philotimo

@kangjvn-blog

When he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night.

50 posts

` neosporin

grxvejunjxn

Keenan was obediently doing what he had been planning to do for the past three months, thanks to the weather’s compliance he was finally working on the front porch. Nails hung from his lips as he worked on drilling in screws and finish with a hammer, he learned the tricks long ago when working part time with a carpenter. He could faintly remember the days that he was able to work for hours on end, something about the past made him feel older than he actually was.

But it was too much to ask for some peace to just work, apparently.

Two seconds into putting his drill down, Keenan stood and considering that the stairway had no railing at the moment — he figured he’d have to be careful. That is, until he was pushed over to his tumbling demise in mulch and small blocks of wood.

#p: neosporin #grxvejunjxn

mvngjina-deactivated20150530

somewhere only we know — ;

The shutters of the projector flicker on and off, light and dark like the way the rays of the sun peek through the sparse spaces of forest canopy to the earthy floor and there’s two silhouettes that run through the grove of trees along the shape of the dirt path that mirrors the shape of her mouth. The woman finds sympathy in every brush stroke and eyes set in wonder in the rain, the boy quiet but tensed with anger and the desire for a father’s approval; she finds solace in the blunt blonde bob that reaches to her chin and the infectious grin, the girl painted with gold. They were wild youth, with their wielded magic and worn out sneakers; a time that she herself cannot remember, a time that she’d rather forget – a world of black and white when it should have been swallowed up in color.

Now she watches the colors being spilt into the pale waters by trembling hands but she cannot let her own tears tumble down while she watches (with Jesse) the last of Leslie’s congregation float through the land that together they had both learned about and learned to love. To her left, there’s sniffling and the sound of shaky breath gathered in an attempt to regain composure and Jina remembers that there had been solely one other viewer in the audience. She had been planning to use the last of her Kleenex to dab away her eyes, but the female had already reached three seats over to where the man sat. “Here –” The folded piece that she had pulled from her own box sits in her palm, waiting to be taken. "You need this more than I do.”

It was just difficult to watch something that could have happened.

The old theatre put on some older movies for free during the day, for people with no time to find time. Or for people who wish they could, perhaps he was one of them. What would have happened if the accident got the best of him? He didn’t do anything, really. He just tried to breathe for the few moments he could remember, each passing moment would be different or alike to the last time he tried to remember.

His elbow was propped up on the arm rest, and his chin was held up by his hand in a justified trial to keep himself muffled. It simply hurt to think of what his sister would have had to go through, the legalities of it all would have her behind bars and with a wilting heart as he was sure his parents would want nothing to do with — stop it.

He had let his mind wander too far, when he let that happen his eyes would let a lot more happen. He suddenly heard the sound of another voice, tissues awaiting to be used and he took them wholeheartedly.

“Thank you,” he covered his eyes and rubbed them furiously. He then rubbed his nose just as harshly, before taking a deep and shaking breath. Keenan wanted to say more to her, but he was left with staring at the beautiful cinematography for a few more minutes. The credits fell through with the reoccurring motif as the background music.

Without moving, he remained where he was and when he looked over — so did she.

#p: somewhere only we know #mvngjina

` one and another

sontaehoon

[ ` he pulled up to the familiar home, somewhat far from his but just enough to get back to his own residence safely. he parked his large truck (that he truly didn’t even need) along the curb and took the keys from the ignition. upon dismounting the vehicle, he came across the cold night air. ]

[ ` he headed to the front door and walked up the steps and finally looked up, only to find that in the dark of night taehoon had been standing in the doorway the whole time and he didn’t even notice, upon that gem keenan tripped. chuckling to himself, he stared at the other with a grin but also in slight disbelief and embarrassment. ] hi to you too, jerk.

#p: one and another #sontaehoon

` i know, i know

justsammyquinn

He kept the situation at ease, he hadn’t seen the kid for quite some time. Keenan couldn’t really put a number to it, he just remembers that he needs to become more acquainted to the thick accent he was going to encounter in the next ten minutes or so. After calling him some time earlier (seems like today wasn’t the day to keep track of time), Keenan couldn’t help but reminisce in the days where he gave Lochlan the open door.

Business seemed to be doing well enough, importing and exporting wasn’t a simple revenue to live off of. How a major league baseball player knew the man who owned that sort of business was beyond him, but Keenan knew at the very least that Sammy would be glad to see him.

