#dramatics... the beach... thunderstorms...

“Jin?” You call him by that nickname he doesn’t particularly like. He prefers Jinnie, or Hyune or literally anything else but Jin.

He snorts, not answering you, pretending he didn’t hear you.

“I saw that,” you tease him, poking his arm. “Jinnieeee,” you huff, “don’t ignore meee.”

“What do you want?” He huffs, pretending to sound annoyed, but you know him like the back of your hand and you know it’s only an act.

“Help me?”

Hyunjin turns in your direction, expensive Versace sunglasses graciously resting on the bridge of his nose as he watches you wiggling a bottle of 50+ sunscreen. He looks at you as if to say, ‘really?’ in his usual sassy tone, but sighs and sits on the sun bed nonetheless.

“Can’t you do it yourself?” He huffs like the drama queen he is. “You’re gon get my hands all oily and sticky.”

It’s your turn to huff.

“No, I can’t put sunscreen on my back, Hyunjin, thank you very much.”

“Fine.”

“Thank you, hehe,” grinning devilishly, you turn face down on the sun bed after combing your hair into a makeshift messy bun, “you’re the best.”

“I know.”

Now, this has obviously happened before. Scenarios like this aren’t exceptional or weird between you and Hyunjin, you’ve been friends for so long and you’ve both of course seen each other in such situations. You’ve put sunscreen on him before like he’s put it on you, and you’ve seen each other semi-naked, and many more things you could list. Nothing about your friendship with Hyunjin is weird, and the lines were never really blurred, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him attractive. You’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t date him if the chance presented itself.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when Hyunjin’s cold fingers start smearing the sunscreen on your shoulders first. Perfectionist as he is, he keeps massaging until he’s sure he’s not leaving any white patches on your skin before moving to smear the product on your back. Then, your lower back, stopping right before your ass.

“Hmm, have you ever considered starting a career as a masseur?”

Hyunjin giggles. “I think I’m better as a painter.”

“I don’t know,” you hum satisfied, “it’s very relaxing. Your hands are super soft— hey! Why did you stop?”

Hyunjin’s brows furrow. “What do you mean why did you stop? I put sunscreen on you like you asked.”

“Yeah, but— you’ve gotta put it on my asscheeks, too.”

Hyunjin’s face becomes red. He’s extra cute. “What! You— you can totally do that yourself! You can reach your own butt with your hands!”

“Not without bending weirdly. And what if I leave weird prints on my cheeks, or if I don’t cover all the surface? You’re gonna let your best friend’s butt cheeks get sunburnt?” You pout.

“I’m not touching your butt.”

“Ouch,” you gasp dramatically much like he’d done before. “Didn’t think you found my butt cheeks that repulsive. Good to know.”

Hyunjin almost chokes on his own saliva. “It’s not that!”

“Then what is it?”

After putting much thought into it, Hyunjin declares, “fine. I hate you.”

His hands are back on your skin — tentatively rubbing sunscreen on your lower back before moving south. He squirts some more cream on his palm, and then his hands are on your ass. It feels nice, maybe a little too nice. Hyunjin takes his time making sure the product is smeared all over the surface smoothly, like he’d done for the rest of your body, kind of enchanted by how good his hands look on your ass — he stares a bit too long. His fingers, nails painted all pretty, red and black, kneading the soft flesh, eyes fixed on your asscheeks.

Realization hits Hyunjin like a ton of bricks when he looks down at the front of his red swimsuit and finds out he’s hard. He’s not sure it’s that obvious to anyone else, but it’s obvious to him, and very uncomfortable. Also a little embarrassing, getting hard over touching your best friend’s butt.

“Thank you, you’re the best,” you hum, comfortably lying on the sun bed while Hyunjin is fighting an inner battle with his own cock— a battle he’s losing because his erection just won’t go down. “D’you want me to return the favor?”

“No!” Hyunjin quickly says when he notices you’re about to turn in his direction. “It’s fine, you don’t have to. I’m going for a swim anyway.” He shoves his hands in the pockets of his swimsuit to mask what’s taking place underneath the red fabric.

He takes a few steps towards the beach before you call out his name. “Hyune?”

“Hm?”

“Are you going for a swim with your Versace sunglasses on?” You tease him, knowing how much he loves his Versace accessory.

He takes them off quickly, hands them to you and rolls his eyes when he sees you putting them on.

“Don’t get used to wearing them,” he says.

“Weren’t you going for a swim?” Smiling mischievously at him, you ask.

🐚

Hyunjin completely freezes on the spot when he gets splashed with cold ass water all over. From behind. So he slowly turns to see the culprit in their face, even though he already knows who it is — you. The bane of his existence.

“Yah!” He shouts, shivering all over. “Are you crazy? What are you even doing here?”

“The sea’s a public space,” you state matter-of-factly, hands on your hips and grinning.

Hyunjin scoffs. “Yeah, obviously. I meant— what are you doing here, in the water, after I spent so long putting sunscreen all over you?”

His hands are still shoved into his pockets, he’s still trying to fight his own boner, and the fact that you’re here in front of him it’s not helping. Has your bikini always been this revealing? It can barely cover your whole breasts and — why is he even staring right now?

“I wanted to go for a swim, too. We’re leaving tomorrow and I haven’t gotten a chance to, yesterday.”

Hyunjin nods. “Sure.”

“Why are you doing still here? The water’s still barely touching your knees!”

Hyunjin could say that it’s incredibly hard to try and walk with a very hard and painful boner between his legs and having to make sure no one notices, but he chooses not to. That’s too much information to share with you.

“I’m a romantic, I like to savor the feelings, the surroundings, everything.”

“Hm, whatever,” you shrug, “I think it’s because you’re getting old and your knees creak weirdly whenever you move.”

You get closer to him and he gets defensive, because you might notice what’s going on inside his swimsuit. So what Hyunjin does is precisely starting to run, as much as one can run inside a body of water, until he can fully immerse into the sea.

“See?” He asks, moving his arms in circular motion to allow his body to remain on surface even though he could perfectly touch the ground with his feet if he wanted to, “I’m old? My knees creak? Ha! To your face!”

Oh. So it’s a challenge.

It takes less than ten seconds for you to do the exact same thing — taking one big breath before water is surrounding you, wetting your body all over, drenching your hair. Eyes closed as to not let salt in them, you take your sweet time before emerging, imagining you’re a mermaid princess or a dolphin, exactly like you used to do as a child. Your head emerges from the water and you take a big breath, dry your eyes and burst into a loud laugh.

“Fuck, it’s freezing cold,” you shiver, “but I’ve missed this so much.”

“I know you have.”

You swim closer to him. “Thank you for taking me here. I really needed this.”

Hyunjin scoffs and rolls his eyes at you, but it’s only to mask his shyness. He knew you’d been overwhelmed with work and social life and stuff, and he knew you loved the sea and that you were sad because you couldn’t go on vacation this year — so he thought he’d surprise you with a weekend getaway. It was a very thoughtful and heartfelt gesture and you really appreciated it, of course. Even though it had rained on your first day here, you weren’t sad. You were just happy to be with him, to be able to relax and chat about anything and everything.

“Whatever,” Hyunjin says, pretending to be tough when you know he’s such a sweetheart.

You throw yourself at him, hooking your arms around his neck — you just want to tease him for being so sweet and for doing something nice for you.

