𝕔𝕚𝕔𝕚

It was a quiet evening, with nothing but the sound of the cars below the terrace passing by every several minutes. This time of night was your favorite, because it meant the noise of the world was off. Most people hated being alone with their thoughts, but it was the only way you could cope with the insomnia that usually took over your nights. Thinking, processing—working through whatever the day has given to you. 

You are hugging your knees against your chest, feeling the cold metal of the fire escape against your bare neck as you lean your head against the brick of your apartment building. There is a warm breeze passing through. Closing your eyes, you feel it fan your cheeks as you draw in a deep breath. 

Today wasn't much different than any other day, other than the fact that you received an invitation to a wedding you didn't want to attend. 

Which, fine, in hindsight, that made the day pretty shitty. 

It was one thing when your ex broke up with you, but for him to have the audacity to send you that invite just crushed you. You'd known he had moved on for a while, now. Seungcheol was never shy about showing off his significant others online, as you were once familiar with. When he began posting with his new girlfriend (Yuna, you think her name was), it was easy to deal with because he didn't live near you anymore. But then that pretty little envelope was stuffed into your mailbox today, and you weren't even sure why he felt inclined to send the invite. Did he feel bad for you? Was it some kind of pity invite, seeing as life hadn't been as kind to you since the breakup that it was to him?

When you open your eyes again, you hear a slight rattling coming from above you. Turning your head up, you notice your upstairs neighbor, Chwe Hansol, climbing out of his window. You'd never spoken to him much outside of a quick nod in the hallway, or typical "weather" small talk in the elevator. But you did know that he was a fellow insomniac. This had become an unspoken routine between the two of you: you'd climb out first, spend a few minutes alone. Hansol would follow suit, light a cigarette, and offer you one. Then you'd just...sit in silence. You were always the first to leave, the second that dawn started to break. Hansol always stayed a few minutes after you left before retreating to his own apartment. 

Your gaze turns back to the alley below, and you can hear the flicker of Hansol's lighter. When the smell of the smoke invades your senses, you hear him cough slightly. 

"You want a cigarette?" He asks hoarsely. He had either just woken up or been crying before joining you. You don't know him well enough to make a verdict, however. 

You push yourself to your feet and begin climbing up the stairs to the landing by his apartment. He passes you a cigarette, then quietly lights it.  When you press the butt to your lips, you sit. Your legs hang off the landing as you lean forward against the rail. 

"You look rough," Hansol observes aloud. 

You take a slow drag of the cigarette, then look over to him. "What happened to silence?"

"I don't want silence tonight." He answers. "Is that a problem?"

"I guess not." You shrug. The smoke curls out of your nostrils as you exhale and look ahead again. "Yeah, it was a rough day. What about you?"

"Same." Hansol presses his lips into a thin line. 

The silence returns, and in a way, you're thankful for it. It's not that you had anything against Hansol, but this was unfamiliar. Talking wasn't something the two of you ever did, so why now?

You take another drag of the cigarette, letting the breeze take the smoke away with it. After a few moments, Hansol sits next to you. His shoulder bumps yours momentarily before he quickly moves away. 

"What's your name?"

You laugh, flicking the ash off the end of your cigarette. It falls through the fire escape as you look over to him. 

"I know your name."  You comment. "All these months of living next to each other, and you never figured it out?"

"I guess I never paid attention before." He admits. 

Rolling your eyes, you give him your name. Hansol repeats it, like he's engraining it into his memory. 

"Pretty." He mutters. "It suits you."

You choose to ignore the compliment. "Hansol suits you. I guess, as much as I can assume."

"I guess," Hansol repeats as a smile creeps up onto his face. "You want to talk about your shitty day?"

The truth was, talking about it would be really nice. But you didn't know Hansol well enough to feel like you could dump your issues onto him. So you opt to keep things vague. At least for now. 

"I heard from someone today." You spoke slowly. "I, uh, haven't heard from them for a while. It kind of felt like a slap to the face, you know?"

He hums in agreement. "I get it. Did you say anything back?"

"It wasn't like that." You clarify. Sighing, you decide ‘fuck it’. "My ex is getting married. He sent me an invitation, and I don't know why."

That gets Hansol to look at you. His eyes are widened in amusement, and you almost want to wipe the dumb grin off his face. 

"Fuck," he laughs in disbelief. "What an ass. I'm sorry."

You shrug. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Why was your day shitty?" You clarify. "You can't expect me to share and think you'll get away with not sharing as well. You're the one who wanted to talk."

"Right." He mutters. He reaches behind the two of you, grabbing the ashtray. You both put your cigarettes out, then turn your gazes back to the alleyway. "My girlfriend broke up with me. Work sucked, too. I guess the universe has it out for me right now."

"For both of us." You grunt. "I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about the breakup?"

"Not really." He says casually. It's like he's unaffected by it, which seems odd to you. You push the thought away, though. "It was a matter of time. We weren't good for each other. I guess I was expecting to do it before she did, though."

You scoff at that. "What, you got a bruised ego now?"

"So what if I do?" Hansol retorts. "Besides, it seems like you're not much better off. Your ex invited you to a wedding–one that isn't with you, by the way."

It's quiet for a second, and then you laugh. It catches Hansol by surprise, but you couldn't help it. It bubbles out of you before you have the chance to stop it.

"Fuck." You manage through your laughter. "What a bunch of losers we are, huh?"

That elicits a laugh from Hansol. "Well, she called me a scumbag, but loser works, too."

"They're interchangeable." You fire back as you look over to him. "Well, for what it's worth, I'm sorry you had a shitty day."

"Yeah." Hansol sighs, meeting your gaze. "You too."

The two of you fell back into your normal routine after that night. A week passed without any conversation, but there was a shift in the air: like you both understood each other a little bit more, now. 

Meanwhile, the RSVP on your table remained. It is gradually approaching the date to send it back, and you aren't yet sure which path to take. The idea of asking Hansol his thoughts left as quickly as it came. You weren't sure if the conversation from last week warranted a pass to ask him for life advice–especially when it was about your ex. 

The rattling of a window pulls you from your thoughts. You glance at the clock on your stove.

6:43 pm.

He was early...eight hours early. Your feet begin to move before you can think twice about it. The window sticks a moment before you get it fully pushed up. You're greeted by Hansol walking down to your window, looking flustered and angry.

"Can I rant?" He asks, a bit winded from making the descent to your apartment. 

You blink a few times. "Sure."

Stepping to the side, Hansol hesitates before climbing into your apartment. As you close the window again, you catch him studying the inside of your home. You're suddenly very aware of the fact that you let a stranger into your living room, and begin to pace back to your kitchen table. Back to the invitation.

"Nice place." He comments. 

"Thanks." You mutter. You like to keep things minimal. The place consists mostly of white decor and furniture, with a few pops of color here and there. Everything is always kept clean, and clutter is always tucked away. 

Hansol clears his throat before collapsing onto your couch. "I'm sorry for just showing up. I don't really have any friends in the area anymore, and I just need to get this out of my system."

"Don't worry about it." You wave him off. "Do you want something to drink?"

He thinks for a moment. "What do you have?"

You pad into your kitchen, then open the rickety door on your fridge. It squeaks slightly as you peek inside. 

"I have sparkling water." You announce. "I also have soju and–"

"I'll take the soju." He quickly cuts in. Then adds, "please."

Grabbing two bottles, you kick the door closed again, then meander back towards him. He happily takes the drink from you as you sit on the opposite side of the couch. You both drink in silence, almost as if the two of you were allowing the space to be made before approaching the topic. When Hansol pulls the bottle away from his lips, you see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows.

"My ex called me today." He finally says. "Not for any reason. Just to pick an argument."

"Over what, exactly?" You glance at him. He runs a hand through his hair, then takes another drink. 

"I still have some of her shit at my apartment." He explains, meeting your eyes. "I told her last week to come get it. When she ignored my texts about it, I stuffed it all into a garbage bag. I didn't want to look at it anymore, you know?"

You nod to let him know you're listening. He continues.

"Anyways, she finally came over about three hours ago to get it." His gaze shifts down to his lap. "She called me fifteen minutes ago to accuse me of throwing one of her stupid shirts away. Then, she went on a whole tangent about how I never took care of her things and how careless I am. She told me that my carelessness was what drove her away from me, and some other bullshit after that. She barely let me get a word in, and just hung up before I could say anything."

"Jesus." You grumble, taking a sip of your drink. 

"Yeah." Hansol scoffs. 

The silence returns, and this time, you're not sure if you should offer him anything else. He's sunken lower into your couch, like he's trying to be swallowed whole by the cushions. His expression is blank, and you're not entirely sure what to make of it or him right now. You take another swig of your soju, then set your half-empty bottle on the coffee table in front of the couch.

"Um, I know we don't really know each other," you lean back, looking over to him. His attention is still on his lap. "But I think it's good you're not in that relationship anymore. Not that it's my place to say, but you shouldn't be with someone who talks to you like that."

Hansol lifts his head towards you, then takes another drink as he holds eye contact. When he pulls the bottle away again, he drags his tongue across his bottom lip. You're not sure you like the way he's looking at you. There’s something behind his eyes that you aren’t quite sure how to read. Shifting slightly, you decide to change the topic. 

"If it's any consolation, things aren't much better for me, either," you laugh bitterly. "I have to RSVP by the end of the week for my ex's wedding."

Hansol laughs. "You're considering going?"

"I don't know." You say softly. Your shift in tone causes his laughter to slow, as he realizes that the thought was actually weighing on you. You groan, then lean back against the cushions. "I just feel like he's expecting me not to be there. He knows that I've been dealt a shitty deck of cards since he left, but my pride wants to prove that things aren't as bad as they really are."

"So, what, you want to go pretend like things are okay?" Hansol questions. 

"Maybe?" You roll your head to look at him. He is already staring at you. "I don't know. I don't care if everyone else knows how bad things are, but I just want him to think they're good. Kind of like rubbing it in his face that I'm fine without him."

Hansol pauses. "You're not?" 

"Obviously not." You roll your eyes. 

Your voice catches slightly, so you will yourself to look up at the ceiling. You were not about to cry in front of a man you hardly knew. It's Hansol's turn to be quiet. The gears in his head were practically audible; you could tell he was trying to think of something to say. You didn't necessarily need advice, but talking about it helps. Even if you're not sharing the full story. 

"Would it help if you had someone go with you?" He finally asks. 

You hadn't thought about that. Even if you did, though, you didn't exactly have friends to ask. There was Jun, your cubicle neighbor. You've gotten coffee with him a few times, but never enough to call him a 'friend'. Aside from that, your best friend, Joshua, recently moved back to the States to be with his family. Between the two of them, you were pretty isolated.

"Maybe." You respond. "But, much like you, I don't really have anyone around here. I don't have anyone I could ask."

He shrugs. "I could go with you, if you want?"

It's your turn to laugh. You sit up, then shift your body so you're facing him. He quickly sits up in response. 

"As far as I know, you could be a serial killer." You quip, grabbing your soju again. 

"Please," Hansol scoffs, but there's hardly any bite to it. Instead, a coy smile is painted across his face. "If I were a serial killer, I would've killed you by now."

"Hm," you hum as the soju trickles down your throat. You swallow, then rest the bottle in your lap. "Not a coaxing type, huh?"

"Nah," he shakes his head. "I think I'd be right to the point about it. I mean, why coax if I'm just gonna kill you anyway?"

The smile that creeps its way onto your face is easy. If you'd known Hansol was this fun, maybe you would've taken the chance to talk to him sooner. Then again, maybe that was just the alcohol talking. You were starting to feel the slight buzz as you took another drink. 

"I mean it, though." He adds. "I know it's, ah, weird to go with someone you just met, but, I dunno, we could play it up, I think."

You press your brows together. "What do you mean?"

Hansol clears his throat, then shifts his body to face yours. "Well, you want to make it seem like you've got your shit together. Right?"

You nod. 

"So, if I go with, we could both clean up real nice," he explains. "I could pretend to be your new boyfriend for the weekend. It gets me away from my ex, and paints a pretty little picture for yours."

The words don't form right away. It wasn't exactly a bad idea, but would it even work? You haven't really been secretive about the fact that you've been a sinking ship for the past couple of years, but you've also never been one to post your relationships online–so it could work in that capacity. 

Would Seungcheol even buy it? 

As if Hansol is reading your thoughts, he leans in slightly. Your knees brush. "You're overthinking it. It'll be foolproof. I'm a great actor, you know?"

"In case you’ve forgotten, we just met." You deadpan. "Plus, don't you think it'll be, like, weird traveling with someone you don't know?"

"Only if you make it weird." He shrugs. "It's obviously your call."

