He knows he likes to make you scared, just to see
How much you care
He was never going anywhere
And he knows you play the same games too,
But you keep losing
He was too good
He was way too good
JJK x reader
0822210050110
Beautifully, out of place like a moon, during the day.....
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"And, then we'll be heading, to beprecise, me only, since you alreadyleftwithout even a singlenotice, dont even know whatevercrap goes on in thatcoconut-shaped-peanut-sized mind ofyours,"
"you know, I felt genuinely betrayed plus thescolds I got from everyone on yourbehalf, bullshit... turns out it was aplain wrong movedude...."
He sighs in response, his head throbbing.
"anyways ya drop this thing, do you remember that previous painting of mine, they loved it- complete awestruck, Imean who wouldn't be, it's made byme afterall, the great Ja―"
"Shut. up. with. this..." he groans in exasperation as it got the best of him, and before the other side could speak any further, he has already disconnected.
The continuous nags danced across his forehead, trying to process everything, and his half sleepy self becoming a barrier in it.
He squints his eyes a little feeling a ray of light peeking through the curtains, which have found its way in the dark area, eventually going through the dark grey curtains, ghosting and sprawling along with them, fading sometimes due to the soft breeze as if playing hide and seek, and finally kissing the soft creme mattresses upon which, he was sprawled peacefully.
He buries his face further into the softness of his pillow to avoid it, starting the day with an annoying phonecall, and especially from the most annoying being on the earth, has now become a regular routine, if he's not wrong.
The headache from the night, heavy lids, tired form and a little sober self, since the alcohol was completely drained out of his system, welcomed him; enveloping him in a painful headache as soon as he squeezes his eyes to adjust for the morning. He can't even remember when he got into sleep, cause last time, last time he remembers―
The Polaroid picture snaps his attention, hiding somewhere between the sheets as he takes a deep breathe, holding it between his long slender fingers. oh, he was observing something, reading someone, sinking somewhere.
Folding it from middle-vertically, so that the guy in the picture gets hidden from his view, his index rests upon the girl,
He sighs.
the girl with that odd pouty look, nose scrunched- brows furrowed- eyes squeezed and those velvety smooth lips formed in a pout with strands of some hairs flowing with the wind, some at the face, forehead and a good amount resting upon the upper-lip forming somehow a moustache... or whatever
