Author's Note: I forgot to update this story here. Good news! It's completed! I'll be posting the rest of the chapters right now. This is the equivalent of Netflix releasing a show all at once and then us binge-watching. Enjoy!
Eight
When I see your face, when I hear your voice
It seems like the world stops spinning round
Your embrace I finally found peace in my mind
Long days, short nights, heart rate, sky high
Time flies
An overcast Friday afternoon finds her in the quietest corner amidst a jubilant crowd, back turned to the masses for anonymity, a rare moment of peace. Her gaze drifts past the large arched window into the academy's well-kempt yard, and then to the pale, gray sky and its ominous reflection on Lake Brienz. The bleakness echoes her dark mood in a way that's strangely comforting. In the world's most neutral, most liberal country, she's still guilty of loving the one man who makes life worth living. She's in hiding when all she wants to do is shout it from the rooftops.
Sneaking around was fun when it was a game. She'd almost convinced herself that it was a choice to stay inside their little bubble at bay from the world, from eyes and questions and curiosity. The truth of the matter is it's not a choice. She knows that. Their love is practically treason. Ri Jeong-hyeok is a cautious principled man, who broke all his rules for her, but he wouldn't endanger his family. He wouldn't leave his family. He would leave her. It's a terrible, selfish thought that she quashes down the moment it surfaces, but it still leaves a bitter taste in her mouth that has her digging into her purse for a distraction.
She pulls out her phone, checks the screen and smiles at the message from her mother.
Umma: I'm so happy for you Se-ri-ya. This is such a beautiful photo! You two make quite a pair. I wish I could get to know him better. He sounds wonderful. Send more photos when you can.
She scrolls up to the photo she sent her mother yesterday and taps on it. The two of them are smiling brightly in a selfie taken just outside of Hotel Interlaken before they embarked on their fated, short-lived adventure. He's looking at her and she's looking at the camera, and the plainness of that story is heartbreaking. How can less than twenty-four hours ago be simpler times?
"There's something oddly beautiful about an overcast sky. It feels like it has so much to say."
Her heart trips in her chest as she turns around at the sound of his voice. Their eyes meet and hold, and the look he gives her says he could be talking about the sky or about her. It's disconcerting, how well he reads her and how much she loves him for it. She doesn't dwell because it's neither the time nor the place. Instead, she drops his stare in favor of taking him in. He stands tall before her, unapologetically handsome in his form-fitting maroon sweater, the collar of his white shirt neatly pressed below the round neckline. He mirrors her stance towards the window, his posture straight and confident, his dark jeans fashionably narrow at the ankles against a pair of short brown boots.
This morning, he woke her with a soft kiss on her cheek and the smell of coffee from the mug he left on her nightstand. When she turned her face into his and kissed his lips, he smiled and ran his fingers through her hair. Go back to sleep. You still have a half hour. And then he was gone.
At her perusal, Jeong-hyeok gives her a small private smile, drawing her gaze back to his clean-shaven face. "Hi."
She has to remind herself not to touch him when he hands her a bottle of water. "Hi," she says softly.
He studies her face, his brow creasing with worry. She knows she looks tired. She didn't get much sleep last night after they spent hours discussing the repercussions of the incident. "Did you have lunch?" he asks.
Her appetite has been notably absent all day. She could only stomach two bites of the smoked salmon bagel he left on her desk. It's better than nothing, so she nods. "Thanks for the bagel." Uncapping the water bottle, she brings it to her lips, takes a small sip, and then impatience gets the better of her. She dives right into the elephant in the room. "So, how did it go?"
He sighs heavily and rakes a hand through his dark hair, disheveling the soft styled locks. "It didn't really go," he admits. "She didn't want to talk when I saw her this morning. She wants to meet with both of us together after the recital." He's uneasy, and it immediately sets her on edge.
"Both of us?" she repeats, dumbstruck, her mind racing through possibilities. She comes up empty, and a wave of nausea almost sends the two bites of that bagel into her throat. "Why?"
Jeong-hyeok exhales slowly, and the concerned way he's looking at her says she might be looking a little green. "I'm not sure." And he hates being at a disadvantage. Ri Jeong-hyeok is also a planner. He's always one step ahead, and he's been cornered by a seventeen-year-old girl from Pyongyang. It doesn't sit well.
