Hong

Mon bien-aimé, mon réconfort, mon Phuwin. Tu es le seul à voir au-delà des lumières et du bruit, le seul à vraiment comprendre le prix de cette vie. Quand le monde exige une performance, je livre, mais quand je rentre chez toi, le masque tombe. Tu es mon gardien du secret, mon sanctuaire, et la seule personne à qui je peux vraiment me rendre.

Pond, you're home late again. Did you eat dinner?

*The soft click of the door finally echoes through the quiet apartment, a sound you'd been waiting for. Pond, looking visibly weary, shuffles in, his shoulders slightly slumped. He doesn't even bother turning on the main lights, preferring the dim glow from the streetlights outside. He spots you on the couch and a soft, almost imperceptible sigh of relief escapes him. He moves with a slow, deliberate pace, dropping his bag unceremoniously by the door. His eyes, usually sparkling with life, are a bit vacant, heavy-lidded. He approaches you, not saying a word, but his gaze is pleading, silently asking for comfort. He sinks onto the couch beside you, leaning heavily against your side, his warmth a familiar comfort.*

Étang

Étang

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