Hello, all! Here's the first chapter of the first story for the Trinity Contest! Don't forget to check my fanfiction page for all of the rules and prizes and such! Hope you all enjoy!

Summay: Halloween is finally here! It's his favourite time of year because he fits right in without having to try. She doesn't, though, she stands out like a sore thumb, all enticing and shit as she dresses like an actual demon nurse, not at all following the slutty standard of most college girls. Her hair's a mess, she has ugly fake teeth in her mouth, and you can't even imagine a lick about her body shape. It's impressive, he never thought he'd find himself attracted to appears to be a medic troll. He usually doesn't partake in the ritual that is flirting, especially with such *normally* beautiful girls with honey blonde hair and green eyes that leave you paralyzed, but she's different, an obvious dits, and she doesn't seem to care about social norms. Not to mention she likes scary movies filled with blood and gore almost as much as he does. She's, like, ... perfect. (This story is tagged as apart of the Trinity Contest. If you are interested in what that is, please visit my fanfiction page for full details (rules, prizes, etc.) Hope you enjoy!)

Chapter One: It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

"Dude, calm down." No. He will not calm down. Halloween is finally here! It's his favourite time of year because he fits right in without having to try, and he always has to try. He's tired of trying. "You're, like, actually grinning a little … and no one has told any sort of twisted joke to try and sate your thirst for sickeningly gory comedy. You're freaking me out."

"No, I'm not …" Soul scowls because he does not grin, he may sneer or even seem to leer at times, but never grins.

"No, seriously, you have, like, a pregnancy glow or whatever." Blake has always been his best friend, a friend who likes to poke fun at him as he hosts that dumb little shit-eating smirk of his. He honestly doesn't mind it, though, compared to the tyrants that haunt the nightmare that was his high school. Just because he's so white that you can kind of see him in the dark and his eyes are kind of scary as fuck doesn't mean he's a literal demon spawn. Everyone in his family is like that, maybe some more than others - namely him - but it's all in the family genes. He doesn't have albinism either, an excuse that one of his few defenders had used to save him from some bullies long ago. It's a kind of mean, though understandable conclusion. He can see why they had thought that ... But it won't matter for the next few days! He can walk around without having to worry about putting in coloured contacts so his ruby reds don't make some poor little girl cry again, or hair dye that his white tresses refuse to hold for more than a week - week and a half if he's lucky. He can just be his ice glaring, blood-curdling, horror loving self.

"Shut up."

"I'm sorry, you're right …" It's coming, he can feel it. "as a virgin, there's no possible way you could be prego." There it is. Blake has indirectly stated that Soul is of the female species, a solid blow on his part, but he actually thinks that girls are pretty badass, so he won't refute his friend on that account. Blake can't even live a day without one, so really, it's kind of a compliment … maybe.

"I am not!"

"Ha! One drunken night that you 'can't really remember' doesn't count. You weren't very sure the next morning." Soul hates his sing-song voice...

"I woke up naked next to an attractive female that was also naked with what looked and felt like dry cum spread pervasively. Her red lipstick was all over me, including the circumference of my dick. If I didn't lose my virginity that night, I don't know what I did."

"Firstly, nice use of geometric vocabulary in correlation with sexual, mad props for that innuendo." Nice. He didn't even mean to do that. Initiate internal fist pump/external eye roll. "And secondly, fair point. At the very least, you more than likely got a blowjob."

"Which is oral sex."

"Stiiill … not quite what we're going for."

"Still counts." Blake lifts his hands up in slight defeat, that dumb smirk of his in place. The conversation is over, but it's iffy whether he has won the friendly argument or not. It doesn't feel like it …

"So, what are you going to dress up as for Kilik's party?" Ah-ha, change of topic. It's a sign of sorts that Blake knows he's losing their little squabble and has resorted to retreat back to the land of small talk in favour of not having to acknowledge his loss. Wuss.

"Are you kidding me? I have to dress up as someone I'm not every day just so I don't scare people. I'm going as myself."

"Laaaaaammmmeee! Dude!"

"Nope, I can finally go out as my natural self, looking flawlessly evil as fuck without being judged by really mean moms."

"I do not understand you. You work so hard every day for the sake of other people, people who don't even know you, and you don't make an effort to talk to them or try to make friends. I've been your best friend since forever and you are the biggest loner I have ever met. Why put yourself through that anymore?"