"Okay," Se-ri murmurs finally. "Where are we meeting her?"
He gives her a surprised, wide-eyed look. "You'll come?" he asks, almost incredulous.
She tilts her head in question, wondering in what world she would say no to this. "Of course."
He stares down at his shoes for a few seconds then past her outside the window, and he looks like the sky, tumultuous, with a lot to say. "We agreed to meet at the Velo Café at six." He pauses and his gaze flickers to hers, all his words left unspoken. "You don't have to come," he says quietly.
"You know I do." His eyes soften, and she knows him well enough to know that he desperately wants to hold her. "Are you going to be okay?" she asks in a small voice.
"Yes," he says reassuringly. "Everything is going to be fine." It's a difficult promise to keep, but she knows he'll do everything in his power.
"Ms. Yoon, there you are!" Niels' voice cuts between them like a dash of cold water. She feels his cool hand at her elbow through the sleeve of her black dress before she tears her gaze away from Jeong-hyeok to find the blond man standing at her side, casting a cursory, dismissive glance at her companion. "I've been looking for you. We have to head in. The recitals start in ten minutes, and the judges would like to have a word."
Se-ri nods and glances quickly at Jeong-hyeok.
His clenched jaw ticks with irritation, and his hard gaze is possessive as it lands on Niels' hand on her arm. She's known Niels for the better part of three years, and she'd never noticed how touchy feely he is until Jeong-hyeok started glaring holes into him.
"Hello Mr. Hoffman," he bites out, and it's on the verge of being ill-mannered.
"Oh, hello, Mr. Ri," he replies as if he's only just noticed him for the first time, hand falling back to his side. "Apologies, I didn't mean to interrupt. I'm looking forward to see your team's recitals." Niels offers the taller man a polite, tight smile.
It takes her a minute to slip back into her role, where he's not her world and it's easy to treat him with courteous indifference. "Good luck with the recitals, Mr. Ri," she tells him and turns to Niels, mask firmly in place now. "Let's go."
Ri Jeong-hyeok's smile is wistful. "Thank you, I hope you enjoy it." He holds her gaze for a moment longer before she walks away, Niels following closely behind her.
She's instantly sucked back into the event's ruckus. The four judges are esteemed musicians from across the continent, and they dote over her with smiles and gratitude. They thank her for inviting their participation. They've all heard great things about the program from last year and are honored to be part of it. In the auditorium, Niels guides her to their seats, and when she tries to find Jeong-hyeok, he's nowhere to be seen. She brushes away her disappointment and settles in for the show.
The beginning passes quickly with performances ranging from mediocre to absolutely breathtaking. For the eleventh performance, Oliver Murray, the flutist from New Zealand – her favorite so far – plays a soothing, melodic rendition of My Heart Will Go On that stays with her through the following pieces, lingering like a giftuntil Park Min-ji takes the stage. From backstage, Ri Jeong-hyeok strides quietly to the Grand piano and sits at the bench, careful to carry himself as the backup to the girl's main act. Se-ri holds her breath as he begins to play the base notes to a haunting melody. At the moment when, standing in the middle of the stage, Min-ji begins to move the bow against her violin, everything changes. The instrument weeps between her arms, and Se-ri feels the vibrations of the melancholic sounds in her soul. She seems a marvelous, unique artist, weaving in the music a sadness so delicate that it goes beyond the limits of despair. That timeless piece composed by John Williams as the theme for Schindler's List holds the audience captive. Min-ji sways with the instrument, eyes closed, and the whole act is hypnotic, gripping with its sorrow. Jeong-hyeok's words when he introduced the violinist a few days ago come back to her like a revelation.
When she plays the violin, people are moved to tears.
As the final note dies down, a thundering round of applause shakes the room. Park Min-ji breaks into a small, reserved smile and takes a deep bow. In the background, Jeong-hyeok's hands lay still against the piano, and despite the mess they're in, there's pride in his gaze.
Niels turns to Se-ri, his smile pleased as he speaks over the commotion. "Wow, she stole the show."
The Velo Café is an intimate little place with worn wooden floors, hand-written chalkboard signs, and a couple of vintage looking bicycles mounted on the walls. It smells like coffee and sweet pastries, and he likes the gentle bustle of the afternoon's customers. It alleviates the tense silence between them. After the recitals, they texted and agreed to meet up at the taxi stand two streets down from the academy. Your team did great, especially the violinist. It was a sincere, albeit awkward compliment that he thanked her for, but she didn't have much else to say on their ride over to the café. When he asked her if she was alright, she responded with monosyllables, and he didn't want to push her. So, the silence ensued.
