ᴄʜᴏᴋɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴘʀɪᴅᴇ.

Percy ends up having to clench his fingers tighter around his charcoal pencil, the urge to swipe his thumb along Kingston’s protruding lower lip suddenly ridiculously overwhelming in that moment. “Surely it’d be just as easy to have picked up on a few words by now, vrai?” He quirks his head to the side, grin quirking at the ends of his lips in mild amusement. “Or do I just need to start throwing out phrases other than baise-moi and sucer ma bite?” Teeth catch his lower lip in a teasing manner, eyebrows lifting up over batting eyelashes. 

Percy moves the bottle to the crook of his arm, sliding his fingers through the opening of the envelop in order to pry it apart. He huffs out a snort upon seeing the ridiculously frilly card, eyes rolling in a manner of subdued fondness, and carefully plucking out the gift card tucked inside. Cass Art. Not too bad. “Cheers. Could use some more canvas, actually.” He gives a quick nod in gratitude, slipping the card into his back pocket.

“I never said that you didn’t, only that I never asked for you to,” he reiterated, hands suddenly twitchy and anxious, the boy currently wanting nothing more than to escape this conversation and get back to his aimless sketches. He’d always found himself to be all the more irritable after an attack -- maybe because the vulnerability of it all, especially with it being done in such a public place, always left him rather scared -- and when Percy got scared, he got mean. “I see it plenty, actually. You just don’t seem to comprehend the fact that I don’t actually give a fuck.” And maybe his words were too venomous-- too personal or too over the top, but Percy always found it hard to stop himself when he really got going. “I don’t know why you do either, honestly, seeing as I’ve constantly made it rather apparent that I don’t want you to; that I don’t want anyone to.” His eyes are narrowed as he spits the words forward from his lips, his usual scowl made even more apparent by the action. “So don’t get pissy at me for ‘hurting your feelings’ when every one of you know good and well how I am by now.”

“Who says I want anyone to ‘make an effort’ with me to begin with?” He spouts back without any sense of hesitation, fingers digging into the sides of his sketchbook, but not enough to actually dent the material. “If you or anyone else doesn’t wanna deal with my ‘bitchy’ attitude, then they’re more than welcome to kindly fuck off.” He offers up an over-exaggerated eye roll just as a sigh slips past his lips. “Like-- what? Am I suddenly expected to offer my thanks to any failed secondary school friendship or one night stand that suddenly wants to ‘make an effort’ with me? Because it seems that nearly all of you have forgotten that I don’t actually give a shit about playing nice with people I’ve barely spoken to in the past couple of years. So, yeah-- sure ‘make an effort’ all you’d like. But don’t act like I’m suddenly gonna care when anyone stops trying. Because it’s bullshit.” And, well-- to be honest-- that’s probably not entirely true, but it’s not as if he plans on going back on that statement now.

“Collections of conscious stardust?” Percy quirks up an eyebrow, as if thoroughly amused by the other’s statement -- though he has to admit that the sound of it did appeal to him rather nicely. “Just never figured it to be a bit deal, I s’pose. S’just the same as any other day of the year, really.” His shoulders lift up in a shrug, knowing he probably sounded every bit as pessimistic as usual. “Dunno-- sleep in, for once? Get some new canvas? Free baked goods? Lots of sex?” Another shrug. “S’not like most people have the capacity of buying anything outside of gift cards and poorly put together photo albums, so I’ve never been too keen on presents or ‘birthday outings’ to begin with.”

“Could’ve just used a gift bag, I’m sure,” he reminds the girl with a quick quirk of his eyebrow, already sliding his fingers along the edges, peeling off the tape and slowly pushing aside the paper. “--Oh.” Blue eyes instantly light up as soon as the wrapping is gone and the gift beneath is revealed -- though,  as per usual, Percy keeps the majority of his expression stoic and unwavering. “C'est beau, merci.” He offers his friend a feather of a smile, fingers ghosting along the set with the utmost care.

“Not gonna happen, but cheers.” He nods his head in thanks, taking the card being handed out to him with a look of skepticism. “A card?” His eyebrow quirks up in amusement, though he can’t help but feel a bit touched that the other boy made the effort. “This isn’t one of those terrifying ones that starts spouting out Justin Bieber whenever you open it, right?”

“Dunno. You probably could’ve thrown in something a bit more advanced then ‘oui, oui,’ non?” He quirks up an eyebrow in mild amusement, head ducking down to look at the sketchbook currently propped up in his lap, effectively hiding the small upturn of his lips. Eyes scan over the sharp jawline and deep brown orbs of the face he’d been sketching before his attack. Upon realizing the likeness of the sketch to the boy currently seated in front of him, Percy raises his knees up just a bit more in order to shield the drawing from Kingston’s eyes. “Quit attempting to flatter me, poupée.” Then he’s leaning over to quickly rub his reddened cheek against his shoulder, as if attempting to scrub away the evidence of his currently flushed skin. 

“Cute,” the boy deadpans, expression unimpressed -- though, admittedly, he is quietly amused by the other boy’s ability to snap back a witty response -- and eyes narrowed at the hand currently patting him on the shoulder. “Mm, smarter? Debatable. But people do tend to be more impressed with creativity these days, non? And, well-- is there really any doubt as to who outweighs the other in that area?”

“I’ve always been an old man, pretty much.” Percy offers up a shrug in response, eyeing the gift with a small look of reproach. He’d never been much for gifts -- the element of surprise causing him more anxiety than what it was likely worth. “Vraiment?” He takes the gift currently being handed out to him, eyes still scanning the neatly wrapped parcel that was now gripped between his fingers. “What is it?” Not that he expected her to tell him before he even unwrapped the present, but Percy was never one for not trying.

Percy eyes the present with a quirked eyebrow, a whisper of a smile pulling at the ends of his lips. “You do realize that I don’t actually drink, right?” Though despite his words, he’s taking the bottle from the other boy, anyways. At least he tried.

Percy winces at the shrill squeak that breaks through the brief bout of silence, almost as if on instinct. He huffs out a sigh as the other girl rattles on about celebration possibilities, though he’s nowhere near as annoyed by her presence as he would be if anyone else had put on such a display of excitement. “Skydiving is terrifying, I’m absolutely affreux at baking, and the mere thought of precious, and probably horribly expensive, paint being wasted by people chucking it at one another makes me ill.” His shoulders lift up in another shrug, mindlessly thumbing through the pages of his own novel, and pretending to focus his attention there. “I never really understood the big deal surrounding birthdays anyways, I suppose.”