한니엘

second, he possessed no appetite for the high-octane hedonism that infected most of the people you encounter. the king-sized bed served no purpose beyond its most literal function, a vast white wasteland between you both. even when you were required to wear a bikini to satisfy the dress code, chishiya never regarded you with the famished eyes common to the others—an indifference that, at times, you found yourself secretly wishing he lacked.

last but not least, you felt safe with him. which is all that matters.

he kept a respectful distance in bed, maintaining a boundary of non-contact. shared evenings were defined by sporadic, low-stakes conversation, though more often than not, they dissolved into comfortable silence. yet, despite his best efforts to uphold that boundary, you would frequently wake to find yourselves hopelessly tangled (an arm draped over his torso, a leg wedged between his) and it was always painfully clear that you were the instigator of the accidental intimacy.