"You ask even after you saw that poor little girl sob simply because she caught sight of me."

"So, you do it for the innocent little kids."

"I do it for the innocent little kids." Blake stares at Soul, a cheesy grin different from that of his usual mocking smirk spreading across his face. "What?" His asshole of a friend reaches out toward his cheek, wriggling his index finger as he coos.

"Awww, you're so sweeeeet." He smacks his hand away but they're both laughing because, yes, he secretly loves kids - the respectful kind - and wants a whole horde of them. He's also a romantic sap sometimes, as he indulges in the occasional rom-com chick flick, but fuck anyone who judges him for it. He has feelings. So, what? Just because he looks like the antichrist doesn't mean he actually is … that. But he also watches a lot of CSI and murderous horror shows and knows how to effectively and efficiently kill someone and get rid of the corpse without leaving a trace. Yeah. He's fucking scary as shit, but he loves those goddamn kids.

"You're coming as yourself?"

"Sweeeet."

"That'll be intense. Maybe you could, like, jump out and scare the shit out of people as they walk up to the house."

"I don't think I've ever seen you without your contacts in. Is it true that your eyes are the colour of death?"

Everyone at the table is excited for this party, but they seem even more enthused by the prospect of Soul attending said Halloween bash as his sinister-looking self. Kilik, Harvar, Kidd, Blake, Justin, and Soul are all sitting at a table in the dining hall, chowing down on vicious amounts of overly greasy food as they discuss the party's details. He hadn't been aware that he was expected to aid in the dècor and music of this shindig, and it was the day after tomorrow. These assholes expect too much from him, he is merely a human man.

"No! You guys are supposed to be discouraging this!" Wow, thanks, supposed best friend.

"Why? He is the perfect costume." … He's not sure how to feel about that comment.

"Are his eyes actually the colour of death?" No, … at least, he doesn't think so.

"No." Thank you. "They're more like … the colour of hell or Satan himself." Oh. Right, like that's so much better. Your 'thank you' has been revoked. Watch your back, Kidd, Soul is devising plans for you.

"So, I'm lost, why don't you want him to go as himself?" Kilik and Blake are having a disagreement over this whole 'issue' and he doesn't want to take sides. Blake just wants to coordinate with him or whatever - if the two retarded looking costumes he found stashed away in their coat closet is any indication - and Kilik is only for Soul going as Soul because he is a frightening being when au naturale. Kidd is trying his best to describe to the exact extent of how terrifying his eyes are to Justin and Harvar, who have taken a huge interest in the matter, and Soul ... is eating. His last words of the evening will probably be the "as myself" that he mumbled out before this madness erupted because he's shutting down. His ears are blocking out everything that isn't coming from the headphones he has decidedly placed over them and his mouth is focusing on nothing more than chewing his fries. They're really good, he may go back for more.

He chances a brief look up in curiosity, merely because his usually animated friends have ceased their overly enthusiastic movements, to find that they're all just sitting there, staring at him, or rather, slightly elevated past him. His eyebrows scrunch together and before he has a chance to really ask or take his headphones off, he feels a soft tap on his left shoulder, startling him. No one really dares to come near him, let alone touch him. Even with the coloured contacts hiding away his apparently satanic stare and his hair dyed a dark brown, he still manages to radiate an aura of 'don't fucking come near me or I'll chop off your hands and eat them like Carl.' So, this would be a first. He turns slowly as he reaches up to pull back the music blasting into his ears, his eyes pleading for any kind of signal from his friends that might help him with this encounter, but nope. The bunch of fucks are gawking at whoever is standing behind him. At least that tells him one thing: it's most likely a girl. Shit. He doesn't do girls, both physically or mentally. He can't handle the stress that comes with them. He never knows what they want, he can't read them or their twisted signals the slightest bit.

When his eyes land on that of the happy go lucky cheerleader, Patti Thompson, he lets out a sigh of relief. Patti is fucking crazy, mad as all get out, but she is nice and super sweet. He had to do a project with her last semester and she actually did her portion of the work. It was incredible to see that a girl who usually just does weird origami in class all of the time could be so good at history. Why she's standing over him with that ginormous grin plastered on her face is beyond him, however.

"Uh, hey, Patti. What's up?"

