( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

ian: just look at that fucker

It’s listening to The Killers and driving down the highway in your friend’s car, the sun is low in the sky and there’s golden light refracting on everyone’s faces— grins and laughter fill the air and the light dances in everyone’s eyes. It’s wearing a big jacket to a football game and standing in brown leaves with your dirty canvas shoes, toes hard with numbness and hands feeling that way that hands do when it’s too cold and they’re almost.. sticky. Your torso is warm and you push your hands against your stomach for that soft satisfying burn, standing huddled in a pile of your friends with your hair awkwardly strewn about. It’s running down a neighborhood street, night black with possibility and warm streetlights lighting the pavement with a movie­-like sepia glow— your feet slap the pavement and your eyes sting with cold air, head craned up laughing and looking at the moon as you sprint. It’s sitting in the empty field of the middle school— smiling ear to ear with the blissful juxtaposition of a burning throat fading into warm numbed limbs and then cold grass— drinking sunshine to compliment the cloudy night.

Hamilton: (ง •̀_•́)ง.

tubbs: lmao bitch you thought