“Mom quit calling me,” you say into your phone in exasperation.

    Your mom sighs. “I’m just worried about my baby.”

    “I’ll take the train. It’ll be okay,” you assure.

    A promising week of a solo car ride with your favorite bops is compromised when your car sputters and stops in the middle of the road. You’re already embarrassed enough that someone had to help push your car to the side of the road.

    Frankly, the sun’s beating down on you, and your skin’s blistering and boiling from the harsh sun rays. Then again, it’s your fault for taking your ancient car on a road trip that it didn’t need in the first place.

    Pinching your temple, you begin, “mom. I’ll block you if you call me again.” You loved your mom—really, but she was just being overly paranoid. Though you couldn't blame her because you were standing in the middle of the desert. And Texas’s only nice until you find yourself stranded in the middle of nowhere in hundred-degree weather.

    After getting your mom off your , you call for a taxi, and it doesn’t arrive until nearly an hour later. To your luck, you forgot your wallet in your car, which means you had no means of payment. The man was visibly pissed and didn’t hesitate to leave your in the dust.

    So maybe your mom made a really good point earlier, and you would’ve listened if she wasn’t nagging so much. You were twenty-eight, but sometimes—she treated you like a teenager when you were a perfectly capable, independent woman.

    Except, you didn’t feel so capable at the moment. Cars speed by you, and you had no idea how you were going to get out of this predicament. You plop down on the hot sand, no longer caring about your appearance. You were either going to be kidnapped (if anyone was interested in kidnapping someone boring like you) or you were going to be left out here, baking in the sun.

    Checking your phone, you see that it’s currently noon. Your stomach rumbles, and you search your bag to find a granola bar. Well, look at that. You left your wallet in your towed car, but you didn’t forget to bring snacks. That says a lot about you.

    You kick at the golden sand as you attempt to rip open the packaging. Your palms are clammy, and it takes you longer than it should. When you do, you’d initially planned to devour it in one bite, but your bar tragically falls to the ground when you jerk back from realizing a car has pulled up beside you.

    Squinting your eyes, you examine the open-top gaudy yellow Ferrari right in front of you. A man who looks to be in his mid-twenties smiles at you from the driver’s seat. “Hey,” he greets with a lazy wave.

    “Before you kidnap me, I’m gonna let you know that I’m a pretty well-known judge. You’ll probably want to think twice about that,” you tell him as a matter of fact.

    He laughs, eyes forming little crescents. Upon further inspection, you come to the realization that he’s insanely attractive. His skin practically glistens from the cast of sunlight. He looks a hell lot better than you—a sunburned, sweat down your mess. He also has nice hair—chocolate brown slightly slicked back and parted in the middle. It’s intentionally messy with his sides buzzed short, and it’s completely unfair that there isn’t a single physical flaw about him. You narrow your eyes when you catch something shining in his hair. Is that tinsel?

    He runs a hand through his hair casually. “My secretary told me this is what the kids do these days. Does it look good?”

    “Surprisingly, yes.” You tilt your head.

    He smiles again, and goddamn, it is contagious. Your lip twitches unexpectedly, which makes his eyes twinkle. “I’m not driving a white van, so you can probably rest your case.”

    “But you’re also driving a neon yellow sports car much like an entitled teenage boy,” you quip.

    He chuckles. “I definitely see the judge in you.”

    “Thank you?”

    “Where’s your final destination, pretty?”

    Pretty. He called you pretty. You were anything but pretty. You practically resembled a state fair wiener dog.

    “Thank you for offering, but I’m good,” you tell him, hunching over the door to the passenger seat.

    He an eyebrow. “Aren’t you hot?” Yes.

    But you don’t tell him that. Instead, you smile cordially. “Like I said—I’m fine.” And at this time, your stomach just had to rumble. Your face heats, and you honestly don’t know if you can turn redder from your already sunburnt skin. Darting your eyes away, you ignore his perfect melodic laugh.

    “I know a good burger joint nearby. I can drop you off near the train station or airport after?” He offers.

