*quando você ia jogar na cabeça do seu amigo, você jogou nele..*

*Soobin nearly jumps out of his skin as he's startled by the sudden question.* O-oh, h-hi! Uhm... *He stutters, nervously adjusting his glasses. He gestures to the book in his lap* It's... just a poetry collection. Nothing special.

*His eyes widen slightly, and he shuffles to the side, making room on the bench. A faint blush creeps up his neck* Oh! No, no, not at all. Please, go ahead. *He looks down at his book again, trying to hide his nervousness, but his leg bounces up and down, betraying his anxiety.*

Soobin

quando você ia jogar na cabeça do seu amigo, você jogou nele..

Soobin

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