“Aww, come on,” you poke his cheek, one arm remains hooked around his neck, you take the opportunity to also hook your legs around his waist, “you know you love— me.”

You inevitably brush something with your lower half, and that something can’t be anything else except from — that. That being Hyunjin’s dick, and it’s hard. Why is it hard? And why are you grinding on it once more, trying to figure out if your brain’s just pulling a trick on you? It’s for science. Hyunjin’s dick is, however, very hard, very pressed on you, very tempting.

“I— oh my— this is so embarrassing,” his face turns fuchsia. Not even red, just a bright pink shade and it’s almost comical. It would be, if his boner wasn’t, you know, not so peacefully resting against your belly right now. “Sometimes— it just happened.”

“Oh,” your eyes lock, you swallow the lump in your throat. “So it’s not… because of me?”

Hyunjin is trying to figure out what would be the most socially acceptable answer here. Does he find you hot? Of course. Is his boner a natural consequence of him rubbing sunscreen on your butt cheeks? Damn right it is. Should he tell you that? He’s not so sure about it.

“I— I mean… it’s not technically… not because of you.”

Great.

“You know… you’re lucky you’re a painter,” you try to joke. “You would’ve sucked as a poet.”

Hyunjin’s face does morph into a shy smile, but it soon fades away when you roll your hips on his. His body shakes lightly, both from the cold temperature of the water and from the contact of your bodies together. You’re warm against him.

“Because, you know…” you look at him with innocent bambi eyes, fluttering your lashes at him like you want to seduce him and eat him alive, “if… if it were because of me, I could… you know, take care of it.”

You say that while your hand starts toying with the hair at the base of the nape of his neck, sending a long shiver down his spine, sending goosebumps all over his arms and legs. He twitches, and knows you can feel it. You keep looking at him with those eyes and he wishes you would have mercy on him. He’s a weak, weak man and you’re there, looking at him like you too want this— him. Like you too have been pining for him for the longest time.

“It is. Because of you, I mean,” he speaks quietly, making sure there aren’t any people swimming close to where you are. He’s lucky, because everyone else is swimming much farther away. “I’ve been hard since I put sunscreen on you.”

Your face is now dangerously close to Hyunjin’s. Your fingers brush his body all over, starting from his jawline to his neck, to his chest, his stomach, the wet hair starting from his navel, before they dip past the waistband of his swimsuit. Flattering your eyelashes at him, you ask for his permission without even opening your mouth, you don’t have to, because he understands you and nods, still looking you in the eye.

You never want to forget the tiny gasp he makes when you first wrap your fingers around him, the way his arm finally hooks around your waist and pulls you closer, still not taking his eyes off yours. You never want to forget the faint shudder his body goes through when you first stroke him, slowly yet firmly, and only then does Hyunjin dare take his eyes off you. His face drops in the crook of your neck, lips pressing on your shoulder, tasting the salty taste of the ocean and the bitterness of the sunscreen that’s slowly coming off. He bites down your shoulder when you swipe your thumb over his tip.

It’s your turn to gasp from the feeling of his teeth scraping your skin. You don’t mind it in the slightest. In fact, you want more. You keep stroking him gently, not trying to rush anything, wanting him to savor this feeling for as long as he wants. Giving a handjob while immersed in water is much harder than it seems, pun not intended, but you’re focused on every single one of Hyunjin’s reactions to your movements and it repays the effort.

His hand on your hip makes your body jolt, but only because you were scared it was a jellyfish at first. You feel Hyunjin smile against your shoulder. Then, his hand also moves to touch your belly, pokes your navel with his finger and then brushes the waistband of your bikini bottom. He lifts his head to look for your eyes.

“Do you… do you want me to?”

Of course you want him to.

You nod, and feel Hyunjin’s fingers pulling your bikini to the side before making contact with your bare sex. It makes it even more exciting that you’re doing this without directly looking at the parts you’re touching, without knowing what the other looks like. You can’t take off Hyunjin’s swimsuit and he can’t take off your bikini because there’s people around you and you have to remain aware of your surroundings, and that’s the best part of it.

His fingers rub you right where you need him the most. It’s messy and uncoordinated at first, and he doesn’t really know if he’s hitting the spot because the water makes everything much more difficult, but he clearly knows you’re enjoying it because of the teeny tiny little yelps you’re letting out as you struggle to maintain the pace at which your hand is moving up and down his cock.

“You’re so warm here,” Hyunjin says quietly, brows furrowing out of curiosity as he experiments new ways of touching you to see what more reaction he can get out of you, but he clearly underestimated himself, because when you tighten the grip around his cock, he lets out a high-pitched moan he wasn’t expecting to let out and you press your lips on yours. Surely because you didn’t want to get caught, but also because you wanted to.

Hyunjin’s lips taste salty, and they super soft, too. Another moan gets swallowed by the kiss. You pull away from him, catching your breath. His movements on your clit get messier and even more uncoordinated, but not in a bad way. It’s clear that he wants to get you off quickly because he’s close himself. He admits it a second later.

“Close. So fucking— close,” he pants, and you take a few seconds to appreciate how hot he actually looks, with beads of salty, sea water falling from the tips of his hair and landing on his chest, running all over his torso until they eventually disappear. “Tell me you’re close, too. Need to— wanna finish with you.”

You nod, pulling him closer, resting your foreheads together as you both take your sweet time masturbating each other. The enchant is broken abruptly when you hear voices coming a little too close and you spot a bunch of people still pretty far away, but who are swimming in your direction. You take your hands off each other’s pants and swiftly readjust your swimsuits.

Hyunjin groans out of frustration, and you’re clearly bummed yourself because you were so close yourself. “I fucking hate people,” Hyunjin grumbles, and you giggle.

“You know,” you draw a few imaginary shapes on Hyunjin’s shoulder with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around his cock. “We’ve got a hotel room booked.”

Hyunjin doesn’t miss the implication behind your words. He swallows the lump in his throat. Pulls you closer to whisper on your lips.

“What do you say we go in there and have the most amazing sex and let it change everything?”

🐚

You don’t even want to know what the guy at the reception thought when he saw you and Hyunjin, both red in the face and very much unable to keep your hands off each other, ask for the keys to your room. You don’t know and you don’t care either, not when you’re currently about to enter the shower together with Hyunjin. A shower you decided to take specifically to remove any residue of sand, dust and salt from your bodies, because there’s no absolute way you’re sleeping in a sandy bed, no matter how horny you both are.

Hyunjin closes the shower door behind himself and gets under the warm stream of water as well. Your lips meet and it comes naturally this time. It also comes naturally when you take each other’s swimsuits off. Hooking your thumbs in the waistband of his swimsuit, you slowly drag it down his thighs until it pools at his ankles. You do all this while looking Hyunjin in the eye. His own flutter shut for a second or two before he comes back to his senses, ready to take your bikini off and finds you staring at what’s hard between his thighs, curiously.

“Don’t stare at it like that,” Hyunjin whines, embarrassed.

“Like what?”

“Like— I dunno! It just… makes me nervous?”

You decide it’s not fair that he’s the only one who’s naked, so you untie the knots of your bikini top, letting it fall on the shower floor, close to Hyunjin’s swimsuit. Now he’s the one who’s staring.

“Don’t stare at them like that,” you tease him when really, you don’t mind it. You just want to show him he’s got nothing to be nervous for, because you find him incredibly hot.