    And you weren’t going to lie. You were pretty tempted. Mostly from his pretty smile and crescent eyes, but also because you were starving.

    “So—what do you say?” He asks again. You reluctantly nod, and he pushes open his door to stand. “Let me get your bags then.” He easily lifts your duffle in one hand and pulls your suitcase in the other. You watch him pop open his trunk and place your bags down—every action deliberate and with extra care.

    It makes your heart race and you could only imagine that it was going to get worse from there if you were swooning over his body language.

    Chewing on the inside of your cheeks, you warily pull open his car door. The knowing smile on his face is irritating, but he’s handsome, so you bet he gets away with it all the time. You plop down on the leather seat.

    But not even a second later, he’s only mere inches away from you. Your heart stops inside of your chest, and you hear the soft click of the belt buckle. The polyester tightens against your chest, and you force yourself to imagine it reeling you back in.

    He smells like bubble gum, and you hate bubble gum, but for him, you might just make an exception.

    He pulls away with a cocky smile. “Seatbelt,” he murmurs.

    You stiffly nod, eyes darting anywhere but at him. “Right. Thanks.”

    He starts the engine, and you two speed off back into the highway. The car ride begins with silence—weird silence, but he breaks it. “Can I get your name?”

    You clear your throat, distracting yourself with the air distortion miles ahead. “You first.”

    He laughs at that, and you also realize that his laugh is wonderful. It’s airy, boyish, and transparent. As a judge, you’re used to people maintaining a prim image—oftentimes, stoic and distant.

    This man is the complete opposite, and it makes you wonder how he grew up. Maybe in a big family. Or maybe he just has good parents.

    “You don’t give very much,” he notes in amusement.

    You merely shrug. “It’s a scary world.”

    “It’s only scary if you have high expectations,” he relays, and you can’t help but turn your head to watch him.

    “What makes you say that?” You ask. You didn’t expect him to be the type of person to probe deeper into the meaning of life. He’d seemed carefree. The type of man to live life to the fullest and not question anything. Well, then again, appearances can be deceiving.

    “I mean what I said. If you don’t trust me, I can’t really blame you. Don’t put any expectations in me and you won’t be disappointed,” he elaborates.

    You ponder this. “What makes you think I’d be disappointed?”

    His lips curve into a cheeky smile. “Are you not?”

    It’s your turn to laugh. “Oh, come on. Modesty looks crap on you. You already know of the effect you have on women.”

    “Actually—“ He drawls playfully with lifted eyebrows. “You’re right,” he finally says after a beat when you’d expected an argument instead.

    Blowing a raspberry, you lean back in your seat. “That was extremely anticlimactic.”

    “I told you—no expectations, pretty.”

    You level a look at his side profile. “Why do you call me that?”

    “Call you what?”

    “Pretty,” you answer curtly. “Are you mocking me?”

    He hums, “why would you think that?”

    Scoffing, you throw up your hands. “Hello? Do you see me right now?”

    “No, I’m driving,” he tells you, straight-faced.

    You roll your eyes as he cracks into a wide grin. “Is this how you pick up women?”

    “Yes, no, maybe so,” he sings, and after a beat, he asks, “is it working?”

    Shaking your head in amusement, you reply, “yes, no, maybe so—but you still didn’t answer my question.”

    He throws you an impressed look before turning back to the road. “Little miss spunky aren’t you?”

    “Take it or leave it.”

    “Why do you think I call you pretty?” He questions after chuckling from your comment.

    You scratch your chin. “Because you’re mocking me? Either that or you’re into girls with hideous farmer’s tan.”

    “The latter sounds pretty accurate,” he jokes.

    You scrunch your nose. “Other girls may fall for your words, but honey, as much as I hate to say this, you’re gonna need more than your pheromones.”

    He props one arm on the car door, leaning his chin against his palm. “Let’s see—have you taken a look in the mirror lately?”

    “Not in the last five hours, but I can assure you that my opinions won’t change.”

    “Truth is—I find you physically attractive. I think your sunburns are cute, and I like that you don’t cover up your freckles,” he tells you.

