A flutter stirred in Sunday's chest, so different from just a few minutes ago, where it evoked a fusion of mild dread and intense irritation. 

Or perhaps it could be because there were only two of them. 

Or maybe because Aventurine was staring a little too intensely into Sunday. 

Like, it was not the kind of stare where Sunday felt awfully undressed. But it was closer to the psychological experience of being a tiny specimen under a microscope, watched carefully by a mad scientist. 

Anyways.

"There are a few things that I would disclose with you right now," Sunday started. Simple, and direct. Nothing too suspicious. "I'm well-aware that this party means to celebrate and have some fun. And I truly hope that you will welcome my idea with open arms. Because I'm approaching you with a business intention."

"Oh, sucks," Aventurine murmured under his breath lightly, but loud enough for Sunday's ears to pick it up. "Here I thought I might get asked out tonight."

Well, if Sunday were to take an honest pill earlier - he would confirm his own agenda on the spot. But he was a man on a mission - an important mission. So some calculative scheming needed to be done.

"It was more about this writing project that I'm starting soon," Sunday lied. His eyes focused on the moon above them, an okayish attempt to hide any signs of a liar in a fake conversation. 

"What is it about? Is it about some dating game?" Aventurine guessed. "It is quite trendy nowadays."

Now. 

To prevent his light surprise from making itself apparent on his face, Sunday assumed that Aventurine's eagerness to know came from an instinct of an investor. After all, they needed to know the answer to everything for a better calculation. But Sunday was no client, but a stranger. 

Unless Aventurine successfully managed to piece Sunday's real intention together, which was impossible. Sunday liked to believe he hid it well.

Sunday paused, before continuing on with another lie: "It's a project in empowering interns, more specifically for interns interested in joining the IPC. It would be great to cover the working culture and standards."

Confusion squeezed Aventurine into slits. "We have interns?"

"Yes. IPC joined the government initiative in combating the rapid unemployment through internship and trainee programmes. They even funded it too. So I thought in relevance to that, it would be a marvelous idea if I were to write a guideline on that. It would be beneficial for all parties."

The lie wasn't that far off. This part of the lie was all over the news recently.

Aventurine shook his head, miming disbelief. "I'm going to be honest with you, angel. You didn't really seem like the humanitarian type."

"What in the world could that possibly imply?" The confidence that possessed Sunday earlier was now seized with the same irritation.

"Hey, hey," Aventurine raised both of his hands in defense. "Well. I thought that your interests would incline more towards stuff like education and literature. Your writing project was my second guess. The intern part, I mean."

In other words, a nerd. A label that Sunday was familiar when he was attending private school for nobles.

"In relevance to that," Sunday chose to dismiss whatever Aventurine had hinted at. "It would be lovely if you could give me names of people that you think would be a fit for the job."

Sunday actually felt like a genius. If he were to manage to get a list of candidates from Aventurine’s hands, he gets to select his own fake boyfriend. Not only does he get to minimize the risks, but he can now control the outcome.

The corners of Aventurine's lips lifted in a natural form of genuine happiness. "Today's your lucky day."

Yes! Sunday cheered silently. 

Perhaps this writing project would come smoother for him. Now the whole breakup after 10 days didn't sound too intimidating.

Sunday watched Aventurine fishing out his wallet from the inside of his sloppily worn blazer. He unfolded the wallet by opening the clasp, before pulling out a paper. In between his fingers, a business card was pressed in between.

Aventurine gestured Sunday to take it with a tilt of his head.

With both hands, Sunday gladly took it. Shortly after, he flipped it around and - 

The hell. Why was this guy giving Sunday his business card?

"That's very thoughtful of you." The best Sunday could do was express appreciation at the gesture. "Just to clear any misunderstanding here. Are you handing this card to me to contact you personally on the writing project?"

"Yes."

This guy wasn't as useless as Sunday assumed earlier. "Words cannot express how thankful I am for this. Now catching up with the deadline sounds like an easy task for me, thanks to you.”

Sunday inspected the details of the business card. It had Aventurine’s name on it, with his work email and phone number. Even if Sunday were to squint his eyes, the golden, IPC-shaped logo at the corner of the business card would still shine bright enough to fill in his vision.

“Actually, now we are on the subject. I also might need your help with deciding the candidates later for an interview,” Sunday continued, as he tucked the business card in the pocket of his jacket. "Would you prefer to be contacted through email or text?"

"Candidates?" Aventurine repeated. "Angel, I'm your candidate."

