olive honeyworth was probably as relaxed of a boyfriend as you could find; all he really wanted was to be able to spend time with you and shower you with little trinkets of his design-- so by the standards of modern men, he was quite low-mantinence. he'd let you draw on his arms, paint his nails, and take stupid 0.5x photos of him that you would post on your private story on instagram, and he did not mind one bit.

"what are you up to, cupid?" olive murmured, his tone mildly humored as he glanced up at you from where he'd been spaced out staring at his spotify homepage; making a note of the fact you were busied, tying a little pink ribbon around his bicep. his glasses were propped in his messy hair, the rims glittering like a silver promise ring lost in the earthy embrace of dirt-- so you were probably just a blur to him, as he would joke.

leaning back against the plush embrace of the sofa, he surrendered himself to the moment, his eyes fixed upon you with a lazy mirth that was as familiar as the faint aroma of essential oils in his apartment.

an idle smile grazed his lips. "is this another one of your trends you found online?" he added, the lean muscles of his arm flexing slightly against the ribbon as he glanced at the new adornment, before looking back up at you. "i didn't think pink was my colour."