hideaki mao is not one to believe in true love, but tries hard not to fall for the charismatic, erotica writer xu minghao.
"I know that you would die
and kill for me,"
...
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gift.from.god.jpg "Does it feel too good, Hana?"
MAO was a little surprised to see Minghao in the living room at eight a.m on a Sunday. "Good morning, Mr. Xu. Early today, are we?" She walks to the kitchen and proceeds to get the hot water going. "Seungcheol had to leave early for urgent matters, so you'll be stuck with me for the day."
"I don't mind." Minghao answered. Mao rolled her eyes.
Well, I do, thank you very much. Mao voices in her head, busy grinding the coffee beans as she has her back turned against him. A few days after her first encounter with Xu Minghao, she had finally agreed to his last condition, which was to model out whatever the hell he had planned with his imagination.
For the second condition, Seungcheol had finally announced last night that Minghao would be living together in the house, the spare room at the back was his. He had moved in with his things this morning. Surprisingly he didn't have a lot of things that he brought together with him. Other than the box filled to the brim with books, and another box of clothes.
"Do you always hand drip your coffee, Miss Hideaki?"
Minghao's question snapped Mao out of her thoughts. "Please, call me Mao from now on. We'll be living together, you might want to drop the formalities." She says, taking out the grinder from one of the upper cabinets. "Yes, I do. It tastes better that way. Would you like some?"
"It's alright, I don't drink coffee."
"Tea, then?"
"What kind do you have?" Minghao sat upright in his seat, interested.
"The one you served the other day, Tie Guan Yin. Is that a favorite of yours?"
Minghao walked up to Mao to look at the cupboard. Mao had an assortment of teas; some she said she had brought from Japan, and others she had gotten from Seungcheol's family. Mao told him that jasmine tea—although basic—was one of her favorites, and that was what Minghao chose to have this morning.
"How long have you and Seungcheol lived together? If you don't mind me asking," Minghao watches the process of dripping coffee, still fascinated by it. Although he's seen it several times, he's never really seen it up close, and he doesn't remember it either.
"Three years." Mao answered shortly. She puts the tea leaves into the small pot and waits.
"You're not married, are you?" Minghao asks.
Mao chuckles, "What makes you think I am?"
"The vibe both of you give off is strangely sensual," Minghao says, without a hint of shame in his voice. As expected from an erotica writer, Mao thought. "Like some sort of glow after really good sex." Mao couldn't deny that statement, though. She wouldn't be looking like that if Seungcheol did not join in the bath yesterday, and decided to include some intimacy soon after.
