peridot-dreams - Tumblr blog

[peridot-dreams]

Masterlists

Criminal Minds

Marvel (including Tom Holland)

Gotham

Ben Hardy

[peridot-dreams]

beautiful people | shawn mendes

Shawn sees a familiar face at the awards show, and learns the value of realness.

The setting sun leaves the Hollywood sky pink and full of possibilities. Shawn finds himself looking out the window at it, still in a daze after the events that had unfolded that day. He’d won several awards for a song he was proud of. He thinks of the look on his parents’ faces in the audience when his name was announced and smiles. That’s who I do this all for, he thinks to himself.

His limousine rolls up the venue. It’s already teeming with people, Lamborghinis, and cameras. Shawn is used to such commotion, but the second he opens the car door, he’s bombarded with excessive noise - noise so loud that he can barely hear himself think.

He’s still riding his post-awards high when he walks in, still dressed in the same red carpet outfit as before. He has a girl on his arm, but not by choice - rather, an unfortunate PR stunt planned terribly and executed even worse. He greets his celebrity friends as he passes by, offering a small smile and a thank you when they congratulate him on his win.

He’s just about to ask the girl on his arm if she’d like to come with him to the drink bar when he sees a flash of silver in the corner of his eye. Shawn realizes who had just walked past him; he feels his heart began to pound in his chest and his breathing gets shallow. “Sorry, can I go to the bathroom?” he tells the girl on his arm, not bothering to wait for a response. He detaches himself and follows the silver blur, around a corner and into a dark hallway.

The silver blur is standing in the dark, scrolling aimlessly on her phone. Shawn sighs and takes in the sight: the silver dress on her is absolutely stunning. Her hair and her makeup is perfect; he feels lost in her presence, stunned by her beauty. He’s never seen her like this, and it only adds to the pain of it all. His mother had once said that losing a best friend is worse than a break up and right now he completely understands what his mother meant.

“Y/N,” he breathes. When she looks up, he feels like running away - she’s looking at him as if he’s the dirt under her silver heels. He wishes she would stop, that she would run to him and hug him and make everything alright between them again. She’s standing right in front of him but he misses her, misses everything about their friendship and support for each other.

“What do you want, Mendes?” she mutters under her breath. She turns her attention back to her phone, tapping her toe incessantly. Shawn can’t stand the sound of her heel hitting the ground because he remembers that she tends to fidget when she’s upset; the clacking sound is only a reminder of their friendship that had crashed and burned for reasons Shawn still fails to understand.

“Why do you hate me so much?” Shawn blurts out. “I don’t get it, Y/N. We used to be best friends, and one day you just started hating me and I still don’t understand why.”

“Because,” Y/N spits, shoving her phone into her bag. “Because you’re like them now.”

“Who’s ‘them’?”

“All those fake people out there!” Y/N exclaims, her eyes glancing over to the party-goers with a disgusted look plastered on her face. Shawn feels her gaze coming back to him, judging and critical. He feels like he could wither under her stare like a plant in a drought. “Shawn, you’ve changed. You used to be so down to earth, so genuine, but now you’re caught up in the money and fame and corporate bullshit.”

“Am not!” Shawn crosses his arms as he unconsciously clenches his teeth. “That’s such bull-”

“Shawn, you’re the epitome of fake. You’re in a fucking PR relationship.”

“W-What-”

“Don’t even try to argue. It’s so obvious and even your fans know what’s going on.”

Shawn closes his eyes. He wishes that he could argue with her, but arguing in the dark hallway outside of an after party wasn’t the ideal setting to do so. From the outside looking in, he knows it looks like he’s changed but he needs her to know that it’s not true. He needs his best friend back in his life again.

“Look,” Shawn speaks, taking a deep breath. “Let’s ditch this party. I know you don’t like these kinds of events anyway, so I don’t even know why you’re here…”

“My manager made me come.”

“Right. Whatever, let’s just sneak out. Let’s hang out like we used to, okay? I’ve missed you.”

“Don’t you need to get back to fake-dating your ‘girlfriend’?” Y/N snaps, giving Shawn the most sarcastic air quotes she can muster.

“No, fuck that,” he says. Against his better judgment, he takes her hand in his. He’s relieved when she doesn’t try to yank her hand back. “Let’s just go.”

