“Flawed love is the most beautiful.” Pausing, she had to think a bit before being able to confirm her own words with a small nod, glancing up at him with new hope in her eyes. “Flawed love is still love, the people are fighting it - they deserve extra credit.” And for the first time, Chorong didn’t stutter when talking to a complete stranger; instead she locked her eyes on him and took small glances up at him when deciding that the time was right. This stranger, so handsome and beautiful; Chorong figured she’d never meet his warm hand again and therefor she didn’t want to leave quite yet. “Tell me now, your errands here? Are you hunting for a wife?” A small chuckle managed to flee her lips, she being the only one to do dumb things like laughing loudly.
A low hum left the back of his throat, and he wet full lips slowly, considering her words, but there must have been something within them that did not quite sound right, as a touch of a frown etched between his brows. “And if they are not fighting it, but it is still foul and acrid?” he queried, his cloudy pale eyes fixed upon her as if the answer might be read in her gentle face. “Is it beautiful then?” Perhaps his words seemed pessimistic—as if he sought to spoil what was beautiful, but it was not truly so. He had once been naïve. He had once been foolish. Perhaps part of him wondered if that feeling, so sure, could still be attained. It seemed to breathe in her, somehow. Taemin let his head tilt to the side at her other words, making him, cock an eyebrow, before a quiet chuckle made his lips tug into a smile. “A wife? Aniyo, not a wife. I came here for a story, miss.”
