beautiful god.

          he’s cold, fingertips idly dancing across the curve of his right thigh as light blues fixate upon them. they’re busy, and he’s cold, almost shivering where he sits. a rosy flush adorns both the tip of his nose and the apples of his cheeks all the same, and when he licks his lips he’s almost surprised his tongue doesn’t turn into ice. breezy summer nights are only cute in rom coms.

graham: [ he's giggling softly, amused to an extent that could have easily been achieved, thanks to baldur, even if he were sober. it dies down, a few seconds passing before he hears the other's words. it makes him smile all the more. ] yeah, i guess. [ he chuckles. there's a beat and wavering of his smile as his mind focuses on the one place he wants to be that moment. ] hey, you think you got room in that bed for one more? what movie are you watching anyways?

graham: what are you gonna do arrest me?

he’s dripping wet, but there’s yet to be a chill that overcomes him. the weather is one that benefits him, staying at an endurable temperature as he flashes a smile to baldur. he wonders what the other looks like completely soaked, imagines it may resemble that of a wet dog with long fur. “  yeah? “ he repeats, sitting down beside the other. “ well how much time do i have before it kills me? “ dork was something he’d never had used to describe him; idiot, dumbass, stupid, reckless, no good, worthless – had all always seemed to suit him better. 

graham: is that so? [ he squints slightly, even though the male is fully aware baldur can not see him nor his expression. ] nothing about a curly haired boy, brown eyes, wrecking havoc to people's eardrums? he's about four feet, five inches.