"My candidate?"

Aventurine raised both of his eyebrows in playful mockery. "My ears are telling me that the music from inside isn't that loud enough for you to not hear what I said."

Afraid of his own death that was prophesied on the angry glint in Sunday's eyes, Aventurine opened his arms. "Everyone said that I'm really good at interviews. I'm not going to disappoint you. But I can't promise that I won't annoy you, though."

Him? As the candidate?

What.

That just meant that Sunday had to date him for this writing project. 

No!

But this guy just offered himself up as the candidate. And Sunday had little-to-no romantic charisma. So if Sunday were to turn down this offer, then he would be bare-handed for the night. And for Aeons know how many weeks.

But if he were to accept this, then he can start on the project as soon as tomorrow. 

However, Sunday wasn't sure if he was mentally ready to fake a dating relationship with someone like Aventurine. 

Sunday's silence was slowly scaring the poor senior manager. To snap out of it, Aventurine asked, worry etched on his face: "Uh, Sunday? Did my business card spook the colours out of you? Or was it my offer?"

"No," came Sunday's answer automatically. "I'm just. Thinking. About it."

"You don't need that much thinking when you're around me."

"That's not what I mean," Sunday chimed in. "I just was hoping for... a list... of candidates."

Aventurine snorted, setting Sunday's heart in vengeful flames. "Me alone is a handful to handle. I'm sure that my personalities will be enough to fill any gap in the list that you have right now. I'm confident about it."

"But I need variations in answer."

Aventurine's eyes brightened. "Haha! And guess what? I'm good at lying."

Sunday looked around, ensuring that he wasn't being pulled into a prank episode by some show. 

This guy was stupidly resilient. Trying to push him away was almost similar to the act of pulling one's hair in a bag of flour. Just useless labour with no beneficial results.

And yes, Sunday can agree that Aventurine had a charming personality. If Sunday was actively looking for a spouse, he would fall straight for Aventurine. But Sunday was too stressed to have one. So all of his charms were having the opposite effects on Sunday. 

Oh. This part especially. Aventurine liked to take the stupidest risks. Sunday could have been a police officer in disguise of a helpless writer, with the mission of catching tax evaders and scammers-investors. And if the scenario was true, Aventurine was putting his own head on the chopping board. Voluntarily too.

Sunday went silent for a while. 

Well, Aventurine did meet all of his requirements in a fake boyfriend.

But Sunday just wasn't that sure if Aventurine were the type to keep a relationship for 10 days.

Oh, whatever. No senior-ranked members from the IPC had basic romantic empathy anyways, according to Dan Heng. So Sunday should just seize this whole opportunity. If Aventurine were to ditch him before the tenth day mark, Sunday could try to join Stelle’s weekly speed dating game.

"Now, let's stop the wheels in your head from grinding too much," Aventurine continued with a huff, and he slid his wallet back into his pocket. "How about this? You meet me again tomorrow.”

"You didn't even ask me if I was busy tomorrow."

Aventurine shrugged. "I will find a way. Now you're distracting me," he accused. Using his hands to list, he continued: "Weear a comfortable, light fit. Preferably sneakers, or a sports cap."

"Where are we going?" there was a layer of concern in Sunday's voice. "I hope not to see myself hiking tomorrow. I would never let you see me again."

"Nope. No hiking, but I can't tell you. No fun guessing now. The surprise's tomorrow," and there was no way that Sunday could muster out an answer from a resilient, mysterious man. "Come and follow me. I need to show you something."

With no questions asked, Sunday followed him. The gap in between them was closed, as they found themselves walking side by side. The pace was relaxed and slow, almost on the same rhythm as the wind blowing in their face. 

The coldness of the night penetrated through the layers of Sunday's clothes, causing him to shiver a bit in reflex.

From the corner of Sunday's eyes, he saw Aventurine shrugging off the blazer from his shoulder. 

Carefully, he placed it on Sunday. Even when Sunday denied it with a small shake of his hands, Aventurine continued adjusting the heavy, black blazer on Sunday.

"Where do you live?" Aventurine asked, his voice lower. 

Now, if Aventurine was a killer - Sunday would have been dead by now. Because Sunday easily gave away his home address to this blonde-haired man.

And Sunday had no clue why he even did that. Perhaps Sunday found himself captivated by the way the lights from the street lamp fell on the bones of Aventurine's face, thus presenting a more matured appearance that was lost in his annoying personality earlier. 