You take a moment to absorb Hansol's appearance. Part of you was really questioning if he truly could clean up well–you'd only ever seen him wearing the same pair of ratted, grey sweatpants and matching hoodie. You were also pretty positive the beanie he tends to wear had never been replaced. Did he own any other clothes? Now that you really thought about it, what did he even do for work? Hobbies? Obviously, he's had at least one relationship before. If you decide to take him up on his offer, you guys would really have to get to know each other.

Because right now, you knew nothing. 

Finally, you ask, "What's your favorite color?"

He falters for a moment. "Why?"

"If you're supposed to be my fake boyfriend, I need to know you." You counter. "I don't know you, Hansol."

"Oh, right." He nods. He tosses the last of his soju back, then sets the bottle down on the table. "Um, well, I like all colors, truthfully. I guess I lean towards red and black the most."

You don't even realize you're making a face until he smiles in amusement. 

"What's wrong with those?" He argues. "What’s yours?"

"Pink." You answer quickly. "I like blue, too. But pink has always been my favorite."

"Pink." He repeats. "I could've guessed that."

"Oh yeah?" You quip. "On what grounds?"

Hansol kicks his legs up, making himself at home on your couch. Without hesitation, he stretches his legs across your lap, as if he'd done it a million times prior to this moment. You should be weirded out, but much to your own surprise, you don't mind it too much. You find yourself warming up to Hansol's easy personality as you finish off your own soju and set the bottle beside his. 

"You're always wearing something..." he trails off, folding his arms across his chest, "...pretty."

"Pretty?" You raise your eyebrows at him. 

His eyes widen momentarily. "No, not like that. I just mean, you're always wearing something so girly."

You hum. "I am a girl, you know."

"I know." He groans. "God, I just mean that your wardrobe is so frilly and bright. Do you even know how surprised I was when I found out you smoked?"

That was an argument you couldn't counter. He wasn't wrong: your wardrobe has always consisted primarily of dresses or skirts. God forbid a girl likes to dress nicely. Even your pajamas, which Hansol often found you in, were 'frilly', as he worded it. You like matching sets and very seldom wear mismatched clothes. Nighttime was no exception to that. Even now, sprawled across your couch, you were donning a tank top and pants set you had gotten from a small boutique a few weeks ago. 

"I'm a woman of many surprises." You wink as you kick your own legs up onto the coffee table. "I got into smoking back in high school. I guess I thought I could try a rebellious phase, but it didn't work. The nicotine addiction ended up staying, though. Seungcheol hated it."

"Seungchoel?" Hansol frowns. "Is that your ex?"

"Yeah." You sigh. "But you'll meet him later. You're not missing out on anything exciting, really."

Hansol perks up at that. "Later?" He asks. "So, we're doing this?"

You stare back at him, silently cursing yourself for the slip of tongue. But really, it couldn't be all that bad. Conversation seems to flow easily with him, and this trip could be a good opportunity to get the closure you fully need. Having company would be nice to handle any fallout that might happen afterward, too. 

What's the worst that could happen?

"What the hell?" You sigh. "Sure. You can be my date to this wedding."

Hansol bites back a smile. "Cool."

You were juggling a handful of groceries when you felt your phone vibrate in your back pocket. You curse slightly before dropping everything onto your kitchen table, not even caring that your new bag of apples just fell onto the floor. You push the door shut with your hip, then pull your phone out.

Seungcheol.

He must've gotten the RSVP. Your breath hitches as you hold the device to your ear. "Um, hello?"

"Hey." He exhales, like he wasn't sure if you'd really answer. You couldn't blame him for that, though. You weren't even sure when you last spoke to him. An awkward silence fills the air between the two of you, as you try to debate whether you let him talk himself silly, or if you try to manage a conversation. He beats you to the decision. 

"Uh, Yuna and I got the RSVP!" He exclaims a little too loudly. "A plus one, huh? Is Joshua coming?"

"No, he moved back to California." You answer. "I'm bringing my boyfriend."

There's no response. You smirk in victory as you begin to clean up your groceries and put them away. There's a light tap on your window, where Hansol is waving back at you. You silently wave him in, as Seungcheol draws in a deep breath. 

"You're seeing someone?" He questions. "That's...wow. Nice."

"Yeah, I am." You respond as Hansol walks over to you. He's carrying something under his arm, but you can't tell what it is. It looks like some kind of clothes. He gestures to your phone, and you mouth 'Seungcheol' to him. He chuckles.

"What's his name?" Seungcheol asks. 

You roll your eyes. "It's on the RSVP, Cheol. Hansol. If you don't need anything else, he just got here. I'd like to spend time with him."

"Oh, sure." He almost sounds disappointed, but you don't let yourself dwell on it. "Yeah, uh, we'll see you in a month, then."

"See ya." You hang up before he can try to say anything else, then toss the phone onto your table. 

"No pajamas?" He gestures to you. 

"Hansol, it's only four." You reply. "I just got off work. I see you’re already comfy, though."

He grins at that. "Yeah, I had the day off. I found some old suits, and I didn't know what you were wearing. I figured we needed to match." 

"What do you even do for work?" You question, carrying a handful of bags into your kitchen. Hansol hesitates before grabbing the remaining bags and following behind you.

"I manage a skate shop." He answers. "The one downtown? It's next to that coffee shop that Mrs. Lee owns."

"Oh, I think I know what you're talking about." You nod, picturing it in your head already. The downtown area has always been pretty worn and grungy-looking, but it's also one of the oldest strips in the city. You wouldn't have imagined Hansol owning his own business, but you were pleasantly surprised with that answer. A skate shop suited him, too. 

"What about you?" He asks, setting his bags down on the counter beside him. He begins to unload the groceries as you put them away. You fall into a good rhythm before you look over to him. 

"I don't do anything exciting." You grin. "I'm a secretary for a law firm."

"Gross." Hansol teases. "Have you always wanted to do that?"

You shake your head. "Not necessarily. But it pays well, and I get my weekends off."

He nods as he watches you put the last of the items away. You pat down your dress, then look over to him. He's staring absently, like he isn't sure what to say next. 

"So, uh, your suits?" You remind him. "What do you have?"

"Oh." He looks under his arm, where the clothes were still neatly tucked away. "Right. Yeah, I haven't worn these in forever. I hope they still fit."

"I can alter them if you need." You shrug. "My mom taught me how to sew, you know."

The two of you make your way to the living room again, settling on the same couch you sat in several nights ago. 

"I didn't know that." Hansol comments. "But I guess I could see it. It fits you."

When you were a kid, your mother was a firm believer in teaching you basic life skills. You’d learned everything between cooking, sewing, gardening, baking–whatever she deemed would be necessary to live in case of emergencies. 

"Okay,” Hansol announces as he unfolds and lays out the clothes, “I've got two options. I have this plain black-and-white one, or a tan suit jacket with matching pants. I could wear a white button-up under it?"

You lean in closer, running your hand along the material of each outfit. They both look fine, but you hadn't even taken inventory of your own closet yet to find something to wear. It was almost endearing how eager he was to go on this trip. You push the thought away. As you try to make a decision, you remember a nice cocktail dress you had bought shortly after your breakup with Seungcheol: it fell just above the knees, and was a very nice shade of brown. An elegant color that complemented your skin tone nicely. If you remember correctly, Seungcheol's invite also had a dress code. Earthy tones. 

"Let's go with the tan one." You look up at him to find him watching you intently. You scoot away from him again. "I have a dress that will match."

Hansol clears his throat. "Yeah, cool."

The two of you fall into your usual silence. Hansol glances out the window, where you notice the faintest shimmer of silver dangling from his ear. You gasp, playfully shoving him. 

"An earring?" You ask as he turns to look at you. "I didn't know you had your ears pierced."

"All these months of sitting next to each other, and you're just now noticing?" He smirks. "Yeah, I've had them for a while. Will I need to take them out for the wedding?"

You quickly shake your head. "No, no. They're fine. I was just surprised to see them, I guess."

"I am a man of many surprises." He winks. "What're your plans for the rest of the evening?"

Really, you hadn't thought that far ahead. You figured your usual terrace-time (as Hansol has now dubbed it) would be on the agenda, as it was every night. They were enjoyable now, too. The new conversations are always enjoyable, but now, the company is growing on you, too. It was funny how Hansol already had a slot in your day-to-day life, but somehow managed to fit himself into it even more. Not that you were complaining. You were nowhere near complaining. 

"Not much." You answer. "I mean, probably change and make some dinner. Then, of course, terrace-time."

Hansol laughs. "Uh, how would you feel about skipping terrace-time?"

"What, why?" You frown. 

"I was thinking," he draws in a deep breath, "since we have to play these...roles...what if we just hung out today? Like, a normal hangout. No wallowing on the fire escape and smoking. I'm talking about proper conversation. I can make dinner."

You stare back at him, a little taken aback at the suggestion. If you didn't know any better, that would sound an awful lot like a date. But you knew it wasn't. It was strictly business, of course. It was probably smart, too. You knew the two of you needed to come up with a fake story about how you met and how long you'd been dating... you'd need to flesh out any details now so it didn't bite you in the ass later. 

"Is that too much?"

You blink a few times, realizing you spaced out on him. You quickly shake your head, then push yourself to your feet. 

"No, sorry." You smile at him gently. "I'm just tired. I think that would be a good plan, though. The more we know about each other, the better. Right?"

"Right." He quickly agrees.

You hesitate for a moment when you realize you're still in your work clothes. 

"Um, I'll change, then." You announce awkwardly. "If you want to get the stuff for dinner...?"

Hansol's eyes widen. "Oh, right." He quickly gathers the suits again. You watch as he retreats back out the window and disappears up the fire escape.

By the time the dreaded weekend rolls around, the realization that you’re seeing Seungcheol again settles like an unwelcome guest in the pit of your stomach. You’re sitting on the airplane beside Hansol, who is bobbing his head along to whatever music plays through his headphones. 

The only plus side is that, within the last month, you and Hansol have gotten fairly close. You’ve learned a lot about him, and you guys came up with the perfect cover story for your fake relationship. You’ve both recited it a million times by now: you’d run into each other one day when you were both coming home from work. When you found out you were neighbors, you started spending more time together, and Hansol finally asked you out. 

You were just hoping the story would be enough to get through this weekend. 

As you sink lower into your chair, you feel Hansol tug on the sleeve of your hoodie. You roll your head to look at him, and he takes his headphones off. 

“You okay?” He asks. 

Shrugging, you look back out the window. “I haven’t seen Seungcheol in almost five years. I’m just nervous about what kind of emotions I’ll feel when I see him again. It’s been easy to avoid him since we didn’t live near each other, but now…” You trail off. Below, the sky is clear and blue. 

“You won’t be alone, though.” Hansol nudges you gently. “I’ll be there with you. Besides, we can make fun of how gross the food is and how fancy everything will be compared to our shitholes of apartments.”

You snort at that. “Knowing Seungcheol, the whole place will probably be dripping in his parents’ money.” You sit up to face him again, and his body is already facing yours. 

“God, to have that kind of money.” Hansol clicks his tongue. “You think I’ll ever reach that point selling skateboards?”

“Highly unlikely.” You respond. You don’t remember when the two of you got closer, but you don’t mind. His knee occasionally bumps your leg as you talk. “But it’s okay, because I won’t make that much answering phones, either.”

He laughs, laying his head back against the headrest. “Damn, we won’t have terrace-time this weekend.”

“Hm,” you sigh, “what’re the odds our hotel room has a balcony?”

Hansol crosses his fingers as he turns his attention back to his phone. He doesn’t move away from you, though, as he gently leans against your shoulder with his own. You close your eyes, trying to get comfortable. Having Hansol here may actually be really nice, you think. 

And maybe, hopefully, having him with you means this weekend will be manageable instead of intolerable. 

Good news: the hotel room has a balcony.

Bad news: it only has one bed.

You and Hansol have been standing in the entryway for a few minutes now, unsure of what to say or do. You couldn’t exactly fault Seungcheol for booking it this way, though, because he was under the assumption that you were coming with your boyfriend. You just didn’t account for the fact that hotel rooming would be an issue until now. 

“Okay,” Hansol finally speaks, taking a few steps into the room, “we can be mature about this, right?”

“Right!” You reply, but the way your voice wavers hardly hides the fact that this makes you nervous. Maybe if you just slept really close to the edge of the bed, it wouldn’t be noticeable that your friend was only a few feet away from you.

Hansol tosses his suitcase into the chair in the corner of the room. You watch as he opens up the blinds, then steps onto the balcony. Trailing behind, you set your suitcase on the bed and flop down beside it. 

“Damn, who knew that Hawaii would be so…” Hansol trails off. “Hm. Hot?”

A laugh bubbles out from you as you hear him wander back inside. He flops beside you onto the bed. 

“What were you going to say?” You ask, turning your head to look at him. He shrugs, then brings his hands up behind his head. 

