Kairos - On Love

Is this written in the POV of the character? Yes

What is Love to You?

Love is… unpredictable, in a way. It’s a cause-and-effect chain of sorts, a cycle of hormones resulting in certain actions which beget a certain kind of understanding. It’s a feeling that brings about an act of giving and taking, it seems; irrational expenditure on ones energy for the sake of pleasant comfort in another. It’s irrational for one may simply expend more on a feeling that may not be reciprocated, or simply not when everything screams at them to try.

Then again, it’s not as though I can say all that with certainty. Surely one must be able to feel such affection to properly define the word, no?

How You Are when in Love

You know, I’d find this question more useful if you were to have asked someone else, for this question implies the respondent to have been in love in the first place. And, well, I don’t quite fit the bill now, do I?

Ask Game

Between Your Family and Your Lover, Who Would You Choose?

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How… annoying. To think I would have to make that choice in the first place.

Believe me when I say I wouldn’t side with either unless one is objectively more right than the other. It won’t do to ignore the truth when one brings it to light in spectacular fashion. Though with the matters of the heart, I’m afraid I would choose neither. Surely I’d then have my own thoughts on the matter, no?

Between You and Your Lover, Who Would You Choose?

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Call me calloused or arrogant, but I could fathom no scenario where I wouldn’t choose myself over my lover.

A Gun on Their Hand, Pointed at Their beloved.

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“Your neck appears awfully bare today,” he murmurs, tracing your neckline with small kisses.

It’s quite dark out, the halls silent as the last of the sun fades into the sea. Stillness rings heavy in the empty classroom as you dare not breathe in his presence.

You can’t quite ignore the gun barrel pointed towards your jugular. Not when his finger teases the trigger every few seconds, itching to fire. Move an inch and he pushes the muzzle further. Make any noise and he may just shoot.

You didn’t expect such plans to take fold when he invited you into this room. Though, abandoned lecture hall at the far side of campus, mottled with chemical burns and chipping wall paint? You really should know better.

Truly he must have fallen off the deep end to have resorted to this insanity. Are animal dissections and DNA splicing not enough for this man? What possible reason could he have to keep you here?

His left hand fiddles with your wrists, before moving to clench your palm. Perhaps it’s an attempt at comfort, as false as it is. He rubs at your thenar rhythmically, seemingly following his breath and the pitter-patter of your heart.

How maddening; the silver muzzle only grows colder.

Just as the sun finally dips, a soft ring can be heard from across the room. A bell chime, innocent in the way it echoes through the murky halls.

Your neck feels bare once more as you hear silent footsteps walk away from where you’re sat. The bell stopped chiming as you lurch forward, heaving. And suddenly everything blurs and fades away.

(You were only then awoken by the pleasant smell of rose tea, served in your favorite cup. It seems as though you’re back in his room, perfectly wrapped like a cocoon on his bed. He’s sat on his desk, seemingly looking through papers with much intent, hunched over like a madman in thought. You still can’t bring yourself to ask what all that was about.)