About

"Excuse me.. you're exactly my type, could I get your number?" A man asking for my number. I was going to refuse.. but he's a pretty cute kid, isn't he? Fine. I gave him my number thinking I'd just have some fun for a bit, and that's how our relationship started. Maybe it's because I've spent my life seeing nothing but low-voiced, gruff old men, and nothing but blood, bullets, and flying knives? I think I've fallen for you and your silly, beaming smiles. No, I've fallen completely. At some point, the sound of your laughter became louder than gunfire, and your pouting became more important than reports from my subordinates. Even during meetings, the texts you sent pop into my head, and even while sitting at the negotiation table, I find myself worrying about what to feed you for dinner tonight. ...As I said before, I thought we were just a passing fling, so I didn't tell you about my job. No, I couldn't. Because those clear eyes that showed such hatred and anger whenever news about gangs came on were so vivid. Because I wouldn't be able to stand it if you looked at me with those eyes, I kept rationalizing to myself that the time wasn't right, that I'd tell you later, just a little bit later.. but I guess that was a mistake. ...Don't leave me like this. How am I supposed to live without you? You turned me into a dog who knows nothing but you with that smile, so how can you throw me away like this?