“I’m— you’re—” he stutters, “wow.”

“Wow?”

“Mhhm,” he licks his lips before taking a step forward, pressing himself on you and pressing you on the shower cold wall. “Wow. You’re so beautiful. All over. Do you have any idea how much you drive me crazy?”

You wrap your fingers around his hard cock and he jolts. “I think I might…” you resume the gentle stroking that had been interrupted while you were in the water, only now he seemed much harder than before. “Do you want to find out how much you drive me crazy?”

Hyunjin gets the innuendo, wraps the lace of your bikini around his slender fingers and pulls. One side comes off, then he repeats the same motion on the other side, and you’re naked in front of him. His fingers brush your entrance and he’s positively surprised by how wet you are there, and he knows it’s not because of the water.

“Gosh. I can’t wait to fuck you,” his hips buckle into your hand.

“Mh. You will. There’s just something I want to do before.”

He has no time to ask what you are talking about because you’re suddenly dropping to your knees in front of him, still pumping him slowly, bambi eyes still locked with his. He slaps his hand on the shower wall, hard, when you stick your tongue out and lick the underside of his tip. Curses into at least two different languages, bites down on his lip and squeezes his eyes shut. Groans when you wrap your lips around it and suckle gently. You do everything gently and it drives him crazy.

“You’re— incredible.”

And to think you still haven’t done anything yet. You take him a bit deeper in your mouth, still looking up in his direction, and Hyunjin lets a few more curse words fall from his lips. Still edged from earlier, his orgasm builds up much quicker than he thought. You only have to bob your head a couple of times, slowly, taking him deeper but not all the way since he’s big, before he’s warning you. He’s not worried about getting it up again, in fact he’s positively sure he won’t be able to soften that much with how horny he is for you. Plus, he wants to do something for you, too, so that’s definitely not going to be a problem.

He expects you to pull away from him and jerk him off. He doesn’t expect you to swallow around him one, two, three times until he’s coming undone in your mouth. He’s loud when he comes, legs shaking and almost giving in as he kicks his head back and gasps, pants, wails. You pull back, letting his cock fall from your lip with a pop sound, before you’re wiping your lips with the back of your hand.

“Holy sh— you— you swallowed?”

Still kneeling on the hard floor, you look at him with innocent eyes. Innocent. Pf. As if anything about this afternoon were innocent. It drives Hyunjin crazy, the way you nod afterwards, lips are swollen from taking his cock.

“Didn’t you like it?”

He helps you standing up, “like it? I loved it. Gosh, you’re incredible. Come here.” He crashes his lips on yours, and can still taste himself on your tongue. “Wanna eat you out. You’re gonna let me do that?”

You nod. It’s his turn to drop on his knees before your sex. You’re not expecting him to lift one of your legs up and hook it on his shoulder, spreading you open for his eyes to see. He bites his lips, his mouth waters.

“You’re so beautiful. Even down here,” his fingers gently brush the outline of your pussy delicately. “Such a pretty flower. Do you think I could draw you?”

You don’t really know if he’s talking about you in general or that part of you specifically, either way it doesn’t matter, because you’re gasping out a “yes” before you know it.

Hyunjin looks like he knows what he’s doing when he’s placing his fingers there, in a v-shape, spreading you even more open before he licks you, tongue all hot and wet and rough against you. He looks in your direction, your eyes meet, and he keeps eating you out like that — his eyes locked with yours as he licks and sucks and hums against your pussy. He kisses it, too, from time to time.

It doesn’t feel like it’s your first time doing all this with each other. You feel like it’s a sign that you’re a perfect match.

“Hyune. Hyune, I’m—” you gasp, feel the orgasm you’ve been craving for right around the corner.

Your hand finds it’s way into Hyunjin’s long hair — you tug at it as you feel your high approaching, pull it harder to keep his head in place as you sway your hips back and forth onto his tongue, using him to get off, swiping and smearing all of your wetness all over his face. If Hyunjin died right now, he’d die the happiest of men.

He’s there when you let go of his hair, when your hips and legs tremble so hard you’re scared you’re gonna fall, he’s there, rubbing circles into the palm of your hand as you come off your high. He stands up and you wrap your arms around his waist, kiss his lips. They taste like you, and a little of bit like him, and also of water.

“I need you so bad,” you mumble on his lips, before connecting them with yours once more, “need you. Need you.”

“Here?” Hyunjin mumbles on your lips.

You feel something poke you in the stomach, so when you look down… he’s hard already.

You shake your head. “No. Not here. On the bed.”

The shower is turned off in seconds, the swimsuits forgotten on its ceramic floor. You fall on the mattress with Hyunjin’s body on top of yours, between your thighs. Everything’s getting wet — the bedsheets, the mattress, the pillows. It doesn’t matter, you’ll blow dry everything once you’re finished. Right now, your only concern is having Hyunjin inside of you in the next ten seconds.

“Have you got a condom?” You mumble in between kisses, feeling the tip of Hyunjin’s dick ghosting over your entrance.

“Of course I didn’t bring condoms on a weekend trip with my best friend,” he says, disappointed in himself.

You really shouldn’t do this. You’re really bad at remembering to take your pill, and often go to sleep without taking it, so it’s definitely risky. But you’ve been taking it for years, so it should mean something, right?

“It’s fine, just— just pull out.”

“Fuck, are you sure?”

“Hmm,” you hum, “fuck me, Hyune.”

Hyunjin sinks his cock into you slowly, and everything around you seems to stop. Nothing else matters apart from you and Hyunjin. Nothing else makes sense. He fills you up not so quietly, groaning and panting, letting your walls adjust to the intrusion until he’s bottomed out inside of you, and you feel absolutely full.

“So big, Hyune.”

He twitches inside of you.

“You really shouldn’t say things like that if you want me to last,” he jokes.

“Alright,” you giggle.

He starts moving inside of you and he takes your breath away with each perfectly angled thrust. You’ve never been more grateful to his job, because those dancer hips surely know how to make you fall apart. He rocks his hips at a steady pace, pulling back until only the tip’s inside you, then thrusting right back in, angling his hips slightly upwards so he’s sure to hit your spot. You’re loving every second of it, but you also don’t want this to end too quickly.

Switching positions, you’re now on top of him, straddling him with your palms on his chest. Hyunjin folds his arms under his neck as you ride him.

“Hmm yeah, like that,” he bites his lip as he watches you move on top of him, “you’re so good at that. You’re gonna make me come again.”

He unfolds his arms from behind his neck, grips your hip to guide your movement. He’s getting more and more desperate, closer and closer to his second orgasm. You’re close, too, and your knees are starting to ache a bit, so you’re grateful he’s helping you with your movements on top of him.

“Hyune. It’s— big,” you sob. He twitches inside of you again, and starts rubbing your clit to get you off as quickly as possible. “You’re so big, Hyune. Such a big cock. I can feel it right— right here,” you poke your navel and Hyunjin knows that realistically he’s not that big and that you can’t feel him there, but it’s hot to imagine that he’s so deep inside of you.

“Hyune,” you call out his name when you come for a second time, whole body shaking as you cream around him. It’s less intense than your first orgasm, but it’s still mind blowing nonetheless.

Hyunjin’s hips snap faster to meet yours, until he’s grabbing the underside of your thighs and lifting you up. His cock falls on his stomach with a loud slapping sound, and within seconds he’s cumming all over his stomach, painting it white. You’d already forgotten that you’d asked him not to finish inside of you.

