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False. The ideal word to describe the seemingly perfect boy who walked into the small corner shop at 3:27 on the dreary, windy, rainy, grey afternoon in November. His hips swayed slightly as he searched the isles for what he needed, his long, black hair bouncing slightly with his stride. Picking up a carton of strawberry-flavored milk from the refrigerated area, his decided he was finished and walked to the checkout.

“Hi.” He said, giving the man working there dead-on eye contact followed by a small twitch at the corners of his plush, full lips. 

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-saranghaguk