Cercis

The first thing I see when I open my door is a huge box parked right on my doormat like it owns the place. No note. No warning. Just a massive package glaring up at me first thing in the morning.

“Okay… what the hell is this?” I mutter, rubbing my eyes. I didn’t order anything. I barely have money for groceries, let alone impulse shopping. But then I see my name neatly printed on the tag, and the sender’s name.

Jerry’s company.

I groan. “Of course.”

Before I can overthink it, I grab my phone and text him:

“What is this supposed to be?”

He replies almost instantly, because apparently, rich men don’t sleep.

“A gown for the party. Try not to wrinkle it.”

I call him. “A gown? You’re sending me stuff now? You better not be deducting this from my salary, Jerry.”

He laughs on the other end, that smug, infuriating laugh. “I knew you’d say that. You’re still as feisty as ever, Cercis.”

“You’re damn right I am,” I snap. “For your information, I already asked someone else for a dress.”

“Forget that someone,” he says smoothly. “Just be grateful I even considered buying you one.”

“Grateful? You—” I start, but a voice behind me cuts through my irritation.

“Wow, still got that temper, huh?”

I freeze. That voice is way too close. I turn, and there he is, Jerry, standing right behind me in the hallway, looking far too comfortable for someone who’s supposed to be a CEO.

“Jerry?” I blurt. “What are you doing here? It’s the weekend! How the hell do you even know where I live?”

He chuckles and points to the box. “You work for my company, dummy. Of course, I know your details.”

“Creepy,” I mutter under my breath, but I can’t help noticing the dimples when he smiles. The same damn dimples that used to make me giggle back in high school. I look away fast.

“So?” I ask coolly. “What do you want?”

“I want to see you try the dress,” he says simply.

I roll my eyes. “Of course you do.” I drag the box inside, deliberately ignoring him.

“Not inviting your boss in?” he teases.

I shoot him a cold look. “Fine. Make yourself at home. Just don’t touch anything.”

He grins and steps in. My apartment is small, tidy enough for one person, definitely not the kind of place Jerry Sandoval belongs in. I honestly couldn’t care less.

He sits on my couch, still scanning the place like he’s expecting to find hidden luxury. I grab a juice box and a glass, slam them on the table in front of him. “Serve yourself.”

“Always so charming,” he muses.

Before heading to my room with the box, I glance back. “You better not deduct this from my salary.”

He laughs again. “Relax. You’ll even get an increase.”

I narrow my eyes. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” Then I slam the door and lock it.

Inside, I tear the box open, and, okay, I’ll admit it, the dress is gorgeous. Gold, soft, expensive-looking. For a moment, I even question if it’s too pretty for me. I sigh, stripping off my clothes and slipping it on. It fits… mostly.

Except I can’t reach the damn zipper.

I try. And try again. Twist this way, twist that way. No use. Ten minutes later, Jerry knocks.

“Everything alright in there?”

“Fine!” I lie, tugging at the zipper again like an idiot.

Ten more minutes.

Another knock. “You didn’t pass out, did you?”

I groan. “No! I just—can’t reach the zipper!”

He chuckles through the door. “Need help?”

“I said I can’t reach the zipper, not that it doesn’t fit!”

“I’ll zip it for you.”

“Absolutely not,” I snap. “You might see my chest!”

There’s a pause. Then, that infuriatingly calm voice says, “You do remember I’ve seen your body before, right? You’ve seen mine too. Why so shy now?”

I freeze. My face heats up despite myself. “…You're an ass.”

“Maybe,” he says, his tone smug.

I sigh and turn around, cracking the door open just enough. “Fine. Don’t look too long.”

He steps in, quiet but sure, his hands cool against my bare shoulders as he pulls the zipper up with ease. The fabric glides over my back and settles perfectly into place.

“There,” he says softly. “Fits perfectly.”

I look in the mirror. He’s standing just behind me, the gold shimmering under the light. It really does fit perfectly, elegant, too elegant for someone like me. “Doesn’t suit my face,” I mumble.

“Wrong,” Jerry says simply. “It’s perfect. You look perfect.”

I look away, not wanting to see his reflection behind me. “You really haven’t changed, have you?”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes drift instead toward my wall, covered with sketches and drawings... portraits, mostly of Shun. His expression shifts into something unreadable.

“So,” he says casually, “is Sean your new obsession now?”