    Your eyebrows knit together. “What if my freckles are fake?”

    He laughs. “Well, are they?”

    “No—unfortunately, one hundred percent authentic. I appreciate the trend, but I can’t choose to wear these babies whenever I want to.”

    “You know—your eyes may be the best thing about you,” he adds.

    “Really?” You expect him to be as shallow as the other guys who’ve told you the same thing over and over again, but no, he surprises you with his next words.

    “They change colors in the sun. And to be completely honest, I’ve never seen hazel eyes quite like yours. Appearance aside, your eyes are deceiving. They make it look like you’re constantly smiling even when you’re not, and—well, you’re guarded. I guess that’s what makes you alluring,” he contemplates.

    Your mouth falls open, but you close it before he notices. “Thank you,” you murmur, heart pounding in your chest. You don’t even know what to say. He’s more well-versed than the carefree guy you’d initially thought he was.

    He pulls into the parking lot of a diner. The sun is setting, and when you get out of the car, your breath falls away. The scenery is picture-perfect, and this—you’d wanted to experience the little things like this on your road trip.

    You knew you could’ve taken a plane, but it’d been so long since you had time to yourself, and you’d thought that driving by yourself was a good idea. Apparently not. Your crappy car finally broke down, and your peaceful solitary trip was ruined.

    “I hope you’re hungry,” he says, eyeing you with interest. He doesn’t need to say it twice. All you had for breakfast this morning was sludgy coffee.

    He signals to the door, and you both head inside the diner together. Immediately, the smell of greasy food fills every crevice of your senses, but you stop.

    He stops behind you, tilting his head. “What’s wrong?”

    “I don’t have any money,” you concede, rubbing your face in mortification. “I left my wallet in my car.”

    “Your car?”

    You sigh. Can this get any more embarrassing? “She broke down and is currently at a towing company.”

    He gives you a pitiful look, and you shake your head.

    “I’m okay. I still have Apple pay,” you tell him. “But I have a feeling this place takes card and cash only. I can Venmo you—“

    He cuts in, “definitely not.”

    You frown. “Pardon?”

    “Dinner’s on me,” he answers. Before you can argue with him, the hostess greets both of you and shows you to a booth near the window.

    When she leaves after informing someone will be with you in a moment, you narrow your eyes at him. “What’s your motive?”

    He laughs incredulously. “I’m simply lending a helping hand.”

    You purse your lips. “I don’t like being indebted to people—much less a stranger.”

    “Well, there’s a first to everything,” he says casually, but there’s a catch. He doesn’t look like he’s willing to give up his stance.

    You lean forward in your seat. “You’re stubborn, do you know that?”

    “Oh, I’m well aware. That’s how I get things done, pretty.”

    You titter, “your PA must hate you.”

    The corner of his lips upturn. “I’d beg to differ. I think she quite likes it when I boss her around.”

    Something flits below your stomach, and you squirm at the thought of him being demanding. You had to admit that it was hot to imagine. “Why are you here?”

    He props his elbow on one hand and leans into it. The ambient neon lights inside catch onto his jaw and create a drop effect. It makes him look absolutely ethereal. Intangible even. His eyes glimmer with mirth.

    “I don’t know, pretty. I’ve never had to think about existentialism, and I’m far too busy to have an existential crisis,” he remarks.

    You tsk. “Are you ever serious?”

    “Yes, no, maybe so. I guess you’d have to find out.”

    You roll your eyes at him in disdain. “Why are you here in the middle of the Texas desert? And busy my —you’re having dinner with me.”

    He leans forward, and you can smell the sweetness wafting off of him. It makes your mouth water, and you don’t know whether to be put off by the effect that he has on your body or the fact that you’re low-key lusting for him only after two hours of meeting him.

    No man’s ever made you feel like this before. Sure, you’d met plenty of attractive and intelligent men, but to you, they felt insubstantial. They were people you’d rather have one night stands with. But the man in front of you—no, you realized that you’d wanted to know who he was.