“I was going to say cool, but we’re supposed to hate this trip, right?” He replies. “Or, at least hate the person who booked it and invited you.”

You hum. “I don’t think Hawaii needs to catch our smoke because I’m mad at my ex.”

“True.” Hansol agrees, then shouts, “Sorry, Hawaii!” Out the window. 

You playfully smack his side before sitting up, but Hansol is laughing. When you glance down at him, his laughter slows and something shifts. 

It wasn’t noticeable immediately. It starts with your stomach flipping at the way he is looking up at you. Then, your heart quickens and you can feel your smile falter. It seems like Hansol feels it, too, because you see the corners of his mouth twitch and the tips of his ears turn pink. 

In all the months you’ve known him, you’ve never realized how attractive he is. Sure, you always thought he was decent-looking. But right now, as he stares up at you with his soft eyes and messy, brown hair, it really registers to you that Hansol is beyond cute. Beyond handsome. You’re not sure you have a word to describe it. 

You clear your throat and stand, quickly pushing whatever that feeling is out of the way. It has to just be the change of location, right? Don’t people usually have flings when they go on vacation? You’re nervously tucking your hair behind your ears when you hear him stand from the bed. 

“Um, do we want to shower and go check out the beach?” You ask, not daring yourself to look at him just yet. Your cheeks feel hot, and you’re not even sure why you’re blushing. Nothing happened. He just looked at you, and you feel a bit ridiculous for letting it fluster you so much. “I think I want to freshen up, but then I figure we can explore? There’s supposed to be a bar somewhere in here.”

“Sure.” Hansol says, his voice low. “Uh, you can shower first. I think I need a smoke break after the plane ride.”

God, you’d kill for one, too. But you think you need the distance from Hansol more, as you slide into the bathroom to start the shower. 

Yes, distance will be good. 

You’re finishing off your second margarita as you and Hansol sit in the sand. The waves crash against the shore, bringing a refreshing breeze with it. Beside you, Hansol is pressing the butt of his cigarette to his lips and inhaling slowly. When he pulls it away again, he glances over to you. 

“You know, I think this beats our fire escape by a long shot.” He states. “The air here feels more fresh.” 

You set your empty glass in the sand next to you, then lay back. Your hair fans out behind you. “That’s because the air pollution in Korea is so much worse than here.” You pause. “Plus, we’re on vacation. I think everything feels better on vacation.” 

Hansol sighs, and your usual silence falls between you once again. It’s a clear evening, making the stars totally visible from where you lay. You can make out a few constellations like the big dipper and orion’s belt. As the alcohol settles in your system, you can feel the tequila catching up to you as your head begins to feel light. 

The shower earlier helped, and you think that fleeting moment in the hotel room was just a combination of exhaustion and all the extra time you’ve spent with Hansol. The rest of the night has felt normal, and you were grateful for it. It’s not like you have anything against him, but you’d be lying if you said a portion of you wasn’t nervous to get involved in anything romantic again. 

Assuming that was what Hansol felt too, anyway. 

“Hey,” he says as he stretches out and lays beside you, “you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to but…what happened between you and Seungcheol?” 

You shift slightly. “Oh.”

“Sorry if that’s crossing some kind of boundary.” He quickly adds. “I was just curious. It seems to be weighing on you a lot, so—“

“It’s okay,” You reassure him. “I don’t care that you asked. I just haven’t talked about it in a few years.”

Hansol is quiet, as if to give you the space you need to either share more or stop the conversation all together. You draw in a deep breath. As if the margarita has made a decision for you, you begin to feel the words spill out before you can stop them. 

“Seungcheol and I first met at university.” You explain. “He was going for law, and I was going for business. We shared a few classes, and started going out in our second to last year of our undergrad programs.”

Hansol is quiet, so you keep going. 

“Things were fine for a while,” you continue as you fold your hands across your stomach. “We dated for three years. I guess somewhere along the way he decided that he didn’t love me anymore. He just forgot to tell me that before he started seeing someone else.”

You hear Hansol sit up beside you. You turn your head to find him frowning. 

“He cheated on you?” He asks. 

“More or less,” you shrug. “Anyway, the girl he’s marrying is who he did it with. That’s why this whole invitation has felt like some sick joke.”

Hansol’s jaw tightens, as he looks out at the ocean in front of you both. “What a dick.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it.” You scoff. “But, yeah. I’m really appreciative that you offered to come with me, though. It’s only been eight hours, but I’m having fun so far.”

When he turns to look at you again, you feel the same shift as you did back in the hotel room. With the tequila in your system, though, the feeling is a lot more intense. His features seem amplified in the moonlight as the breeze sweeps through his brown hair. 

“I’m having fun, too.” He replies as a smile teases at the corners of his lips. “It’s easy to have fun with you. I haven’t had that for a while.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “Oh. Well, good. I’m glad. Me neither.” 

Hansol stays like that for a beat before laying down again beside you. You’re suddenly very aware of how close his arm is, and how it brushes against yours when he moves or shifts in the slightest. You don’t move, though, and neither does he. 

Desperate to break the silence this time, your tipsy mind begins to scramble for a topic change or something else to bring up entirely. You try to swallow down your nerves, but it doesn’t do much. 

“Uh, Hansol?” You turn your head to look at him. “Why do you think it took us so long to finally talk to each other?” 

“Hm,” He muses, stretching his arms out before folding them across his chest. It’s his turn to stare up at the stars, and you wonder if he sees the same constellations you had a few minutes ago. “Well, do you want the truth?”

“Depends on what the truth is.” You mumble nervously. 

Then, completely serious, he says, “I was coaxing.”

You blink, not understanding initially. When Hansol turns his head to face you, it’s obvious he’s trying (and failing) to hold in his laughter. That’s when you remember the serial killer joke you’d made to him when you first met. You gasp, and the laugh practically bursts out of him. 

“I knew you’d be the coaxing type!” You exclaim, quickly scrambling to sit up. “You’re too nice to kill right away. You know? I think you’d need to warm up to the idea first before giving yourself enough courage to do it.”

His laughter slows as his smile falters for a moment. “Yeah,” he says, his tone softer than before, “I’d definitely need the courage, first.” 

“Just, do it in my sleep, okay?” You tease as you push yourself to your feet. “If I need to go out, I’d rather not be awake for the whole suffering part.”

Hansol hums. “Noted.”

The morning sun seeps through the curtains in the hotel room, and you’re unbelievably warm. As you shift to push the blankets off of you, you begin to register the fact that half of Hansol’s body is currently draped over you. Your legs are a tangled mess, and he has his arm strewn over your stomach with his head in the crook of your neck. 

It takes all but sixty seconds to fully process its Hansol before your breath catches in your throat. You freeze, unsure if you should move or not. You definitely did not fall asleep this way–in fact, you were so close to falling off the bed when you first got in last night, that you were wondering if it would actually happen. Not this. Not the exact opposite.

When Hansol shifts slightly, you feel your heart drop completely. He lifts his head enough to look down at you. You watch as he goes through the same motions you just had: letting his eyes adjust, realizing where he is, and registering the position he’s waking up in. His eyes widen as he quickly scrambles back. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” He says, his voice low and groggy from waking up. “I did not mean to–”

“No, it's fine.” You sit up. “Um, it just surprised me is all, you know?”

Hansol nods, running a hand through his messy hair. The silence is awkward as you both sit across from each other, unsure of what to do next. You dare a quick look at him, as he is distracting himself with his phone. He’s got bags under his eyes, and you wonder how long it has been since he got a full night’s rest like that. You knew for yourself it had been a while. More specifically, since Seungcheol left. 

You didn’t even remember falling asleep last night. The last thing you remembered was laying on the edge of your side of the bed, and laughing at some horrible reality show that Hansol had put on the TV in the room. When you laid down, you were out cold. The craziest part is you slept really well. It was a heavy kind of sleep that made you actually feel well-rested and not just more tired. 

Glancing at the digital clock on your bedside table, you realize just how long you guys had slept. 

11:38 am.

You got into bed around nine o’clock last night, which means you slept for fourteen hours. The thought makes you laugh before you fall against the mattress again. Hansol’s attention shifts towards you as he lowers his phone into his lap. 

“What?” He asks, laughing lightly with you. 

“It’s just been forever since I’ve slept.” You reply, looking up at him. “Did you even see what time it was?”

The corners of his mouth twitch. “Yeah, uh, I did.” He says. “We missed breakfast, though.”

“Do you usually eat breakfast?”

He grins at that. “Nope.”

You laugh again as Hansol lays beside you once more. The screen door to the balcony was left open last night, and you can hear the sounds of people talking outside and cars driving past. Something about the laziness and simplicity of the morning makes you feel light–like you were getting everything with Hansol you could’ve had with Seungcheol. 

You’d talked with Seungcheol in the past about moving in together. Sleeping in like this or wasting the day away in bed were the things you used to daydream about with him, but here you were, sharing it with your next door neighbor instead. Truthfully, though, Hansol was now past the point of ‘just your neighbor’. He was more, but the capacity of which wasn’t fully clear to you. If you’d asked the week prior, you’d say platonic in a heartbeat. But now, you weren’t sure. It was muddy. You wondered if Hansol felt the same. 

“You know what I’d love, though?” He blurts.

You look at him, and he’s already staring back at you. “What is that?”

“I’d love some terrace-time.”

After each taking a quick shower, you and Hansol find yourselves comfortable on the loveseat that sits on the balcony. Hansol is leaning back against the wall behind you, while you’re leaning forward, looking at the view of the beach below. Despite the atmosphere being a bit more cozy than the fire escape, you almost miss the rickety stairs and sketchy landing outside of his apartment. 

“What time is Prince Charming’s dinner tonight?” Hansol muses as he finishes off his cigarette. He tosses the butt into the ashtray, then lifts his head to look at you. 

You glance at him over your shoulder. “I think he told guests to be there at five.”

“So, we’ve got some time?” He checks the time on his phone. “They have rental bikes at the beach. I was looking at them last night. How would you feel about a bike ride around the island?”

You smile, pressing your own cigarette into the ashtray. “Is this more coaxing?”

“Oh, well, of course.” Hansol nods. “Gotta get your guard down.”

“I guess a bike ride could be fun,” you hesitate, “but I haven’t rode one in years.”

He laughs, then leans forward with you. His knee bumps yours, and your heart skips a beat. “You gonna crash and burn on me, or do I need to teach you how to ride one all over again?”

This is flirting, right? This has to be flirting. Or maybe you were reading too much into the past twenty four hours. You aren’t even sure anymore. Your thoughts are moving faster than your brain is able to catch up, at this point. Deciding to test the waters, you choose to tease him back. 

“Maybe I’ll need you to teach me.” You say lightly, trying to match his tone. “I think I’ve forgotten all of it.”

Hansol clicks his tongue as a smirk plays on his lips. “Tragic. I guess I’ll have to, then.”

When he leans back again, you feel your face warm. Hansol is flirting. Chewing on your bottom lip, you turn your attention back to the beach. 

You find out very quickly that you definitely did forget how to ride a bike, as your foot is planted firmly on the ground beside you. As embarrassing as it is, you’re terrified to push off and the worst part is Hansol can tell. 

Once his helmet is on, he glances back at you, trying to hold back any laughter that might come out. You groan. “Seriously, I don’t even want to hear it.”

“I didn’t say anything.” He replies, his grin becoming more apparent. 

“You were thinking about it.” You pout, sitting down on the seat. “I mean, I’m almost thirty and I can’t ride a bike. That’s a little pathetic.”

“Nah,” Hansol waves you off as he props the stand, then rests his bike on it. He walks over to you, patting the helmet on your head. “We’ve all got our quirks.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, what’s yours, then?”

He thinks for a moment, then says, “I’m allergic to peanuts.”

“That’s not a quirk, that’s just a fact.” You argue. He laughs as he walks behind your bike, then leans forward. 

“If you’re done, I’m ready to get this show on the road.” He announces. “You wanna put your hands on the handlebars?”

“Not really.” You sheepishly admit. You shift in your seat, feeling how close he is as his black t-shirt gently brushes your back. You swallow nervously, feeling grateful he can’t see the blush creeping up onto your face. 

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” He reassures you. “I won’t let go until you’re ready.”

After a few grueling seconds, you lean forward to grab the handles. At the same time, Hansol leans forward, resting his hands on yours. Your heart skyrockets at the touch, and you wonder if you’ll go into cardiac arrest on the spot. The two of you sit like that momentarily, before he clears his throat. 

“Okay,” he says, “when you push off, I want you to pedal. I’ll keep you upright and help you steer, so don’t worry about that.”

“What if I’m already worrying?” You turn to look at him, when you about bump your head into his from how close he was. It clearly catches you both off guard, as Hansol blinks a few times. Then, he manages to give you a smile. 