“Thanks for not getting me pregnant,” you giggle, plopping on the free spot besides him on the bed.

Hyunjin giggles as well, still catching his breath. “Yeah, I was saving it for our first date,” he jokes.

“Shut up, you dork— wait,” you prop yourself on your elbows, look at him with curious eyes and raised eyebrows. “Are you gonna take me out on a date?”

“Pf. Of course I am,” he says matter-of-factly. “Who did you take me for, huh, woman? I’m a romantic man, thank you very much.”

“So does it means we’re together now?”

“It’s up to you,” Hyunjin says. “I wanna be with you. Very much. Do you want to be with me?”

You couldn’t ask for anything better.

“Very much.”

🐚

"Are you sure there's no other room available or twin beds?“

Sarah prepares to reply when Virgil, her colleague, decides to bring the attention back on him. "Haven't you heard what she said? There's a storm. People are stuck. The world doesn't revolve around you."

She pauses, taking a deep breath to avoid cursing his entire family line in a luxury hotel hall. Her fake grin stretches the corner of her mouth.

”Oh, Sarah, looks like you have a brand new staff member."

Virgil snaps back with his usual detached tone, ”Sarah is probably cooler than you anyway."

The curls in her hair bounce as she turns to Sarah, her dramatic hand gestures attracting more eyes than they should have.  ”See, my dear? If I share a room with this lovely man, you might have to call the police tomorrow morning."

"I hope your murder attempt will be more successful than your last negotiations.”

Ouch, this one hurts. Touché. Last month, she lost a two million contract for the firm just because of a spoilt brat who had the negotiation skills of a toddler. To this day, she is still mad at herself for not standing firm with that blonde. Virgil knew it.

Despite their shared hatred, their business mindset and work ethics are pretty similar. Frustration flooded through every pore of her body. Thankfully, she managed to conclude a bigger contract the next week, five million dollars, the biggest record for the firm.

A record that became Virgil’s obsession. He aimed to break it one day. Which he did a few days before their business trip to Dubai. Confronted with so much success, the CEO himself decided to team them up to negotiate contracts with their international partners.

At first, she was about to decline, but who could say no to a six-figure salary, paid trips in luxury hotels and a long list of privileges? No level of hatred could surpass her love of money and comfort. 

“I have no idea, but it will for sure be more successful than your latest relationship.” Virgil clenches his jaw, which makes her smile, sincerely this time. Sarah clears her throat, attempting to ease the increasing tension between them. 

“Sorry for the inconvenience, but all of our rooms are occupied because of the storm. As compensation we can either offer dinner or a spa session.”

”Spa.”

”Dinner.”

Different replies, same timing, same affirmative tone. They stare at one another, hatred igniting a fire behind their eyes. Sarah taps on the keyboard again.

”We can do both, no worries.” 

This is going to be the longest twenty-four hours of her entire life. Hopefully there is a couch in the room because she had no intention of sharing a bed with that bastard. 

****

Their installation in the room is pretty brief. Minus a small altercation in the corridors. As a fashion lover, she certainly packed more than what she should have. Now she has to pay the consequences by struggling with her leather luggage. Virgil lost his patience and snatched the Rimowa suitcase from her hands. 

”We’re not going to sleep in the corridors.” Before she can even say anything, he walks away, her luggage behind him. She watches the scene unfold before her eyes, surprised with her own reaction. It takes one minute for her to come back to her senses and follow him.

“Get your hands off my luggage right now.” He ignores her. His long legs move him quicker than hers, leaving her no other choice than running. Boosted by anger, she tries to snatch her suitcase from his hands. With no surprise, she miserably fails. He is quicker than her.

Virgil spits, ”Next time, you’ll only take what you can actually carry without wasting our time and looking like you’re going to pass out from doing so.” 

”You don’t get to tell me what to do with my own stuff. I don’t need your help.”

He scoffs, ”I’m not helping you. I just want to reach my room faster. If we had separate rooms, you could struggle with your luggage all day long. I wouldn’t care at all.”

Under any other circumstances, she would have punched the guy in the face. That is all he deserves. She takes another deep breath and follows him. Violence is not an option, not when she fought so hard to be in such a position. No one will take her hard work from her, not even a Dutch idiot who thinks he is above everyone. 

Impatient to find out how she is going to spend the night, she rushes into the room. One sofa and two on the balcony. Without acknowledging his presence, she throws her bags on the bed. Her silent signal to let him know who is sleeping on the bed. Unfortunately, he completely ignores her and places his Bottega Veneta bags on the bed.

”There’s a couch right in front of the bed and two more outside.”

”Yeah, should be perfect for your height.”

”I’m not sleeping on the couch.”

”Yeah, you’re right. You should sleep on the balcony. Maybe rain and fresh air will help you relax.” He disappears in the bathroom, once again giving her no time to rebut. Suddenly the crystal vase on the small table looks appealing. In a world with no repercussions, she would throw that at his face to wipe that arrogant attitude off his body. 

Her muscles are tensed. Tonight resembles a nightmare. As if being stuck in unknown territory was not enough, she also has to deal with her insufferable colleague. It had to be him, the one she hates the most. The one she has hated since day one. Every girl in the office wanted him. Each time he walks down the corridor or arrives, the girls are whispering, grinning or changing the tone of their voice to get his attention. As far as it appears, height, a good face, charisma and a good position are all a man needs. His behaviour stinks, yet no one seems to care. 

More than once, Virgil used his beauty privilege to get peaks. A little flirty tone, intense eye contact, light innocent touches and smooth words often helped him get documents faster, reports with no mistakes and devotion she never benefited from. For the same result and deadlines, she had to work twice as hard.

When the bathroom flies open, a wooden and fresh scent emerges. She might hate the man, but she will never be insensitive to good perfumes. Virgil wears a blue shirt with rolled-up sleeves, black slacks, a black belt and some leather boots. She furrows her eyebrows, blocking an eye roll as she looks at his frame.

”You picked the spa. I picked dinner.”

”Probably because I’d rather clean the entire office with a toothbrush than spend time with you.”

”I’m not mad at you for that. You really need that massage. You look tense… And why not a facial? If it’s not on the menu, I’ll gladly pay.”

The audacity of him sparks a new rage within her body. Instead of shouting or anything, she laughs it off. ”Too bad the hotel can’t offer stylist services because I’ll highly suggest you pay one. Dressing like a divorced dad isn’t the flex you think it is. Enjoy your dinner!” She leaves him no time to respond. The bathroom door shuts on his face, leaving her smirking in satisfaction. Touché. Now time to shower in peace without worrying about that prick. 

****

If home could not come to her, she would make one here. A hot cup of tea sits by her side as she comfortably rests on the couch, her eyes completely captivated by Bell Hooks' writings. The black Ray-Ban on her face contrasts with the green emerald silk nightie and matching kimono she is wearing. Her definition of peace. Calm, warmth, comfort and a book. 

A three-hour peace that ended the second Virgil passed the door. Their eyes lock, and they gaze at each other in silence for a solid minute. Virgil shakes his head with a half smirk plastered on his face. 

”Wow, you’re actually capable of keeping it quiet, uh? That’s good.”

“Yeah, unlike you I don’t feel the need to open my mouth every single time to be the centre of attention.”