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Thirty minutes later, Shawn finds himself sitting across from Y/N at a dingy old diner on the other side of Hollywood. He watches as she twirls the straw in her chocolate milkshake. She hasn’t said more than three words to him since they left the party, and Shawn feels like trying to salvage their friendship is pointless at this point. Shawn knew from their now-dead friendship that Y/N was a champion at holding grudges - he just never expected to find himself at the other end of one.

“So how’ve you been?” Shawn asks softly. He wants to kick himself for how awkward and nervous he sounds, but he hopes that Y/N will take his nerves as a sign of his genuine interest in rekindling their friendship.

“Fine,” she mumbles. She takes a tiny sip of her chocolate shake. “Slow year.”

Shawn knows that isn’t true. He Googles her name every few weeks and watches every single interview she appears in on YouTube. Y/N’s acting career had taken off in the past few years, and she’d been getting tons of lead roles in TV shows and movies lately. He always gets a pang of jealousy in the pit of his stomach when he sees pictures of her with friends on Instagram, because he knows full well that it could have been him travelling the world with her, experiencing new things with her.

He doesn’t tell her that he’s been keeping tabs on her. “Yeah,” Shawn mutters. “Okay.”

The tension in the air could be cut with a knife. It doesn’t help that the diner is completely empty, save for the old man who owns it and is busy complaining about how “millenials are killing the restaurant business” under his breath. Shawn tries to focus on the owner’s mutterings, desperately wanting to think about something other than the fact that Y/N is totally not into him or the conversation that he’s been trying to keep going.

“I don’t hate you, by the way.”

Shawn’s head snaps up to look at her, eyes wide with shock. “Well, you stopped talking to me out of the blue, so I just assumed you did.”

“Well, I don’t.” She stops twirling her milkshake straw and drops her hands into her lap. She meets his gaze, eyes still hard and lips pressed together in a straight line. “You’ve just...changed.”

“I think we’ve both changed.”

“No.” She shakes her head, letting out an indignant laugh. Shawn winces at the sharpness of her tone. “You’re the one who started doing brand deals, ripping off fans with overpriced tickets and merch, signing PR contracts and betraying your fans…”

“Y/N.” Shawn’s hands are starting to shake; he rubs his thighs over his jeans in an attempt to calm himself down. Her words are cutting deeper than a knife; he can barely stand it.

“You’ve completely betrayed your fans, Shawn. You’ve sold them out to every company that has approached you, taken advantage of their trust. Damn it Shawn, you’re even endorsing overpriced water now, like how stupid is-”

“That wasn’t fucking me!” Shawn slams his hand on the table. The old man stops mumbling about millenials and looks in fear at the angry boy. Y/N is barely fazed, her hard glare still targeting Shawn.

“Oh really?” She narrows her eyes at him. “‘Cause your ass is everywhere these days, every time I turn on the TV-”

“Do you remember how my career started?”

Y/N stops for a second, but rolls her eyes immediately after. “Yeah, at some overpriced convention marketed towards prepubescent teenagers.”

“Before MAGCON,” Shawn interrupts. His eyes plead with her to understand, to see where he’s coming from. “I was just a kid, sitting in my room with a guitar. Singing cover songs and making six second videos even though no one was listening. Because I felt like it. Because it made me happy.”

“Yeah. I remember.”

“Yeah. That’s the happiest I’ve ever been in my life.” A sigh leaves Shawn’s mouth; his eyes drop to his lap as he tries to calm his shaking hands and voice. He’s never felt so heated in his life, like every emotion is about to burst out of his chest. “And then everything just took off and suddenly I was signing with a record label and being thrust into the public eye. I was just a small town kid from Canada, but suddenly people were starting to expect things from me.”

“Shawn-”

“No, please. Hear me out.” The suit on his body was tailored to be comfortable, but in the heat of his rant it feels like it’s suffocating him. “It all went so fast. It was just one song after another and interviews and TV shows and concerts and tours. Everything was just going by so fast and every day, I lost a piece of myself. I was on autopilot, and my team was just signing me up for everything and I would let myself be led by them. Even now, I just sign contracts without thinking and allow myself to be molded by people who only care about money.”

