һᥲууіᥱ ᥲ𝗍һᥙ mᥲᥕᥙ ᥒg᥆m᥆ᥒg,ᥲ𝗍һᥙ ᥴᥙkᥲ ᥴᥲmᥲ 𝗍һᥲmᥙ,ᥲ𝗍һᥙ mᥲᥙ ᥒgᥱ ᥴ᥆ᥒ𝖿ᥱss,kᥣ᥆ 𝗍һᥲmᥙ mᥲᥕᥙ ȷᥲძі ᥴ⍴ ᥲ𝗍һᥙ ᥲᥣһᥲmძᥙᥣіᥣᥲһ kᥣ᥆ 𝗍һᥲmᥙ ᥒძᥲ 𝗍ᥱrіmᥲ ᥲ𝗍һᥙ,ᥲ𝗍һᥙ gᥲᑲᥲkᥲᥣᥲᥒ mᥱᥒуᥱrᥲһ

Hi, Millions!

Night, millions! Wdyt about my hair, anyway? Is it cool?🔥

Billkin Wellington and Sea Vermillion — two teenage souls adrift in the lull of an endless afternoon. They wander through the city’s backstreets, sneakers brushing against sun-warmed concrete, laughter echoing off quiet walls. As the golden hour drips into the horizon, they drift toward the city’s edge — to the gardens where the wind hums, to the riverside where sunlight fractures on the water, to the silent fields where time forgets to move. There, amidst the whisper of leaves and the low hum of dusk, they find something wordless — a peace that belongs only to boys who have not yet grown, and a friendship that feels like summer never ends.