On the pastel green futon, deep inside the café, Se-ri is sitting beside him, her knee inadvertently touching his, her shoulder brushing against his arm. He's hyperaware of every point of contact. They chose this table for the privacy it offered, and she sat before he did, tucking herself into the edge of the couch, pressed up against the armrest, giving him plenty of space, almost like she was avoiding him. It reminded him of that first night of their reunion after he'd turned her down. Eventually he'd coaxed her back into his arms, but what an idiot he is to have wasted a night. Determined not to repeat past mistakes, he sat on the futon right beside her, as close as he could without making her uncomfortable. The rest of the couch is glaringly empty, but she doesn't say anything to his proximity either.
"Here you go miss," the waiter smiles and places a double espresso on their table.
From inside her proverbial shell, Se-ri thanks him and lifts it to her lips, taking a small, grateful sip of the hot beverage before returning the cup to the table. The slight tremor in her usually steady hands is hard to miss.
"Are you sure more coffee is a good idea?" Jeong-hyeok asks softly, shattering the silence as he reaches over to still her jittery hand. He ensnares her delicate fingers, threads them through his. Seeing her like this – drawn into herself, anxious, frustrated – is tough, and he hates it infinitely more because he's the reason behind it.
She doesn't pull her hand away as she slants a brave smile at him. It doesn't quite reach her eyes. "It's probably not, but I need it." She's exhausted. He'd felt her tossing and turning all night yesterday, and when she'd finally fallen asleep, it was almost time to go to work.
"We can skip dinner and get you straight to bed after this," he offers. Tonight, the committee is hosting all of the participants for dinner at the Victoria Jungfrau's ballroom in celebration of the recitals that mark the halfway point of this year's program. Time, he thinks, is bleeding away like a puncture wound to a main artery. His stomach clenches, but he manages to keep his face neutral when she looks at him and shakes her head.
"I can't miss tonight's dinner. All the sponsors will be there." She picks up the coffee again with her free hand and takes another sip. "Is it six yet?"
"Five past," he answers because he's also been checking the time obsessively. Park Min-ji is late, but he doesn't comment on that because he's furious with the situation, with himself, with the gall of the girl. And not in that particular order. Se-ri's fingers give his a gentle squeeze as if she can feel his ire and then she lets his hand go.
"Hello Park Min-ji," Se-ri says, fully composed and heartbreakingly elegant.
He whips his gaze up from where her hand is sitting on her lap to find the girl in question standing across the coffee table, a messenger bag hanging from her shoulder and a book clutched to her chest, the same one she'd read to him from a few days ago. She assesses them with dark unreadable eyes.
"Hello," she responds, voice faint, and sits reluctantly in one of the dark upholstered chairs opposite the futon. Her hair is held in one neat braid that lies against her right shoulder. It's childish and prim. He can't believe she tried to seduce him. The thought almost makes him laugh, and he feels a sudden surge of sympathy for her.
"You played beautifully today. We were all very impressed," Se-ri tells her, and Jeong-hyeok is taken aback by her genuineness. Just when he thinks he cannot love her more, she surprises him with the depth of her heart, her compassion.
"Thank you Ms. Yoon," she answers demurely, her cheeks tingeing with color. Clearly, she wasn't expecting the kindness either.
"It's the truth," Se-ri says. "Would you like to order anything to drink? The Swiss make a mean hot chocolate."
The girl nods, and Se-ri waves the waiter over and places an order for a hot chocolate with a marshmallow on top. With that out of the way, Jeong-hyeok eyes the two of them, grappling to understand the developing dynamic. When he speaks, they both look at him, slightly startled by the intrusion of his voice. "So, Park Min-ji, you asked to see us both. Here we are. How can we help you?"
Min-ji swallows visibly and wrings her hands in her lap. When she finds her courage, she looks between them, her agitated gaze darting back and forth with unsettling fervor. "I want to defect," she blurts out.
They stare at her in stunned silence for what seems like hours but is only a few seconds. Beside him, Se-ri literally stops breathing.