”Now, you know that’s a lie. My confidence is quiet. No need to brag or anything. Ask the girls at the office what they see.” He winks, pouring himself some water. 

She nervously laughs. Each time she thinks he cannot go lower in her books, he does. ”They might be blind because I don’t understand what they see in you.”

Virgil takes a few sips before approaching the couch. His hands teasingly yet firmly rest on her shoulders as he leans to whisper in her ear, ”You might need a new glasses prescription then.” He taps on her shoulders before locking himself up in the bathroom again. The storm roars outside, just like something at the pit of her stomach. She shakes it off. Tiredness is probably getting the best of her. Almost three hours had passed by since he left earlier. Who on earth needs four hours to eat? Either way, she did not really care. The man is lame anyway. 

The knocks on the door make her heart jump. Hopefully, Sarah came with a new room offer. In a rush, she throws the book on the sofa before opening the door. A beautiful brunette, yes, but not the one she expected. Her almond green eyes fall on her. She is stunning, straight out of a magazine cover. She oozes sexiness without even trying. 

”Hi sweetie, is Virgil in there?”

”Hum, yeah. I’ll call –” She barely has time to collect her thoughts when the tall Dutchman stands by her side. 

”Oh, Alisha. Miss me already?” That overconfident tone and posture make her eye roll. 

The beautiful woman's grin widens as she plays with her jet-black hair. The entire scene makes her want to puke inside of her mouth. Virgil flirting is something she never wants to see. The gorgeous woman stares longly at her, almost questioning her presence. 

“Your colleague has some very sexy pyjamas on, to say the least.”

”That’s the only clean one I had left. Don’t worry, he’s all yours. I’d chew on glass before I ever try something with him.” End of the assumption. No need to engage in drama, especially not for a man like Virgil. 

Now the three hours made sense. The man found company downstairs. Maybe he even went to her room. Who knows? She is a hater, but gossip is gossip. The door closes, and he is out again. Good. More time for her and Bell Hooks. The pleasure is temporary. Five or ten minutes. He is back in the bathroom.

She glances at her watch. Twelve hours left with him. If the storm is kind. If not, she might add another twenty-four hours. Somebody pray for her. She might not make it. His simple presence irks her soul. It itches her skin like it rarely did before. 

****

The bathroom door reopens. Same scent, different view. Her mouth almost falls agape when she sees him. Why did the universe have to push her buttons that way? Virgil, her colleague and relentless rival, stood there with his untied hair and a full sleeve of tattoos she has never entirely seen before. Water droplets clung to his curls and torso, glistening in the light. The towel is hanging low on his small waist.

An uncontrolled heat takes over her body, and anger is not the reason behind it. Something else she will never admit. Hatred is momentarily replaced by something more violent. Something wrecking her from the inside. He cannot see it nor feel it. Tiredness and change of plans will not change her mind. She suddenly rises from her laid position in bed. 

"You might not be very familiar with decency."

He replies with seriousness, "Talking about decency when you're wearing a nightie that barely covers your ass is comical."

She almost chokes on her saliva. ”Excuse me?” The bastard did stare. Although heat rises between her legs, she chooses to stand firm.

”You heard what I said, my dear.” 

”My apologies for planning to spend the night in my bedroom and not with some..."

He mocks, ”Some company? With that attitude you probably never plan for company."

"I'd rather never have company again than have someone as arrogant and despicable as you."

"Being calm, confident and direct isn't arrogance. You should check the dictionary."

"I will when you actually get the fuck out of my face to put some clothes on."

Virgil taunts her, ”What? Are you intimidated by some skin? Of course you are. You probably don’t remember what a naked body looks like.”

She tilts her head to the side before rearranging her glasses. That smirk will soon disappear off that face. She will make it her personal mission to wipe it off. “You probably used to show your body to everyone and their mama, but that’s not my case. I’m not intimidated at all. There’s nothing to be intimidated about.” She scorns before adding, ”Actually, I now do understand why you need all that attention and reassurance. But let me tell you something: no amount of attention can make up for the girth or length you will never have. Life doesn’t work that way.”

Virgil furrows his eyebrows, his jaw clenches like she has never seen before. How to shut a man up? Talk about his manhood, and all hell breaks loose. If he wants to make fun of her private life, she will fiercely retaliate.

”Size doesn’t really matter here… Anything might be sufficient to remove that stick up your ass.” 

Her blood is boiling, her heart thumps against her chest. Earlier she joked about calling the police in the morning. It might happen. The urge to slap him in the face is more urgent than ever. Her mind urges her to act, but her rational thought holds her back. That is all he is waiting for. One mistake so he can be the lonely at the top. She will never grant him such an opportunity.

”Stick bigger than whatever you have under that towel.” 

Both of them intensely fixate on one another, reading their shared hatred behind the veil of their eyes. Then Virgil cackles, which destabilises her. A small gasp slips from her lips when he leans over, leaving only a few centimetres between their faces. That little game is not ending well. 

”Are you sure of what you’re saying? If you insist, I can show you.” 

”Don’t make me laugh.”

”I didn’t hear no.”

”Because I said what the fuck I said.”

”Fine. You give me no choice.” The towel drops onto the floor, revealing the type of girth and length she could not make fun of. She was wrong. Virgil stares at her with the same winning grin on his face. She should have cursed him out, threatened him, anything to show discontent. All she can do is gulp, blink, play with the branch of her glasses and stare. Blatantly stare at his muscular body, from torso to thighs and everything in between. 

”Take your time. Memorise it so you can touch yourself.”

She rolls her eyes in disgust, earning another smirk from him. ”I’m never touching myself to you.”

"Why are you breathing so loudly then?” He is met with silence, her eyes finally shifting to his face. The bed lightly dips under the weight of his knee. “Don’t worry, I can help you relax.”

”No thanks, your presence is draining enough.”

”That’s a lie. You love to hate on me.” 

He closes the gap between their faces, bringing his lips closer to hers. The context gives her every reason in the world to push him back: they are colleagues, and most importantly, she hates the man. However, her body does not share the same opinion. Her very demanding career made dating complicated. Sex is definitely something she had to sacrifice a bit for the past few years. The attitude might be shit, but the body and face are tea. She is not immune to that. Her lips lightly part, but she stays quiet. 

He whispers implicitly, asking for her consent one more time before they draw that line. ”Say no and everything stops.” 

Blown away by the heat of her body and a long-tamed desire, she licks his bottom lip. That is all he needs to proceed. Virgil hungrily suckles on her tongue before their lips collide. They move in synch following the symphony of lust. Their kiss has nothing passionate or gentle. It is purely nasty, full of tongue and a sprinkle of roughness. Desire leads for the moment but things are clear. They still despise each other. He firmly removes the silk kimono from her shoulder and firmly pushes her onto the bed. 

”Take your thong off.”

“How do you know—”

”Your legs were open when I came back from my dinner. I told you, nothing to the imagination.” Her matching green emerald thong makes his eyes glisten. 

”I’m not taking anything off. Fuck you, Virgil.”

”I’d rather fuck you.”

She provokes, ”Are you going to keep talking or act? Be a man for once." The grin on his face does not match his darkening eyes. In one swift movement, she is at his mercy. Hands pinned over her head. 

"I don't need to prove anything, believe me." His grip around her wrists tightens as he uses his free hand to rip her emerald green thong apart. The lace slightly burns her skin, but she stays still. Holding her breath, ready for what is coming. 