Because once he parked his Chevrolet Colorado on the gravel and stepped out to greet the grown man that had an inkling of a similarity to the teenager he once knew, Keenan could not stop grinning when he put on his best (and worst) Irish accent. “ ‘ow’s the business, lad? Runnin’ fare?”

#justsammyquinn #p: i know; i know

` slightly too sudden

“Technically, this is my hometown, remember?” Sumire uttered softly, a short laugh slipping after having caught the rhyme; cutting quick due to her being unsure of it was intentional.

“Oh Keenan… It really has been too long. But meeting under these circumstances? Doesn’t this only happen in the movies?” Her voice ringing light and innocent, avoiding making the situation any more awkward. First looking to him with a hum, her attention is then directed towards the remaining boxes she needed to go through and sort.

“If you’re insisting, I mean… You can come and help me, even if it’s just a little bit. There’s not much to do there, but I won’t turn down the offer if it’s presenting itself.”

Sumire turned on her heel, leading him over toward her doorstep where several marked boxes were located, right at the step.

“I managed to push a few of the heavier boxes over to the left, could you possibly carry those ones inside for me? I would’ve asked my little Brodie bro, but knowing him… He’d probably purposely drop them to spite me. But I feel that I can trust you not to do so.”

His throat was dry, a pang in the pit of his stomach to stop thinking.

Keenan can’t really answer her when she mentions trust, his heart pangs and his stomach tightens as she easily turns around and she keeps talking. He used to remember the internal frustration he had with this peculiar mood of hers, usually by now he’d be rolling his eyes and force himself to speak over her. The two of them were stubborn, but now it was only one.

Quiet and stiff, Keenan followed her and put his focus on the boxes that she motioned towards. The injury from prior travelled from his chest to his back, little by little. He ignored the pain and managed to hoist it up under his chin, he placed his head to the side slightly to see past the box and make it up the steps — in fear that he may fall under her again.

Metaphorically speaking, of course, he never planned to show his weaker side after he lived what would be a painful memory. He admitted to himself, again, how pretty she was. Her voice always had a soothing tone, patient and observant, but detailed and concise. He set the first box down as he passed through the front door and then silently headed down the steps, he didn’t bother to even look into the house’s bare interior.

The second box made its way up to accompany his chest, right under his chin. It was heavier than the first one, or was he already tired? Apart from the occasional grunt or sigh, he silently repeated this process. Without a single word, as he had no way to tell her how much he missed her.

#p: slightly too sudden #sumireb

` opportunity cost

to say that savannah wasn’t the least bit anxious to meet keenan cross—the keenan cross aka the keenan cross who played with the new york yankees keenan cross—would be a severe understatement. her manager had been on the phone with her up until she was about a block away from the hideout cafe, constantly reminding her to leave a good impression on the ex-athlete for the prospects of her future. the responsibility was incredibly horrifying, she’ll admit, but she couldn’t help but agree with her manager—she needed someone with connections like keenan cross to make it big in the swimming world.

when she entered the cafe and saw him across the way, she heavily sighed to herself before putting on her most polite and approachable expression as she made her way towards him, seating herself across from him and silently praying that those mannerism classes she got as a child would hopefully pay off in the end.

"it’s not a problem," she responded, softly smiling at him. glancing down at the menu and noticing that almost every beverage contained caffeine, she politely shook her head. “i think i’ll pass, but thank you for the offer, though.”

He had gotten the call but a day before, it was exactly what he expected of this screwed up hierarchy of business. Athletes were human being that had physical attributes, amongst that revenue therein lies the truth about exceeding past ordinary levels.

Savannah Choi, a girl of eighteen that had potential in water.

Keenan knew of several mentors that would serve her some justice, and by doing a favor for her manager he figured that another connection made would result in an opportunity both both him and for the girl that sat in front of him. She had an air of formalities surrounding her, something he didn’t really expect. He thought that he would sit in front of a rebellious kid that’d go straight for caffeine, or maybe someone who was naive and knew nothing better than to go for everything chocolate on the menu. But he sat in front of a regal, a girl with etiquette and poise.

The mug hit the marble top with a soft clink, his legs crossed and the rest of his body slouched slightly in his chair as height didn’t really assist in the idea of comfort. He figured that he’d just go into what she’s used to, supposing that small talk wouldn’t be sufficient enough for time’s sake.