Or maybe Aventurine spiked a romantic magic in this blazer. Because for the second time that night, Sunday really found him handsome. 

There was an awkward silence hanging in the air. Sunday watched Aventurine's fingers glid across the screen of his phone easily. It was hard to see what was he typing, especially when his phone was tinted with privacy screen. 

The sound of leaves being crunched under car wheels caused Sunday to look up. A fancy, black car parked in front of them. The paint was shiny and well-maintained. Even when one wasn't up to date with car models, it was easy to guess that this costed millions. The driver rolled down the window. "Time to go home?"

Sunday looked around, wondering who could this person be talking to. 

But Aventurine flashed the driver a smile. It lacked a message, making it hard for Sunday to decipher it. But there was a sense of familarity in the shape of his smile, suggesting that the two were well-acquainted.

What Aventurine did next was opening the car door, hinting Sunday to enter. 

Sunday guessed that Aventurine's warm gesture in offering his blazer had melted Sunday’s icy viewpoint on Aventurine’s overall character, to the point that Sunday blindly entered without asking him why. Probably the first that night. 

While lowering himself down to fit Sunday's perspective through the window car, Aventurine reminded him again: "Tomorrow. Light and casual attire. And I want to see you outside your house by around one thirty."

So, it wasn't hiking. Sunday was slightly relieved. Nobody hiked when the sunlight could burn holes on your back. 

"Alright. Anything else I need to remember?"

Aventurine responded with an 'oh' before looking outside of the car. "Yeah. Before you get home, make sure to remember the plate license. Because you will be seeing this car again tomorrow."

"What does that even mean?"

And Sunday's question was answered with the car door being slammed. 

The driver looked at how Sunday's face paled in horror when the car door locked. Before Sunday could lunge forward to the driver seat, they calmly reassured: "Mr. Aventurine's orders."

Sunday scooted closer to the other side, getting his head out of the window to get a better contact with Aventurine. "You!"

"Oh, don't worry about it. If they take a different route, that's probably to avoid the traffic jam."

"Of course! You think of me as an idiot? I drove before!"

The car moved slowly. 

"Then, I don't know why you're mad at me."

Aventurine followed the pace of the slow car. 

If the gap in between them was closer, Sunday would have pulled him from the collar of his shirt to show him what outcomes one must pay for ticking him off.

Especially during a Friday night, where he could have been spending it by sleeping at his apartment until the evening tomorrow. But no, he had to attend this event for the sake of his writing project! Or else his dad would have called his job a waste of his remaining youth! And Aventurine just had to add the spoiled cherry on top by doing a kidnapping attempt on him!

"You are kidnapping me!" Sunday yelled. At this point, Sunday could not care less. 

Aventurine rolled his lips, whistling. "If that is how you pronounce 'sending a handsome man home' nowadays, then you know what? Sure. I'm open to it."

Both of them were having a yelling fit. If you weren't familiar with them, you would have assumed that this was another domestic dispute between a married couple. But the funny part was that they hardly knew each other.

Actually - judging by Sunday's boiling anger, they will know each other soon. The only uncertain part was whether they will recognize each other lovers or enemies.

"Good night, angel," said Aventurine, after blowing him a dramatic kiss. "Say it back!"

Sunday leaned into the seat, as he stared at the back of the driver's chair blankly. Whatever he was feeling, it was beyond disbelief.

Perhaps his gut feeling was right. Dan Heng was setting up a trap by suggesting this event, and Sunday fell right into it. And this trap? It had a six-number password that was impossible to crack. So it will stay attached to Sunday for a while. And that six-number trap was no other than Aventurine itself. 

Tired of this ongoing fight and how this car just won't budge, Sunday looked at the driver. Boredom brimmed in his eyes, he asked flatly: "Are you only sending me home if I say it?"

The driver casually responded with: "Yes. Because I need this full payment for my trip to Xianzhou Luofu next week."

To make sure that Sunday went home safely and this.. driver to get their full payment for their trip to Xianzhou Luofu next week - Sunday just decided to swallow his ego. Now returning back to Aventurine's viewpoint, Sunday said: "Goodnight."

And at the same time, the lorry passing by just had to let out the loudest honk. 

"What?"

Sunday mentally rolled his eyes. Curving his hand around his mouth, Sunday yelled: "I said goodnight!"

Almost as if Sunday was Cinderella casting a magical spell of speed on her pumpkin carriage, the car immediately sped forward.

The wind from the speeding slapped him on the face, urging the driver to close the window. 

