The metallic and slightly bittersweet aftertaste of ageing wine stained both of their lips, while one of them drove. The wind flew in, dancing before hitting their cheeks playfully. Xiumin turned to look at Dara, but she was looking away, grinning for some reason he didn’t know. Her hair cascaded down, being blown in an eastern direction. She hummed while finishing the bottle and then finally looked at Xiumin who had his eyes now fixed on the road, a gaze hardly intense but more soft and unfocused. A slight haze clouded his mind and all he could think about now was the fact he was free riding with a beautiful girl and another bottle of stolen wine (from his father’s cupboard) in the back.

“Oh, let me read to you again,” Dara said, gently laughing as she pulled out the copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets once again. The binding was falling apart and in need of heavy replacement but she still held it as if it were an infant; the fragility of the sonnets (literally and figuratively) not unnoticed. Xiumin turned the music down and met her twinkling eyes once before nodding, moving his hand towards her thigh as he slowed down slightly. The roads were empty and rather lonely except for the now darkening sky and the smooth but icy winds.

“Read, then.” Xiumin tried not to laugh as Dara flipped to the sonnet she read earlier in the shining daylight. Throwing in the same amount of dramatic emotion, Xiumin attempted with even greater difficulty not to start chortling as she couldn’t capture the proper essence of the sonnet.

“SONNET ONE-HUNDRED-AND-THIRTY,” Dara announced, “My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun, dear Xiumin! Core-ral is FAR more red––”

“Coral, dear Dara.”

Oh she was drunk. And while it could be taken ‘in the wrong way’ when a male says he loves a lady drunk… he really wasn’t thinking that way. Dara was just so much more free when she was just slightly intoxicated. All stresses, troubles, and worries flew away with the wind and was happily washed away by the shore when she wasn’t in her right frame of mind. She was just lovely.

“Well if you’re so clever, you read it.”

He his lips, tasting the remnants of the wine, and then smirked. “I’m too busy driving.”

“Pull over!”

“As you wish, dear Dara.”

They were both drama students. That’s how they met. She was full of expressions, fierce attitudes, and lively actions while he captured light emotions, deep thoughts, and showed meaningful conduct. Their friendship just worked like that –– she was the fire, and he was the water. They were balanced. And when they were partnered together (goodness, they had chemistry), to perform as a married couple in the nineteenth century and had to call one another ‘dear’, it deepened their friendship so much more. Both quickly adopted the endearing, old-fashioned term in a joyous way