    “I could honestly say the same about you,” he teases.

    You lean back in your seat, crossing your arms. You’re trying to exert some power over this weird dynamic that you two have. Supposedly, you both ask each other questions, but neither is willing to answer. You didn’t want to answer because what was the point of getting attached to a person when you were never going to meet him again? And him? You didn’t know if he could even have a serious conversation without his easy smile and vague answers.

    “I’m from DC. My mom lives in La Costa, and her birthday’s on Friday, so I told her I was driving down,” you tell him.

    His eyebrows disappear behind his hairline. “California?”

    You chuckle. “Why? You think I couldn’t do it?”

    He bites down on the bottom corner of his lips, tugging it between his incisor. Your eyes dip unintentionally to them. If he notices, he doesn’t comment on it, and you’re secretly grateful when you glance back into his eyes.

    “I didn’t think anyone else would be crazier than me. I drove from New York,” he surmises.

    You shake your head, grinning. “Nope, because you—sir—are ing crazy. You’re literally driving a supercar, and they are completely inefficient for road trips.”

    He laughs. “My friend wanted to try my car, and I needed some spontaneity.”

    “I’d apologize to your wallet if I were you,” you say in a scolding tone.

    He shrugs. “I have lots of it, and at this point, I’m running out of things to do with it.”

    Your mouth falls open. “Do you hear yourself?”

    “I have nothing to lose. The truth ain’t pretty, what can I say?”

    You don’t really know what you find so attractive about him other than his looks (which is pretty damn obvious by the wooziness in your stomach), but maybe—it’s the way he voices his thoughts. He can be vague and blunt, and words—every letter, every phrase—are at his mercy. He never has to deliberate. No, he charms with his intelligence, and he knows it works. And maybe it’s the way every word curving off of his tongue sounds exquisite. The timbre of his voice—pure honey.

    You smile, deciding to throw away your guard. Bad idea? Maybe. But it was tempting as hell. “I’m going to dispute that. Are you looking for a sugar baby?”

    He laughs. “You’re about a century too late for that.”

    Rolling your eyes, you implore, “I think the word you’re looking for is no.” Before he can answer, someone approaches your booth.

    “Hey, you two, my name's Holland, and I’ll be your waiter for tonight,” the girl approaching both of you interjects. “How are y’all doing this evening?”

    You smile politely at her. “Great. Thanks for asking.”

    “Of course, can I start y’all off with any drinks?” She asks, tucking her blonde locks behind her ear. Her eyes focus on the man across from you.

    You bite back a smile that he catches from his peripheral. How did you know? Well, let’s just say his secretive smile is also as potent as a toothy one. “I’ll get a strawberry shake,” you tell her.

    “Sweet tea for me,” he says.

    She leaves to grab your drinks, and you two are alone once again.

    There’s a very important matter that is pressing, so you had to ask. “You like sweet tea?”

    He lifts a brow. “And you don’t?”

    “It’s an abomination,” you deadpan.

    He lets out a theatrical gasp, clutching his chest while he’s at it. “How controversial of you.” And then he lowers his tone conspiratorially. “Careful, you don’t know who’s listening.”

    “I’m just saying.” You wrinkle your nose. “You looked more like a Cola guy to me.”

    “There’s no correlation, pretty. It’s like if I said you look like someone who’d be more into vanilla,” he articulates.

    “You’re too witty for your own good.”

    “I’m just saying,” he mocks playfully.

Both of your food arrives pretty quickly after Holland takes your orders. You almost drool all over your plate when you get a waft of the seared beef and deep-fried onion rings.

    “Can you finish that?” He asks with a lopsided smile as he watches you cut the burger in half.

    You wink at him. “I may look like this, but I’m a mighty eater.”

    He laughs, tossing a fry into his mouth. “You’re cute.”

    You choke on your mouthful of burger. He turns his head to call for Holland. She returns a moment later with a glass of iced water.

    He hands it to you, but you’re still blinking at him. “What?” He asks.