"Oh, not much! How have you been?"

"Not … bad, I guess. You?"

"I'm doing wonderfully! Would you mind walking with me for a moment?"

"Uh, … " he looks back at his dumbfounded friends to find them still just staring at her - boobs. They're staring at her boobs. They're huge and bounce with every sweet and encouraging word that leaves her mouth. No, seriously, they're like water balloons the size of melons - and decides that, yeah. He'll gladly walk with her over continuing to try and eat in silence while these assholes he has as friends berate him as to why Patti Thompson talked to him. He's probably, no, definitely the least known or popular of their group. With Kilik and Blake on the football team, though, he isn't exactly as completely invisible as he'd like to be. And now, as he scoots his chair back to take her up on her odd offer, he's realizing that this could only make that matter worse. People might start recognizing him. Everyone is kind of glancing over at them as he stands up, muttering a curt, "Sure," and follows her as she weaves through tables filled with people who greet her eagerly. He doesn't like the attention it brings to associate with the people much above him in the social hierarchy.

"Okay! So," she begins, beaming as usual as they come to a quieter corner in the cafeteria, hidden away from the eyes of most - thank God. "I have a question for you. Well, I have a few." She's even more ebullient than she normally is, which is a little concerning, so he'll give her what she wants, he supposes. It's only Patti-the-fucking-crazy, what's the worst that could happen?

"Okay, shoot."

"Do you have a girlfriend?" He takes that back immediately because she has just managed to ask him the worst possible question, next to, 'when was the last time you had sex?'.

"Um, heh, no, Patti. I am one-hundred percent single. Thank you for reminding me."

"Oh!" She's laughing as she lightly hits his chest - like it's so funny. It doesn't hurt, but it kind of does … his pride, that is. He tries to pretend that it doesn't. "Stop that, silly! Don't take it like I'm making fun, I'm actually here to help!"

"Okay?" He forces what feels like an uncomfortable, but well-practiced grin her way - he will only try for certain, well-meaning people who deserve it. Don't tell Blake. - and nods slightly as if this is all fine and dandy. He doesn't really get what she means by 'help', though, and it scares him a little.

"You'll be at Kilik's Halloween party, right?" Ah, yet another thing he was excited about, but no longer wants to converse over. She's really hitting all home runs today ... and is sliding right into his nutsack.

"I am."

"Good! We'll meet you there! Look spiffy!" And then she just … walks away, all bubbly and shit. But she is Patti-the-fucking-crazy, so what is he to do? Who is we? Wait, … yeah! Who is 'we'? It takes him only a moment as he plays back their conversation before he realizes that he can't go to the Halloween party anymore. Patti will be there with a 'we' that most likely means 'blind date' and Soul doesn't do that shit, especially not on the only day of the year he feels comfortable in his own skin. Blind dates suck and don't make him comfortable in his own skin, ever. He likes Patti, and knows that she means well, but no. Nope. Uh-uh. No can do. He won't do it. He also won't be going back to the table where his friends sit waiting to interrogate him. Nope. Only embarrassment and annoyance come with a public onslaught of questions he can't answer. Luckily, he has his apartment keys and phone with him, so he quickly leaves the premises in favour of escape via back door that nobody really knows exists, and makes his way back to his place, texting Blake to bring his bag back for him.

Patti is really sweet, but he's still shaking his head as he places the headphones back rightfully over his ears.

"You're an asshole, you know that? What do you even have in here? A three-hundred-pound weight? God, I hate you." Soul smirks as his friend curses at him and rants about how he now owes him a delicious meal of his choosing. "I'm serious. You will make me anything I want. Got it?" Blake points a finger at him as he pulls a water bottle out of the fridge with his other hand, glaring at him lightheartedly all the while.

"Okay, okay. Thank you for bringing it back for me."

"Yeah, yeah, ya cute kid loving sap." Buttwipe. "I'm heading to bed; I have morning practice. Night!" Blake walks down the short hall to his room without a peep of the Patti incident. It's really nice that his best friend knows when to not push him on certain things.

They don't have any classes on Fridays, which is tomorrow and it's awesome because Halloween falls on a weekend this year. It just adds to its magnificence. This calls for a horror movie marathon tonight! - on his laptop … with earphones because Blake is his fucking best friend and deserves peace and quiet during his beauty sleep. He sighs at the knowing that an all-nighter of classic murder and gore with earphones on his laptop isn't as scary as on their big screen in the living room with every single light out, so … maybe just two or three? He thinks that maybe his ears can handle the ringing tomorrow.