“My name is Keenan Cross,” He smiled, speaking with a less formal tone. “— I was asked to speak to you on your swimming career. I can help you take a step forward, only if you’re willing.”

And the test begins.

#p: opportunity cost #svnnhch

♠ comfort zone

she isn’t entirely sure as to how she must be looking like right now, but she has a faint idea from the expression that greets her when keenan opens the door. there’s a wave of emotions flooding her thoughts — possibly relief, comfort, sense of reliance, and she leans away from the door frame, following his lead and stepping in to suppress the sudden urge to lean against him instead.

things have always been this way for a reason unknown to katheryn, and there has always been something about the older man that enables him to crawl beneath the safety net she has for her emotions, easily gaining access to most of the things that she has kept away and managed by herself. a habit, perhaps. the connection is undeniable though, and it is one of the main reasons for the mutual attraction that has but faded ( ironically ) into something stronger than before, forming a sort of reliance that she has towards him. and so here she is, with a bag of emotions that has been tossed at her out of nowhere and so very abrupt that there is no way of her accepting it without displacing something else within her. she’s lost and the reliable option that comes to mind is him.

she leans forward, forehead pressed against the cold counter top — probably hoping that to some extent it helps to clear her hot mess of a mind, and she sighs quietly. “you know how i dislike drinking because it burns and it’s waaaaay too bitter so every time we hit up a bar i just get apple juice or something fruity?” she rambles on, before lifting her head to glance up at the taller male, strands of hair falling to the side of her face. “now i just want something reeeeeeeeeeeally bitter, and strong.”

He looked down at her body posture, figuring that he probably didn’t even need to ask. The sight wasn’t exactly pretty, he was used to seeing a positive young woman that had some kind of exuberant twang to her. But right now, he saw someone that was burnt out and taking it all out on what she wished would fall in place. Keenan honestly sits with that same idea at times, directly to escape through alcohol and a few cigarettes.

At eye contact, he shook his head in a pitiful manner. He reached over and put his hand through the hair that lazily framed her face, hiding them behind her ear and letting the loose strands fall into their righteous place. Keenan stared at a pretty girl that he used to hold hands with, whom he used to share a warm embrace and a kiss with but now — he remained to be someone more important than a lover. He was a brick wall, a living cliche when it came to those who resembled Keenan.

He was turning thirty soon enough, and most of the people in his neighborhood were a good decade younger than him. Kat was another youthful woman that happened to live right next to him, there was a connection between them that allowed for him to reach out again and fix the positioning of another strand while smiling like an older brother.

“You came to me, thinking that you’ll get away with trying to get more drunk than you already are?” Keenan let out a sarcastically hearty laugh as he turned around and opened a pantry above the fridge. “You prefer whiskey, scotch, or bourbon?”

#p: comfort zone #ryusooyeon

— moodboard : keenan jonathan cross

#wisteria:prompt #wisteria:prompt3 #` teras

` opportunity cost

svnnhch

He messaged her earlier on, asking her to meet him at The Hideout Cafe for something important to discuss. Granted, he hadn’t ever taken the opportunity before simply because he was afraid that Savannah would be under pressure. She was a talented athlete, he’s heard her name once or twice upon meeting world-renown swimmers at national meetings and such.

Connections, he remembered the lesson well. Names were beyond a singular importance, rather, it was the challenge of knowing what was behind the name. A house brew in a mug sat in front of him, steam dancing with the time’s passing until he saw the familiar figure sit in front of him.

“I'm sorry that it's so early.” Keenan smiled softly, reaching for his mug and then nodding towards the menu. “The drink's on me, if you want anything.”

#p: opportunity cost #svnnhch

` old dogs

sontaehoon-blog

He’s just about to mutter a curse at the unanswered call when the door opens, and the sight that greets him is enough to have him swallow back his words. “…”

“i’m not going out with you dressed like that” He says blatantly. No matter how dear of a friend the older man is, going to a club dressed in pajamas pants just doesn’t cut it for Taehoon. It’s practically a fashion disaster — if that is fashion at all.

It should have been odd that Taehoon does not use any forms of korean formalities with the other, considering they’ve been brought up with bits of the korean culture instilled in their minds. But this is just the way things are and always have been — from the very first meeting where the other has mistaken Taehoon for the hyung between the two, it has become a habit that has stuck with them through the years of friendship. Sometimes Taehoon forgets that Keenan is not actually a younger brother and has his own struggles to deal with at this age — struggles that are no less of a serious matter than Taehoon’s.