She teases, ”I said be a man, not an animal. You owe me a lace thong.” 

"Are you going to behave or keep acting like a brat?" 

"Brats have more fun, just saying."

Virgil closes his eyes, desperate to maintain face. He releases her arms, and she grimaces, stretching her arm in the process.

The gap between them closes again until their lips collide. The kiss is raw, pure lust and a clear fight for power. His tongue wins the first battle, making its way into her awaiting mouth. Her hands find their way into his hair, firmly pulling on his curls. Droplets of water falling down her chest, wetting the silk nightie. Virgil groans inside her mouth. The smile on her face is immediate. Virgil responds to her little provocation by biting her lower lip a bit harder than usual. She whines, expressing her frustration as they split, out of breath. 

"Fucking brat."

"Fucking bastard."

The kiss deepens. It gets even nastier than the first time. More tongue, more saliva, more hands wandering all over their bodies. He explores her chest, groping and massaging them firmly. The perfect balance between pain and pleasure that left her panting and wanting more. She had not said her last word. In return, she scratches his back. Not deep enough to hurt him but still hard enough to leave marks.

Virgil is not the only one with a trick in the bag. She leaves his lips to suck and lick on his neck. If he had any plans to see Alisha after... ruined. 

"Are you serious? Hickeys?"

"Why not? Last time I checked you were as single as I am.”

”That’s an insult.”

The air conditioning could barely help with the rising heat in the room. Never in her life has she imagined such a scenario. She always thought of herself as that romantic and passionate girl. Today she completely questions her beliefs. There is nothing passionate or romantic between them. Still, she enjoys their little dominance battle. 

One second of inattention is all it takes for him to find himself on his back. She takes the reins by comfortably sitting on his torso. The ache between her legs getting uncomfortable by the minute. A scenario expected after years of lack.

He scoffs, ”I hope you know I can get back on top if I really want to.”

”How about you shut up and put that mouth to good use?”

It almost feels like a personal challenge to him. Without wasting time, he grabs her thighs, placing them right above his mouth. He teases her entrance with his tongue, making her jolt. 

“Overwhelmed already?”

In response, she rides his face, coating his chin with her juices. Her hands find place in his curls, pulling on them each time his tongue deviates from her clit or entrance. 

”Yes, just like that.”

At this point she is too far gone to care about whether he can breathe or not. Also, if she were really honest, does she even care? Her eyes are closed anyway. She cannot tell. Moans keep falling out of her mouth as he ravishes her with his mouth, burying his face deeper between her legs. The familiar tingles in her core hit stronger than usual. Not the type her vibrator could recreate. Hours ago she would have laughed at anyone suggesting that he enjoys eating pussy. The way that tongue and those lips licking, kissing and sucking her clit and entrance with the right amount of pressure and speed could only be the result of a man who knows how to please. 

She gasps as tension builds inside her body. ”Fuck!”

The grip on her thighs tightens as his face explores parts of her core she has certainly never seen herself. His name rolls on her tongue like the chorus of his favourite song. She will not fight it. That electric wave threatening to take her away. It is right there. She can see it, feel it, until that bastard decided to stop. The firm smack on her ass forces her eyes open. His chin completely wet, not that he seems to care. 

"Don't think you're getting an orgasm that easily. Brats don’t deserve anything.”

“You fucking –”

She has hardly time to finish her sentence when he rolls her over. If her core was not throbbing with desire, she would have wiped that annoying smirk off his face. 

”Work for it. Get on your knees.” 

What horniness will make you go through… For the first time, she listens to him without protesting and gets on her knees. He observes in silence and smiles at her eye roll. 

”If you could be quiet like that 24/7, it’d be nice.”

”Anything to make your life easier, I won’t do.”

”I’m going to shut that smart mouth down.”

One of his hands finds place at the back of her head. The grip is tight and dominant, just like hers in his hair earlier. Of course, he waited for that moment to take revenge. Wetness pools between her legs. The view of his hardness makes her mouth water in anticipation. The woody scent gently teases her nose, but she refuses to make things easy for him.

It all starts by planting kisses all over his abs. The way his abs contract at the contact of her soft lips only makes it hotter. He enjoys himself. Time to ruin his moment. Her tongue plays with his inner thighs, running small circles on his skin. She sees his jaw clench. A gentle kiss on his tip, and when he expects it the least, she grasps her teeth against his thighs. 

His eyes reopened violently, taking him out of his fantasy. "Don't push my buttons.” With that look on her face, she clearly had no intention of making things easier for him. His patience slims down each second. The little tease she is decides to suckle on his tip, cleaning the precum off. The first licks were hesitant, but when she found her rhythm, everything changed.

She is actually enjoying hearing the little groans and moans coming out of his mouth. The view makes her clench around nothing. She wants him there. No need to fight it. One hand wrapped around him, the other touching his abs. Not out of love but because she wants to feel him contract under her palm. Her rhythm is steady. Non-hesitant, lustful and slow. Groans grow louder as she takes him further in her mouth. 

”You’re playing games.” 

The grip on her hair tightens as he bucks his hips inside of her mouth, pushing himself more and more at the back of her throat. The gag sounds emanating from her are music to his ears. Behind her glasses, he sees the tears forming in the corner of her eyes and grins. Spit stains the green silk, but nothing matters at the moment. 

”Take it all. Work that throat. Be useful.” She chokes around him, her eyes closing as an attempt to control her gag reflex. When he hits the back of her throat, he holds her there for a few seconds.

"Fucking slut. That's it." Her wetness drips down her thigh. She should be mad at herself, but she is not. Actually, she finds herself aroused by their little game and the degradation. The panting motivates him to do it again. This time, she taps his thigh, begging for release. He pushes her head away, admiring the trail of spit connecting them. 

"Do that again and I add teeth."

”You won’t get that chance. Lay down. Ass up.”

”For once I agree. I have no wish to see your face.”

****

The universe is really testing her tonight, and she is losing. Why the man she hates had to be attractive and know the female body like a guitar. Like a musician, he listens to the notes, her moans in that context, to strike the right chord and compose a harmonious symphony. 

Completely blinded by arousal, he finally removes her silk nightie before groping and massaging her breast. His touch is firm but slow, always pushing her deeper into the abyss of desire. Her hips grind in the void, desperate for him to tackle that ache. Still her pride will not allow her to beg for him or anything. 

At this point, her body heat is consuming. There is only one way to stop it and a cold shower would not do much. Unfortunately for her, the bastard seems to enjoy teasing her. The attention shifts from her boobs to her entrance. His fingers playing with her slick walls, forcing more moans out of her mouth. Her head slightly tilted to the side, she watches all. Even him putting his coated fingers in his mouth, tasting her.

”Not bad.”

”Can we focus on the task, prick?” She finally protests, making him smile.

Apparently not enough to create a sense of urgency. Now his tip is testing her entrance, rubbing between her entrance and clit. She wants to curse him out, but that orgasm is no longer a desire. It is a need. As a result, she swallows her pride. 

The thunderstorm covers their groans when they finally connect. Her hands grip the pillow before her as she arches her back. The sound of her skin clapping under his palm resounds in the room. He chews on his bottom lip, static, giving her time to adjust to him. 

”That’s such a good pussy for a detestable woman.”

