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(Hi there strange but b from toes to shoulders, to the rare head, far-out and  weird person. I had to collaborate with my other friends to be able to at least finish on story. Being that quite, bigly puffed up 14-year-old that, I contented some dauntless  goals, that I am sure- unsure - of acquiring. Heh, let's leap off from my chiseling planet L-1201 (you can probably decipher what planet I'm on and who chaperoned me there), and go stumble in to this fanfic. I scarcely ever gawked at these two youthful children, though their companionship is dreamy, lovable, and darling. Why not author about it?) 

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Set on a zealous ambience of Spring day; with tasting flowers emanating delectable flavors to get a whiff of, and the resplendent sun flaring its own glorious sun-shine, flourishing lightening tumble on two youthful girls, serenely sprawled on a snug mat, velvety speaking and tattling.

 “What are we doing?” Wonyoung ridiculed, whistling sunny giggles glittering from her amused pink lips.

The other girl beamed, continuing to intricate a signature on the younger girl’s palm, progressing merriment in her intonation at each line authoring along the ripples of skin.

“Writing my name on your palm and the same goes for you,” Yujin said as enthusiastic as ever, glaring eyes happily at her master-.

Wonyoung could only gawk at her at a bewildering image. Suddenly, her older friend had lured her into doing such a thing so—maybe so—kooky. That is, to strangely flavor some awe by strolling each other's names with hued tips of pens: mostly pink (for dainty-like Wonyoung) and navy (for Yujin's cool, and real-gone personality).

“Come on, write on mine.” The older girl pursued the other, finishing the blotchy, might have been slovenly written since the owner's hand was perspiring due to Yujin's slow appeal, calligraphy on Wonyoung's hand, and sealed the cap back on the belonged navy pen.

She smiled too weirdly, creating Wonyoung to shuffle light-hearted chortles, with cheeks flushing a brazen complexion of blush on the pale sides.

“It’s weird.” Wonyoung again, remarked with naive gleams to her perky laughs. Ahn Yujin and her definite meddling. But who could halt an infantile girl to live without trifling such as her chipper of a friend? Chirpy as to upbeating an oblivious retort of; “Nah, I see nothing wrong.”

“The way you do it on my skin—it’s tingly.” Wonyoung simply scanted fair response, fondling the sloven scribble etched on her delicate palm. 

Yujin was always, always, a grimy person at home. Unkempt with her girl-like seasoned clothes, which were either curtained over the white bunk-bed's sidings, looking as if they were adorning enough to prettify her own cluttered room—but the reeking emanation of the articles was potently stenching that other friends won't absorb in the space just yet.

No wonder, she pestered for a dabbling while and can't tamper a simple penmanship.

“You’re moving. Of course, it gets to the contact.” Yujin said whilst Wonyoung knowingly eyed her and wormed in a witting scoff. "Moving frantically, going through differently angles to scribble on my hand with your name..." Wonyoung amused, fumbling amid her own rose pen. "Okay, you were particular anyway."

“You should call me creative for thinking about this.” Yujin dispatched smugly, scintillation zapped with joking relish. Wonyoung eyed her even more frolicsome leering then glanced a suspicion; "How creative is this." 

Not far from blabbing more cross-examination to tattle into the elated girl's earing perception, Yujin dribbled her riposte in piqued inspiration.

“Art.”

“That’s your reason.” Wonyoung diverted slightly, thenceforth roaming to the eager skepticism that Yujin was gladdening to boast her bantering dexterity. “Sure. I mean, writing is art. Literature is art. So, I’m smart to think about that.” the older meddler brained a likewise nimble talk to whiz to Wonyoung.

Wonyoung was not smarted or entertained by Yujin's faux aptness or shrewd spree on the ball. Why would she be delighted? She could only snuff the playful certainty, the honest trail of Yujin's awe-inspiring maxims.

“Your grades in Math don’t exact that.”

Mathematics was one peculiar flaw Yujin warbled warfare on. There was one course where she squabbled all her blood (her face insipid from perusing words capering as extensive riots to Yujin's toiling brain), strived to hassle, sweating self-same as a burrowing, lonesome dog breed, and stra