Beneath the Surface

Part 22

The soft chime of the bookshop’s bell barely registered in Longtai’s ears. He sat behind the wooden counter, absentmindedly flipping through the pages of a book he wasn’t reading. His mind had been wandering all morning—no, not wandering, stuck. Stuck on him.

He bit his lower lip, fingers curling into the edge of the book as heat crept up his face.

Last night.

His breath hitched just thinking about it. The way Yok had looked at him—like he was something fragile yet precious, something to be cherished. The memory of those hands, rough yet gentle, exploring him, mapping every inch of his skin as if memorizing him. The deep timbre of his voice whispering his name, the warmth of his breath against his neck, the way Yok's lips pressed against his skin, sending shivers down his spine

Longtai let out a soft gasp, his cheeks burning as he buried his face in his hands. Stop thinking about it!

But how could he? The way Yok had touched him, the way he had held him—it wasn’t just passion, it was something deeper, something that made Longtai feel safe in his arms. He had never been looked at that way before, never been seen in the way Yok had seen him. It made his heart swell, his stomach flutter, his body ache with the memory of it.

He squeezed his eyes shut. God, I’m hopeless.

"Excuse me?"

Longtai’s head snapped up, his face still warm. A customer stood at the counter, holding a book, looking at him expectantly.

"Oh—! Sorry!" He scrambled to straighten up, forcing himself to focus. His hands were slightly unsteady as he scanned the book and handed it back.

The customer gave him a curious look before walking away.

Longtai exhaled heavily. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. This was ridiculous. He had a job to do, and instead, he was sitting here acting like some lovesick fool.

But... wasn’t that what he was?

His fingers traced the wooden countertop as his mind drifted back again. Yok.

Longtai had always thought he was attractive—he wasn’t blind—but last night had been different. Last night, Yok had looked breathtaking. The soft glow of the streetlights through the window had highlighted the sharp angles of his face, the dark strands of his hair falling messily over his forehead. His silver chain had gleamed against his skin, drawing Longtai’s gaze lower.

The way Yok had hovered over him, his muscles tensing with every movement, his lips slightly parted, his eyes—God, his eyes—dark and smoldering, filled with something raw and intense.

Longtai swallowed, his fingers curling against his palm. Just thinking about it sent a rush of warmth through his body.

He shifted in his seat, trying to shake off the feeling, but it was useless. His body still remembered Yok’s touch, the heat of his skin, the weight of his presence.

And if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t want to stop thinking about it.

The bell chimed again, and Longtai instinctively looked up.

And then he froze.

The bell above the door jingled again, but this time, Longtai felt a cold chill run down his spine.

His body stiffened instantly.

There, standing in front of him, was a familiar figure—a grin too smug, eyes too knowing.

Ren.

The same guy they had run into in front of the cafe gallery.

Longtai’s breath hitched. His pulse quickened, thundering in his ears as his fingers curled into his cardigan. His stomach twisted, a suffocating tightness settling in his chest.