One look at the man and Taehoon just knows what is going through the other’s mind — just as how Keenan reads him like an open book sometimes — and the words that follow only seem to prove his point further. “bingo. now get on some proper pants and we’ll go for a drink. that sauna place offers alcohol” and he swears it sounds better in his head.

He looks down at his pajama pants, he only expected for Taehoon to be the type to sit in Keenan’s room with the whiskey that he had brought along for the ride. Come to think of it, he’s pretty sure the other has knowledge of the stash but — who was he to question the other in a time of need?

Stress, spite, and some kind of turmoil began to churn in the room at the presence of the other male. Keenan knew very well that the fiancée was the cause of it all and he couldn’t call it overreaction, because it was — to Taehoon’s extent — as bad as it seemed. He smirked softly at the other and headed to his dresser, finding more suitable attire (dark jeans and a button down) to match a “suitable” location.

Keenan does not speak much further, he changes quietly in front of the other (out of pure habit from his locker room days) and only begins to speak when he’s halfway done buttoning his shirt. “Is there a specific reason this time? Or should I wait until you hit the rocks?” He smirked and walked towards his closet after leaving the first three buttons on his shirt open, he grabbed a comfortable pair of shoes. He called them boat shoes but Ryanne insisted that he was wrong, so they’re now — shoes.

He stood in front of Taehoon, acting like a runway model and then spreading his arms out slightly from his sides to silently ask if this was any better. But he smiled childishly and then nodded towards the door while grabbing his door key, “Let’s go.”

#p: old dogs #sontaehoon #wisteria:event1 #event1:day1

` slightly too sudden

Little by little, her personal belongings came to her new residence in Chatswin, a place she had called home many years ago. Many of the people she once knew had long left the neighborhood since, leaving her to settle back into the suburban life on her own, not that it bothered her much in the first place. She had been carrying loads of baggage, both literally and figuratively speaking. That being said, she also had many things that needed to be disposed of, bringing her to sort through and toss all unnecessary items to the curb. But even with her obstructed sight, it was impossible to deny that the familiar voice that chimed in to help belonged to none other than Keenan Cross. The Keenan Cross whom she had cut ties with nearly several years ago before moving to France, the victim of her first-and-only ever case of “heartbreaking”. It couldn’t be.

“I-I’m fine, but thank you for the offer. Sir— ”

She managed to speak those few words with what seemed to be little trouble, but not without any form of hesitation on her part, she even bit back the mention of a name to spare herself from further pain. How was one to react in a situation like this? His reappearance was all just a terrible coincidence, and a physical cue for the influx of guilt returning to haunt her.

Right, okay.

No, not okay.

Definitely not okay, just the pure figurine was enough to confuse him as to how he recognized her so quickly. He couldn’t remember much, he was too perplexed to bother with details. But the general idea? Yeah, that was there. The fact that his heart felt as though it stopped beating for a few seconds — per se.

“Wow,” He smiled; he actually cranked out a small smile as though he were mildly surprised at this situation. “ — what a hell of a coincidence. Never thought I’d run into you here, Sumire.”

He realized his pun and started to feel more embarrassed than he initially wanted to feel, not only that but he even managed to squeeze in a rhyming sequence for the sake of taking his crumbled pride and pushing it elsewhere. She hadn’t changed much, a different hairstyle but otherwise — she was different yet the same. Beautiful, admittedly —as always.

Keenan scratched his chin, the sound of his fingers interacting with his beard taking over the silence. “Uh, you need help?” He pointed at the boxes all around, figuring he’d make use of himself while he was here.

Somehow, as though he felt like it was okay to do so.

What am I doing —

#p: slightly too sudden #sumireb

curveball

keenancross

It was with an exasperated sigh that Jasper looked out over the expansive baseball field. He didn’t want to be here, but he didn’t really have a choice. The usual reporter that was in charge of sports was bedridden with the flu but with the interview already scheduled for today, Jasper had been given the assignment instead. He had absolutely no interest in sports whatsoever but now here he was, standing next to home plate as he waited for the Yankee’s General Manger to meet with him.

