——theme.
꿈 유지.
your soul has planted tall trees that grow Up to the sky, Branches as strong as the hope for a future between you and I; These trees I have grown to despise Because they are just as bright a green as the rim around your eyes
v slow & just a little selective; always accepting plots, pls ask for aim.

░ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴀᴄɪᴀʟ 👀

keybums:

﹛🌟﹜ “ I’m offering you a free spa treatment. Do you know how much you’d be charged any where else?” He feels like  a good Samaritan, helping the needy by cutting costs and slabbing green on their face. Definitely the modern day Robin Hood. He could get use to this.

He’s still for a fraction of a second; his nose crinkles at the thought of all the impurities denting the bean’s canvas only to crinkle more when he dares to call his craters… ‘sacred ’. “Well, if you don’t love yourself, no one will.” He gives a soft roll of his shoulder.  “You’ll have enough time to bite off my styling after the mask.” He’s steering Jin, hands clinching his shoulders as he drives him steadily through the long hall to prevent any swiping from going on. “I’ll give you a tour later.” Of course he has to brag, “ –You’ve gotta see my closet, it’s huge.”

An overly-elated Kibum strays from the shoulder and bounces toe first into the bathroom and over to the sink  to admire his special brew. It’s a clumpy, avocado rich concoction but knowing Kibum there had to be more than a few secret ingredients. “See how green it is?“ He coos, dipping the brush into the mixture. “I made it myself. Looks pretty good, huh? Come get a taste! ”

He’s wrinkling his nose at the backhanded comment when it’s carelessly tossed at his person, reaction time largely delayed by the suddenly unrivaled level of indecisiveness that plagues him upon reaching the conclusion that passes his lips with a reasonable amount of trepidation;

“Why do you doubt me like this? I’m a good egg. I know things.”

He manages to suffer through his companion’s ministrations withholding any utterance akin to the vehicular variety, a frown surfacing to dimple his features as he’s abruptly being deposited, abandoned just as abruptly as the one who’d left him there bounds through the entrance with superfluous zest. A longsuffering exhalation is the next sound to exit his mouth as he dangles a limb carefully over the sheer drop, the precipice, the unholy threshold of Kibum’s bathroom, dark eyes turned saucers when they dart from the appendage to the other male skeptically. “It’s homemade? Do I wanna know what’s inside?–”

Brusquely curved to halfmoons, his eyes are cutting defiantly towards the green invention and with a sudden newfound conviction he’s uttering, “It’s not gross. It’s not gross. I’ll eat it, give it to me.”
30 August 2015 | 1:30 PM
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