#eaxdean

it’s all in jest, as one can probably tell from the smile on his face, or by the way he’s pushing his sunglasses above his head so he can open his eyes and actually look at her. his head is resting on his arms and it’s a relatively okay day, and for a few hours he actually doesn’t have any responsibilities unless someone gets into trouble.

so he thinks: maybe i can buy ice cream for rose, too. she might want some. i hope they have french vanilla.

he’s already sitting up, hands in the pockets of his khaki pants, standing in front of this student like he’s some bully. maybe with another alias, but not right now.

“you’re lucky i’m in a good mood, kid. say please and give me your money, then maybe i’ll help you out.”

“kid?” she echoes, positively curious and in slight shock. “since when did you stop calling me princess?” 

for all intents and purposes, gwen has never been a brat. she has always been the good kid who follows whatever the adults say without any fuss and temper tantrum in sight. considering the lifestyle she lives, it’s pretty for a princess like here to be so nice but this doesn’t mean that she cannot play the princess card to her strengths once in a while-- especially towards someone she’s close to. 

Nami prefers to stay in trouble, she really does. So there she is, back against the sand beach as she stares into the sky, trying to look a little dramatic despite the sunlight starting to make her blind. 

But a few minutes pass and she pulls herself up to stretch. At that moment, he hears a group of girls rumbling and laughing at the same time, one scribbling a ‘hi you’re so handsome’ in a piece of paper before throwing it against someone sitting not so far away from Nami. The girls run the second the paper hits their desired target, leaving Nami  in the stranger’s line of sight if ever he does turn around. 

Vodka pours from Kay’s half empty (or half full) bottle and to his self made ice cup. It’s one those nights of him wanting to escape from those ranging words in his thoughts with alcohol. 

So, there he is, in some chicken restaurant in the Village of Book End-- not caring about chatters and side-way glances that divert towards him. 

He fixes the cap on his head, letting the shadow cover his pale blue eyes with darkness, just the way he likes it. He’s half-way through not giving any ounce of care in his surroundings when he sees a familiar face making way inside. 

‘Seonsaengnim’ isn’t something he’d say, so he lifts his hand up and shoots a salute.

“Fancy seeing you here”