10-24-2010, 11:36 AM
The word ‘dearest’ made Keith’s eyebrow twitch once more – mostly out of annoyance. When did he give the other the permission to call him that? As he asked this question in his mind, a disgruntled tone came from the back of his throat to give the other a reply before he’d brought up his hand to have it run through his hair. He tugged a bit at the strands at the back of his head and then dropped his hand to his lap. It was a habit he still hadn’t gotten rid of since he’d turned twelve. Whenever he was pissed or annoyed, he did that.
“That’s not necessary,” he said as he’d taken a sip of his own water. Surely, he wouldn’t be seeing the other again but if what Rey had said was true about this pretty boy, he’d be thinking wrong. He did often meet his fans wherever he went. “The Barren Night, Unforgiving Sonata, Heartwarming Rescue are a few of the romance novels I’ve written. I also write short stories.” He wasn’t aware that his short stories were made into a pocket book thanks to his manager. He didn’t know until, of course, Mark and Rey had decided to point them out. He did remember going on a rampage then resulting in his manager cowering at a corner until he’d regained his composure.
When the waiter had come with the small basket of what seemed to be… food, he looked at it for a moment or two and frowned. Perhaps, he’d been hibernating too long. What was this kind of bread called? That, and Mark and Rey tend to drag him not into high class restaurants but simple restaurants that didn’t serve breaded mozzarella sticks for appetizer. “And, you’re on a diet?” he asked with a raised brow. With a body like that, he didn’t see how he shouldn’t be filling that body of his with more fats instead of getting rid of what’s already in there. Unless he’s anorexic, that’d be another story.
It was strange how the other’s nibbling had brought about odd looks sent towards their table’s way. It irritated him and he pursed his lips tightly. A frown even marred his features, yet again. “Quit doing… that,” he started, his tone laced with dread, as he’d lifted his hand from his lap to point at the other with his index finger and motion to the other’s eating style, “Do you seriously have to look so perfect in everything you do?” Perhaps the other didn’t mean it; perhaps it was a hobby. But, he couldn’t help point it out. Did this also mean that the white-haired pretty boy did his things in the bathroom oozing with sexuality, too?
Keith didn’t think he’d want to know the answer to that question.
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