13 ㏘

"Ah…" The sound isn’t very distinct but rather airy with thought. She looks away for a moment, her tongue held to the roof of her mouth before it’s released with a faint click. Her attention is brought back to the male when the sound of his voice interrupts the brief silence, the thoughtful expression endowed on her features contorting with slight amusement. "I suppose. It is a beautiful color, anyway. Do you have a favorite?" Although the question is offtrack from their topic, it was a display of just how easily her curiosity could stem from the smallest of prompts — she wondered if there could be a hue that he would prefer his orbs to reflect. "Can’t blame them, really. They look like really unique lenses. Are you sure they aren’t; you’re not just pulling my leg, are you?" Her tone is just as playful and not at all serious, she believed him and his explanation without much doubt.

"Amber," he answered automatically. Drastically different from the dark violet that he was stuck with for the rest of his life, the colour he deemed his favourite oftentimes reminded him of warmth, a sense of grounding that he, otherwise, didn't seem to possess. Shaking his head quickly, hands were stuffed into his pockets and the corners of his mouth curled into a smile that reflected his equally playful nature. "I could be," he pondered in almost instant answer to the banter going back and forth between them. "They could be lenses and I'm just telling you they aren't for the sake of it. Or I could be telling you the truth, and they aren't lenses, just to see if you'll be willing to believe me. Which one is it?" Now, one hand was just beneath his chin, fingers tapping against pale skin. "That's up to you to figure out."

why does everyone care about being mature for their age like maybe i fucking like drinking from juice boxes and eating my popcorn like a fucking lizard fight me about it

REBLOG IF YOU APPRECIATE YOUR RP PARTNER AND JUST LIKE TO THANK THEM FOR PUTTING UP WITH YOU.

"I’ll do that; and the same to you, sir." Wisps of hair drape into her view and she lifts a hand to draw them back, fingernails tapping against her cheek for a brief moment as her hand is lowered back to her side. It had been commented on before — by her peers and fans alike — that she had a tendency to stare and maintain eye contact longer than most. It was a habit she figured that had come along with her apparent conspicuous nature; the logic she used to justify why she was able to spot an attribute where others disregarded it. "It’s unique, I could see why you would. There’s a hint of my favorite color in there, if I’m not wrong. A dark… purple?" There’s uncertainty in her tone as her voice trails off in an inquiry, lips pressed together for a short moment. "I like it; but how did that come about, if I may ask?"

"Genetic mutation." As simple as the answer was, it was vague, to the point, and nothing short of the truth. Over the years, he'd learned what to say(and what not to say), in terms of keeping secrets buried and truths revealed, and this was one of those things. If the level of comfort were higher, he'd have let her know a bit more but, for the moment, basic truth was more than enough. "Lucky for me it's a colour you like, ey?" This time, his voice had a subtle hint of a playful tone held within, his typically relaxed nature returning full force and aiding to help him block out most of the world around them. "I often get asked where I buy my lenses and no one ever believes me when I tell them I've never worn contacts a day in my life," he huffed afterwards, tongue pressing childishly against his right cheek. When people compared him to a five-year-old, they weren't exactly kidding.