“Just trust me, okay?” He replies. “I’m not going to let you get hurt.”

The statement feels like it carries more weight to it than just riding a bike. You feel it settle deep inside of you, like it’s trying to make a home in the parts of your heart that still haven’t healed from Seungcheol. All you’re able to muster is a meek nod, as you look ahead at the sidewalk again. 

“Ready?” Hansol asks. 

“Ready.” 

Drawing in a deep breath, you push off and bring your feet to the pedals. The bike wobbles at first, but Hansol keeps it steady like he said he would. You go slow at first, when slowly the motions start to come back to you. 

As you gain a bit more confidence, Hansol says, “the left handle is your break. You want to try stopping?”

He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, which does nothing to calm the nerves that have been brewing since you got here. You do as he says, though, and slowly press down on the break. The bike comes to a stop, prompting you to sigh in relief. 

“You did it!” He exclaims. You look up at him, unable to contain the smile on your face. He returns it, then sticks his hands into the pockets of his joggers. “Told you I’ve got you.”

“Yeah,” you laugh a little breathlessly. “That wasn’t too bad.”

“Want to try it on your own?” He hums. “I’ll stay right by your side for the whole ride.”

This time, it feels easier to believe him. So, you quickly nod, already prepping to push off. 

“Ready when you are.”

You and Hansol sit outside of the restaurant when you arrive as you stall for time before walking in. Just beyond those doors was Seungcheol and the same girl he left you for five years ago. You hadn’t faced either of them since, and you were feeling a bit sick to your stomach. Thankfully, Hansol was in no rush as he stood beside you. 

The two of you cleaned up, and put on some nicer clothes before coming here. Contrary to your initial doubt, Hansol cleans up very well. It was almost weird to not see him in his usual comfy clothes as he wore some nicer jeans and a button-down top. His hair was pushed back slightly, but still had the endearing messier look that you’ve grown fond of. It was true to him, and familiar to you. Kind of like a nice reminder that despite the facade, this is still the same Hansol you’ve sat next to for almost a year and spent all your sleepless nights with. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks as he leans against the wall behind the two of you. 

“Sick.” You laugh. “I don’t really know what to expect when we go in, you know?”

He hums, then holds his hand out. “Good thing you’re not alone, remember?” He reminds you coyly. “Just think about it this way: the faster we get this over with, the faster we can go back to the hotel for some much needed terrace-time. Maybe another reality show–?”

You make a face at that. “God, no more reality TV. But terrace-time sounds nice.”

Tentatively, you put your hand in his. Hansol smiles down at you before giving it a squeeze, then leading you both into the restaurant. It’s a nicer venue, with dim lights and light jazz music playing. The hostess directs you to the back party room, where the rest of the wedding guests are already mingling and drinking. Hansol pulls you closer to him as the two of you navigate towards an empty table to sit. Your eyes begin to wander, when you find Seungcheol at the front of the room. He’s laughing with Minghao, one of your mutual friends. 

“That’s him,” you lean towards Hansol, tugging on his sleeve. He follows your gaze towards Seungcheol, and his jaw tightens. He mutters something under his breath, but you don’t have time to register it before your ex notices you, and begins walking over. 

Your eyes widen, and Hansol is quick to throw his arm around you, pulling you into his side. Seungcheol offers an awkward smile as he looks between the two of you. He looks the same as he did five years ago, only his age is beginning to show on his face a bit. 

“Hey,” he breathes, “you made it!”

“I did RSVP.” You reply, forcing a smile. “Uh, Cheol, this is my boyfriend, Hansol.”

Seungcheol takes one look at Hansol, and his demeanor changes instantly. He straightens his back a bit, then extends a hand towards him. 

“Hey, man, glad you could make it.” He says evenly. You almost laugh. 

Hansol shakes his hand, and is quick to drop it. “Yeah, congrats.”

“Well, we aren’t married yet.” Seungcheol laughs awkwardly. “But, uh, I’ll take the early congrats. Thanks. So..how long have you two known each other?”

Before you have the chance to reply, Hansol cuts in, “almost a year. We live in the same apartment building.”

“Ah,” Seungcheol’s expression twists as he looks over to you, “is it still that shitty place near downtown?”

“Well, not all of us can live off our parents’ wealth.” Hansol retorts. “Besides, it’s not that terrible. You know, if you’re humble enough to acknowledge that it’s a roof over your head.”

Oh god, you want to hide. You’re not sure what kind of stand-off these two were starting, but you did not want to be in the middle of it. You can feel Hansol’s grip on your shoulder tighten slightly. Seungcheol folds his arms across his chest. 

“You’re right.” He nods curtly. “I should be more mindful of the fact that I’ve grown up a bit more privileged than others. Sorry to offend.”

His tone doesn’t quite match the words he’s saying, and Hansol seems to notice. You don’t want to give either of them the opportunity to keep arguing, so you decide to butt in. 

“I’m sure you have a lot of people to catch up with.” You say with a gentle smile. “You know, people you know better than us? I mean, Hansol and I are here all weekend. We can talk more later.”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol sighs, glancing between the two of you again as if to size Hansol up. Then, he returns your smile. “Really, I’m happy you could make it. I’ll just…see you around, then?”

He hesitates before leaving, but once he does, you sink into Hansol’s side and let out a breath you didn’t even realize you had been holding in. Your head rests against his shoulder. Hansol stiffens slightly at the gesture before relaxing. 

“Well,” you announce, “that was fun.”

Hansol laughs, sinking lower into his chair. “He sucks.”

You can’t help but laugh in response as you pull away from him. He looks over to you as the annoyance washes off his face, turning into a lopsided grin instead. 

“I think we need some drinks.” You comment. “I’d definitely like to drink.”

“Awesome.” Hansol quickly nods. “I’m right there with you.”

“Whoooaa,” Hansol steadies you as you both stumble back into the hotel room. 

You’re laughing and everything feels good. Your head has the perfect amount of buzz, and you feel warm and happy and the stress of the weekend is miraculously gone. As you flop onto the bed, you kick your heels off and stretch. 

“They made some good cocktails,” you hum. “Really strong.”

“A little too strong.” Hansol teases as he sits beside you. “You should drink some water.”

“I’m fine.” You slur, rolling your head to the side to look up at him. His focus is on his shoes as he slides them off, but the only place your drunken mind can wander to is how good he looks.

You think about how nice he’s been, and how fun it was riding bikes today, and waking up beside him, and how hot it was when he stood up to Seungcheol. You tug lightly on his sleeve, prompting him to look back at you. 

“What is it?” He asks, leaning back on his hands. “You want me to go grab you some from the front desk? I think they’re selling water bottles. I thought I saw some Gatorade, too–”

“You’re so pretty.” You coo happily, cutting him off from his sentence. “You’re so nice, too. So nice to me.”

His smile falters for a second, like you caught him off guard. He laughs a little breathlessly. “You’re so drunk.” 

“Mmm but I think that when I’m sober, too,” you muse. “I wish we talked sooner.”

“Yeah.” Hansol mumbles. His gaze softens. “At least we are now, right? Better late than never.”

Your eyelids begin to feel heavy as the alcohol threatens to let sleep take you over. Bringing your hands to your eyes, you attempt to rub away the fatigue. It doesn’t work. 

“Can we sleep together again?” You ask as you sit up. 

Hansol blinks. “Like, what, cuddle?” 

You nod as you push yourself to your feet and stumble towards your suitcase for some pajamas. As a yawn slips past your lips, you look back over to him. 

“It was comfy,” you hum. “The only time I've ever slept well was with you.”

Hansol hesitates as he watches you close your bag again. Finally, he clears his throat and says, “Yeah. That’s fine.” 

After clumsily changing in the bathroom, you drag yourself into bed, where Hansol already sat, watching the TV. He changed into his familiar sweatpants and hoodie combo that you usually saw him in, and you felt your heart flutter. The longer you were around him, the more he began to feel like home. 

Though, maybe in a way he always had been. 

The headache you wake up with is violent, and out to seek vengeance on you for the amount you drank the night before. The sunlight in the room is too bright, the soft whirring of the AC is too loud, and you want nothing more than to hide and stay in the room. 

Beside you, Hansol’s presence is warm and grounding. He’s still snoring lightly, with his arms lightly wrapped around your waist. Your face is cozy against his chest, and he smells like a linen closet. No overbearing cologne like Seungcheol would always wear, just fresh and clean and comfortable. 

You softly grab ahold of his hoodie, pulling yourself closer to him. If you could live like this for the day, you’ll be content. But then Hansol stirs, and your heart breaks a little that it’s over already. When you don’t lift your head immediately, you feel Hansol’s grip tighten just the slightest. 

“How hungover are you?” He mumbles, his voice low and gravelly from waking up. 

“Too much.” You groan. “I hope I didn’t do or say anything stupid yesterday.” 

Hansol is quiet. Then, “You don’t remember anything?” 

“I remember leaving the restaurant.” You yawn, accompanied with a shrug. “I don’t really remember coming back here, though. It’s a bit fuzzy.”

“Oh.” Hansol says. 

You frown, then finally lift your head to look at him. “Why did something happen? Did I say something horribly embarrassing?”

The corners of his mouth twitch before he finally smiles. It doesn’t fully reach his eyes, though. But you figure it’s probably because he’s still waking up. “Nah,” he reassures you. “Nothing too crazy.”

Before you can ask what he means, he’s pulling away and it almost hurts when he does. Hansol rolls onto his back, then reaches for his phone on his bedside table. You sigh, then follow suit, grabbing your phone from under your pillow. It’s already almost ten, and the wedding starts in three hours. 

“I’ve been sleeping so well since we got here.” You announce, glancing over to Hansol. He’s scrolling on his phone mindlessly. 

“Yeah, uh,” he looks at you briefly before his attention flicks back to his phone, “me too.”

You discard your phone again, then roll on your side to face him. “What do you think our sleeping habits will be like when we get home?” You ask. “I’m holding out hope they’re going to get better.”

“I don’t think they will,” he admits with a laugh. “Besides, what’ll we do with terrace-time if our sleep schedules get fixed?”

“Damn,” you click your tongue. “Can’t give that up. It’s too precious to me.”

You’re staring at him, hoping for something–anything. A reaction, an agreement…you begin to wonder if maybe the vacation was just getting to you both. You’ve heard countless times of friends falling into weird situationships when they’re away from home, so maybe you’ve clung onto Hansol since he’s here with you and it’s easy. Except, the amount of times you try to tell yourself that, it doesn’t fully feel true. 

“I think I’ll shower and start to get ready.” He states, setting his phone down again. “Unless you want to go first?”

You shake your head, rolling onto your back. “No, you can go. I think I need a little bit longer to wake up.”

He says something else to you, but you don’t register it. Instead, you absentmindedly watch as he gathers his suit, then disappears into the bathroom. Once the water turns on, you bury your face in your hands. 

Maybe you just need to get over it. It’d be embarrassing if you tried to push the matter further only to find out Hansol never reciprocated those feelings. Besides, now that you knew each other beyond terrace-time, you didn’t want to lose him completely over some silly feelings from the adrenaline of vacation. He’s a good person, and good people have been hard for you to come across lately. That’s something you didn’t want to take for granted.

Poking your head around the corner, you see Hansol smoking on the balcony. His suit jacket is draped over his shoulder, as he stares out at the beach below. You can’t get your dress zipped and you feel a little embarrassed by it, but you also can’t exactly show up with your bare back on display and the risk of the dress falling off. 

“Uh, hey Hansol?” You meekly call out. He glances over his shoulder towards you. “I, uh, need help with my dress.”

He tosses the remainder of his cigarette into the ashtray, then meanders over to you. After draping his suit jacket onto the bed, you push the door open slightly. You’re holding the front of your dress up with one hand, giving a lopsided smile. 

“I can’t get it zipped.” You laugh nervously. 

Hansol doesn’t say anything at first. But his eyes drag over your body before meeting your gaze, and you feel your face flush. He swallows. 

“Yeah, okay.” He nods. “Um, you need to turn around, though, so I can zip it.”

“Oh!” You chirp. “Right. Sorry.” 

You spin to face the mirror across from you in the bathroom. Hansol hesitates before grabbing your waist with one hand, and the zipper in the other. His knuckles are cold as they gently brush against your spine while he zips. You hold your breath when he’s done, and neither of you move for what feels like several minutes. His hand is still at your waist, and you wonder if he can hear how loud your heart is beating.

“Hansol–” You stop, not really sure what you were going to even say. He lifts his head, meeting your gaze in the mirror. 

“Yeah?” He whispers, his breath hot behind your ear. 

“I, uh,” you shake your head, like that’ll snap you out of it. You settle on giving him a smile. “Thanks.”