The sports reporter had at least been able to email him a list of important questions that needed to be asked, and Jasper had angrily scrawled them into his small notebook for reference. He turned the display screen on the camera toward himself for a moment as he fixed his makeup first and then his hair. “Someone told him we’re here, right? How long is he planning to make us wait?” he grumbled, looking down at his watch impatiently just as he heard someone approaching them.

Jasper glanced up, and then actually looked up as he realized the man was quite a bit taller than he was. “Mr. Cross?” Jasper asked as he extended his hand. “I’m Jasper Finch,” he introduced as he took a step back next to the camera so the focus would be completely on Keenan. The minute the interview started, Jasper’s lack of interest became very obvious. He seemed to practically glare at Keenan while he answered as though he was just waiting for him to stop speaking so he could ask him the next question.

He was late, "fashionably".

Keenan never understood that, being “fashionably” late. Meaning being held against his will to seem as though he were horribly busy, when really — his driver (further, a driver he didn’t need) was told that being somewhat late would create the feeling that he was busy or much too popular to bother being early.

He felt out of place, since hiring his new secretary. She was uptight, a frayed female that told him how fame would create some kind of new brilliance to a man that was once damaged. It wasn’t his style, but he wasn’t in the mood to defend his pride and personality. So he went along, the only thing he did not do is wear that dumb-ass bowtie. He kept his collar open, his suit coat free-flowing, and his hands in his pockets while he walked over with a heavy sigh exiting his tired jaw.

At the sight of the reporter, he smiled warmly and enclosed his grip around the other’s extension. “A pleasure, Mr. Finch. Thank you for having me.”

He was slightly surprised, as the other got straight to the point. Immediately, as though a director called for places on set. This was the man Gideon was talking about, he just recalled. That being said, he also understood that the typical reporter was not anywhere to be seen.

Three, two, one.

Mr. Finch began quickly, asking a question of the new season and spring training. Keenan spoke to the other, although the sight was definitely starting to create an understandable situation. He spoke of the newest additions to the team, the stats, and Girardi’s renewed contract as coach. He tried to commit to all the questions that he typically gets asked in the spring season. He couldn’t blame the reporter, he was only doing as he was told — most likely. He smiled again, thinking of where to reserve for dinner tonight.

#jasperfinch #p: curveball #this was such a cute starter omfg

mightequinn-deactivated20170829

From Eden

Visit Original Link

Hozier—From Eden

Honey, you’re familiar,

like my mirror years ago

` slightly too sudden

— sumireb

He had been committed to his jogging routine for the past few weeks or so, simply a quick few jogs around the neighborhood or through the few streets that he had driven on for far too long. Thirty minutes, no more and no less. Every once in a while, he would catch nuances that range from something far in left field to things that seem to be as familiar as home plate. It was the early morning, eight-thirty or so was when he had left his house.

But only a good few minutes into his jog, he caught sight of a female figure and a loading truck. The cardboard boxes with messy scrawls that would be translated into destinations or general mentions of specific contents, it was much too familiar at this point. And he figured, as they were only a few houses apart — the start of two new neighbors couldn’t hurt at all.

“Do you want some help —” Keenan started as he stood but a few feet from the newcomer, who truly, was no newcomer. Sumire, no way. A sick joke, this is. Or maybe it’s legitimate, because his mouth hung open slightly in shock.

It was starting to look as though jogging wasn’t going to be in his daily routine for much longer.

#p: slightly too sudden #sumireb

` old dogs

sontaehoon-blog

Boring day, boring afternoon. There cannot possibly be a worse way to spend time as compared to being stuck on a cruise ship and trapped in the same room as his “fiance”. He’s never really liked ships and boats all that much either. But if being on this cruise means being away completely from that sharp scrutiny from his parents, he’ll gladly spend more than just five days on these waters.

Thankfully there’s Keenan, and thankfully he has always been there as Taehoon’s person-to-go-to whenever he is in situations like this, and he thinks this calls for another impromptu gathering and a drink or two. He gives a quick text in reply to the older man’s offer, grabbing his keys and wallet and is more than glad to be out of the room.

A couple of quick knocks to the door upon arriving but no answers, and it seems too quiet, as though there’s nobody in the room. Is Keenan even in for him to be calling Taehoon over —

Impatient, Taehoon reaches for his phone in the pocket, dialing the other’s number while saying out loud at the door “I’m here, are you in there?”

He takes his time heading over, making sure he’s adequately and visually perceptible for social acceptance (not that he was bitter about pajama pants not being okay to wear in public, but that’s another thing) before opening the door.