“Shawn, why didn’t you tell me any of this before?” Y/N’s eyes are soft now. She suddenly notices how tired he looks under the makeup that he was forced to wear to the awards event: his sunken eyes, the dark bags under them, the lines that furrowed into his skin between his eyebrows. He looks like he’s barely hanging on to life, like the walls are caving in and he’s been trying to hold them up. She wishes she would have noticed earlier how lifeless he looks. “We were best friends, you could have told me about this.”

“Because,” Shawn starts, holding back the sob forcing itself up his throat. “I can’t ever tell anyone because I don’t want to sound ungrateful. I’m grateful, I really am...I’m lucky to have my passion be my career. But I’m so tired, Y/N. I just want to go back to being that kid in his bedroom, playing guitar because he feels like it, not because he signed a contract or because someone else wants him to.” He closes his eyes, sighing, letting his head fall back slightly. He reminds himself to relax his shoulders and take deep breaths. “When I’m on stage, I get to go back to being happy for just a moment. I get to forget about everyone’s expectations, about contracts and brand deals and PR and all the bullshit. I get to be me. Completely free.”

She’s stunned and he knows it. He’s just unloaded all of the burdens he’s been carrying; Shawn doesn’t know how Y/N is going to react, but he feels lighter, he feels better. He just hopes, so desperately, that she’ll understand his brokenness and the wreckage that has been left in his mind as a result of the stress and anxiety of the last few years. He hopes that she’ll understand him for what he is, not what he appears to be.

“So I haven’t changed, Y/N. I’m not like them; I’m like you. Money and fame, it’s just not who we are.”

“Shawn, I’m so sorry.” Her tear-filled eyes move in a frenzy as she realizes the falsity of her words and accusations. “I should have realized that you felt this way and that you were struggling. I’m so sorry for severing our friendship and for not knowing what was going on.”

“No, it’s not your fault. I just…”

Shawn groans as he sees the group of people that have congregated outside the windows of the diner. They both gaze into the parking lot, bombarded by bright flashes and deafened by the sound of cameras shuttering.

“Fuck. It’s the paps.” Shawn groans again, head rolling back in frustration. “How did they find us?”

“They were following your famous ass,” Y/N says, laughing. Shawn smiles; he resists the urge to point out that she’s famous too, and has more followers than him on Instagram.

“Should we leave?” Shawn asks.

“Hell no. They want pics, let’s give them pics.” Shawn watches in awe as Y/N stands up on her seat despite the loud protesting of the owner. She starts waving at them crazily, her peace signs occasionally replaced by a middle finger.

“Fuck you!” she yells in between her laughs. Shawn grins; he finds himself copying her and standing on his own seat. He starts waving at the cameras, reveling in the flashes and dancing like an idiot to the music inside his head.

“Fuck you!” he yells. He’s never felt so liberated in his entire life. He starts posing with her, each pose more ridiculous than the prior. They pretend to tango on the table, screaming when they nearly topple over the edges. He twirls her around, smile growing bigger and bigger with each giggle that leaves her mouth. “It’s been two years and you still suck at dancing,” he cackles. She pretends to gasp, then sticks her tongue out at him and at the paps outside.

Before he realizes what he’s doing, his lips are on hers. She doesn’t kiss back at first, shocked, but when Shawn is about to pull away he feels her hands on the back of his head pulling him closer. Suddenly, there’s nothing else in the entire world besides her; they’re not standing on top of a diner table anymore. It’s like they’re floating and Shawn’s body is leaning into hers and he’s never felt so complete before. The smell of her conditioner makes him forget his own name and he realizes that her lips taste like chocolate and friends aren’t supposed to know how each other taste but he doesn’t care because it’s her and it’s always been her.

When they finally pull away, Shawn’s gasping for breath and Y/N’s eyes are as wide as saucers as she realizes what has just happened. “S-Shawn. Your PR contract…”

“Fuck the PR contract. Let’s give the world something real.” And their lips connect again, for the paparazzi cameras and the whole world to see.

[peridot-dreams]

open up to me | chris evans

Chris suffers from an anxiety attack and seeks refuge in your arms

As soon as you heard a door being slammed shut upstairs, you knew Chris was doing it again. It’d started happening more and more: the pressure would get too much for him and he would find refuge in the bathroom, locking himself in with his intrusive thoughts. It was past unhealthy, at this point. He needed help, despite his many protests against going to see a therapist.