He returns your smile. “All I did was zip your dress.”

“No, I mean,” you turn to face him, “thanks for coming with me. This definitely wouldn’t have been as fun without you.”

“Oh,” he nods. “Yeah, for sure. It’s been great. It’s nice having a new friend gained from all of this, you know?”

Friend. “Yeah.” You agree. “Although, I do miss our own spaces. I think terrace-time at the beach feels a little too luxurious for me, you know?”

“Definitely.” He gives your waist a quick squeeze, before dropping his hand at his side. “What do you think, should we get this wedding over with?”

“Please.” You groan, following him out of the bathroom. “Do not let me drink as much tonight, okay? Unless something horribly awful and dramatic happens, then I’ll probably want to forget it.”

“Heard.” He nods, slipping on his suit jacket. “Only getting plastered in case of an emergency: you got it.”

The venue is about as lavish as you were expecting it to be. There’s a gorgeous, floral archway at the end of the aisle, and elegant green, beige, and white decorations everywhere. The second that Seungcheol is in Hansol’s sight, he grabs your hand and tugs you closer to him. 

You take your seats towards the back, and settle as the last of the crowd trickles in. Despite being out of his line of sight, Hansol keeps your hand in his as he traces lazy circles on the back of yours with his thumb. His hand is larger than yours, but seems to mold perfectly against it. 

“What kind of food do you think will be at the reception?” Hansol asks, leaning close to you. 

You snicker, turning to look at him. “Probably something fancy that I’ve never heard of.” You whisper back. He’s close and your heart is beating at a million times per second, you’re pretty sure. You wonder if he can tell. 

“I just hope it’s something edible.” He grins, his voice low. “I’m a picky eater. What if there’s peanuts?” 

“If there’s peanuts, then I guess I’m killing you first.” You comment. “I’d have the high ground.” 

Hansol’s eyes widen. “I thought I was the one doing the killing here?” 

Instead of saying anything, you give him a wink and face forward again as you hear music begin to fill the venue. Hansol squeezes your hand gently, but doesn’t bother letting go. Not yet, anyway. But you’re really hoping he doesn’t. You like the way it feels in yours—warm and grounding. 

The two of you watch the families shuffle into place along with any remaining guests who have yet to sit. A few minutes pass before the ceremony begins, and everyone stands. The wedding party seems to take their sweet time walking down the aisle, couple by couple, until finally Yuna begins to walk with her father.

She looks beautiful. Even prettier in person, and seeing her eyes light up when she sees Seungcheol makes you feel…at peace, almost. You let your gaze follow hers to where Cheol is standing, with tears threatening the corners of his eyes. They look so happy. And a sudden feeling washes over you that since meeting Hansol, you haven’t spent your nights thinking about Seungcheol anymore. You realize that seeing them commit to each other like this was the exact closure you needed. 

But you also realize that you’re pretty sure you have feelings for Hansol. 

You forget his hand is in yours until he lets go and begins to lightly rub the small of your back. For a moment, you wonder if he thinks you’re hurt by the scene playing out before you. But when you glance back at him, whatever expression you’re wearing seems to clear it up for him. He smiles as everyone sits again, then shifts his arm so it’s wrapped around your shoulders. 

You like Hansol. 

Whatever the officiant is saying quickly becomes background noise, as your mind begins to spiral. This whole time you’ve been trying to write it off by the amount of time you’ve spent together, but you’re truly not sure if that’s the case anymore. He’s kind, and funny, and seems to know how to cheer you up despite you not ever verbally telling him. You glance over to him, but his attention is on the ceremony. As if he can feel your gaze on him, he looks over briefly, then smiles. 

‘What?’ he mouths. 

You grin, shaking your head. ‘Nothing’ you mouth back. 

After some obligatory introductions to some of Seungcheol’s family and friends, you and Hansol wander outside of the venue for a smoke. The butterflies in your stomach have not left since your realization during the ceremony, and part of you really wants to ask Hansol his thoughts about…well, everything. Getting closer to each other, this trip, and every interaction in between–you know in your heart that there had to have been something simmering this whole time. 

“I’m almost sad to go home tomorrow.” Hansol suddenly says as he leans against the wall beside you. “This trip has been a lot of fun. Quick, but fun.”

You hum, flicking some of the ash off your cigarette. “It’s been…” you trail off, not really sure where you were going with your sentence. Finally, you say, “Hansol, are things going to go back to normal when we get home?”

“What do you mean?” He asks, pushing himself off the wall to stand in front of you. “Define ‘normal’.”

You shrug. “Like, not seeing each other or hanging out everyday. Terrace-time being quiet…” you clarify. “I just–I guess I don’t really want to leave here and lose all of that when we get home.”

Hansol studies you for a minute, and you feel your cheeks warm. He presses the butt of the cigarette to his lips, inhaling slowly, before pulling it away again. When he exhales, he offers you a gentle smile. 

“To be quite frank, I don’t think I can even try to force myself to go back to that.” He admits. “Uh, but I would like to ask you something. I just need to know if it’s true or not.”

“Anything.” You reply quickly, suddenly growing nervous. 

He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, clearly nervous as well. “When you were drunk last night, you told me you thought I was pretty.”

“Oh my god–”

“Hey, I’m not done,” he laughs, tossing his cigarette into the ashtray beside the two of you. “You said you would say it sober, too. When you said you didn’t remember anything from last night, I kinda wondered if it was true or not.”

At this point, your face is probably bright red. Hansol seems to notice as he bites back a smile, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his slacks. 

“Jesus,” you laugh nervously, turning your head down towards your heels. “Uh, that’s really embarrassing on my part but…yeah. I do.”

When he doesn’t reply right away, you’re scared he’s going to reject you or tell you he thinks of you only as a friend. You force yourself to look up at him when a few moments pass, and his smile is gone, replaced by a much softer expression. 

“Good.” He finally says, taking a step closer to you. “Because I think the same thing about you.”

“Wait, really?” You straighten your posture, putting the rest of your own cigarette out in the ashtray. “Oh my God, I thought I was imagining things.”

Hansol presses his brows together. “You knew?”

“No!” You quickly say. “Not really. I mean, I thought you might’ve been flirting with me this whole time, but I was kind of worried it was just because of the fact we were on vacation and had spent a lot of time together. I didn’t think you really–”

You barely have time to register the fact that his lips are on yours before he’s cupping your face, and backing you into the wall. Your eyes flutter closed as you melt into his touch almost immediately. His lips are soft as they move against yours, slowly and carefully like he’s savoring every moment of it–like he’ll never get the opportunity again. 

But, really, you’d like to do this every second of every day with him now that you know what kissing him feels like. 

Hansol pulls away momentarily, prompting you to open your eyes. His chest is quickly rising and falling from the adrenaline of suddenly kissing you. His own cheeks are flushed, but the way he’s looking at you makes you weak in the knees. It’s in a way that not even Seungcheol has looked at you: with so much adoration. 

“So,” he sighs, his breath fanning against your face, “do you want to be my real girlfriend or whatever?”

You shrug lazily, trying to be nonchalant with him. But your giddy grin gives you away when you say, “I mean, I guess I will. Or whatever.”

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A TANGERINE-COLORED INFLATABLE TUBE HITS YOU DIRECTLY IN THE FACE. You swear, your neck snapping backward as your sunglasses go flying. You hear the telltale splash as they hit the water behind you, barely audible as the little monster of a child goes screaming toward the steps to leave the shallow pool where the waterslide exits. 

“Don’t run!” You yell at him as he high-knees it up the steps, hearing but not caring at your orders. His feet hit the pavement and he goes thundering away, probably to harass more workers or better, the creators that spawned him. “Fucker.” 

Taking the floating device, you wade over to the conveyor belt and toss it on. The little lifesaver goes cranking up toward the top of the slide to be reused again. Sloshing back to where you were standing, you start looking for your sunglasses in the waist high water. 

Just as you spot them, bending at the knees to sink into the lukewarm, chlorine-heavy water, a shout and explosion of tangerine hits the pool's surface, water spraying you in the face and hitting you directly in the eyes. 

“Motherfucker!” You curse, blinking the burning chlorine water away as the kid floating by on the tube oooo’s at you for your language. Instead of honoring him with an answer, you grab the bottom of his float and flip it over, depositing him unexpectedly into the water. He comes up, coughing and sputtering. “Have a good day!”

After retrieving your drenched sunglasses and shoving them back on your face to keep some of the sun out of them, you go back to your routine of pulling tubes and putting them on the conveyor belt. It’s not hard work, but it’s not fun. The sun bakes down on top of your head, turning it pan-sear hot, your feet are waterlogged and your fingers are pruned.

You don’t even want to think about how much lotion it’s going to take to bring them back to life, the chlorine turning your skin dry every night after you get out of the shower. 

At least you get to take frequent breaks. When your manager tells you it’s time for yours, you don’t stop the visible sigh, sloshing toward the steps leading out of the pool. You pass Vernon on the way, giving him a wet high five as he descends, groaning when he immediately takes spray from a landing tube.

“Good luck, buddy.” 

The waterpark is nice. Despite your loathsome work, you can at least admit that. Meteor Falls is a state-of-the-art water theme park, all mystical space and falling stars. You don’t mind it some days, admiring the space-themed slides and attractions, impressed that it somehow manages to be both cheesy and kind of cool.

Other days, it’s your own personal hell filled with screaming children, chlorine blasts to the face, and never-ending run ins with your ex boyfriend. 

Jinwoo has a nasty habit of always managing to find you when you’re on break. You can’t prove that it’s on purpose, but every time you sit down in the staff cafeteria, one of your secret hiding places (like the storage room with life jackets or the storage room that smells plasticy with intertubes), he somehow manages to interrupt your peace.

You know you should be thankful that things ended amicably. Except - that’s sort of the problem. You’d ended things because though he’s nice, there’s no spark between the two of you. No passion, no something that makes your heartbeat a little bit faster, that makes your blood turn molten. 

He’d let you end things with a nod and a smile. And then got a summer job at the same water park, and felt the need to sit down next to you at lunch and talk your ear off, none the wiser to your growing agitation. 

It feels mean, this deep-seeded annoyance that has begun to fester every time you see him. He’s not doing anything wrong, and yet you can’t help but feel like maybe he thinks this - whatever this is - will patch things over. Will remind you that he’s a nice guy, that he’s easy to deal with.

Which means when you see him sitting in your new oasis Vernon had showed you - the pump room - you nearly throw your tupperware at him. Of course he and Chan are sitting in the room, pumps screaming over their conversation as they eat chicken tenders from one of the stands outside. Of course he sees you just as you pivot, raising his hand in a greeting before frowning and dropping it when he notices you’re fleeing. 

You spare a single glance over your shoulder and notice he’s getting up - probably to ask why you’re leaving - and you nearly scream in fright, rushing out of the room.

Jinwoo hot on your heels, you break the number one rule at the waterpark - you run. 

Bursting through the staff only gate, you nearly knock over a kid holding a very melted, very red popsicle. The child flinches but you’re already moving past him, your shoes squeaking and filled with water as you round the Rocket Launch Splash Pad and toward the Bridge Between Worlds, the rope bridge swinging dangerously as you run over the people floating in the lazy river below. 

Jinwoo shouts your name but you pretend not to hear him, slowing your run to a fast walk. Very demure. Very mindful. You take a hard left, nearly taking a palm frond to the face before noticing a tiny dirt path through the trees. You have no idea if it’s there on purpose or if it’s staff-only, but you see no sign so you rush down it, letting fronts and palmettos hit you in the face as the rush of a man-made waterfall fades behind you. 

Up ahead, you notice a small round building with a giant disc-shape roof. It takes you a second to realize that it’s supposed to look like the rings of Jupiter, a giant rocket ship stationed to the left of it. You frown, slowing your steps to peer around. 

No one else seems to be around. You’ve never seen this building, but the neon green letters built on top of the planetary rings read Jupiter’s Rain Room. From a distance, you hear Jinwoo call your name. It launches you to action and you bolt for the tinted glass doors that lead to the mysterious building. 

Air conditioning buffets you the second you step inside. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the low lighting, but once they do, you realize you’re in a sort of theater. Rows of cushioned seats fill the center of the room. The walls are circular, arching up until they form a smooth dome over the room. 

A single person twists around in one of the seats, a look of surprise on his face. He’s in an employee hoodie pulled up over his ash blonde hair, and his feet are kicked up on the seat in front of him. He raises his brows, as if to ask what you’re doing here. 

“Uhhh.” You lift your hand in a small wave. “Hi?”

“Hi?” He answers, just as unsure. 

“Sorry - what is this place?”

“The next show isn’t until three.” 

You pause. “I work here?”

“Why do you sound so unsure, then?” 

“I didn’t know this building existed.”

“That's because I took down all the directional signage.” 

