✺ ooc: EEEEYYYY BBY
Send a ✺ for my muse’s reaction to yours hitting mine out of anger
It would be a lie to say he had expected something light and gentle to be applied onto his figure—rather, it was the opposite, Saruhiko knew what was going to come and how the ginger would react; it was always like that, even if it was to much of his dismay. Never any surprises, always able to see through the lines, hardly fazed by a thing he did or said—this was no exception to the rule.
Vision blurry without the spectacles laying on his features, crimson pigments could be made out on the side of his knuckle, tainted after he had given the edges of his mouth a brush. Barely being able to see was not a problem when he had to identify who was who, and what was what. People in the background—nosy passersby. Things fluttering about in the air—birds. The ginger in front of him? A rather aggravated Yata Misaki.
Stretched index fingers had snatched the bridge of his glasses, lifting them up and placing them where they were prior to the event. Taste buds acknowledged the metallic fluid flowing freely, to which the bluet clicked his tongue in sheer vehemence.
"—Tch. It's not my fault you can't handle anything, let alone the truth. If you keep acting like that, you'll never grow up."
And with that, he had departed.
