She looked over her shoulder. Smirked. “From the birthday bash? Or from being freshly ravished by the Fire King himself?”
“I WAS NOT—” Haneul’s voice cracked. “—ravished.”
Hyacinth arched a perfect brow. “Darling, you’re walking like someone who just re-learned how hips work.”
“I tripped on a curb!”
“You’re glowing.”
“Sunlight exists!”
“You smell like him.”
“Okay, that’s—creepy—and also maybe true, but—not the point.” He tugged at his collar. “Nothing happened. Or not nothing, but not everything either.”
“Oh?”
“He… helped me clean up after a fall. Then we talked. Then—maybe—some light… kissing. And pinning. And maybe he… um. Handled me a bit.”
Hyacinth cackled and spun on her stool. “Sky kit, you’re blushing in stereo. You didn’t just get handled. You got hewn into poetry.”
Haneul groaned and dropped his head to the bar. “I’m doomed.”
“No, honey,” she said, patting his back with dramatic flair. “You’re wanted. There’s a difference.”
He peeked up. “You really think so?”
“I knowso. I saw how he looked at you. Like you were a goddamn prophecy.”
“…He called me snowdrop.”
Hyacinth froze. “Oh. Oh.”
“What?”
“That’s not a name you throw around casually, sweetheart.”
“Why? What does it mean?”
Hyacinth looked at him long. “It means he’s remembering things his body never forgot.”
Haneul’s skin prickled. He stood too fast. “Nope. No spiritual destiny talk today. I’m gonna go… do inventory.”
“In heels?”
“Yes. For the drama.”
And off he stormed, braid bouncing, heart thudding, cheeks still pink.
Somewhere in his pocket, his phone buzzed.
[Seungho] 11:04 AM:
Come home safe.
And stop drawing me. I can feel it.
Haneul stared at it.