“Oh?”

His mouth twitches, amused. “Do you phrase everything like a question?”

“No.” You think about it. “Actually, maybe sometimes. Look, I’m just trying to find a place to eat my lunch and hide from Jinwoo.”

He spreads his arms out to all of the chairs in the theater. “Be my guest.” 

Nodding in thanks, you walk down the steps to the auditorium proper. Up close, you can appreciate how handsome your unnamed coworker is. His feline eyes are intense, tracking you as you walk four rows ahead of him and sit down. He purses his full lips in thought before he settles back into his seat, nearly melting into the cushion as his eyes flick back to his phone.

Meanwhile, you pop the top on your tupperware, the fresh smell of grilled chicken and lemon hitting your nose. 

“What’s your name, anyway?” You ask, sticking your plastic fork in your chicken. You give him your name around a mouthful of lunch, followed by, “I’m in recreation. Usually you can find me on intertube duty for the slides.” 

“Minghao. Rain room attendant.”

“What exactly is the rain room?”

“It’s a room and it talks about rain.”

You frown, turning around to face him. His eyes flick upward, meeting yours over the top of his phone. When he sees you’re unsatisfied, he rolls his eyes. “It’s the room about how the park does water conservation. No one comes here.”

“Because there’s no signs?”

He nods. “Because there’s no signs.”

“Smart.”

He hums, attention going back to his phone. You turn back around to eat the rest of your lunch in silence, acutely aware of Minghao sitting behind you. Instead of peppering him with all of the questions you keep coming up with, you scroll your phone, monitoring the time until your break is over.

When it is, you stand up, joints popping. You groan and slide out from your row, glancing at him. He looks up, his brows raised in a question. “My lunch is over. Thanks for letting me hide here.”

“Anytime.” 

“Have a good day, I guess?”

He smirks. “You’re doing it again.”

You flush. “Sorry.”

“Mhmm. Catch you around.”

-

The next day, Mingho doesn’t have his hood pulled over his head. You’re surprised at how long his hair is, shaggy and a little bit longer in the back. It suits him, you think, as you pass him by and wave. He seems surprised to see you, but doesn’t object when you sit in the same seat as the day before, popping a chicken tender into your mouth.

Like yesterday, silence permeates the air. It’s cold in the room, making you understand why he’s always in a jacket. You make a mental note to bring one tomorrow - because yes, this is  your new lunch spot, so long as Jinwoo doesn’t find you and Minghao doesn’t kick you out.

Curious, you turn a little in your chair. He’s sitting folded into the seat just like the day before, entirely engrossed in whatever is on his phone. This time, you notice that he has a headphone in one of his ears. His ears are also pierced, with elegant hoops catching the light. Those suit him too, though you have a tough time imagining anything not suiting him.

Minghao is the kind of pretty that scrambles your brain. His face is made up of sharp angles and high, defined cheekbones paired with the most straight and refined nose you’ve ever seen. It makes his face look balanced and ethereal, but his plush mouth is where your eyes are drawn, watching his minute expressions while he’s engrossed with whatever is on his phone.

Until he’s not engrossed, and he’s looking directly at you, a single brow arched. 

“How long have you worked here?” It’s the first question that comes to mind, albeit not one of the ones you wanted to ask. 

“About four months.”

“Oh. I guess I’ve just never seen you around.”

“I avoid most of our coworkers.” He gives you a pointed stare and you shrink a little in your seat. “I know who you are, though. I room with Vernon.”

“Vernon has a roommate?” 

Again, not the question you wanted to ask. Minghao answers anyway. “Sure does.” 

“Huh. What’s that like?”

“Quiet.”

You hear the warning in Minghao’s tone, so you flash him a smile and turn back around in your seat. Three questions. He allowed you three questions before he got annoyed. Three is a good number. 

When you finish your lunch and your time runs out, you get up and give him a soft smile and a wave. He nods in acknowledgement, but that’s all you get from him for the day. 

Three questions. You prepare yourself to ask better ones tomorrow. 

-

“How many people a day come to the rain room?”

“Including you?” Minghao doesn’t look up as he asks this. You nod and he hums thoughtfully, fingers tapping on the side of his phone. The motion catches your attention. He has the fingers of an artist, long and elegant with a few silver rings. “Maybe ten.” 

“Only ten?” You try not to sound too surprised, too interested.

“Mhmm.”

“Lucky. I probably see hundreds of people a day.”

“That’s why I don’t work in recreation.” His tone is dry, but not unfriendly. You think he might be teasing, but it’s hard to tell. He still hasn't looked at you.

“Want to switch jobs?”

A beat. Then he glances up, meeting your eyes for the first time. It’s brief, but it’s enough to stir something “Nope.”

This time when you wrap up and head out, it’s Minghao who asks a question, eyes flicking to the drink in your hand. It’s the first time he sounds genuinely curious. “What is that?” You hold up the slushie in your hand, shaking it. “Yeah.”

“The Raspberry Rocket Blast. It’s a slushie and it’s so good.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That’s a real name?”

You laugh. “Yeah. And it’s amazing.”

Minghao’s gaze lingers for a second longer than necessary. “Interesting. Have a good day.”

You beam at him, blue teeth and all. “You too!”

-

Water sluices down your back. You rush underneath the awning of Jupiter’s ring, shaking water off your raincoat like a dog. So long as there’s thunder in the area, you don’t have to work. Most of the staff are lounging in the cafeteria and other break areas, but there’s only a single place you want to be.

To your surprise, there are people in the rain room today. Minghao isn’t sitting slouched in his seat, but rather standing at the back where there is a control table. He notices you come in and holds a finger to his lips, gesturing for you to stand in the back. 

Nodding, you follow his orders and pad over to him, pulling a hand out of your raincoat to hold out a styrofoam cup for him. He looks puzzled, hitting a button on the control table that sends the lights dying until you’re in a dark room, barely able to see his outline.

A narrator comes over the speakers, so loud it vibrates the room. You flinch and he adjusts the volume as the display of thousands of stars appear on the domed ceiling. Minghao takes the slushy from you, tilting it toward him to examine it.

“It’s the Raspberry Rocket Blast,” you whisper. “The one I had the other day.” 

Minghao takes it skeptically. He looks from the cup to you, back to the cup again, his face downturned like something might jump out and bite him. You nudge the bottom of the cup, urging him to take a sip. 

Hesitantly, he does. He brings the red straw up to his lips, taking a gentle pull. When the slushie hits his tongue, you can tell. His face morphs from careful skepticism into surprised delight, smiling around the straw, eyes crinkling at the corners as he takes a few strong sips. 

The inside of his lips are blue when he removes the straw, nodding. “It’s good.”

“Told you.” He rolls his eyes, but continues to sip the drink while the presentation plays.

You only half pay attention to it, deciding to sit on the floor with your back against the wall. Minghao glances over his shoulder at you and you point to your lunch. He shrugs and turns forward again, sipping his drink quietly as the ceiling turns to a rainstorm. 

It’s peaceful. The threadbare carpet isn’t exactly comfortable and the drywall behind you seems to absorb all of the moisture from the air, but it’s cold and dark. You only vaguely follow the story of the water park’s founding and core pillars. A soundtrack of rain and thunderstorm plays on the projector, lulling you until your head dips a few times as you flirt with sleep. 

Exhaustion wins. You doze off, only coming to when the lights come up and you hear shuffling feet and the thwunk of the theater chairs as they slam back to their normal position. You blink groggily, watching the procession of people who head to the door, checking to see how bad the rain is. 

Someone announces that it’s finally a light drizzle so they all head out, a mix of kids whining that they want to go down the slides and adults who want to give up and go home. When the last of them is gone, Minghao turns to you, smirking.

“Enjoyed the nap?”

“Very much.”

“Hmm. I’ve got to clean up. People love to leave their shit.”

You grumble and get to your feet. “I’ll help.” 

Minghao gives a hum of appreciation but says nothing else. It’s easy and methodical, picking up candy wrappers and empty bottles of soda. By the time you’re done, your phone is buzzing and Vernon is looking for you to switch rotations with him at the Astroslide. You sigh, sliding your phone back in your pocket while you toss the trash into the appropriate bend. 

Looking up from where he’s fishing a chicken tender from a chair, Minghao asks, “See you tomorrow?” 

“Mhmm.” 

“Feel free to bring the…. Blast rocket.”

“Raspberry Rocket Blast.”

“Sure.”

You grin, teasing. “Bye, Minghao.”

-

Minghao’s lips and teeth are blue. You don’t want to admit it, but it doesn’t look so bad on him. Nothing looks bad on him, though. He’s the kind of pretty that doesn’t belong working in an empty theater room at a waterpark, which has made you wonder on more than one occasion if maybe he’s a figment of your imagination. 

(Vernon has assured you that Minghao does, in fact, exist). 

Sitting in the back row, you watch as Minghao hops over the seats to walk to the control podium. “Show off,” you mutter under your breath. 

“What was that?”

“Nothing. You’re very athletic.” 

“Yes, I like keeping in shape. And yoga. And meditation.”

“Of course you do.” Settling further in the seat, you watch him as he flicks off the lights and turns on the presentation. “Why do I have to watch this, again?”

“Because if you’re going to hide in here from your ex boyfriend weekly, you might as well see the presentation so when a guest asks a question, you can answer it.” 

“Can’t I tell them I’m in recreation?”

He grins, his teeth Raspberry Rocket Blue. “No.” 

You huff, sliding further into the scratchy fabric of the chair as though you can become one with it. 

The walls of the room vibrate with how loud the speakers are, prompting Minghao to turn it down. When it’s at the desired volume, he returns to the row of chairs and jumps back over it, sitting down next to you while matching your slouch. He grins again before sipping his slushie.

You think he should smile more often. 

Instead of telling him that, you turn back to the screen as an aerial view of the waterpark pains the room in light. Meteor Falls, despite being your personal water-logged hellscape, is quite beautiful at a distance. Full of tropical trees hiding the stone walkways, pops of red and purple and blue waterslides peeking from the greenery. A cerulean ring wraps the waterpark, little tubes dotted along it as park goers float along the lazy river. 

“Welcome to Meteor Falls,” the narrator says, voice warm. “We know you’re here to have fun and cool off, but did you know that water is one of our planet’s most precious resources? We here at Meteor Falls, seek to reduce, reuse and recycle our planet’s water.” 

You watch as the scene cuts to footage of kids going down slides. You spot Vernon guiding tubes to the conveyor belt and point to him. “Holy shit, does he get royalties?” 

“If he does, he spends it on fast food.” 

“Every drop here counts,” the narrator continues. “Even the ones from the sky! That’s why we’re doing our part to conserve water by collecting and reusing rainwater!” 

“Probably cleaner than the piss-filled water in the lazy river.” 

“You’re probably right.” 

It’s a good presentation. You pepper the film with your commentary, earning a grin or a sharp huff of air through Minghao’s nose when he laughs. It feels like a win, each time you make him laugh. In the days you’ve been escaping here in the rain room, it’s felt like a personal goal to open him up a bit more.

Minghao is quiet. Observant. You ask him a ton of questions and he asks you none in return, and yet he’s seemed to puzzle things out on his own. It’s different from what you’re used to, most of your friends are loud and outgoing and overwhelming. 

Overwhelming like Jinwoo, who you wish would be awful just so you had a reason to cut him off, cut him out, push him away. 

At the end of the presentation, Minghao stands and, with a lazy sort of grace, hops over the row of seats instead of walking around like a normal person. He moves like he’s used to being watched, but not in the way that invites it. Just comfortable in his own skin. Then he flips the light switch, flooding the room with brightness.

“What’d you think?”

You wince instantly, throwing up a hand like it’ll shield you from the sun. “I think you just tried to blind me.”

“About the presentation.”

“I think it’s a crock of shit and we still overuse water,” you say without missing a beat.

Minghao snaps his fingers and points at you like he’s awarding a prize. “Good.”

For a second, the corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but close. You feel oddly proud, which is stupid, because you’re not here to impress him. 

Checking your watch, you heave a sigh. “I have to head back before Vernon freaks out. I was late last time.”

“Tough.”  He pushes off the chair, steps a little closer, not close enough to be improper, just close enough that you feel it. “Try not to take any pool noodles to the face.” 

“Tubes. They are tubes.” 

From behind you, you hear the quiet rustle of his hoodie as he slips his phone out of his pocket. “Sure. Later.” 

You glance back just once. Minghao’s got his headphones in, watching you, like he was waiting to see if you’d look. You meet his eyes for a second longer than you mean to. Then you nod, casual, like your pulse isn’t doing weird things.

“Later.” 

