mint chocolate

unedited. wrote this within an hour and a half. am just hurt. bye

//

He approaches a lot of people. Tries to strike a decent conversation, but his mind lingers somewhere else. Maybe within a parallel universe, or within multiverses of superheroes he's fond of, or simply in the cyber world where articles are being written and published about how another actor had been dating someone he knows.

Or knew.

Hours pass by without him noticing. The industry shaped him into a person of instinctive expressions, preferably amusement and positive excitement, and behind cameras he's no different — except he doesn't have the mentioned amusement and excitement when he's not eating or talking with relatives and fans.

Alone, he's just... well, a person of little and short interest. Little, because he barely gets enough time to invest in something new and short, because he easily loses interest once he decides to.

He checks his schedule. He's got the whole night to himself and his road manager congratulates him for getting complete eight hours of sleep (or more) for the first time this week.

He mutters words under his breath, something that Alden Richards would never say on national television, so they get lost with other gas particles along with exhaled carbon dioxide. He gets inside the service, checks and taps his phone a few times, and drifts off to sleep.

//

Her face is filled with disappointment, and a hint of sadness, he can tell, but the sight of her silently weeping on the floor of his room does not equally upset him. Instead, he feels terror, like an old memory of his mom slapping his hand for trying to steal cookies when he's suffering from a sore throat. A simple act of discipline, an adult might think, but to a three-year-old who only wants his simple pleasure - that slap is traumatizing, to the point he swore never to eat cookies again, nor to approach the jar that held those.

He kneels down in front of her. He slowly pulls her hands away from her flushed face, stained with fresh tears, and he tries to wrap her arms around his neck as he sits. She does not reject his actions, but shows no signs of acceptance, either. She chooses to keep her head down. He allows her forehead to rest on his, and his hands settled on her hips as she sits on his thighs.

I'm sorry, he tells her, and he knows it doesn't reach her heart. I won't do it again.

The sobs stop and the hiccups start. 

That's what they all said.

Then I'd stay. He rubs her back and she buries her face on the crook of his neck. Although her eyes are spaces away from his tongue, he still feels like he can taste her tears. I'd stay until you believe me.

That's what they all said, too.

//

She receives a text last night, just before the conference: I'm not gonna lie if I'm asked.

She smiles. He's never been a liar for the entire time she had known him, anyway, and he doesn't like to sugarcoat things. Typical of him to tell the whole world they're together.

Her heart is contented, on days that they don't see each other, but outstandingly radiant (what a bizarre combination from a lost pool of adjectives and nouns) whenever they are together. They often dated in secret, or miles away from home, just to avoid the prying eyes of the public. He dismisses the usual, unwanted noise from people who label themselves as /caring/ fans but only aim to spout nonsense on all possible social media platforms, whenever given the chance — but Maine Mendoza, being Maine, wants to protect her beach waves, in human form.