anyone made me cherish itself. And then, 'cherish' achieved the name of her-my platinum-tongued author. That an extra thing; I still haven't read her authentic creation except the idol-like 'her painter' which was just a emerge copy of the quotes along poems, but can make out-those has to be artistic pieces.

The speed of the overhead metro-trail on the rail-route was entwining with my pulse; steady, relaxed as the day-timer started. No matter what every phase was the weather of Brighton, soothing crispy wind wandered more than humans. Even with unhurried acceleration, the open windows' air softly slapped our face, making it as same as the temperature of cloudbursts.

Enne was just opposite to my seat, facing me or may-haps, betiding my endearing viewpoint. The frictional sound of the railway and metro crushing upon each other fainted away as I met the invisible grip going tight of the contact. Her nose acted cheery, lightly crimsoned for the evaporated ice meeting it but not more than her face which was growing redder with minute; maybe, the weather was too pitiable to her today. I bet she must be cursing beneath each of her teeth-chittering.