Trying to get rid of the dust that entered his eyes, Sunday searched for his handkerchief. Only to realize that he was still wearing Aventurine's blazer. 

Sunday leaned slightly forward, while his hands were busy removing the blazer. "I'm sorry for bothering you once again tonight with all these demands. But do you mind handing over the blazer to Mr. Aventurine tomorrow?”

"Apologies, but that would not be within my jobscope, Mr. Sunday."

Seeing the slight confusion in the way Sunday raised his brows, the driver explained: "It's best to hand it over to him tomorrow. Personally."

That man. He really did find a way to clear Sunday's schedule no matter what.

You know what? Since he wanted to get under Sunday's skin so much, Sunday might as well made him his new test subject.

That would be Aventurine's punishment for ruffling his feathers for two hours straight. 

"What? That sounds crazy," Topaz started it off, her eyes widened at the bizarre statement that came out of Aventurine's mouth. 

Topaz popped the olive into her mouth, before continuing on: "You know. This whole charismatic guy thing. Ugh. If I had such powers, I would have gotten that promotion a long time ago. But I did such a poor job negotiating with Ms. Bronya that it completely ruined my chance of a promotion."

"Well, to start off. You're pretty," Aventurine said, twirling the champagne in the glass lightly. "But you need to just. Have this mentality that things are going to work out for you. And just like that, that promotion is yours."

But Topaz didn't take that well. It appeared that Aventurine's bloated sense of superiority was getting to Topaz.

She just faked a chorus of laughter, and then she went: "So funny. You need to shut up now before I blast your head off."

"What?" Aventurine was taken aback at the threat. "I'm a charismatic man, that's all."

Topaz wiggled her finger, signaling disagreement. "No, no. Not charismatic. But luck. You have good luck."

"Clearly not. I have my bad days and-"

"They are nowhere as bad as mine," Topaz denied Aventurine's statement almost immediately. A bit crazy if Topaz were to know Aventurine's real backstory with no sweetened version in between, but he believed it was best to save it for another more serious conversation.

Aventurine glanced up from his drink. There were more he would like to say, but the sentences fizzled out from his mind. 

"Sugilite is a charismatic guy. I don't see you being that angry at him."

Topaz chewed through her second olive, humming in between to keep the conversation silent-free. "He's charismatic. But he doesn't have the best of luck. Have you ever heard of his love life? Ugh, a nightmare. Perhaps it sounded like a good melody if you love drama and being splashed water in the face. But it doesn't sound nice when you are a normal person, you know?"

"Aww, so sweet of you Topaz. To think of me as a normal person," Aventurine cooed sarcastically. "Most people I know wouldn't agree with you. Most people we know wouldn't agree with what you're saying right now." 

"You would agree with me."

Aventurine let out a baffled laugh, urging Topaz to correct her sentence by secretly raising his eyebrows. So Topaz did what was asked. "You would agree with me on the luck thing."

"What are you trying to say here, Topaz?"

"7 days."

Before Aventurine could follow up with another question, Topaz cut it to the chase. "7 days. Make a guy fall in love with you in 7 days."

"For whatever reason there is?"

For the first time that night, Topaz smiled. "I read this article from Sparxie. She started off this writing blog to criticize the boring content coming out of Astral Express for 'ragebaiting' purposes. But then, they weren't her only popular works. She said that the IPC, especially anyone above the manager - couldn't keep a relationship for 7 days. And the whole Internet was loving this, really. And they did this whole research. And guess what, not many of us couldn't do that."

"Did Sugilite become the face of this whole controversy?"

Topaz paused for a while, then breathed out. "Well, no. It was better that way. You know how he acted with fame. It's gross. Or weird. It's hard to guess with him. Anyways. These olives are so good."

She turned around to one of the servers, tapping on the bowl and mouthed for a refill. So she continued, "But with a stroke of luck. Perhaps, the IPC senior-ranked members could prove the speculation wrong. What do you think? You're up for some challenge?"

There was this incomprehensible expression shaping Aventurine's face, which Topaz hoped could be a positive answer.

"You're so sick in the head, Topaz," Aventurine started off, as her heart squeezed in embarrassment. But Mr. Aventurine had more to say. "You know I love a good challenge."

Both of them harmonized in a roar of laughter that was a bit louder than expected because the people in front of them turned around to give this well-known, universal corporate, disapproving look. 

In a quieter voice, Aventurine continued: "You know what? I might just do it tonight."