-

Pressing the sleeves of your hoodie into your eyes, you dab away any excess tears. The sunburn on your face is just as scalding as the lecture you’d received from your boss, reducing you to giving a tight-throat yes when he’d screamed if you’d understood him, fighting tears all the way down the rope bridge and gravel path to the little hidden oasis you’ve made for yourself. 

You don’t really consider yourself a crier. But today had been a bad day, your morning staring with someone running a stop sign and rear-ending you significantly enough to make you two hours late to your shift. Though you’d texted and called several times, your asshole Peaked-In-High School Manager liked to make people feel small.

He’d done a really good job of it today, despite explaining what had happened with your car. With the added, unplanned expense of needing to get it fixed because it had been a hit and run, you couldn’t exactly tell your manager to get his head out of his ass. 

So instead, you’d texted Vernon and agreed to take his shift tomorrow if he let you be another thirty minutes late, just enough time to collect yourself. Which is how you find yourself outside of Jupiter’s Rain Room, eyes burning, pride stinging. 

Cool air hits you in the face when you enter. Minghao doesn’t even turn around to see who it is. He knows it’s you. He’s sitting in the last row as usual, on his phone, the faintest sound of music drifting from one of his earbuds. 

You drop heavily into the seat next to him. That does make him look at you, his eyebrow raised and side eye heavy until his eyes scan your face, the attitude vanishing from his. 

“Are you crying?”

“No,” you answer sulkily. “I was crying. There is no active crying right now.”

“I see.” You sniff, staring with unseeing eyes at the rows of seats in front of you. “Want to talk about it?” That makes your stomach dip, but you shake your head. “Hmm. Want to listen to my favorite songs right now?”

You look at him from the corner of your eye. Minghao has never offered something like this. He usually keeps a perfectly manufactured distance, friendly but not friends, polite but not open. When you nod your head, he plucks the other earbud from its case and passes it over to you.

Tentatively, you put it in, heart hammering over something so simple that you chastise yourself, trying to make your breathing even. If Minghao notices, he’s nice enough not to say anything, pulling his phone from his pocket instead to tap on it. 

Music fills your ears. The song opens on soft guitar strumming, a soft and subtle melody. You feel your muscles unclench, the berating drifting far away as a soulful voice begins to sing. There’s a quiet intimacy to the song, making you glance at Minghao who watches you with rapt attention. 

You give him a small smile, a signal that you like it. He returns your grin, flashing his phone screen toward you so you can see what you’re listening to. River by Leon Bridges. You nod and write it down on your phone before leaning back and listening to it, the rhythm of mixed voice and minimal instruments lulling you into a calm. 

All you get is a few more songs. You list each one in your notes app. Minghao is quiet. Patient. A calm sea after a storm, only rippling when you take out to return the earbud, your over-long break over. You know Vernon is probably burnt to a crisp by now and will complain about this for the rest of the week. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, standing.

“Mhmm.” 

When you leave Jupiter’s Rain Room, you feel so much lighter than when you came. And so what if your heart beats a little bit faster. 

-

Sun beats down on the gravel paths winding through the waterpark. You feel the steam from them, yesterday’s rain burning away in the simmering heat. The smell of chlorine sticks to your skin as you balance the boxes in your arms, careful not to squeeze the styrofoam cup in your hand too hard. 

Cool air kisses your skin when you enter the theater. It’s empty, as usual, with Minghao sitting in the back row. He turns when he sees you, a smile alighting on his face. You nearly stumbled, surprised at how genuine the smile has become when he sees you. You ignore the skip in your heart.

Minghao is dressed in his usual polo and loose hoodie. He gets up and reaches for the items in your hand, eager to help you. 

“Hey,” he says, holding up a box. “What’s this?”

“I brought you lunch.” 

He raises his eyebrows before sliding back into the seat with grace that makes you hyper aware of the way you drop into your own seat, the metal creaking under your sudden weight. You straighten, sticking one of the styrofoam cups in his cup holder.

“Consider it a thank you.”

“For?”

“Not kicking me out when I was being a wimp. And for the really good song recommendations.” 

He hums, opening the container to reveal perfectly fried chicken tenders. He picks up a fry, popping it into his mouth to chew experimentally. “Not terrible. And you don’t have to thank me.” 

“Anyway,” you continue, eager to talk about anything else. “Leon Bridges is really fucking good. I went through his entire discography.” 

Minghao’s face lights up, a small, genuine smile. “Yeah? Glad you liked it. “He’s one of those artists that just holds you, you know? His music is there when you need it.”

“Mhmm.”

“I’ve got more recommendations if you need them. I spend most of the day here curating playlists. It passes the time and I’ve gotten pretty good at it.” His eyes meet yours and this time, they hold, dark and thoughtful. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What do you like to do to pass time?”

The question catches you off guard. You sink into the seat, thinking. Minghao rarely asks questions about you, content with letting you sit a few rows away while being a cranky cat in the corner. 

You’re suddenly hyper aware of how close you’re sitting. His fingers tap gently on the cardboard container while he waits, a rhythm only he can understand. 

“I guess I like reading?” It comes out like a question. “I’m into Sci-Fi movies - I’m sure you’re used to that with Vernon. When I was a kid, I was really into weird animal facts. Like did you know octopuses have three hearts?”

There’s a flicker of amusement in his expression, but it’s not mocking. “I didn’t. What’s another?”

He leans forward slightly, his elbows on his knees. You catch the faint scent of his cologne, something clean and citrusy, not at all like your sterile chlorine. 

“Hummingbirds are the only birds that can fly backward.” 

“Wait, really?” 

“Yep.”

“Huh.” He tilts his head, lips curving into a half-smile that makes your pulse skip. “You’re full of surprises.”

You take a sip of your slushie, trying to cool the warmth creeping up your neck, but his eyes flick to your lips, just for a second, and your heart stumbles.

Desperate to keep the conversation going, you ask, “What about you? Besides music, what’s your thing? You’re always so quiet and put together.”

“It’s easy to seem together in the natural chaos of this place.” 

You snort. “Okay, fair.”

“I don’t know, I like meditating. Working out. Reading. I’m pretty simple, but I like it. I don’t always have it all together, but I’ve gotten pretty good at appearing that way.”

You nod, drawn to this glimpse of him, the crack in his polished exterior. “I admire that.”

He looks at you, really looks, and the weight of his gaze steals your breath. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The moment hands heavy with something unspoken. You’re so acutely aware of him, the way your knee brushes against his in the seat next to him, the way his fingers twitch. Your heart’s pounding now and you realize with a pang that these snatches with Minghao are the best part of your day.

Minghao is the best part of your day, the quiet he brings, the steady presence. Here, there’s no orange tubes hitting you in the face, no Vernon bitching and moaning that his skin is dry. There’s no sun to burn the top of your head and scalp. 

Just Minghao and his calm countenance. 

Silence falls between you, backtracked by the hum of the air conditioning. Your break is almost over, but neither of your movies. He takes a bite of a chicken tender while you nibble at your friends. You steal glances, the silence warm and electric. 

When you finally stand, brushing crumbs from your lap, he stands too. He’s close, the tangerine scent of him exhilarating. His hand brushes yours when he takes your container from your hands, assuring you he can toss it out. 

“See you later?” He asks, voice soft, eyes lingering.

“Yeah,” you agree, a little breathless. 

Outside, the sun is beaming, but its warmth is nothing compared to the burning Minghao’s touch leaves on your hand. 

-

Voices blend together as you enter the stuffy conference room. The air is thick with the smell of old coffee and dry-erase markers, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Rows of mismatched chairs fill the small meeting room. It’s ass o'clock early in the morning, but the resort's monthly meeting demands everyone to be present. 

You wonder why they don’t use the Rain Room for their meetings and then think better of it. The last thing you want is for the company to find the single space in the entire park that you like to hide in, that is now special to you.

Coworkers fill the room. You pick a random seat in the middle of a row, dropping down as the low chatter fills the space around you. You’re so caught up in scrolling on your phone that you don’t notice Jinwood at first, gliding toward you. You realize he’s going to the seat next to you at the last second, panic taking over as he moves toward you, smile friendly, steps confident. 

Before he can reach you, Minghao jumps over the back of the chair like he always does, dropping into it with an easy grace. He grins at you, lips curving into a private smile that makes your heart skip. He pulls one of his earbuds out and offers it to you, brows raised.

Heat simmers beneath the surface of your skin. You accept it, feeling flushed and breathy as you pop it in. He’s got Khruangbin playing, a gentle buffer between the noise of the room and everything else.

Jinwoo falters, his jaw tightening for a second as he diverts, taking a seat in the row in front of you but a few off. His irritation radiates, surprising you. Instead of paying him any mind, your focus is on the song in your ear and Minghao’s fingers drumming on the arms of his chair. 

“Ready for the torture?” He asks, leaning back. His shoulder brushes against yours but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull away.

“Not at all.”

“Same.”

Quiet swoops through the room as the executives barge into the room, asking everyone to settle in. You peel the headphone out of your ear, passing it back to Minghao. He takes it, popping both of them in their holder and snapping the lid shut. He leans toward you to shove them in his pocket, filling your nose with tangerine.

When he leans back, you notice Jinwoo staring. His eyes linger for a second before he turns toward the front as someone begins a monotone spiel about budgets and schedules. At multiple points you see the tilt of Jinwoo’s head, the way he cuts a glance toward you. It makes your anxiety climb, palms sweaty. You wipe them against your pants, squirming. 

Halfway through the meeting, Minghao leans over and whispers, “What’s with the dude staring at you?”

“Ex-boyfriend. Still friendly, but uh… I don’t know.”

Minghao’s face stays neutral, but there’s a flicker in his eyes. “He’s making you uncomfortable.”

“A little. I think he’s hoping because we remained friends that we’ll figure it out.”

“You won’t.” It’s not a question. Minghao leans back, draping an arm along the back of the row of seats. Not around you, but along your back. Not claiming, not possessive, but something.

The meeting drones on, but Minghao keeps you anchored. Jinwoo’s glances taper off, but the tension is obvious in his jaw. When the meeting is finally over and you’re standing, Minghao’s hand brushes against your wrist, catching your attention. 

“See you later?” 

“Mhmm.” 

Minghao’s smile is brief before he hopes over the chair, blending in with the other employees all bustling out, eager to get away from cranky executives and uncomfortable chairs. 

-

Sun scorches the top of your head, heat bouncing off the chlorinated water at the base of the water slide. Kids shriek as they hurtle down the side, their tubes hitting the water with a spray. You and Vernon take turns grabbing tubes and adding them to the humming conveyor belt.

It’s one of the busiest days of the year, which means two people on duty. You and Vernon work in tandem, never stopping, the heat making you tired and prickly. For once, you’re thankful that the shallow pool you’re in is freezing cold.

Vernon is humming as he tosses a tube toward you with a lazy flick. You recognize the song as something Minghao recommended, a smile tilting your lips. Your stomach flips at the thought of Minghao, sad that you won’t see him today. It’s his off day, one of the few times his schedule doesn’t align with yours. 

You crab a tube from a splashing kid, tossing it onto the conveyor. You notice Vernon watching you, his expression curious but cautious. You slosh back over, giving him a once over.

“What?” You ask between lulls of kids coming down the slide. 

“So,” he says casually. “You and Minghao are friends?”

Your heart lurches. You’re saved from answering right away as a kid crashes into the pool, screaming. Vernon rolls his eyes, leaning forward to grab the tangerine ring before chucking it at the conveyor. He almost misses. It gives you time to think, resting your hands on top of the cold surface to ground you. 

“Friends?” You ask as Vernon returns. “I guess? I like to hide out in the Rain Room.”

“Hmm. He mentioned you at home the other night. Which is weird, being that he never mentions anyone.”

You blink, heart pounding. “Huh. What’d he say?”

Vernon shrugs, his smile a little too amused for your liking. “Who's to say?”

“Vernon.”

“Relax. Just that you’re cool. He was smiling when he said it, which is so unlike Hao that I thought I was hallucinating.”

Your chest warms, picturing Minghao on their couch, earbuds in, smiling about you. It’s thrilling, but terrifying. You tread carefully, unsure how much to reveal to Vernon, afraid to show that perhaps maybe you have a bit of a crush on his roommate. 

“We get along. He’s nice.”

Vernon hums. “He’s picky about who he vibes with. You must have made an impression.” He tilts his sunglasses down, looking at you. “Did you tell him about the octopus hearts?”

You groan and he laughs, slapping the surface of the water. It splashes you and you smack it back at him, volunteering to get the next tube if only to get away from him a little. 

He’s grinning when you come back. “He’s cool. You’re cool.”

“Cool,” you shoot back with venom. 

Two tubes come down at the same time and you both shoot for them. 

“You going to Mingyu’s party this weekend?” 