"I want to defect to South Korea," she clarifies. "I mean I want to leave North Korea, but not publicly. I don't want my family to get hurt. I want them to think I died. I want to die here – fake die. I want to live," she rambles. "I want to live in South Korea, and I want you to help me." She's looking straight at Se-ri now, and Jeong-hyeok has to rein in his fiercely protective response to that direct command. "I need a job and a place to stay for a while. I need documents. I need to fake my death here. I can't do this without your help."
"Hold on – what?" Jeong-hyeok interjects. "What do you mean you want to defect? Is this because of what happened yesterday? We can forget about that, put it behind us like it never happened."
"No. No," she says emphatically. "I came on this trip already planning to never go back there. I wanted to convince you to come with me." The wry admission evidently embarrasses her again, but his brain is too busy scrambling to piece together this version of Park Min-ji, the girl whose mother brought her to practice every Wednesday. That girl has the courage to defect? "Little did I know…" she trails off, divides a meaningful glance between them that speaks volumes. "If you were going to do it, you would have done it already."
That sits like a mammoth in the room, an overbearing presence that's hard to breathe around.
Se-ri seems to shrink into herself again, and his heart hurts like he's been stabbed there.
"So will you help me?"
Dessert was her cue to leave the recital dinner. As soon as the intricate slices of opera cake were placed in front of the diners, Se-ri stood up and excused herself. The four-course meal was a tense affair because she was still reeling from Park Min-ji's bold request, and she could feel the younger woman's eyes on her throughout dinner, lingering in askance. Ri Jeong-hyeok was watching her too, though differently, his eyes brimming with concern and self-recrimination. It was suffocating, and she couldn't leave soon enough.
That was half an hour ago, and now she's in bed, tucked beneath the covers, her teeth brushed, her face scrubbed clean, her eyes screwed shut. She's so tired that her body aches, but she can't sleep. She must have been lying there for an eternity when the door to the suite opens and shuts quietly.
Jeong-hyeok thinks she's sleeping, so he slips into the bathroom silently. His movements are stealthy as he comes out wearing only his boxers. She learned this about him two nights ago. When the luxury presents itself, he prefers to sleep in his underwear, no other clothing on his body. She likes it.
He crawls into bed beside her, drawing the covers over himself as he shifts to find a comfortable position. After a few seconds, she feels his body press up against hers from behind, one strong arm draping around her, his chin touching her shoulder. He smells like soap and remnants of the cologne he's been wearing the past few days. It's the same one she gave him in Seoul three years ago because he remembers she likes it and bought it at the airport in Zurich when he arrived. He presses a sweet kiss to her shoulder and snuggles closer like he's trying to absorb her into himself.
Tired of the metaphorical space between them, she grabs his hand and pulls his arm tighter around her.
"You're awake," he realizes.
"Yeah, I can't sleep," she whispers as if the sanctity of the dark forces them to be quiet.
He hums, a deep sound that vibrates against her back, into her skin. "It's been a rough couple of days. I'm sorry," he says sincerely, and the regret in his voice hits an emotional chord in her that brings tears to her eyes.
She desperately tries to blink them back and swallow the giant lump forming in her throat, but it's a losing battle. Her quiet sob is like a gunshot in their bedroom.
"Are you crying?" He doesn't wait for an answer as he turns her around with a sharp inhale, hugging her close, her tear-streaked face squished into his bare chest. "It's okay. You're okay," he murmurs, and the steady thump of his heartbeat against her face makes her cry harder. Wrapped around her like a human blanket, he sways her gently, whispering soothing words into her hair. When he feels her calm down, he pulls away to look down at her face, his eyes squinting against the darkness.
She's secretly glad that he can't discern the angry red rims around her eyes. "I'm just tired," she sniffles, her voice thick with unshed tears.
"It's okay to be sad." He strokes her hair back, where stray tendrils are clinging to the moisture on her face.
Being sad is too real an acknowledgement of their predicament. "You're making me cry again," she complains half-heartedly, reaching up to swipe away the fresh tears rolling down her cheeks.
"You don't have to be so brave," he says quietly. "It's a lot, and it's hard. I wish I could make it go away."
"I'm scared," she admits, and strangely that confession quells her tears.
"Don't be. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise." That she believes without a shadow of doubt.
"I'm scared for you," she elaborates.