A disbelief gasp came out of Topaz's mouth. "Tonight? You're a crazy man."

"Make it easy for me. You pick the man," Aventurine just won't back down.

And he didn't even know why he was so thrilled to beat this random person Sparxie's assumption. 

Mind you, Topaz could be lying to him right now about some troll account named Sparxie who had no fear of legal consequences and for that, she decided to write a piece where she criticized the IPC's incapability to keep a partner for more than a week. But as long as the relationship could last longer than whatever Topaz had, Aventurine knew he was winning instantly.

Topaz was excited. Obviously, she didn't want to pick the too loud-mouthed ones, or the naive-minded ones. That would really weigh Topaz's heart with guilt if she realized that she ruined an innocent person's perception of love.

So she thought: a man who was really out of Aventurine's league. Someone with the craziest allure straight from heaven, and with a more elegant and refined aura. And he had to have these ridiculously high standards, which was reflected from the way he talked to the way he dressed. She initially planned to pick someone from their office, but where's the fun in that?

Moreover, the Astral Express wouldn't really care if someone from the IPC asked one of their employees out. 

Silly her. She already knew who it would be!

"Sunday Oak," Topaz suggested. She pointed in the direction of the man with her glass. "That one, over there."

"Picking the most virgin-looking one makes me think that you might not be the nicest colleague-friend I have."

Topaz had her own agenda. And she didn't want to go against Aventurine's expectations about her. They really were good friends in the office, and it was hard to have that in this company. So Topaz immediately justified her reason:

"Sunday Oak is the most mysterious man from Astral Express. Rumors said that he started working with them around three months ago. But there was not really much to know about him. Like: for Stelle and Caelus, they were meme machines. While for Dan Heng, he was really good about self-care and meditation. Then March 7th with her fantastic travels all around the world. But Sunday? We don't know much about him."

"That sounds really stupid of Astral Express to keep a slacker," Aventurine criticized harshly.

Topaz patted on his shoulder, as if to punish him for cutting her off. "No. He did write a few. Didn't do good. Boring. But he was more well-respected for his PR and management skills. But again, wouldn't you say it's a mystery? The rule to enter the Astral Express is to have a unique story. And he has none."

"PR and management skill is a unique story and talent by itself."

"No. That's not the thing here. What I'm trying to say is, there must be something that Akivili sees in him that makes them go. Yes! This man has potential. Come and join our crazily exclusive family company. But none of us could figure out the reason. We only heard rumors that he came from this really rich family. But then he left them for one night."

"Truly a mystery. No rich kid would settle for such a boring job."

Another slap on the shoulder. "Shh! You're forgetting we are hosting a party to honor them."

"My bad," Aventurine nodded. "Well. I'm going to go straight for it. Wish me luck."

"No thanks, you got a lot of those already."

But Topaz's complaints fell to deaf ears, as Aventurine marched his way to the cute man standing alone with the champagne glass in his hand. 

A server lowered himself to Topaz, almost apologetically. "Sorry, ma'am. But we are already out of olives for now. Is there any other snack or appetizer that you would like me to serve for you?"

As always, the party was all glamour. And the luxury that they decorated each detail in the room was not the wealth that the majority of society have access to. 

Well, not much of a shocker - given that their salary alone could feed a town.

Honestly, Sunday loathed rich people. If he were not so much of a coward, he would have written an article criticizing the rich for hoarding all the money in the world, with minimal consequences for their actions like evading taxes. But yeah - Sunday was a bit of a coward, who didn't want to become the recipient of Pompom's anger. So he will just suck it up. And it was ironic too, since Sunday was born into wealth. 

Before Sunday knew it, Dan Heng had already left him behind. 

Not that Sunday could blame Dan Heng. Most of the people in the Astral Express assumed that Sunday was well-acquainted with the rich given his background, but in reality - when he was stripped of all the glitz and glamour of the Oak family, he wasn't really fond of talking to them. 

They were too self-absorbed and selfish, and can sometimes be insensitive to people from the lower hierarchy. Not Sunday's type. 

Well, whatever. Sunday could survive fine on his own. He picked up a champagne glass by the stem to keep his hand busy, before observing the scene before him.

If he had to choose a man to write about, he had to have a resilient and charming personality with a natural instinct of a risk taker. The kind who enjoyed the thrill of push-and-pull, but also wasn't that intrigued by longevity in something as simple as dating for the long-term.

For some reason, Sugilite came to mind. 

Sunday shivered.

Now, let us add more into the details.

