Chapter 58
The steam in the bathroom was a thick, white opalescence that blurred the edges of the marble walls, creating a private world that smelled of cedarwood and expensive hotel soap. The warm water cascaded over them in a steady hum, a rhythmic drumming that felt like a lullaby to Haru's overstimulated nerves.
He let his head fall back against Raiven's shoulder, his eyes fluttering shut. The adrenaline that had carried him across the Mediterranean and through the frantic, beautiful heat of the last few hours was finally ebbing away, leaving a profound, leaden exhaustion in its wake. He felt fragile, his muscles humming with a dull ache from the flight and the way his body had unraveled under Raiven's touch.
Haru had tried to reciprocate, his pride as Sunghoon whispering that he shouldn't just be the one receiving, but Raiven had gently caught his wrists. "Rest," Raiven had murmured, his voice a gravelly caress.
And he did. With a tenderness that felt almost holy, Raiven lathered a sponge with soap and began to wash Haru's skin. His movements were slow and methodical, his calloused thumbs tracing the line of Haru's spine and the curve of his ribs as if he were memorizing the topography of his soul.
Every so often, Raiven would lean down and press a soft, lingering peck to Haru's damp shoulder, his lips warm against the cool spray of the water.
In the steam-fogged mirror, Raiven caught a glimpse of them - Haru leaning into him, eyes closed, and himself, looking more grounded and at peace than he had in many years. He felt a swelling warmth in his chest, a sense of reclaiming a part of himself he thought had been permanently hollowed out by the industry. They were technically in a relationship now. The label felt new, a frivolous little word for something that felt ancient and heavy as the stone streets of Milan below them, but it brought an immense sense of relief.
Raiven dried Haru with a plush, oversized towel, handling him carefully. He led him back to the bed and sat him down, the blow dryer whirring softly as he dried Haru's hair.
Haru's eyelids were drooping, his head lolling slightly. He had hardly slept in the last twenty-four hours, and the brief snatches of rest on the plane hadn't done much to combat the physical toll of his 'grand gesture.' Suddenly, impulsively, Haru reached out and circled his arms around Raiven's waist, pulling him close. The surprise made Raiven stumble slightly, but he quickly found his footing, resting his hands on Haru's damp head.
Haru buried his face in Raiven's stomach, giving him a small, muffled peck through the fabric of his shirt. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with sleep.
Instead of handing Haru the clothes he had brought in his carry-on, Raiven went to his own suitcase. He pulled out a pair of soft, grey cotton pajamas and helped Haru into them. The scent of Raiven's cologne clung to the fabric, enveloping Haru in a sensory embrace. Under any other circumstances, Haru would have complained about the loss of autonomy, but he was too far gone to care. He just wanted to sleep.
As they finally tucked themselves under the duvet, Haru drifted off almost instantly. For the first time since he had woken up in this century, his sleep was a vast, dreamless dark, just the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of Raiven's chest.
Raiven watched him fall asleep, marveling at the weight of a person in his arms. He hadn't realized how much he had missed the simple, quiet gravity of sharing a bed. His gaze drifted to the remains of the strawberry cake on the table, and his heart performed a slow, swooning ache for the millionth time that night. He pressed one last kiss to Haru's forehead before his own exhaustion finally pulled him under.
The world outside the suite had moved on without them. By the time they woke, the Milanese sun was high in the sky, spilling gold across the carpet. Haru was the first to stir.
He sat up slowly, the silk of Raiven's pajamas cool against his skin, his mind a foggy landscape of memories from the night before. He looked down at his hands, then at the sleeping man beside him, and a slow flush crept up his neck. I really did that, he thought. And I wasn't even drunk.
Raiven grunted in his sleep, his arm blindly searching for the warmth of Haru's body that had just vanished. Haru smiled, a genuine, soft expression that reached his eyes. He leaned down, gave Raiven a quick peck on the cheek, and quietly slipped out of bed.
He checked his phone: 12:30 PM. He was starving.
He didn't know whether to order breakfast or lunch, but the luxury hotel's brunch menu solved the dilemma.
He navigated the hotel's tablet and ordered a lavish brunch - pastries, fresh fruit, espresso, and savory Italian omelets. By the time he had finished a quick, refreshing shower and dressed in clean clothes, a discreet knock sounded at the door. He moved quickly, ushering the stewardess in and pushing the food cart into the seating area before the noise could wake Jae-wook.
A few minutes later, the bed creaked. Raiven sat up, rubbing his eyes, his dark blue hair a chaotic mess. He spotted Haru sitting on the velvet sofa, scrolling through his phone.
Raiven stood up, stretched like a cat, and walked over. He leaned down to kiss the top of Haru's head, a casual, "morning" mumble exchanged between them before he disappeared into the bathroom. When he emerged, showered and smelling of mint and citrus, he found a small shopping bag waiting for him on the bed.
Haru was back on the couch, intently focused on his phone, though his ears were tinged with pink .
Raiven toom the bag and opened it , inside were two small, elegant boxes. He opened the first one and felt his breath hitch. It was a custom guitar strap made of deep, midnight-blue leather, embossed with a subtle, intricate pattern that looked like constellations.
He turned to look at Haru. Haru immediately looked away, scrolling furiously on a phone that was probably on its home screen.
He shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. He opened the second box. Inside was a hand-crafted pick case, sleek and dark. It contained three custom guitar picks—one made of bone, one of wood, and one of a shimmering, iridescent material. There were empty slots, too, waiting for him to add onto it.
"Haru-ya..." Raiven breathed.
Raiven's fingers caressed the picks, his throat tightening. He felt a pair of arms wrap around his neck from behind as Haru finally abandoned his facade, burying his face in the crook of Raiven's shoulder.
"You like them?" Haru whispered.
Raiven didn't answer with words. He set the case down and turned in Haru's arms, facing him fully. He took Haru's face in his hands, his thumbs tracing the line of his jaw. He searched Haru's eyes, taking him in with a hunger that had nothing to do with food.
"What?" Haru asked, feeling a bit self-conscious. "Is there something on my face?"
Raiven smiled, a look of pure, unbridled affection. "No. Just you."
Raiven's response was a peck on the lips. Then another. And then a third that lingered, deepening into a soft, breathtaking kiss . It was soft at first, a gentle acknowledgment of the gift, but as Haru pulled him closer, the kiss deepened. It became a slow, languid exploration, a silent promise made in a sun-drenched hotel room thousands of miles from home.
For Haru, it felt like a fairytale. And though Sunghoon knew that every fairytale eventually had to reckon with the real world, he decided, just for today, to let himself drown in the bliss of the "once upon a time."
Raiven's hand slid up to cup Haru's neck, his thumb stroking his jawline as they lost themselves in the quiet, perfect sanctuary of each other.