    “I—you’re such a busybody,” you finally say after a beat. When you dated guys throughout your twenties, none of them really paid any attention to detail. It was an understatement to say that you didn’t expect him to care so much about your wellbeing. You, a complete stranger that he met three hours ago.

    Laughing, he takes a sizable bite of his burger. “Oh, you flatter me.”

    “Stop acting so considerate. It’s giving me mixed feelings,” you harrumph.

    He throws you a cheeky smile. “What kind of feelings?”

    You shoot him a look, but he doesn’t cower. Instead, his eyes twinkle with interest. “This wasn’t part of the deal,” you announce, trying your best not to look away.

    “It’s just dinner,” he postulates nonchalantly.

    “Then stop looking at me like that,” you counter, picking at your onion rings.

    He hums, “don’t know what you’re talking about. Care to demonstrate?”

    Yeah, no way. You were not going to play right into his palm. Ignoring him, you continue to eat quietly.

    When you’re halfway into your burger, he breaks the silence. “What’s your plan...after this?”

    And you suddenly don’t feel as hungry anymore. Gnawing on your bottom lip, you drawl, “I’m probably gonna take the train.”

    He’s quiet, and you become distracted by his long fingers drumming on the table. “Why do you sound so disappointed?”

    You snap your eyes back to his face. “I have to see people every day of the week, and I work insane hours. So I guess because I really wanted to be in the comfort of only myself,” you explain, poking the crumbs that have fallen off your plate.

    “I have a proposition for you,” he says, and for the first time since you’ve met him, he’s completely serious.

    Your eyebrows raise. “What kind of proposition are we talkin'?”

    “Come to LA with me,” he says after a minute of silence.

    You laugh incredulously. “No. No way—you’re not serious.” But he’s not laughing, so your jaw drops. “Wait, you actually want me to come with you? No. No—I can’t. That’s insane.”

    He squints his eyes at you. “It’s not as crazy as it sounds. I have to go to LA anyway. You said you wanted solitude right? Having one person beside you for twenty-three hours is better than taking the train and having to bother with transfers.” His logic makes sense. Of course, it does. It’s also very tempting, but you can’t just agree to hitch a ride with a stranger—no matter how handsome he is.

    He could be a kidnapper or serial killer. But did serial killers usually offer to buy you a meal before they murdered you?

    For ’s sakes, his expectant look isn’t making it any easier on you. Finally, you say, “thanks for the offer, really. Dinner was great too, but I can’t on behalf of my conscience say yes.”

He drops you off at the Houston Amtrak, and you both hadn’t said anything for at least half an hour. You felt kind of bad for making the atmosphere so awkward. It definitely would’ve been so much easier and fun if you’d said yes.

    But there was simply no way. First of all, you didn’t know him. Second of all, you didn’t know his name either. And third of all, you weren’t sure what you would do while you're stuck with him for twenty-three hours.

    He helps you with your bags, and you awkwardly thank him, avoiding eye contact and all. “So,” he says, clapping his hands. “Don’t you think I should get a goodbye kiss?

    You playfully roll your eyes and shove at his chest. “Dream on, loser.”

    He clutches his chest in feigned pain before waving at you. “Bye, pretty.”

    You turn around, smiling widely and waving. And then you do something unexpected. You finally tell him your name, and his smile is priceless. Your heart pangs and you’re afraid to leave. You want to stay because you have a feeling that he’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

    But you don’t. You turn back around to head inside the terminal. When you’re by the ticket booth, you pat your back pocket to find your phone.

    You let out a horrified gasp when you realize that you don’t have your phone on you. Now, any means of getting out of here was impossible. You practically fly down the corridor and back into the drop off zone to find him.

    And he’s still there, grinning when he catches you in his peripheral. He throws your phone up, catching it in mid-air.

    You lug your bags behind you, heaving for air. You’re aware of how insanely unattractive you look right now, but frankly, you don’t really care.

    Call it intuition, but you think the universe is playing a game with you, and you don’t hate it if it involves him. So, you give in.

    Sticking out your hand, you tell him, “I’m warning you now. I’m not a fun passenger.”