Sighing, you stood up from your spot on the couch to go check on him. As soon as you approached the door, you heard his sniffles stop. He hated when you heard him crying. He hated appearing weak.

“Bubba?”

“Go away.” His voice was barely a whisper. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Chris.”

He knew that voice, the firm voice that meant “I’m not leaving you to suffer by yourself.” You heard the lock on the door click open; you pushed the door open and saw your mess of a husband curled up in a ball on the bathroom floor.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he whimpered, shoving his face in between his knees. His body shook with sobs as he tried to calm himself down. It pained you to see your bear of a husband - usually strong, seemingly confident - break down like this. As you kneeled next to him, you saw his blotchy cheeks and puffy red eyes. His fingers played with his ring, a surefire sign that his anxiety was acting up. Again.

“Of course I won’t,” you said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. He immediately recoiled, as if your hand was burning him. You sighed.

“It won’t leave me alone.” You’d been through this with him enough times to know that he was talking about his anxiety, and his tendency to beat himself up over the smallest flaws. Sometimes, it felt like you were in a relationship with Chris' insecurities too...it was always there, intruding at the worst moments possible.

“Sunshine-”

“Don’t call me that, please.” He was still whimpering like a puppy that was kicked to the side of the road. You reached out again, this time putting your hand on his leg. He didn’t move away, a sign that he was starting to relax. “I’m anything but.”

You moved closer to him, wrapping your arms around his shaking body. He slowly looked up at you. The sight of him made your heart break: his ocean eyes were filled with fear and sadness and desperation, instead of the warmth that you’d grown used to. His lips trembled and his hair was a mess from his tugging. “Don’t leave me, please,” he whispered.

“I would never,” you whispered back. You combed your fingers through his hair, watching him melt into your hand at your touch. “Tell me what’s wrong. Tell me how you’re feeling.”

“I can’t.”

“Bubba, please. Try for me.”

“It’s like…” His voice trailed off, his eyes darting back and forth. “It starts in my fingers. It’s like a tingle that won’t go away and then it goes into my hands and my knees and my feet and my head. It won’t leave me alone, Y/N. And then I can’t stop moving and my throat closes up and…”

“Chris, breathe.” He was damn near close to hyperventilating. You took a deep breath, raising your eyebrows at him as a signal for him to do the same. His eyes fluttering shut, he starts inhaling deeply before starting to speak again.

“I feel empty. I feel like I’m just going through the motions and my mind won’t shut the fuck up. It’s so loud, Y/N. I feel like my soul is dying.”

You simply listened. This was the first time Chris was finally opening up fully about how he was feeling, and you knew asking him a bunch of questions was only going to get him worked up again. You slowly continue carding your fingers through his hair, your way of telling him that it’s okay and that you’re here for him.

“Can you do the thing,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“The thing with my neck you always do when I get migraines.” Your eyes widened when you realized what he was talking about. Whenever he got headaches, you’d pinch the back of his neck gently. It always seemed to make the pain go away. Placing your fingers at the base of his neck, you began to apply pressure. His eyes shut and his head dropped forward.

“I feel unloveable,” he admitted. “I’m always putting you through this shit, and you always end up having to take care of me. You deserve better.”

“I want to take care of you,” you said softly. “I love you, Chris, and I’m proud of you for putting your feelings into words.”

“I’m sorry for telling you to go away,” he mumbled. He slid your hand off of his neck, taking it in his hand and looking at you.

“Chris, you could tell me to go away a hundred times and I never would.”

[peridot-dreams]

study nights | tom holland

Tom argues with his girlfriend over the (unhealthy) amount of studying she's doing.

It’s 11 pm on a Friday night when Tom finally decides that it’s getting ridiculous. He opens the door to his office and stares at Y/N sitting at his desk, textbook in one hand and highlighter in the other, reading the same page that she’s been reading for the past two hours. He can see that her hair has been put up with a claw clip for the hundredth time this week, and from how she’s holding her blue Mildliner he knows her hand is cramping up again. An iced coffee - Tom has lost count of how many she’s downed - sits next to her laptop, the condensation having formed a puddle around the glass. From her hunched back and the sound of her crying, he knows that enough is enough already.

