Meeting Sang *COMPLETE*

Victor

I pull into Kota's driveway as the sun is making its way higher up in the sky. Cutting the engine on the BMW I glance up at the house. The ranch-style is quiet. I frown. My eyes rove over to my friend's window, in the room above the garage. Is he still asleep? Unbelievable. We're supposed to go to the mall today for our suit fittings. He barely ever sleeps in and never when we have things to do, especially Academy-related things.

From my set of keys I find the ones to Kota's front door and turn it in the lock quietly, not wanting to wake his mom or sister if they're still asleep. The foyer is quiet too, the hallway to his room seemingly undisturbed. Where the hell is he?

I take the stairs two at a time up to his room. Sunlight temporarily blinds my sight, although as I enter they catch on a lump under the blankets.

Well.

I pause, a slow grin working its way on my face. I probably won't ever get this chance again, and no way in hell am I going to pass it up now, even if Kota skins me alive for it later. Totally worth it.

I creep up to the side of the bed, suddenly ridiculously giddy. "Hey, Kota!" I cry, obnoxiously loud on purpose. "Still sleeping? What's wrong with you?" And then I leap onto the bed, attempting to trap Kota with his own blankets and my weight combined. I hear a sharp cry, a muffled grunt. Kota struggling to free himself, but I made sure he was good and tangled. "Are you getting up or what?" Unable to keep the grin off my voice I continue on. If I'm going to die, might as well go off with a bang, because Kota will murder me first chance he gets. "The world is spinning on without you."

"Victor."

What the—can't be . . . Kota's voice. But why would it be from behind me . . . ?

I freeze.

Then spin around and—no. Way.

That's not Kota standing at the foot of the bed, staring at me with an expression I can't decipher. And unsolved puzzles bother me to no end. He's—annoyed? A tick works in his jaw, like he's trying hard not to laugh. But if he's here then—

I yank the blanket away. My jaw drops, and I stare, dumbfounded, at the girl looking back at me with wide eyes in Kota's bed. A girl. In Kota's bed. In. Kota's. Bed.

She is all hair and eyes, the blonde mess strewn about her features and large green eyes made even bigger by the stunned look in them. She's surprised?

"Who . . ."

But before I can string together a coherent sentence Kota pipes up with, "Victor, this is Sang."

"Uh . . ." It seems I still can't come up with anything. And how can I? I just found a girl—a girl—in Kota's bed. That alone is reason enough for my confusion, but especially today when we have actual, important, things to do.

But for some reason I can't take my eyes off of her. Her adorably flushed face and those eyes. A thousand questions race through my mind faster than I can figure them out, make my thoughts a garbled, jig-sawed mess. The only thing that shoots clear through is that I should probably get off the bed and off of her.

So I do.

And blurt out the first thing that finally comes to mind. "What are you doing here? I mean, in his bed," I add, instantaneously wincing at how that sounded.

Then Kota says as if announcing the weather, "She slept here." He's smiling when I turn to him. Actually smiling! What the hell? He has the cool, collected air about him that I so often admire and envy at times. Now it just makes me want to grab him and shake him.

"Are you kidding me?" I manage out. I'm sure it's close to yelling.

"Don't get weird. And don't tell my mom. I don't think she'll understand."