Someone who wouldn't be that vengeful if Sunday was the person who initiated the breakup in case he wanted the hookup to last for more than 10 days. Sugilite didn't seem to be the type to be resentful if he found out that Sunday wasn't interested in a long-term relationship. But he did look like the type to hunt down Sunday if he ever found that he became a tool for Sunday's experiment. It sounded humiliating alone. 

Honestly, Sunday could have lied. But he hated lying. So that was why he was stuck in this painful dilemma that he cast upon himself.

As he was zoning out, completely melted in his thoughts - a sultry voice of a dangerous stranger pulled him out of the trance.

"And who might you be?"

Sunday whirled his head towards the source of the interesting noise, looking at the stranger over his shoulder. 

He was, what one could say, the perfect representation of the IPC: dangerously handsome, well-sculptured face and a lethal smile hanging from the corners of his lips almost naturally. His blonde hair was styled messily, but somewhat strategically. Perhaps some sort of a trend that Sunday didn't catch up on. Well, his eyes. His multi-coloured eyes were certainly very captivating, almost reminding him of a spark of light from a mirror. 

Could he be? 

Sunday didn't want to make any bad guesses.

Speechlessness numbed Sunday's tongue. But he had to say something. So he went ahead and continued with: "I wouldn't consider myself new."

"I haven't seen you before though. Haven't seen you enough," the man commented, lifting the glass close to his mouth. "Especially such a handsome man like you. Not easy to forget."

Alright, he was handsome and flirty. Not Sunday's type. Indulging in the drama and danger was the least of Sunday's favorites.

The mysterious man took advantage of Sunday's timid silence to introduce himself. He reached out for Sunday's hand, then pressed the gloved knuckles on his lips. Noticeably soft. It must be nice to kiss him. 

"The name's Aventurine. Senior manager from the strategic investment department," he said, too seductively. "And yours?"

"My name is Sunday Oak. It's a pleasure to meet you," Then there was a short huff after the introduction. "Mr. Aventurine."

"Drop all the formalities, angel. Aventurine works fine," he shrugged his shoulders with an amused chuckle. 

Sunday took note of the Aventurine's preference at first with the intention of respect. 

But then heat radiated from his own cheeks when he realized that this man casually just gave him a nickname. And the worst part is, Sunday couldn't even tell if the nickname came from a place of malice or not. 

Sunday continued, a small hesitance hanging on the edge of his voice: "I would prefer you to call me by my name, Sunday."

"Why not? Are you not the fun type?"

Sunday could hardly suppress his gasp at the sudden accusation of his character. "I’m a lot of fun."

"Really?" Aventurine raised both of his eyebrows in surprise. Perhaps Aventurine didn't guess that Sunday wouldn't bite back, since Sunday appeared so sheepish. 

Then Sunday picked up this small snicker coming out of Aventurine, almost as if curiosity tickled him to speak some more. 

"What?" Sunday asked him, there was a pinch of irritation that suppressed him from cursing the young man. "What's humorous about this?"

"Nothing funny," Aventurine answered, before a few more snorts coming out of him. "I just didn’t think that such a nickname could rile you up so easily."

While Sunday initially assumed that Aventurine was playing some sort of game, he planned on brushing this odd man off. 

But then it finally registered to him that Sunday was talking to one of the most high-ranked employees in the strategic investment department. He could have a major involvement in the overall business, especially given the professional relationship that both the IPC and Astral Express shared.

Oops. Did Sunday just make such a poor impression on this man?

Now Sunday felt just embarrassing. 

But perhaps he shouldn't be too himself around his company stakeholders. Too many risks. 

He decided to embrace himself a little more and let go of this serious character that he presented to.. Mr. Aventurine.

"I apologize for upsetting you, really," The sudden switch up Sunday's voice tone had caused a confusing frown to wrinkle the center in between Aventurine's brows. "I thought - honestly. I didn't know what I was thinking of speaking to you so disrespectfully. If you would be so kind, do you mind if we start all over again? I promise, I'm not this - moody person. Really."

"Well, the problem is. I like this moody character, so let's continue."

While Sunday was trying to ventilate his rising anger earlier from the awkward dispute they shared - Aventurine just decided to stir more flames to it. 

Aventurine leaned a bit forward to Sunday. "Why? What happened to the moody man I met earlier?"

"I don't find that humorous at all, really. I told you, I’m not a moody person. It’s not who I am," Sunday gave up on trying to save face.