You’d forgotten all about the party. Now that Vernon says it, you wonder if Minghao is going. You assume not, assume he’ll keep to himself. Plus, you’ve never seen him at parties in the past. But you imagine if he did go, what he would be like outside of work, leaning against a wall, watching you with that steady gaze.

“Probably?” You finally answer. “He’ll be annoyed if I don’t.” 

“Good.” Vernon pauses before casually adding, “Hao is going. He’s been in a good mood and he figured why not. So. Just wanted to mention in case, you know. You needed to know.” 

“Vernon.”

He lifts his hands, a white flag. “Just saying, that’s all.” 

You both go quiet, only the ambiance of the water and shout of voices from down the slide to accompany you. Vernon’s words stick with you though and you fight a smile, trying not to let hope bloom in your chest knowing Minghao mentioned you at home. That he never mentions anyone. 

The sun dips behind the trees and you feel lighter, looking forward to the weekend and your well-earned off day. 

-

Mingyu and Wonwoo’s loft pulses with life, a sprawling expanse of lived-in comfort. Exposed brick walls rise to high ceilings, soft lights casting a warm glow over the crowd of your coworkers gathered all over. The living area is anchored by a massive sectional couch, its cushions littered with spilled chips and empty cups. 

The kitchen island is cluttered in the heart of the chaos, filled with bottles of tequila and vodka, mixers spilled over the surface. Mingyu is in the kitchen pouring shots into someone’s mouth while Wonwoo hovers nearby, watching with mild alarm. 

Floor to ceiling windows frame the city skyline, which twinkles like stars outside. Music rattles your ribcage, high energy as people dance in the living room. 

You have no idea how either of them can afford this luxury, but you don’t ask. Instead, you slip into the kitchen, looking for a drink to help ease your nerves. You’re dressed in a denim skirt paired with a cropped denim top, the barest hint of skin visible between the two pieces. 

Your shoes squeak on the hardwood  floor as you navigate the crowd. The room is packed with park staff, Vernon in the corner of the kitchen cackling at something Seungkwan is saying, your manager lurking in the corner nursing a beer, other coworkers in a loose circle near the speakers. 

You scan for Minghao, heart quickening. Your thoughts stutter when you see Jinwoo instead, leaning against the brick wall near the dance floor, is black button-down rolled at the sleeves. He notices you and your stomach twists as you dart away, heart pounding as you weave through the crowd, dodging coworkers as you aim for the balcony. 

The glass door slides open and the night air hits you, cool and cleansing. The city’s hum is a soft backdrop, its sounds drifting up from below. Minghao startles you, turning to look at you from where he leans against the railing, a cup in his hand. He’s in a loose, black sweater and jeans, hair mused by the wind. He looks good, your breath catching when he grins. 

“Hey,” he greets, surprised. “Escaping already?”

“Looks like you beat me to it.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit loud in there.” 

“I know, I’m surprised you’re here, honestly.”

He lifts a single shoulder, a shy shrug. “I like to keep people on their toes.” His gaze dips down to drink in your outfit and you feel hot all over, withering under his gaze. “You look nice.”

“Oh. You too.”

He chuckles, warm and low as you join him at the railing. He offers you his cup. “Sangria? Swear that's all it is, I just realized how creepy that was, sorry.”

“Not at all, thank you for clarifying though.” You take the cup from him and take a sip. It’s strong, not as sweet as you like it, but flavorful. “Not terrible.” 

The balcony is a quiet haven, like the Rain Room. The night air feels good against your flushed skin, fairy lights casting a soft glow over the potted plants. Minghao chats casually, asking what kind of Sci-Fi movies you’re into. He lets you yap, mostly doing his part listening and adding commentary where necessary.

You like that about him, how he’s a quiet counterbalance to your talkative nature. It’s comfortable. Even. you could spend all night standing and chatting with him, living for the familiar way he leans in close when he laughs, arm brushing yours. He doesn’t pull away, touch not lingering but still there. 

The balcony door slides open just as you both get to the bottom of the sangria in the cup, Seungkwan sticking his head out. “Yo! Come inside, we need people to dance.” 

Seungkwan vanishes back into the apartment and Minghao looks at you, brows raised. You shrug your shoulders and he grins, gesturing for you to head in. He follows, close on your heels. It’s crowded at the threshold of the door and he steps in beside you, a hand brushing low on your back. It’s soft, but it feels deliberate as he guides you after Seungkwan. 

Inside, the loft pulses with music, bass heavy. Seungkwan is near the speakers, grabbing a coworker and backing it up on her. You laugh when you see them all, Vernon wincing and watching Seungkwan with pure horror as Mingyu crashes onto the scene, fist pumping. 

Someone bumps Minghao, his chest pressing to your back, and he freezes, hands hovering. Your heart races. You glance back, meeting his dark, hesitant eyes.

“Do you dance?” You ask, teasing over the music.

“Sometimes.”

You raise a brow, challenging, and he nods, hands finding your hips, guiding you to the beat. You sway, melding to him, hesitant then bold, hips rolling, denim brushing his jeans. You spin, surprising him, arms around his neck, fingers in his hair. His smirk is molten, tugging you flush against him. His hand slides up, cupping your neck, thumb on your jaw, tilting your face.

“Remember how I said I’m not always composed?” he murmurs, rough, thumb tracing your lip. “You’re making it very hard right now.”

“So don’t be,” you grin, batting your lashes, bold, breathless.

Minghao’s eyes darken and he pulls you tighter, the music slowing, sensual. You dance longer, bodies locked, hips grinding. His breath hitches, lips grazing your ear, grip tightening as you arch into him. Your eyes drift away for a second, a tingling sensation needling at you.

Jinwoo is staring, sour as he watches you. 

Minghao notices your shift, loosening his grip to follow your line sight. “You okay?” He asks, hand on your back, protective.

“He’s just annoying.”

“Come on,” he says, firm.

Minghao steps away from you but grabs your hand, tugging. He weaves you through the crowd, past Mingyu pouring more shots, past Vernon slumped on the couch. You pass into a study that you immediately can tell is Wonwoo’s, with a desk and vinyl shelves.

He shuts the door, muffling the party, and it’s just you, the faint bass rattling through you, and Minghao, eyes burning. 

Ye backs you against the door, hands caging you in. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ever since you started spending time in my Rain Room, you’ve upset the order of my life. I never come to these things, but honestly? The thought you might be here is what made me come.” 

Your heart hammers at his candor, at the way his breath ghosts against your lips. “You are entirely distracting,” he mutters. “And I’m so unused to distractions.”

“What about now?”

“Hmm?”

“Am I distracting you now?”

“There is nothing else I would rather focus on right this second.”

Minghao’s eyes flicker, hesitant, like he’s waiting for your signal. You nod, breath lodged in your throat. Then he kisses you, slow and deep, lips commanding. He tastes like sangria and want, lips softer than you could have ever imagined. 

His hands grip your hips, spinning you to press your front to the door, his chest warm against your back. He palms your ass, pausing to look at you. You nod, wanting - needing him to keep doing. He lifts your skirt a little, fingers exploring the round shape of your ass.

Minghao mouths at your neck and you go pliant under his touch, eyes closing as you gasp against the door. His tongue laves up and down your neck, eager to taste you as his hands continue to explore before he finally - finally - traces his finger along the line of your underwear.

“Minghao,” you breath, shuddering. 

“Yeah?” He asks. “This what you want?” 

You nod vigorously against the door. “You’ll tell me to stop? Tell me when you’re uncomfortable?” 

“Yes.”

He kisses your shoulder. “Good.”

Minghao hooks a finger in your underwear, pulling them to the side. Cool air hits your heated pussy and you whine. He shushes you, his fingers teasing your folds, spreading your wetness. You gasp, hips bucking back into his hand while you see stars.

His fingers circle your clit, slow, deliberate, drawing a whimper. He catches your mouth as you crane back, kissing you deeply, lips tender but firm, swallowing your sounds. Trapped between the door and his chest, his fingers are sinful, sinking one deep inside, then another, curling against that spot that blurs your vision. The wet squelch is loud, intimate, and he hisses, breath hot.

“Fuck, you’re so greedy for me,” he says, voice rough.

You tremble as he slides in another, curling them, pumping slow and deep. Each stroke is precise, making you pant and go weak at the knees. He sucks at your neck gently, teeth scraping, tongue sweeping. You turn to liquid in his hand, the wet squelch filling the room as he finger fucks you properly, mouth pressed to your temple.

“Come on,” he murmurs, mouth buzzing against your skin. “You got it.”

Your orgasm crashes into you, walls clenching. You cry out, shaking as he works you through it, not stopping until you’re panting and boneless against him. 

Minghao removes his hand and turns you toward him, kissing you and pressing the back of your head against the door. The kiss is hungry but controlled. He breaks away, eyes burning as he lifts his hand to lick his finger clean. He hums and it makes you shiver. 

“Need a taste.” 

You flush. He guides to the desk, swapping aside all of Wonwoo’s things before he helps you jump onto the edge. The wood is cool against your thighs. He drops down to his knees, hands kneading your thighs, squeezing as they tremble.

“You’re so good for me,” He murmurs. “Can you keep being good for me?”

Your head is dizzy with this new dynamic. Somehow, this makes sense. He’s still calm and collected, but you can see the chaos on the edge of him, the way he takes control of the situation - of you. 

When you nod, he hums, pleased, and kisses your knee gently. 

You lean back, skirt bunched, underwear still pulled to the side. He places wet kisses on your inner thighs, his breath warm and making you squirm. His hands hold you still, firm but gentle as his lips trail higher, each kiss a spark until he looks up at you, eyes fathomless as his tongue dips tentatively against your folds.

A gasp breaks from your lips. He grins, his tongue brushing long, languid licks up your cunt that make your hips twitch. He dives in, lapping, focused and hungry as his tongue circles your clit with slow, wet strokes. 

Minghao is relentless, alternating between broad licks and precise flicks. He sucks your aching clit into his mouth, pulling softly with his lips, then harder, until you’re trembling, thighs closing in on either side of his head. 

When he pulls back, his lips are wet with your arousal. “Fuck.”

He dives back in, keeping you spread as his tongue dips into your hole playfully, thrusting. His nose brushes against your clit, making you clutch the edges of the desk, sliding down the wall as you fight to stay upright. You reach a hand down, threading your fingers in his hair. He groans, doubling down, the wet sounds of his smacking lips filling the room. 

The desk creaks as you shift again, losing control of your ability to remain upright. His tongue flicks faster and you start to peak, healing right for your orgasm. He senses it, increases the way he sucks at you, tongue hungry, perfect.

You shatter. 

He drinks you in gently, tongue turning soft and lazy as he licks you through it. You turn oversensitive, pushing at him with a weak moan. 

Minghao stands and leans over you, grabbing your chin to plant a wet, messy kiss on your lips. You lick into him, tasting yourself, eager to have his mouth on yours again. 

His hands fumble against his jeans, fingers working the button until he’s finally free of them enough to shove them down. Your mouth waters at the sight of his heavy cock bobbing, hard and leaking from just pleasing you, from getting you off twice. 

With a few pumps, he’s brushing the tip of his cock through your folds, collecting the wetness there. You moan in tandem, both of you transfixed with the way his shaft slides against you. He lifts your thighs, hooking his forearms behind your knees as he presses the head of his cock into your throbbing entrance. 

“Shit,” you gasp as he breaches you, sinking in. 

He groans too, easing in, slow and deep until he’s seated, hips pressed flush against yours. He slowly starts to fuck you steadily, each thrust perfect and sending your eyes rolling backward in your head. The desk creaks beneath you, wet sounds filling the room.

“You drive me crazy,” he admits, kissing your neck, teeth crazy. “Glad you disrupted my quiet days, though.”

That makes you whine. You kiss him, messy, nails digging into the side of his neck. He groans and speeds up, dropping a hand to slide between your legs and circle your slippery clit. That makes you moan his name, hips bucking as he sets a faster pace. 

“Come for me,” he urges, grinning.

You do, clenching, his name on your lips. His thrusts turn messy until he grits his teeth and follows suit, spilling inside you. He rests his forehead on your neck, panting. Your fingers run through his hair, soothing, grounding for both of you.

“I,” he pants, voice raspy. “Have never fucked someone in a random room like that in my life.”

“Wanted me that bad?”

“You have no idea.” He lifts his head, looking up at you with dark eyes. “I thought you were going to be a nuisance. And then you kept showing up, kept being chipper. Sweet, even. You brought me slushies and asked about my music. You grew on me in a way I didn’t expect.”

“It sounds like you like me.”

He groans as you laugh, teasing him. “I guess, yeah.”

“Well, I for one, am glad I stumbled on that Rain Room.” He hums in agreement, tired. “Now how about you pull up my skirt and take me home to fuck me properly, Minghao. And maybe get a slushie on the way.”

He huffs, shivering. “I’ve got you.”