Soul hears Blake's door open again and is quickly met with a stern look from his usually easygoing friend.

"I need you to drive me to practice in the morning, so no all night horror fest tonight."

"Whaaaatt? Noooooo, whyyyyyy?" He should've known. Blake ruins most things he holds dear.

"I just told you. You, me, and Miss Erma are gettin' it on in the early mornin." Soul doesn't like or appreciate the weird hip situation thing that Blake is doing. It just doesn't look right.

"Don't talk about Miss Erma that way, you sexist pig. She's ten times stronger than you and deserves to be treated with respect." Miss Erma is his motorcycle. Yes. He is that cool.

"I apologize. You're right, Miss Erma could wipe the streets with my ass, and she can … after morning practice. Tomorrow, 4:30. Be there." Before Soul can decline, Blake makes a break for his room again, shutting and locking the door. Soul checks the time on the stovetop; it's already 11:15, so if he goes to bed now, he'll get a whopping five hours of sleep. That's more than he usually gets on weekdays. But he already knows that's not gonna happen. He's not tired yet and has always been nocturnal. Soul pouts as he thinks about it all. Blake has taken away his happiness in more ways than one. He can't check anything off of his to do list now. Horror movies? No. Sleeping in? Definitely not. … That's pretty much it, that's all he wanted to do today. Fuck you, Blake. Soul hates him, he's such an asshole.

Fucking damn it. Soul is tired as fuck and just wants to watch some good ol' Halloween thrillers alone in the dark, but nooooo. Blake needs to go to practice before the fucking sun, and Justin needs a ride to work; Harvar needs to go retake a test, and Kidd wants a lift to the library on the other side of the fucking town because 'it has better symmetry'. Bullshit. No. Fuck that. What is he, some chauffeur? He says that, but he still takes them all anyway, making sure to tell them to take a bus home because he will not be picking them up like their fucking mother. Jesus Christ.

He also forgot that he is in charge of the music for Kilik's party tomorrow night, which he was reminded of via phone call from said party host about an hour ago asking if the playlist is done. It is not. So, Soul sits in his bed, headphones on as he shuffles through his scary feel-good selection to try and find something he might be able to remix for grinding. Blake and Justin had insisted for the greater good of alleviating the throbbing of hard dicks and to invoke the sweating of female bodies. He doesn't understand it all that much, if he's being honest, but what the hell. They're soul-sucking leeches either way, so whatever.

He is finally done by 2 in the afternoon and he's lost so much sleep and quality trepidation time with the tv screen. It sucks, but he's done, so at least now he can just-

… Was that the fucking doorbell? It rings again, so yeah, it is. Why is his life so damn complicated? He's super cranky and doesn't want to answer the door. Maybe if he just goes back to his room real quiet-like, they won't know he's here. Whoever is on the other side of the door knows because they bang their fist up against it while yelling, "Soul! Get your ass out here! I know you're in there!" Fuck. Their bathroom has a window, but it's really small, and he's not bragging, but he's kind of scared that his dick will be harmed during the course of his escape. That and he lives on the fifth floor, so really, no window in the apartment would do.

"Soul! Come on!" A few more obnoxious banging sounds and empty threats coerce him into going and opening the damn thing.

"Fine, fine, fine, just shut the fuck up you're annoying the neighbors."

"Finally. That only took you seven and a half minutes, you dirtbag."

"I missed you, too, asshole. Now, what the hell are you doing here?" He doesn't much care for his family, they don't really get him and his love for cringe-worthy bloodbaths and scream-filled murder mysteries, but Wes is his complete opposite. And no, they don't actually attract. He thinks that that only works in a romantic sense. He and Wes are more like the same side of different magnets, they repel the other to the point where they can never really see eye to eye, even if they have the same point of view.

"I'm here to watch over you during Halloween."

"What?" Wes doesn't answer as he just lets himself in, a small bag hanging from his shoulder that he lets drop to the ground. "Again, I ask … what?"

"Mom was worried you'd get alcohol poisoning like last year, so she sent me down here to keep a watchful eye on you until this weekend is over."

