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

It doen’t matter that I worked on my birthday

problemgirls:

There were times when Harmony truly didn’t understand him or why it was they had never gone their separate ways after meeting, but perhaps her lack of understanding was exactly the reason. He was a puzzle she couldn’t figure out and so she only gave an exaggerated sigh at his smile. “Since a cupcake is overrated and the candle comes with the risk of burning the house down, why don’t you tell me what you have in mind that’s ‘really, really safe’?” Harmony said, certain he had something very specific in mind. And since she really wasn’t too bothered about her birthday, she didn’t have anything special she wanted to do for it. 

In truth, he never really liked company, but her constant anger always brought him happiness. It wasn’t because he took pleasure in other people’s sadness, but because her irritation was somewhat amusing. The way her nostrils flared, how she stiffened, and the fact that she was a ginger made it past the point of hilarity. His smile widened at her comment, and he slid his hands in his pockets, setting a careless demeanor for himself. “There’s nothing in this world that’s really, really safe.” He said, emitting a soft chuckle. “Why don’t you pick for me? It’s your birthday, after all.” His tongue ran along his lower lip, emerald eyes illustrating tranquility.