✖ ✖ ✖ ✖

kafkaesque: having a nightmarishly complex, bizarre, or illogical quality.

bexutifully:

     _{The smirk never faded from Beckham’s lips, even as he took a step closer. He was always one to test his limits. The boy was the kind to pull stunts as such, simply out of boredom. He didn’t have any rhyme or reason. “A year? Seems to me like someone’s been counting. Do you sit around and think about how fucking great I was in bed too?” Beckham took another step, he was taking far too much enjoyment out of this— reunion. “Don’t hold back, Jasper. We both know you want to.” He mused, a small laugh falling from his lips. Beckham ran his tongue over his lips and slowly looked the other up and down, taking him in. “I admit, I’m shit. But you’re no better, are you? At least I know what I am.”}

             _{From what Jasper could tell, Beckham hadn’t changed in the slightest. Jasper stood there, a smile creeping onto his face, as if he had seen a keg filled with German beer. Too bad that isn’t happening, he thought to himself. Alcohol would have been better than coming face to face with one of the people he definitely didn’t want to see. “Of course I’ve been countin’. I got away from you that day– you’re quite forgettable, did you know that?” A chuckle left half parted lips as he scratched the back of his neck with a light shrug. “I don’t want shit, and you won’t get any either. Is that why you came here? To bother me and talk shit? Jesus, dude, you really have no goddamn life.” It was true, though. Jasper never came to accept who he was, except in his head. Either way, he’d never admit what a sadistic sociopath he was— and definitely not to him. “Kiss my ass.”}