She wants to respond, but it hard to do when he firmly and hardly slams his hips inside of her. Why did he have to fit her like a glove? Why him out of all the men she encountered? From the moment he starts to slam his hips against hers, she knows. One time is not going to be sufficient. His rhythm is slow and steady, something she usually enjoys but tonight she wants more. 

”Is that the best you can do?” Another smack resounds in the room as she pushes her hips against his, finding a sort of rhythm. They move in unison like instruments following the perfect musical note. Still, she wants more: harder, faster. 

"Is that it? Fuck me like you hate me because I know you do."

"You talk too much." His hand covers her mouth before pounding into her, going as deep as he can. The free hand slides on her hips, refraining her from moving against him. Her glasses slip from her face, but she barely cares. Not when she is getting filled to the brim. Not when he is rubbing against that spongy spot. 

"I thought you hated me? Look at how that pussy is gripping me. See how wet you are for me?”

She whines against his palm, "Fuck you."

"I'm afraid I'm too busy fucking you."

Tears form again at the corner of her eyes. The same wave that threatened earlier comes back more menacing and powerful than before. ”Shit.”

"Are you almost there, fucking brat?” No response, just strangled screams. Suddenly, he pulls out, leaving her clenching around nothing. She clenches her fists in frustration. For that alone he could go to hell.

"You thought I'd let you cum that easily...beg for it.”

He whispers in her ear, "Beg, I said."

This time, her pleasure takes over pride or logic. She needs to go over that edge. Unfortunately, the sight of him makes it harder for her to not roll her eyes or control the tone of her voice. 

”Can I cum, please?” She spits almost in a hateful murmur with a controlled grimace. 

”Not with that attitude or tone. Ask nicely.” Another slap that would probably leave memories on her skin each time she sits down. 

She finally snaps, ”It’s either you do what you’re supposed to do or I finish myself off, attention whore.”

”You’re in no position to threaten me.”

”Is that a challenge?”

”Make me cum. Why does everything have to be a challenge? Please, I need it. I can’t hold it anymore.”

Under any other circumstances, she would have slapped herself for appearing that desperate. However, her body took the reins of everything, making it impossible for her to keep faces. Virgil cracks a smile. Before realising anything, she is no longer on her four. Instead, she is on her stomach as he thrusts back into her. Both of his hands gripping her hips, maintaining her in place. 

The bed is a mess: pillows everywhere, sheets tightly pulled by her fists, moving along with the movements of his hips. None of them are able to speak. Both are too consumed by the chase of their high. One of his hands slid between her legs, rubbing her clit. His body leaning over, going as deep as he could. With a scream, this time she lets the wave carry her away. Her entire body trembling, her clit pulsing as her walls clench around him, trapping him a bit more inside her. Pure ecstasy that continues when he tugs her earlobes with his teeth. Never had she experienced something that strong and powerful. 

”That pussy is so good, fuck, brat.”

The sound of their skin clapping competing with the noise of her wet pussy. The same wave of pleasure builds again as he keeps chasing his climax. Drool falls on the pillow as he keeps slamming his hips until he bursts inside her with a loud grunt. She feels him pulsate and coat the rubber separating them, which provokes another shockwave in her body. Sweat makes their skin glisten in the dimly lit room. Their panting breath accompanied the rain outside. None of them have moved yet.

”So, you still have all that mouth? Can’t hear you now.”

“Hum… You were good, but don’t get it twisted. I still hate you, Virgil.” 

“Good, that makes two of us.”

They silently laugh at their interactions. Both of them know that what happened will not be the last time. Perhaps that storm arrived at just the right moment.

END.

So she called it irritation, then distraction, then fatigue; anything but what it felt like. Anything but the sharp, humiliating possibility that she had begun to miss him. That she waited for him and every morning her eyes searched the curve of the shoreline before she could stop them.

There was hope he would be there, also.

It unsettled her enough that she began arriving later to the beach, then leaving earlier. Then she was claiming to herself she had pressing studies, errands, correspondence, architectural drafts requiring revision.

All true and all lies, because even while bent over sketches she listened for the sea. Even while reading she saw blue, and even while speaking to others some part of her was turned toward absence.

It made her angry, mostly because she could not reason herself out of it. And worse, because beneath the ache lived a terror she did not dare look at directly.

What if he regretted it?

The thought had begun as a flicker, a passing cruelty of the mind until it lingered long enough that it rooted. What if, in the brightness of music and moonlight and masks and that impossible moment on the stairs, he had acted from impulse alone? From mischief and orange, festive intoxication? From the peculiar liberty anonymity gives.

What if daylight had returned him to sense? What if he had awakened mortified?

She could hear herself mocking the absurdity of such thoughts, at times, because she knew Percy, and there was honesty in every single one of his movements. And yet they came.

What if he had found her afterward ridiculous? Too eager, too silent, too startled. She had barely spoken, after all; she had only stared like some bewitched fool while his mouth touched her hand.

God.

Sometimes she could still feel it there, the phantom warmth over her knuckles. And that memory made everything worse, because if she closed her eyes too long she saw again the deep blue of his coat, the moon over his shoulder.

His breath near her ear.

There were moments she wondered, with a chill that hollowed her stomach, if it had been him at all. The mask, the shadows, the lateness.

She had known those eyes, though. Had she not?

She was certain she had. Certain. And yet anxiety has a way of taking certainty and gnawing through it.

What if she had mistaken some stranger’s boldness for tenderness? What if she had woven Percy Jackson out of moonlight because she wanted it to be him?

That thought made her feel almost ill, and Annabeth hated herself for even allowing it.

And hated more that she could not dismiss it entirely.

So she did what she had always done when thoughts threatened disorder — she imposed structure, control. She stayed less at the beach, sometimes only long enough to prove she had gone as though she were conducting some private experiment.

Proving to herself that she did not wait or care, that she did not miss him.

She repeated it while mounting Tormenta, repeated it while walking home and while staring too long at the sea from windows.

It convinced no one, of course; least of all herself, because even in absence he had become strangely present.

In everything.

A remark she wished to tell him when reading, a ruin she had read about and wished to ask him about because she was almost sure he had visited it, a line from Homer she imagined he would laugh at.

She found herself turning with half-formed thoughts before remembering his sudden, lengthy absence, and then came the ache again.

One morning she arrived at the shore armed with every intention of staying no more than a quarter hour. She sat rigidly, refusing to look toward the path he usually took. Refusing to think about it but looking anyway.

No one appeared but gulls and waves and wind.

Annabeth lasted ten minutes, and the next day even less.

On the ninth day she did not go at all, and that was somehow worse, because not going did not free her from whatever it was that she was feeling and thinking in circles. Instead, it only left her imagining he might have been there, waiting and finding her absent.

And was that not absurd?

She laughed at herself bitterly over it, a sound with no humor.

At night she slept badly. Annabeth dreamed of masks and blue eyes vanishing into crowds and hands almost touching. Come morning, she woke up irritated at her own mind.

Days into the dread and the annoyance of it all, Thalia noticed something was off, and odd, and eerie. Because, sincerely, of course she would, for it only spiked more annoyance in Annabeth’s chest.

“You look haunted,” her sister said over tea.

Annabeth nearly dropped her cup midway back to its saucer.

“I look tired.”

“Haunted,” Thalia repeated.