“Jesus — “ He jumped slightly at the sound of his phone buzzing against a flat stone table top and the voice appearing form the other side. Keenan opened the door and let the other in. “ — I’m right here, hyung.”

He smirked softly, it was typical for the younger to act like the hyung. Hence, the reasoning for Keenan using the label. But tonight, Taehoon seemed a little different for good reason. At least, from the biased view that Keenan had for one of his closest friends. He knew the situation at least, but truth be told — he had no idea that it was quite this bad.

Keenan softly closed the door while looking at the man he called hyung, endearingly so for the sake of both their well-being and youthful continuity. But he smirked as he spoke quietly, with ease. “You look like you need a drink.”

#p: old dogs #sontaehoon

» hot yoga

[ ❖ ]

"Well…this will certainly make for an interesting story….right, hyung?" he kidded, forcing out a chuckle as he tried to lighten the mood, but it came out rather dry and strangled due to the heat.

The class commenced slowly, but for beginners like Keenan and Gideon it was quite challenging from the start. Gideon found he was rather disappointed with his flexibility. That, or possibly Keenan might’ve been just a bit too thorough when it came to helping his ‘partner’ into positions. The room was devoid of chatter. Only their instructor spoke, but each time it was Gideon’s turn to assume a pose with Keenan’s assistance, soft snickering echoed through the room along with Gideon’s gasps and grunts of discomfort or soft protests to his hyung that it was ‘too far’ or ‘too much’ or ‘too hard.’

It was unlike Gideon to lose his temper. This situation was no different. He felt completely responsible for the error that might, in fact, land them in the gossip column as a rumored couple. After all, what pair of straight guys attended couples hot yoga class together? Still, for each over rotation that Keenan purposefully or accidentally inflicted on him, Gideon’s protests were weak. The class was punishment enough, but if hearing and seeing Gideon in a little bit more discomfort than he was himself made Keenan feel any better, Gideon would endure it.

When the class finally came to a close, Gideon sprawled out on his mat. Any dignity he’d had at the beginning of the class had been sweated out. “Hyung…help…I can’t move…” Gideon whispered miserably.

Interesting story? Yeah, sure. Thirty years after I get over it.

No, stop. He told himself he wasn’t going to be this way, he was already in and there was no way out. Keenan faced forward and waited for the beginning to end, he wasn’t the type to initiate much skin ship with those other than his significant others or anyone other than women. But at this point, he may as well consider his friendship with Gideon the closest as it will ever get.

In certain instances, Keenan’s feet lined up with Gideon’s hips for lifting him up. Of course, that wasn’t going to work thank’s to the rules of physics. Gideon was just too damn tall, Keenan was too damn tall, and physics was too damn dependant. It wasn’t necessarily the preparation that was difficult, but keeping Gideon in place or holding his body in one position to support another being that was just barely lighter than him — wasn’t such a good plan.

That being said, Keenan had only three things to say: “okay, i’m trying” or “i’m not even pushing that hard” or “goddamn”. He was tired, but he was competitive enough to ignore the fact that his hands were slipping because of reasons he didn’t want to exactly examine at any moment. It was a constant workout, where he chucked water when he could, splashing Gideon every once in a while to make sure he was alive and to keep himself believing that if there was cold for hot, there was good in the world for hell like this.

When it all ended, Keenan couldn’t help but make a face at the other’s plea.

“You’re —” He panted heavily although scoffing, even out of breath. “— absolutely unbelievable, Gideon. You know that?”

It took him at least a minute to realize that Gideon really couldn’t do much to get up, and a piggy back ride was not going to happen unless Keenan wanted a broken nose. So he opted for the strangely tiring, one armed support system. Groans and heaves were inevitable to get the two bags, water bottles, and human body around his shoulders. With heavy steps, a few pitiful words from the women around him, even a bit of admiration kept Keenan going.

Impressive? Goddamn, he was supposed to drive an SUV after this. Safe? No, but necessary? Yes.

“Just try to get your senses back, Gid.” Keenan leaned on the car, the other’s arm still there and the bags on the asphalt and his face shriveled in pain and fatigue. “Just reach — “ Though at this point, he spoke to himself while bending down to Gideon’s bag and searching for the car keys.

#p: hot yoga #officerashby #{ dear god.

Lee Dong Wook for Luel (January 2015 Issue)

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