holidays with sae nearly exclusively involve the beach. he enjoys the seaside. he goes for morning runs, you know, and returns with a tea from the shop he knows you enjoy.
you open your eyes, blinking in the golden daylight of spain’s unforgiving sun. the door opens and sae walks in, dark pants low on his waist, fingers holding the paper cup.
you don’t acknowledge it. even as you smell the floral notes and recognize the luxury logo. turn and bury your face against the pillow, keeping one eye slitted open to watch as he studies you.
framed against the villa wall-sized window, he looks nearly angelic, you think. flushed from his run, as rosy as his hair, eyes as green as the rolling seas he loved so much.
“it’s late, actually,” sae says, tugging at your duvet.
“long past time to get up.”
he’s funny, in a way that’s monotonous. you refuse to smile. hiding it against the pillow, but he sees anyway, and traces the shoulder he’s bared, the shape of your collarbone, the line of your jaw, the purse of your stifled smile.
he refuses to acknowledge your lies just as you do. perhaps you’re more alike than you thought. especially when he fits his smile to yours, and you can taste your tea already on his lips.
