For the past few years, Akira had worked part-time at what was basically a spa, for lack of a better term. They advertised everything a spa did – relaxation, body care, and touch.

Since he was underage when he joined, he was limited to the cheaper sets, which included using his hands, mouth, and thighs, stopping just short of anything explicit. Even now, his regulars never requested more. Those wanting something else were directed to Takahashi Monohime, the shop’s No. 1, who happily obliged.

When Akira was in his first year of high school, a boy had stumbled into the shop one night at an ungodly hour. He was neither drunk nor lost, only hopelessly crying.

‘Beautiful’ wasn’t enough to describe him when his every feature seemed carved to perfection, beyond what anyone could conjure in a fantasy. Beads of tears caught in his eyelashes, some curving over his angular jaw, and he was stunning.

That boy was Surya.

Akira had obviously seen plenty of clients whose hands trembled nervously, who were angry at their own attraction, or who arrived on a dare from their friends. With most, a soft touch was enough to dissolve their tension. A hand resting lightly on their knee, a kiss pressed gently to their temple, or fingers grazing the curve of their neck.

For others, it was simpler still: he’d kneel between their legs, letting their fingers sift through his hair, nails scraping his scalp, and they’d guide his mouth wherever they wanted. He’d feel this shuddering heat packed around his ears, and he’d know that this had nothing to do with any real affection.

That night with Surya was different.

Akira had recognised him instantly from Hanseol High since he was chair of the student council. Usually Akira only saw him from a distance, listening to his address while sitting in a packed hall, and he’d never expected that to change. He didn’t think they’d ever be standing in the same room, let alone with no one else in sight.

More importantly,  Surya suddenly wasn’t some distant figure standing tall behind a podium; he was soaked through from the rain, his clothes clinging to every curve, and he was sobbing. Maybe because he hadn’t expected someone as young as Akira to greet him, or he didn’t know what to do.

Akira couldn’t say. He was just enraptured by Surya’s face, feeling shocked and surprisingly blessed. He luckily wasn’t wearing his school uniform that night, or Surya would’ve bolted. Instead he wore a thin robe that brushed his calves, and was loose everywhere but where it hugged his hips.

And sure, his thoughts might’ve been going in all the wrong directions, but no one could blame him for that. He would’ve said anything to catch Surya’s attention in that moment, nervously wanting to comfort him and make him laugh, except Surya visibly geared himself up to flee.

So Akira ended up blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

“Tea,” he said, like a true master of seduction. A courting mastermind. “We’ve g-got ginger or jasmine tea. Which would you prefer?”

When Surya’s only response was some muted sniffling, Akira went ahead with brewing the jasmine. He suggested Surya take a seat (he meant on the couch), but Surya instead slid to the floor of all places, so he joined him there with a mug of steaming tea.

It was his mug, too, so it displayed a bright green flamingo standing on a rainbow, which was not only an affront to one’s senses but also the least attractive thing in the whole building.

Surya’s drink was half-finished by the time his sobs quietened. He then, surprisingly, spoke a little about his sexuality and what it meant for him. To him, when he realised he wasn’t straight. His safety, his identity – he was grieving the loss of all of it.

Akira offered some of the diverse experiences he’d had with other people. He tried to explain that everyone had their own preferences, how liking someone didn’t have to mean anything more than that, and that Surya wasn’t just his sexuality. He felt like his words were stumbling into each other a lot, and he rambled too much, but he didn’t want Surya to feel alone.

“What if I can’t keep pretending?” Surya whispered. “To be normal, I mean.”

That nearly cracked Akira’s heart in two, and he shook his head. “There’s no such thing as ‘normal’, or our shop wouldn’t exist.”

He could tell he wasn’t getting through to him, but he didn’t know what else to say. He brought his face closer, catching Surya’s eyes.

“There’s no audience, no script, or role you have to play. You’re not suddenly someone else having to perform to be liked, and you’re not damaged. You’re just here, trying your best, and you’re learning about yourself and you’re growing. It’s okay,” he said. “You’ll be okay.”

Even if it wasn’t okay, he hoped with all his heart that Surya had people to love him in the meantime.

In the last quarter of their session, he lightly touched Surya’s elbow, leaning in to ask if he was sure he didn’t want anything more. Surya stunned him by lacing their fingers together. They sat there like that, palm to palm, as Surya used the edge of his sleeve to dry his cheeks.

It was the most unassuming session Akira had ever held, but as it turned out, it meant more to him. The courteous half-smile Surya directed at him whenever they passed each other was just as vacant as the one he directed at everyone else. His friendliness empty, because he didn’t remember who Akira was.

And yet, Akira couldn’t help himself. Naïve hope drove him to check the shop’s monitors frequently, waiting for Surya to visit again. He’d peek into the foyer whenever he heard the door’s jingle, and he warned Takahashi not to interfere.

But Surya never came, and whenever they crossed paths at school, he never recognised Akira. Then he graduated, and Akira resigned himself to the idea that he’d never see anyone like him again – not even in passing.

That was fine. That was life. It was always best to keep the loosest hold on anything he liked because he always had to let it go, and this was a long time ago, so he told himself it didn’t matter anymore. And anyway, he was distracted by Keisuke and trying to survive the Hanseol team.

Then Kaoru happened. Otsuka mentioned some ‘angel’ at their pre-semester practice, and suddenly Surya’s name was on everyone’s lips. That long-buried, almost forgotten hope of Akira’s clawed its way to the surface, lodging itself in him, and he couldn’t help but anticipate meeting Surya again.

What he never fully considered in all his daydreaming, though, was Surya’s sharp edges.