roses are red
agapanthus are blue
i know this may sound cheesy
but i like you
accept my heart
it was always yours
please say yes
or my heart may be sore

It took two words from Edward to Krystal.

"Hi"

Krystal looked up from the book she's been reading and saw Edward stood in front of her.

Krystal's eyes darted from side to side. No one's around; well, not around her, nor around him. Unmistakably, Edward La was talking to Krystal Kim.

"Um ... hi?"

Edward smiled, a lopsided one. Then, "Bye."

"....bye?" Krystal was frowning hard, but Edward only nodded contented with the confused goodbye as he walked away, hands shoved deep into his pocket while whistling.

At night before Krystal closed her eyes, she faintly remembered the song Edward whistled to; it was a soundtrack to Pirates of the Caribbean, wasn't it?

I met him through a mutual friend. I don’t know what attracted me in the first place and I don’t know what made me fall for him. I don’t know if it were his eyes, his lips, his voice. All I know is that as soon he touched me, as soon as he embraced me, I was his forever.
He makes me feel safe and like I can do anything.
When he first kissed me I could hear my own heart beat and all I could do was close my eyes. I could feel his hot breath against my skin, and before I knew it, his velvet lips were against mine. Time stopped and everything was perfect.

Hes perfect.

““You still love him,” he says, half question, half demand.
“Of course I don’t.” She replies.

But then part of her wonders whose arms she’d run into if she still had the choice.

“You still think of him,” he whispers, when she’s turned off the lights and lies there trying not to give her thoughts away.

“Go to sleep,” she says.

But when her eyes are closed and she drifts between consciousness, she swears it’s his voice she hears and his fingers tracing the rise and fall of her ribs.

“Do you miss him?” He asks.

“No.” And it’s not a lie, not really.

But part of her still remembers how he made her smile and how she buried her 2am laughter into his chest. Part of her still questions the possibility of seeing him again, and she thinks, maybe just once, for old time’s sake.

“Would you go back?” He finally asks.

And she can’t help herself.

“Yes.” She says, “yes.””

“I’m cold.” James glanced down at her words, but Irene was already moving, stepping around him. “Make room.”

“Wh-” before he could protest, Irene’s arms had wrapped around his middle, and her hands had slid into the pockets of his jacket, joining his own. he exhaled sharply, his breath misting in front of him.

“Should’ve been more prepared for the weather,” he told her cheekily, his fingers curling around her (much colder) hands. James felt her cheek press between his shoulder blades as she mumbled in reply.

“It’s supposed to be spring by now.”