"Okay, uuh, no. First of all, watching is usually implied when eyes are involved, so you're just being repetitive, as per usual. Secondly, fuck you. I don't need a babysitter."

"Well, fuck you, too. Eyes can do so much more than watch. And mom thinks you do. If you have a problem with it then go and complain to her. I'm just following orders." This is outrageous. He has never gotten 'alcohol poisoning', he had had one beer, his first beer ever, which regrettably went straight to his head. He crashed hard when he got home, waking up the next morning with a few bumps and bruises and a massive headache he hadn't been prepared for, but definitely not alcohol poisoning.

"Alright, what did she threaten you with?" A massive manhood eating sigh follows a brief silence. Yup. He thought so. There's no way Wes would willingly give up a holiday such as this to simply 'follow orders,' fucking liar.

"I'm supposed to go abroad next semester and through the summer."

"Said she'd make you pay for it yourself, did she?" Silence. Yeah, this is why Soul has a job and is saving up for the day he can just disappear. "Okay. Well, how about this. I call mom, fake a fit, get yelled at and when she hangs up, we take a bunch of pictures that you can send her throughout the night so she thinks we're doing what she wants when in reality, I get to stay home watching horror movies and you can go bang some poor woman who deserves far better than you that you'll more than likely meet at a bar? Sound fun?"

"Why do you think I'm here. Let's get this show on the road." Okay. So, maybe sometimes they can see eye to eye.

It had worked. It always works. Soul and Wes' 'fake it to make it' plan from high school is one of the only remaining things that keep them in cahoots, like brothers should be. Wes left a few hours ago with a butt load of pictures to send to their mummy dearest hourly, complete with changing of clothes, using the bathroom to fake nighttime, and food cooked by Wes to throw her off the trail. Soul is currently watching his first classic: Psycho. It's not really that scary anymore, but it's still really good, so he can't not watch it. He needs to pee, though, and he's out of popcorn, so he pauses it at a decent place, right before the second to last scene, and makes his way out of his room to the kitchen.

"Hey! There you are! Thanks for the lift this morning."

"Yeah, no problem," he grunts, dark bags under his eyes because he hasn't managed to get in a good nap at any point during the day and refuses to go to sleep until he sees Marion's car being pulled from the swamp, God damn it.

"I heard you were driving everybody around like the sweet, kid loving sap that you are?"

"And Wes."

"What about him? What does he want this time?" It's nice to know that Blake cares enough to ask. He likes that his best friend is aware of how horrid his family really is. Well, ... they're really not, but they pretend that they are.

"He was here on mother's orders."

"Pulled the 'fake it to make it' bit again, aye?"

"Indeed."

"Good lad. Anyway, I'm headin' over to Kilik's to help decorate, you in?"

"Bathroom, horror films, sleep." Soul is dragging his feet as he walks to the loo because he can't, he just can't right now.

"You sure? Kilik'll have your hide for not showing."

"I played mom and good younger brother today, not to mention I finished his fucking party playlist. He can suck my balls. I am king." The slam of the bathroom door halts any and all conversation for a few minutes until he finally reemerges, refreshed and slightly more amiable. Blake is wearing different clothes than before, but Soul doesn't really care. His friend is heading to the front door with his keys in his hand as he slides his right shoe the rest of the way on.

"Last chance."

"Get out of my sight, you heathen. No human should be up and about before the sun." With that, Blake merely shrugs, ready to leave before he comes to a stop at the door.

"Just so I don't forget, Patti told me what you guys talked about and has threatened me that if you're not at the party, she'll cut off not only your dick, but mine, so …"

"If I'm going down, I'm taking you with me."

"You will be there, costume or not, even if I have to knock you out and drag you."

"But …" Soul flails a little like a kid throwing a fit because that's exactly what he's doing. "But, whyyy?"

"Because, unlike you, I actually use my dick." It isn't until after Blake closes and locks the door does Soul come up with a somewhat decent comeback.

" … only in the bathroom with your hand …" No one is there to hear it but him. It's fine though. It's almost like rubbing your bare bum up against the car of the person you hate most in the world. You got them back, but they'll never know that you plastered your luscious booty particles all over their brand new Mustang. They'll walk through life thinking that they got the last laugh, but no. In reality, you did. Soul laughs then, low and kind of demonic, only to stop himself immediately and head straight back to his room. He needs sleep. He's losing his mind at this point, laughing at his own childish riposte that is actually lacking any worthy components to be dubbed as such. He needs to get some shut-eye before he starts to talk to himself like a madman. But first, Psycho. Psycho first always.

