yes or yes
he's feeling more smug than usual, but that's to be expected from a guy who runs on ego-flexing and bad, bad decisions, done by yours truly or by the hands of others.
today, it's an unfortunate case of the latter on both fronts. when some grizzly looking owl came crashing right into the back of his head earlier that morning, envelope clutched in its talons. one that was strawberry-lace pink and decorated with a cluster of drawn mini hearts. his first thought: what the fuck?
and after scanning the contents of the equally frilly letter: what. the. fuck. followed by something that sounds like hyena laugh the second he gets to the bottom, where in thin, spidery scrawl the letters spells out the senderās name.
truth be told, heās never so much as looked her way in his entire life, but their circles run close enough to pick her out through the pack of students lazing in the courtyard. a glance over his shoulder to his so-called ālackeysā is the signal to move, and so they do, padding from behind at a distance.
simon slides into the opposite side of the picnic bench with a practiced ease that is in his opinion unparalleled, face pulled into a sharp sort of neutral despite the fact that deep down, he is absolutely school-boy giddy that someone, someone really harbored such ridiculous fixations for him ( but that's not the cool cat way to handle things now, is it? ). running a hand through pomade slick hair, he clears his throat loudly for her attention.
"you're roh, aren't you?"
he tilts his head, expression impassive, fingers drumming idly on the tabletop.Ā āfor someone who iāve never talked to, youāve got a lot to say, huh.āĀ
( rewind, october 2018 with @peachpvtā )