“Y/N,” he says softly. Her back stiffens when she hears his voice. She quickly sets down the textbook and highlighter, swipes across her eyes with her sleeve, before turning around to face him. His heart breaks when he sees her: eyes red and swollen, lips trembling, her eyebrows drawn together. In other words, the telltale signs that Y/N is starting to burn out.

“I’m almost done,” she whispers, but they both know she’s lying. That’s what she said an hour ago, and the hour before, and essentially the entire week. Tom decides he’s not falling for that again.

“You need to stop.” He walks up to her, placing his hand in her hair and massaging her scalp. She leans into his hand, sighing softly as Tom attempts to relieve her of her headache. “You’ve been studying all week, now take a break. Please.”

“I can’t, Tommy.” She grabs his wrist and forcefully pulls his hand out of her hair. She turns back to the desk and picks up her study materials again, much to Tom's dismay. “I need to ace this test so that I can get my GPA up.”

“Honey. You already have a 3.8 GPA. This is ridiculous,” he says a bit more harshly. He doesn’t mean it, but he’s worried about her wellbeing and she needs to understand that.

“Tom, can you please just leave me alone?” she snaps.

Tom runs his hand through his curls in frustration. “No, I can’t! You clearly cannot take care of yourself and give yourself a break when you obviously need one!”

She’s staring at him in silence, eyes ablaze and mouth in a straight line. It’s a staredown and he knows he’s losing; he shouldn’t have raised his voice at her like that and he knows it. He tries to plead with his eyes, pleading for her to just put the highlighter down and come to bed with him.

“Get out, Tom. Please.”

“Love-”

“Get. Out.”

His feet don’t respond at first, but after letting out a sigh, he relents. He walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him and leaving Y/N in silence. Tears fall from her eyes after he leaves; she wipes them away and tries to continue studying. She knows that he’s right, but sometimes she can’t help but think that Tom doesn’t understand how much stress she’s under. As she continues reading her textbook, the argument with Tom starts to leave her mind and her focus returns in full force.

---

It’s four hours later when Y/N finally gives up. She tucks her textbook into her bag and walks out of Tom's office. She’s grateful that he’s letting her stay at his place before exams, so that she doesn’t have to worry about buying groceries or other domestic chores that would only take away from her study time. She likes his office desk better than hers anyway, just because it’s his.

When she steps into the living room, she sees brown curls sticking up from the couch. Rounding the sofa, she catches sight of him lying there, arms crossed and forehead wrinkled even in his sleep. She realizes that he’s been waiting for her even after she snapped at him.

Y/N watches him sleep for a while before climbing onto the sofa next to him. She tucks herself under his arm; he stirs and opens his eyes, a confused expression crossing his face when he sees her there. She bites her lip and nuzzles her face into his chest, basking in the safety and comfort that she finds there.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, “for yelling at you.”

“S’fine,” Tom says sleepily. He pulls her closer into him. “I just worry about you sometimes, you know? You work so hard, too hard sometimes.”

“I know.”

“Why do you push yourself so hard?”

His question hangs in the air, answered only by silence. He thinks Y/N might have fallen asleep, but when he looks down at her he sees that she’s still wide awake. She’s chewing on her bottom lip as she does when she’s trying not to cry. He rubs her back, trying to coax an answer out of her.

“Because,” she whispers, “I feel like I need to be perfect.”

Tom pauses, turning her words over in his head. “Explain.”

“It’s like,” she sniffles, “Take you, for example. You’re so talented, Tom, and you have a future in front of you. You’re one of the most successful young actors in the world. You’ve won tons of awards and achieved so many records. And everyone loves you because you’re such a great person.” She wipes a tear away from her eye. “But me...I’m nobody, Tommy. I have nothing to offer the world right now and sometimes I feel like I’m not worthy of being with you. I feel like I need to be perfect to make up for the fact that I’m not worthy of you.”

“What?” he says incredulously. “Honey, you know that’s not true, right? I don’t care if you’re not ‘perfect’ or whatever. And you’re not a nobody.”

“But I am,” she argues. “And I’m insecure. So I try to get good grades to make myself feel like I’m worth something.”