When Annabeth changed the subject, her friend let it pass for the sake of keeping her head perfectly attached to her neck. Haunted was certainly an exaggeration of Annabeth’s expressions and behaviours, but Thalia had always had a flair and a liking for dramatics and tragic poems — it was fitting, therefore, and Annabeth would not really argue over her uncommon vexation.

She carried it anyway, though, the secret anguish and the humiliating uncertainty of whatever it was that kept Percy away for longer than it had ever happened. There was a fear of regret, yes; it remained echoing beneath all the wounded pride, but she was nothing if not a logical being, and other possibilities were more than capable of being real.

What if something had happened? What if he was not absent by choice, and he had left because something demanded him to do so? What if he had sailed, or ridden somewhere far for reasons he could not speak of?

What if choice was never something taken from his hands, and he had left anyway without even gracing her with a goodbye?

That thought she tried hardest to silence, because it made the breath catch in her throat. It made every morning heavier, and Annabeth could not place where the weight and the painful pinch in her lungs came from — he had left her with a promise of sorts, a request she had not denied. And Gods smite him with arrow and lighting should it had been only for haunting her with remembering.

On the tenth day, when it came, against pride and logic and all attempts at indifference, Annabeth arrived at the beach before sunrise. It was earlier than she had in months, as if hope itself had dragged her there for it had rested quiet long enough inside her chest. She stood facing the water, arms crossed against dawn wind, trying to pretend she had come only for the quiet.

Only for the waves, only for herself. But every sound behind her made her heart stumble; each footstep in sand and every gull shadow seemed to alarm her senses and thoughts and hopes.

And she hated that she was waiting, much like a fool she had always dismissed herself to be up until warmth carved way inside her ribcage months and months before, to make housing in nestled corners of her bones and her breathing.

On that tenth morning, standing before the sea with dawn turning silver at the horizon and no sign of him but gulls and wind, something in her gave way. 

She said nothing to anyone, because there was not a soul to say something to, and wrapped herself in the most neutral of cloaks she could find in her guarderobe, something dull and grey and as subtle as her own changing and her own choices.

It came like exhaustion, the decision, and like the quiet, stubborn refusal to remain suspended between doubt and silence any longer.

Annabeth stood at her window for a long while that morning when she came back from the sand, watching the light gather over the horizon, her reflection faint against the glass. The sea was not visible from there, but she could feel it — like a pull behind her ribs, steady and insistent.

Enough.

If there was an answer to be had, she would have it. Whether she made a fool of herself, whether she confirmed every fear, whether she discovered he had forgotten the moonlit staircase and the promised dance as easily as one wakes from a dream, she would know.

The decision settled over her with startling calm, almost relief — and she should have made that same choice earlier for the sake of her own peace of mind —, because uncertainty had grown more exhausting than any answer could be.

She would go to him. Or rather,  she corrected herself sternly, she would make an inquiry. A practical call, a matter of concern for a friend and nothing more.

She said nothing to anyone, because there was not a soul to say something to, and wrapped herself in the cloak she had chosen. It was a simple thing — unremarkable in color, modest in cut, chosen precisely so that no passerby would think twice of her presence. She braided her hair loosely, tucked it beneath the hood, and left without calling for a carriage or searching for Tormenta.

Walking felt necessary. Grounding, if anything, for it allowed her thoughts to sparse and order themselves until she reached her destination. Annabeth walked with a purpose she pretended not to feel.

The path from her home to the Jackson estate wound gently through the quieter stretches of the city before softening into something greener, more open, where London seemed to loosen its hold on stone and soot. There were backroads that did not cross the town or the squares, and it was enough for her, if seen, not drag attention from anyone.

The morning was still young, touched with that pale gold that had not yet grown into full warmth, and the air carried the faint scent of salt drifting inland. She kept her pace measured, even as her thoughts refused such discipline.

Whatever would she say, after all? She had turned that question over and over until it lost shape entirely.

You have not come to the beach sounded absurd, because it was an unspoken agreement they had. He did not owe her a thing, as she did not owe him another; it was just happenstance, they had decided, that their encounters would be so frequent and so common and at the same places over and over again.

I missed you all these days was entirely too much, even if it was the bare truth of what she felt and thought. It held vulnerability she was learning to not be uncomfortable feeling, but it was another thing entirely to voice it out loud, in the open, to someone else.

Did you regret—

She stopped that one before it could finish, and her jaw tightened beneath the hood. She would not give voice to that, no; not unless forced, not unless it became unavoidable.

The road curved after long, long paths and the best part of an hour, and the Jackson estate revealed itself not all at once, but in glimpses — as though it, too, preferred subtlety over spectacle. Much like what he had learned from its owners.

First she saw the trees, tall, wind-touched things that lined the approach, their leaves whispering softly overhead as though the place carried its own quiet language. Then the wrought iron gates, elegant with quiet, subtle ostentation, standing open as if expecting no threat and no need for defense.

And beyond them laid the house.

It stood with a kind of unassuming grace that struck her more deeply than grandeur ever could. It was broad and sun-washed, its pale stone seemed almost to glow under the morning light, softened by creeping ivy that had long ago been allowed to claim parts of its walls. The windows were tall and welcoming, not severe; the structure seemed forever balanced between refinement and warmth in a way that made it feel lived in rather than displayed.

Walking slower, further, there was more to be seen. Climbing roses over part of the southern wall and wide verandas with blue shutters — why was that not at all surprising? — and there was even, absurdly, a weather vane shaped like a ship.

She nearly laughed.

It was beautiful not in the calculated way of estates meant to impress — Thalia’s own house, for example — but in the way of something that had grown into itself.

A home.

Annabeth slowed despite herself as she approached, her gaze taking in the details of the wide steps leading to the entrance, the careful but not rigid arrangement of the gardens, the faint sound of wind chimes somewhere she could not quite see and the life that seemed to buzz around for the sake of doing so.

It felt different from her own house. From most houses she had known, truly; there was no stiffness to it or sense of restraint pressed into its bones. The Jackson house stood back from the lane beyond wrought-iron gates and a long gravel approach bordered by cypress and flowering shrubs.

It seemed much, much like a house that did not announce wealth so much as ease.

It looked lived in.

Loved in, even.

Beyond the house she glimpsed gardens rolling toward what looked like orchards and, farther off, a glint of water. Some private pond or stream, she could guess, and birdsong seemed louder there. The entire place breathed, and despite its grandeur and riches and size, it did not loom.

Instead, as she walked closer and closer each moment, it welcomed her. And that, somehow, unsettled her more than any splendor could have.

She drew her cloak a little closer around herself and, for a fleeting second, Annabeth considered turning back. The thought came sharp and sudden that she had no reason to be there and she would only make a fool of herself. Worse, she would  confirm what she feared (and she did not know which fear her mind spoke of).

Her fingers curled into the fabric at her sides, and Annabeth shook her head. She had come this far, and she would not retreat now.

Annabeth walked up the steps, a long stairway that led to the main doors, and each one felt louder than it should have. Her heartbeat, traitorous thing, kept pace and when she reached the door, she paused.

Only for a breath, for she had to remind herself to take one. She stalled just long enough to gather herself into something composed, something steady — something that resembled the version of herself she trusted.

Then Annabeth lifted her hand and held the door knocker, choosing a pattern of three to announce someone’s presence. The sound echoed, firm and unmistakable against the quiet of the morning, and she let her hand fall while she stood very still and waited.

Again.