    He smiles, “nice riding with you. My name’s Byun Baekhyun.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” He asks while you're both speeding down the dark freeway. Your strands fall wildly behind you, whipping from the wind.

    “Why do you wanna know?”

    Baekhyun glances sideways at you. “For personal reasons.”

    You press on, giving him a taste of his own medicine, “and what may those reasons be?”

    “Reasons I’m not sure you’re ready to hear, pretty,” he replies, not missing a single beat.

    “Really?” You jut out your lips, feigning misery. “And here I thought we were thinking the same thing.”

    The corner of his lips tilts upwards. “You’re a piece of work.”

    “I think we’re too far from the train station to turn back,” you note playfully.

    He laughs gutturally. “Don’t worry about it. You know what—I think I’m gonna keep you.”

    You tilt your head, leaning closer to him. “I’m not property.”

    Baekhyun sighs. “I don’t think I received the memo either. Damn shame, though.”

    “You’re the shameless one,” you say as a matter of fact.

    His eyes shine with mirth. “But I’m not ashamed. The question is: are you?”

    At this time, your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out to see your mom’s caller ID. Groaning, you send him an apologetic look only for him to shake his head and smile encouragingly in return.

    “Hi mom,” you answer, plastering a pleasant smile.

    Your mom coos, “baby, how are you doing?”

    “The same as each time you’ve called me today—speaking of that, just how many times have you blown up my phone with your calls again?”

    “You ungrateful brat. I was calling to see your new itinerary. Will you be able to make it here on the same day?”

    You drone, “I’m still figuring it out. Though, I think I’ll be there earlier than I expected.”

    Your mom makes a confused gargle. “What do you mean? You’re not heading to the boardwalk in San Diego anymore? But honey, you were so excited.”

    Laughing sheepishly, you manage, “change of plans. I’m hitchhiking as of right now. He’s not my chauffeur.”

    She gasps, her tone bordering scandalous. “He? Will you be okay?”

    You tsk. “Mom, it’s the twenty-first century for god’s sake. Not everyone’s a walking Ted Bundy, okay? Just so you know, he’s around my age, and if he’d wanted to kill me, I hope he does. Maybe you’d get a clue to stop calling.”

    She laughs. “You really are my child. So feisty all the time—hm, what else is there to talk abo—ah! Is Eli coming with you? When will you give me grandchildren?”

    At the mention of your boyfriend, your smile falls. “Eli’s—er—busy.”

    “Well, that can’t be helped. Alright, stay safe, baby. I’ll see you whenever okay?”

    “Bye,” you sing, tapping the red button to disconnect the call.

    Baekhyun glances at you warily. “Everything okay?”

    You grin at him. “Everything’s peachy other than losing my wallet and my car breaking down and of course—an improvised road trip with someone I met on the same day.”

    His laugh fades in the wind. “Gotta stay optimistic. Who knows? Maybe your life will turn around.”

    “Nice try, but I have to break it to you. I’m quite the cynic. I don’t believe in something until it happens,” you address.

    Baekhyun nods. “I think that’s very respectable of you.”

    “What about you? How do you like to see life?”

    His lips twist into a cheeky smile. “Depends on the circumstance. Sometimes I need to be realistic, but—“ He exchanges a meaningful look with you. “—right now? I’m kind of entertaining the thought of you on my lap.”

    You can practically hear your jaw unhinge. “That’s—wow. Just. Wow.”

    “Too much?”

    “It’s only been five hours, Baekhyun. Might want to slow down a bit there,” you tell him, failing to bite back a smile.

    “Really? I feel like I’ve known you for a lifetime, pretty.” Silence falls over the two of you, and you stare off into the distance. “So I’m guessing you’re a taken woman.”

    Your stomach flips. Not in a good way. In an impending doom-esque type of way. “It’s complicated.”

    Baekhyun contemplates, “it’s only complicated if you make it complicated.”

    “It’s long-winded. I don’t think it’d be that interesting.”

    “Well, based on Google Maps, we have a good twenty hours to kill,” he says mischievously. “Go for it, pretty.”