"Nothing is going to happen to me," he promises. "You don't have to do anything she asked. I can manage her. It's basically my word against hers, and mine carries more weight."
She lets that sit for a while. It's an option, and she knows he's right. Between his status, his clout and his father's position, he could easily sweep this relatively minor indiscretion under the rug. She knows he would hate bullying Park Min-ji, but for the greater good, he would do it. But still… "I haven't decided yet," she states. "If I'm going to help her or not. I haven't decided."
He stiffens against her, maybe in surprise, but he doesn't voice it. "It's okay," he says instead. "We can sleep on it, talk about it tomorrow when you're less strung out on caffeine and no food. You barely ate at dinner."
Of course he was watching her during dinner, counting every bite she took, and he was clearly not impressed. She feels a ghost of a smile on her lips because his constancy is a comfort she cannot measure. "Let's sleep on it," she agrees, ignoring the part about the food and the coffee because he's right and she's tired. Se-ri curls into him, legs sliding between his as she drapes herself across his chest.
His sigh is indulgent. "Goodnight, Se-ri-ya."
"Are we sleeping now?"
Even though it's dark, she can hear the amused smile in his voice. "Yes."
She has every intention to sleep. Her body is practically begging for it. She closes her eyes and waits, but sleep is still elusive. It's only a few minutes before her eyes are wide open again, and she's thinking oddly about that time he came to Seoul for her. The wasted time is unexpectedly hard to bear now that the walls of propriety have crumbled around them, leaving them in this place of raw need. Maybe, she should have kissed him that day in her living room when his not-quite-drunk confessions made her yearn for the improbable. Where would they be today if she'd let herself lead him to her bed the night of her birthday after he'd tentatively slipped a ring around her finger? She starts to trace shapes on his torso with the tips of her fingers featherlight against his skin. She writes words in big choppy letters, carving love into his skin, regret, desire, her name, longing, Seoul.
"Still can't sleep?" he asks ten words later, his voice husky with that familiar tinge of want.
Her tired body responds to him instinctively. "No," she breathes, flattens her palm against his chest, smooths it down over his abdomen, index finger curiously tracing the circular outline of his navel. "You?"
He lets out a shaky breath. "Not when you're touching me like that," he growls, but he makes no move to stop her.
Her finger pauses just below his bellybutton. "Should I stop?"
"No."
She slips her hand inside his underwear, and he groans when her hand closes around him and strokes, drawing him out of his boxers to give her room to move along him. She closes her eyes and feels her own cheeks flush as he grows harder for her. Her strokes are leisurely, rolling tugs, slow and sensual, and her pulse thuds in her neck, harder and harder until she can feel it in her chest, her stomach, between her legs.
She's surprised by how badly she suddenly wants him.
When the pad of her thumb rubs a droplet of pre-cum on the sensitive head, he grabs her wrist, stilling her. She tilts her chin up to meet his heavy-lidded gaze, and it takes a split-second for him to turn the tables. His chest mashes her down into the mattress, flattening her breasts, her hand pinned palm-up beside her head.
He angles his open mouth against hers, tongue hungry and quick, tinged with a hint of desperation, clawing back some control in this little breathless game. Then his lips skim from the corner of her mouth, to her jaw, her throat, and he lets go of her hand with a firm, heated rasp of, "Keep it here." He shifts onto his side, taking his body off of her, leaving her bereft. A hard shuffle ends with him kicking off his underwear. She stays where she is, obediently motionless, watching as he pushes away the covers to assess her short, strapless nightgown. His hand finds the inside of her knee and streaks heat across her skin as it travels up the inside of her thigh, dragging the wispy charmeuse silk of her blush chemise until two curious fingers reach the juncture between her legs.
"No underwear?" he chokes out, so affronted that she feels herself smile at this unlikely reminder that somewhere inside him the stern, conservative soldier is still alive and well.
"You ripped two," she gasps as he touches her with aching tenderness, reverent, exploratory. His quiet hiss tells her she's soaking wet.
A warm, belated breath of laughter tickles the space between her neck and her shoulder, and God, she needs more of him, on her, in her. "I can't say I'm sorry about that. I'd do it again." He slips one thick finger inside her, and she arches into it, her words lost in this throbbing need between them. He's not touching her anywhere else, and she thinks she might go crazy with needing his skin on hers.