He doesn't know when he fell asleep, but he definitely didn't make it through the movie. He had only had two scenes left, but he probably crashed right after hitting play. Soul rolls over to check the time on his alarm clock. It's still fucking only 8 a.m. … why the hell is he waking up right now?

"Soul! I said get the fuck out of bed and open this goddamn door! NOW!" Oh. That's why.

Still groggy and plenty tired, he manages to get out of bed and over to unlock the door quick enough so that whoever it is doesn't start banging on the cheap wood again. Poor door was only doing its job. Upon opening his portal to the outside world that he very much doesn't want to associate with today, he finds it to be his brother … again. Why? Is someone upstairs mad at him? At first, he apologizes for not having finished Psycho the night before, but then he thinks that that can't possibly be the reason he is being faced with such difficulty. And this early in the morning, too. He really hates his life.

"Wow, get over yourself, drama queen." Hm … he must have said some of that out loud. "Try all of it. Come on, let's get this over with. Mom's about to call, so put on some work out clothes, do whatever to make you break a sweat, and let's fake this shot, brotha'!" He hates Wes more, though.

By the time Soul is done changing into a pair of gym shorts and a cut off t-shirt, the phone begins to ring. "Shoot! Tell her I had to take a dump or something after getting back from our run!" He grabs some socks and running shoes and steps out of the room to go do some jumping jacks - Wes already looks like he actually was working out this morning, the piss ant - because Soul needs to try and look the part. After a minute or two of excessive push-ups and running around like a weirdo, Soul goes back to his room, making sure to flush the toilet and run some water before entering.

"... -nd so we ended up watching Psycho last night anyway. It is Halloween, so I thought it was fair." It's a good thing Wes at least knows what movie he watches first every year. Wes is looking down at the screen, which means that it's a video call, indeed, so he puts on a fake smile in hopes to semi please his overbearing mother.

"Well, I don't want you boys watching anymore horror movies. They're not good for your brain."

"Mom," Soul interjects, pretending not to have heard that last bit. "That you? Wes, why didn't you tell me mom was on the phone? Hi mom!" He likes to annoy the shit out of his brother, but Wes willingly hands over the screen, obviously not in the mood for Mrs. Evans.

"Hello, sweety. How are things at college? Are you passing all of your classes? Blake isn't getting you into any trouble, right? I swear that boy always got into fights, and that hair, my goodness. I told your brother to make sure you don't watch anymore-"

"I'm fine, mom, really. Grades are good, classes are fine. Blake is still my bestest friend ever, I like his hair, so leave it, please. Wes and I gotta go, now, I got us tickets to go see a back to back showing of IT and The Silence of the Lambs. See ya!" And then he hangs up because no. First she takes away his Halloween freedom by sending his obnoxious older brother to watch over him, and then tries to take away his horror films? One of the only things he treasures? She's not nice. That's like him saying she can't listen to opera and then taking away her favourite pearl necklace, it's just not right.

"Wow. That won't make her happy."

"Don't care. Now, out. I need to catch some more z's." Truth be told, he's not proud of his actions, but he's a grumpy, spoiled brat who needs a good nap before he has to go fulfill the obligations that come with DJing a Halloween party. He didn't sign up for it, but it's been decided. He won't enjoy it if he isn't fully rested, which would be a shame, seeing as he's only been looking forward to this day all year.

"Fine. If mom calls, I will not be held responsible for your backtalk."

"Fair enough. Shoo, shoo." His bed is his best friend and he appreciates the darkness that his curtains bring as they cancel out the rising sun. His pillow is welcoming, even with the wet spot of his drool from his previous slumber. He's happy in this moment and is thankful for the peace and quiet of the early morning. Everyone else is more than likely asleep, resting in preparation for the events to come with the night.

He smiles as he pulls his covers further up his lean body.

Happy Halloween.

Yay! Not gonna lie, I've had a lot of fun writing this story and I hope you all like it! Don't forget to leave a review and to check out my profile for the details of the contest! (Keep a lookout for other stories for the contest!)

Until next time!

Much Love!

K.T.