Hints of amusement glazed over Aventurine's face. It appeared that Aventurine didn't seem to agree with Sunday on that part. 

When Sunday attempted to part ways with this physical embodiment of a nuisance, a shove had caused Sunday to trip forward.

Sunday's clumsy foot had caused him to fall dramatically into Aventurine's arms, who naturally spread them open for the man to fall in. 

Glasses of champagne fell across the floor, with splashes of the liquid preserving the reflection of the shock-faced of Sunday and Aventurine. 

Endless apologies were pronounced from the server's mouth, muffled by her nervous breath. Fear paled the woman's face, an expression that Sunday was too familiar with. Who wouldn't be? You accidentally dropped drinks on one of the most well-respected senior managers of the department from IPC. 

With a nod of his head, Aventurine reassured the woman that he was all good. 

Aventurine's hands were firmly pressed on Sunday's arm, keeping him stable on his feet. While Sunday was pressing his body against Aventurine - the close proximity made him realize that Aventurine's smaller frame might hide something much stronger. Well-toned. But not too jacked.

The blond-haired man's breath was fanning on the curve of Sunday's ears, making him feel all hot in the chest. 

All these not-so-discreet details of Aventurine's physical appearance, was slowly morphing Sunday's perception of the man. In a bad way, of course. 

And the cherry on top, Aventurine just had to say:

"All good, angel?" Aventurine looked down on Sunday through the gaps of his lashes, a small glimpse of concern flashed on his eyes. He was really handsome, just annoying. 

Sunday blinked a few times, almost as if he was trying to snap back into reality. The tip of his shoes searched for the solid floor, before he finally stood on his whole two feet. 

"There we go," Aventurine observed Sunday's physical state, ensuring that his clothes were clear from dirt and liquid. "Hopefully nothing splashed on you. I would shed tears just to scrub it off." 

The icy tension that descended down them was melted - or broken down by the champagne glasses earlier. Or perhaps melted down was the perfect word, since the heat from the sudden embrace helped to soothe the tension. 

"No. I'm all good. I'm just worried that the server might get into trouble, that's all," Sunday explained. From the corner of his eyes, he saw the woman mopped the floor nervously. "And you?"

"First of all, a beautiful angel with a moody temper just fell into my arms. What do you think?" 

Sunday's mouth thinned at the comment. This man just really wouldn't let go of this, huh?

An invincible light bulb popped up on top of Sunday's head. But it came with the cost of a flush crept up on his neck. 

"I have a question," Sunday started off. "But this question requires us to talk about it outside."

Before Aventurine could even add on more of his unsolicited opinions, Sunday was already walking to the direction of the door leading to the balcony.

That left Aventurine with the choice to tap on Topaz's shoulder. And when Topaz turned out to see Aventurine, she was greeted with a cheeky wink.

The black text from the bright screen of his computer looked back at him, almost mockingly.

'How To Lose A Guy in 10 Days.'

Well, if Sunday were to be equipped with a load of charisma and a touch of a romantic spirit - such a task wouldn't be so difficult for him. 

Some of Sunday's problems were:

Sunday really sucked at casual conversations with strangers. Professional? Sure. Not a problem. But casual? Ugh. He liked to think that most people would not entertain a chat, especially by a stranger. He could also risk talking to some crazed man who lost his final straw at a small conversation.

For once in a while, Sunday regretted never joining Stelle's romantic adventures. Perhaps he could try getting someone from her circle as his experiment. But again, he felt bad being the one initiating it. 

Sunday just hated the whole fake dating thing.

But hey, on a mildly good side of it:

Sunday was a very attractive man who could get anyone wrapped around his finger (source: March 7th and Stelle).

In what part of his job required him to fake a date?

Well, the story went: March 7th and Stelle believed that authenticity was one of the key ingredients in articles. You could make research on it, sure - but then it would have been an educational piece rather than a relatable content. So, Stelle suggested he fake a date to get the best experience.

Other than that, Sunday needed to prove to his dad that this was what he wanted.  And of course, to convince someone that this was truly what you wanted, you had to bring up some good points. Like - high salary, big fame. 

But so far during his three months under Astral Express, Sunday has not done anything remarkable. 

Honestly, Sunday also didn't really understand why he was stressed out about the situation.

He could just step away from the project and return back to his niche interests, which he was well-known for back then when writing was just a side income for him. 

The sudden change of plans in his own writing project wouldn't affect him in a way.  He would be happy, and sleep well knowing that he wouldn't have a crazy ex-boyfriend who was waiting for the perfect moment to strike in revenge for dating him in 10 days.