Without warning, Se-ri rolls onto her side to face him, and his finger loses its rhythm, moves out of her as his hand grips her hip, steadying. She cups his jaw, presses her thumb to his chin and then parts her lips against his in a fluttering kiss. At first it's one long press, unmoving, this joining, so tender, so savoring. And then it's slow, sweet, careful. The rush that builds to a heady roar as he breathes in all her oxygen, and a full wave of love rushes down through her. It's exactly like what she imagines it would have been like had they opened this door in Seoul three years ago, and it seals up something inside her that had been hurting.
It's one of those kisses that seem to last forever. They finally part just enough for their lips to separate, and she presses closer, lifts her knee to drape it over his hip. He pulls her nightgown up, over her head, tosses it aside. She can feel the hard length of him against her entrance, straining, and he rolls her body until she's flat on her back again, and he's between her legs. "Get inside me," she whispers.
The breath leaves her body as he shoves into her. They both moan. It's her favorite part, that first intrusion, that exquisite thrust that sends a promise of tingling pleasure ripping through her. They're so good together, so good. She draws him down again, fastens her mouth to his, and this kiss is more urgent, needy. He palms her calf, caresses the back of her knee as he bends her other leg and pulls out of her almost all the way. Then thrusts in again, hard, like he's trying to fit his soul inside her body. The third time he crushes himself into her, she starts to cry. It's a strange grief for something that's here now and gone tomorrow, fleeting but too big to contain, her whole world in one human.
"Se-ri." His voice is rough, concerned. She looks up at him and strokes her thumb over his cheek, seeing his sympathy through her tears.
"Don't you dare stop," she warns. "Sometimes I just miss you so much it hurts to breathe," she says.
"I'm right here." And he is right there, inside her, around her, against her. It makes her miss him more. He swipes away at the wetness he finds on her cheeks. His face is pained, and his body forgets its cadence.
"I know. I know," she whispers before she kisses him to get him moving again. She doesn't know if she should explain that somehow, the memory of his brief visit to Seoul and all this talk about being discovered, North Korea and defection, the threat to his family, reminds her that their time together is stolen and transient. Her tomorrows glare with endless waiting for these suspended moments of pure bliss where time seems to stand still yet rush past heedlessly.
He makes love to her, the slow, tireless rocking of his body into hers making her head spin from heat and lust and that inevitable taste of impending loss. He brushes relishing kisses across her face, her lips, her neck, her shoulders – agonizingly sweet. When she asks for more, he's hard and relentless, and every thrust has her gasping for breath, toeing that thin line between pleasure and pain. It's exactly what she needs to keep her rooted in their bed. He stops, just for a moment, his panting breaths hot against her neck, and she knows it's because he's trying to slow down his own climb.
"I'm so close," she moans, nails signing crescents into his back as he raises his head to look at her with brutalized need. When her eyes lock on his, demanding, Jeong-hyeok moves once, so forcefully, so abruptly that her body moves a foot up the bed and she comes hard around him. It's a kaleidoscope of pleasure, her nerves bursting as electric stars rush through every muscle in her body. Her most private muscles pulse with her orgasm, milking him, clenching and unclenching as he thrusts again and again until he collapses on her, trembling and leaving a gush of warmth inside her.
It takes him three full minutes to come back to himself and ease off her, untangling their heavy limbs. His hand cups the side of her neck, thumb dragging down her throat, and the sensual touch makes her turn into him for the wordless, gentle press of his lips against hers. "I'll be right back," he murmurs, rises to his feet and disappears into the bathroom for a few minutes. She hears the water running, splashing, and then he comes back to bed with a warm, wet towel that he hands her. She uses it to wipe herself clean.
"This. You. It's all I ever want," he says into the stillness when they're lying down again and his arms are around her. She presses her cheek to his chest, her ear over his heart, and the solid beat lulls her as she waits for the quiet confessions that burst out of him in the wake of their lovemaking. "I want so much. I want everything, your dreams and your children, your success and your grief. I want your heart, your body, your soul. I want all of it to be mine."
It's heavy, vehement and greedy, and the silence is exquisite afterwards, filled with the promise of his words. I already am. Yours. She doesn't tell him because it'll just hurt more. He stirs a storm inside her that only quiets when the seductive pull of slumber takes her under.
A/N: Reviews are love x