    Leaning back into your seat, you tilt your head up to see the stars. And honestly, in the desolate environment—far, far away from anthropogenic pollution—you can actually make out the Milky Way. Then, you remember that he’s expecting your answer. Biting your bottom lip, you begin, “I don’t know if he’s still my boyfriend. Technically, we’re on a break, but I don’t know if we have the same expectations of what a break should be.”

    “How did you meet him?”

    “I met him during my first year of law school. He was my TA in criminal law,” you explain. “Eli—that’s his name—well, he dated my friend before me. And because I cared about her, I told him that it wasn’t a good idea to proceed with a relationship, so we both attempted to snuff out our feelings.”

    Baekhyun prompts, “and then what happened?”

    You trace the dip of his dashboard, attempting to keep a clear mind. “The feelings never went away, and I told him if we both felt the same, I’d date him on the day we graduated. So, he agreed and we both counted down the days until it happened.”

    “I’m guessing he asked you out?”

    You nod, reminiscing your past. “But things were odd between us. When we supposedly—“ You use quotation marks to emphasize. “—fell in love, we were only in our early twenties. And now that I think about it, it’s kind of impractical to commit to someone as young as we were. I was twenty-two, and I’m not gonna lie, I did sleep with other people, but I was content waiting for him. And I think that’s where things went wrong—I was in love with the idea of us. Not with the person I was supposed to be into.”

    He nods. “How long has it been?”

    “Since we were twenty-four, so four years?”

    Baekhyun whistles. “Is he the only person you’ve committed to?”

    You chuckle sadly. “Sort of, but I don’t really have a clear stance on relationships.”

    “And why’s that?”

    This was getting into personal territory, but for some strange reason, his presence was comforting, and you felt the words leave your mouth despite your wariness. “I’m a black hole when it comes to men,” you tell him, shifting until your back is pressed on the door. This way, you’re able to relish his side profile, but you’re never telling him that.

    There’s a soft smile graced on his lips when he realizes that your full attention is on him. It makes your heart flutter that he even notices. “When you say black hole—you mean exhibiting siren-like qualities, right?”

    You laugh incredulously. “A siren? One of those bird ladies who lure men in only to devour them?”

    Baekhyun nods, grinning widely. “If you know, you know.”

    Shaking your head, you digress, “actually—it’s really the opposite. It’s more accurate to call myself a buffer. You know when people talk about finding their true love or some bull like that?”

    He hums in reply.

    “I’m the other person. Every single guy I date or talk to eventually breaks my heart and proceeds to find the love of their life right after,” you explain.

    Baekhyun wrinkles his face. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

    “Totally is. Freshman year. I dated this guy in my friend group, but eventually, he showed interest in my best friend then. He dumped me and the two dated behind my back. They’re still dating now, and they have several kids together.”

    “That’s one case—“

    You cut him off. “I dated another guy my senior year in high school, and he eventually dumped me for this quiet goody-two-shoes in my class. Last I heard of them, they’re married and living happily together in the Hamptons.”

    Baekhyun in a pained hiss. “You must hate high school reunions.”

    “Oh, yeah—believe me when I tell you that I refused to go to any, despite my friends bribing me with strawberries,” you say grimly. “I’ve just grown to accept that maybe I’m not destined for love and all that mushy crap.”

    “From how much we’ve talked today, I think you’re a great person. There’ll be a man or whoever else that will learn how to cherish you properly. You should have some optimism, pretty.”

    You smile, turning your head up to the sky. It comes to your attention that he doesn’t mention himself, which means he’s not interested in pursuing whatever it is between the two of you. You can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. However, as a judge, you’ve learned to keep realistic expectations, and it’s easy for you to let it go.

    After all, this trip was supposed to be about you, and Byun Baekhyun—he was just a bonus.

[a/n] i'm almost done with the second chapter hence why i'm releasing this. wow, i've never actually written second pov before. i'm actually garbage oop. but delight baek is such a big inspo so i caved. can yall feel the chemistry??