“Love.” Tom places a hand under Y/N’s chin and lifts it, getting her to look at him. Her eyes are still filled with tears and she hasn’t stopped sniffling. The sight of her like this breaks Shawn’s heart. He can’t believe that she’s being feeling his way, this insecure about being with him. Part of him feels like he’s failed her for not seeing it earlier. “You don’t have to try to be perfect because you already are. To me. To your family. To your friends. To all the people who matter, Y/N. You’re worth everything to me. And if you feel like you don’t have anything to offer the world right now, that’s because it’s not your time to offer anything yet. You have to trust the process, and once you graduate college I know you’re going to get a good job and do things that I could never dream of doing. You can’t compare yourself to me, love. We’re two very different people.”

“You could be with someone so much better,” Y/N says weakly. “You could be with someone that’s on your level.”

“There’s no one better than you for me,” Tom says. “Honey, you inspire me every single day. When I don’t feel like doing something, I think about how you never give up and always push yourself. I think about how you’re able to see the bigger picture and continue working even if the future isn’t clear. Thinking about you makes me want to better myself, and that’s all I could ask for.” He rubs her back, trying to soothe her. “I know you want to do well, but you can’t keep pushing yourself past your limits and trying to be perfect.”

Tom kisses the top of her head, grinning when he sees a soft smile on her face. Y/N leans up to give him a kiss on the lips, which he gladly accepts. When she pulls away, he watches her shift and snuggle into him. I would do anything to make this girl happy, he says to himself. She’s everything to me.

“Thank you for saying all that, Tommy,” Y/N says. “I...I really needed to hear all of that.”

“Anytime, love,” Tom says. “Come to bed with me?”

“Of course.”

[peridot-dreams]

the perfectionist | draco malfoy

Draco Malfoy ~ Angst 

He stared at himself in the mirror, nauseous from the disgust he felt bubbling at the bottom of his stomach. He couldn't stand the sight of himself: colorless strands of hair splayed in every direction, lifeless eyes framed with dark bags, skin drained of anything human. But beyond his outward appearance, he saw the evil that threatened to jump out from within his soul, a destructive impulse passed down from generation to generation of Malfoy, an urge that had driven his ancestors - and now himself - to feel entitled to commit the worst acts that humanity had to offer.

"Don't do this to yourself."

Draco's eyes slowly moved to look at Y/N in the mirror. She stood in the dark, arms hugging her body, as she watched him tear his reflection apart. She knew, better than anyone, that Draco was the worst kind of perfectionist - the one that stayed up at night convincing himself that he was a waste of space on this earth. The one who could always find a flaw, external or not, and thus a reason why he was undeserving of love. The one who was never satisfied with a good grade or a great Quidditch match unless he was the absolute best - deriving a fleeting moment of satisfaction from superiority only to fall back into his familiar sense of imposter syndrome. She knew, although it was painful to admit, that loving him would never be enough to pull him out of the self-destructive hell he had created for himself.

"You need help. Let me help you."

A tear rolled down his porcelain cheek as he tore his eyes away from her image. "I don't need help," he whispered, attempting to convince her as much as he tried to convince himself. His eyes dropped to the sink below him, heart pounding in his ears. His stomach wanted to leap out of his body. A million ants crawled under his skin. As much as Draco hated this feeling, it was home for him. Comforting. Familiar.

"Stop pushing everyone...me...away."

"I-I can't." Tears fell into the sink as he blinked rapidly. He gripped the edge of the sink, veins emerging in his hands. He knew he was hurting her, and wanted so badly to stop. "I don't know how much longer I can live like this. I need everyone to stop expecting so much from me, needing so much from me."

Y/N knew what he was talking about. He was so tired of being Draco Malfoy; the Slytherin prince, expected to follow in the honorable Lucius Malfoy's footsteps, the weight of his ancestry on his shoulders and his alone. He was so tired of being an instrument of evil - evil which he didn't agree with. He was so tired of always being the antagonist. He was tired of his perfect white-blond hair, his perfect stature, his perfect nose and jaw and hands and eyes - his body was a perfect prison that only he knew.

He felt her arms wrap around him from behind, her face gently pressing into his back. He refused to move his hands from the sink, but allowed himself to take a relaxed breath. Draco closed his eyes, focusing on the weight of her against him, and for a second he felt a sense of relief wash over him. Even if he hated himself, he could count on her to love him. And for just a moment, the certainty of her love was enough for him to forget about his imperfections.

"Please don't let me go."

"Never."