It was like drinking something both hot and cold at the same time, the coffee house vanished (wah, like romance novel like that) and nothing else mattered except him leaning toward me, lips pressed against mine. Then, I think my brain started to dribble out my ears. It's a wonder I managed to recover and hold an at least half-way decent conversation after.

An hour later, we went to catch a movie. Aargh.

Actually, this situation of him being overseas is quite ideal. Gives me a week to fangirl him out of my system and the rest to hear sappy love songs while passing by stores and form an honest opinion of them. Interestingly, I still think they're complete rot. Which is a good sign that my head is still screwed on right. (Right?) So by the time he gets back, I should be more or less sufficiently adjusted.

That's my theory, anyway.

He smells like Kenzo and tastes like chocolate. He's incredibly patient with my stupidity. He's charming, cultured and sprouts the occasional French phrase. He's expressive and I always know what he's talking about. He's witty and is as pretentious as I am (you might not want to hang out with us, for your own sake). He's also nicely random, sometimes.

oya koibito