But then he would risk being called a sore loser for the rest of the year by Stelle. 

He really needed to break out of the writer's slump. 

The creative stagnation  was not only slowly killing his productivity, but it could potentially decay his own relevance. This job was the only job that he really liked - he wasn't that interested in exploring any other options out there.

Sunday's stress had gradually reached Dan Heng's nose. The man turned around in his seat, observed the screen and nodded - because he finally understood the primary source of Sunday's distress.

"Hey, are you free tonight?" Dan Heng asked Sunday, as the younger man flinched at the sudden comment. "Don't worry. I'm not volunteering to be the experiment to your writing project, if that's what you're wondering about."

"Uh," Sunday hesitated for a while, before his hand fished out for his phone in his bag. He started searching for the calendar app, scrolled down far enough to conclude that he had an answer for the question. "First off, that's reassuring to hear. And second, anything that requires my attention tonight?"

"Well," he started off the conversation. "I saw you were struggling really bad earlier. And I know you won't be dropping the project anytime soon because you know Stelle wouldn't live it down. So here, I have a suggestion."

Almost as if the angel descended from heaven itself, Dan Heng finally came to the rescue.

Sunday watched Dan Heng type down a few letters on his phone, before flipping them around to show the details to Sunday. "The IPC invited The Astral Express for a celebratory dinner. It was about the same collaborative project we completed a few weeks ago. The one disaster in Amphoreus."

"I was informed previously that we already hit the number of sales and engagement set by the IPC. Why the second celebration?"

Dan Heng sucked his breath through clenched teeth. "Yeah. Apparently, Lady Bonajade felt that the first celebration was underwhelming. So she thought that it would be nice to have another. But it was more of a personal choice rather than a corporate courtesy. So you get to wind down and have fun."

"I see," Sunday replied, voice tone sounding careful. But then it slowly dawned on him. "So, what are you implying here is that I should get an IPC member as my experiment pig for the writing project?"

"Yes. You got it right."

If this recommendation was from Stelle, then Sunday would have assumed that the woman was planning to set him up as the clown of the party.

But this was Dan Heng - and he wasn't that interested in such tomfoolery. But Dan Heng was their friend: his tolerance to their pranks was likely a hidden sign that he was somewhat supportive of their mischief.

Watching how Sunday fell silent, Dan Heng felt the compulsion to follow up the recommendation with a justification. "It's a part of their culture to only date people for like a week, then ditch them for someone new. They're busy people who travel a lot, work a lot, so the lack of commitment is almost expected. Moreover, they like a little bit of fame. Being featured in your article piece would be an honor to them. And their dating preferences make them a good fit."

"Honor?"

"Think about like," Dan Heng snapped his fingers to the same beat of the clock ticking behind them. Or the bomb in Sunday's chest. "Like, uh. A free shoutout. Looks good if you're a popular person."

"But the article is about how to lose him. Not keep him. It wouldn't look great on his behalf."

"That's the magic of being a writer," Dan Heng shrugged his shoulders, before turning his chair around to resume his work. "You need to find a way to make him look good and make it appealing enough for people to get hooked on."

Sunday believed that the right approach to such absurd ideas was to dismiss them. He experienced it frequently during his time working here. 

See, Dan Heng's idea wasn't so bad. In fact, he had a really good point. But what if Sunday accidentally messed around with a bloodthirsty one who would make sure that Sunday suffered the consequences of his actions? Sunday shivered at the thought of his reputation being put at risk just for a dumb project.

It was fine. Sometimes, Sunday didn't need to be a part of the process. He will just ask Stelle to become the narrator of his story. He can afford to buy her lunch for six months straight. And he could afford to skip a sweet treat after a good meal outside. 

He refused to put his own reputation on the chopping board for some project that he accepted.

Although the project would do crazy numbers, and would do an amazing push to his writing career - Sunday just refused to do it. He didn't have the guts! But he was a man born with great strategical intellect. He can find other solutions to the problem. 

As Sunday looked through scandalous stories online to spike inspiration, his ears picked up Dan Heng's fingers tapping on his table. A key was tossed, as the metal touched the tip of his pink nail.

"We are going to the party. You drive."

Before Sunday could even turn down Dan Heng's invitation, the man was already looming over him creepily. Staring at him intensely through the gaps of his long lashes. Almost as if Dan Heng would devour him alive if Sunday shied away from his harmless request.