That hits a nerve. “Get out.”

He laughs, low and amused, but his gaze lingers, not on Shun’s portrait, but on another frame sitting on my desk. The one of Iris.

And just for a second, I see it, how his whole face softens, how his dimples fade into something melancholic.

“He’s still in love with her,” I think bitterly.

Out loud, I say, “Door’s that way.”

Jerry finally moves, still smirking, but his eyes are heavy with something else entirely.

I practically kick Jerry out of my apartment. He’s laughing, like this whole thing’s one big joke.

“Don’t forget to be proper at the party,” he says, grinning like a smug idiot. “You represent my agency now. Smile, look pretty, try not to punch anyone.”

“Sybau,” I snap, shoving the door shut before he can finish his sentence.

I stand there for a second, breathing hard, glaring at the wood like it personally offended me. I can still hear his stupid laughter echoing down the hallway. When it finally fades, I let out a groan.

“Unbelievable. That man still thinks the world revolves around him.”

Then I glance down at myself. The golden dress glimmers like it’s mocking me.

And that’s when it hits me.

…Wait.

“Crap.”

How the hell am I supposed to take this thing off?

I twist and reach, and twist again. Nope. The zipper might as well be a mile away. “Are you kidding me?” I mumble, tugging until my shoulder cramps. Great. I can’t even undress properly now.

I bang the back of my head lightly against the wall. “Stupid, stupid, stupid, Cercis.”

Fine. Whatever. I’ll deal with this later.

I grab a beer from the fridge, pop it open, and drop onto the couch. “Jerry gives me more headaches than hangovers ever did,” I mutter before taking a long sip. Then another. And another.

Next thing I know, my eyelids are heavy, and the ceiling looks like it’s spinning just a little. I don’t even remember falling asleep.

When I wake up, it’s dark again. My phone’s buzzing non-stop on the table. I groan and grab it, squinting at the screen.

Shun.

“Hey Cercis, I finally got the dress. Want to meet so you can try it?”

I look down at the gold dress I’m still wearing. My brain short-circuits for a second.

“Oh, for f—” I throw my head back against the couch. “Damn it, Jerry.”

(Somewhere out there, Jerry probably sneezed. Serves him right.)

I blink at my phone again. I should say no. I should explain. I should not let him come over.

Instead, I type:

“You can come here. I’ll explain when you get here.”

And just like that, I send him my address.

Good job, Cercis. You’re definitely making great decisions tonight.

It doesn’t take long before the doorbell rings. Right as my phone buzzes again with a text from Shun:

“I’m here.”

I drag myself to the door and open it, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind. “I can explain.”

He blinks at me. Doesn’t even say anything. Just… stares.

I suddenly remember I’m standing there in a gold gown, probably smelling like beer, with hair that looks like it fought a hurricane and lost. Great.

“This—uh—it’s not what it looks like,” I start rambling, waving my hands. “My boss sent this. I didn’t ask for it. Long story. Don’t judge me.”

Shun just keeps staring. The silence gets awkward fast.

I clear my throat. “Right. Come in. Ignore the mess.”

By mess, I mean the empty bottles on the table and the cup I forgot to wash. Jerry’s drink is still sitting there too. Perfect.

Shun steps inside, holding a big paper bag. I can tell there’s something fancy inside it, probably the dress he mentioned.

“So, yeah,” I say, scratching the back of my neck. “This thing—” I tug at the gold fabric, “—was from my boss. I didn’t know he’d already bought one. I’m sorry if I made you go through the trouble.”

Shun shakes his head, smiling softly. “It’s fine. I just thought it’d be nice to help.” He looks a bit embarrassed. “But honestly, the gold looks great on you.”

I roll my eyes. “You don’t have to flatter me to make me feel better.”

He laughs quietly but doesn’t argue.

To make up for it, I grab a couple of leftover donuts and, of course, another beer from the kitchen. “Apology snacks,” I say, plopping them down.

“You really like beer, huh?” he asks, amused.

“It’s called coping,” I say, dead serious, before grinning. “You should try it sometime.”

He laughs again, and we talk, well, I talk. I rant about work, deadlines, clients, all while Shun just listens, patient as ever. He drinks too, though not nearly as much as I do.

Then, in the middle of all that, I notice his gaze shift toward my room. The door’s a little open. From where he’s sitting, he can probably see the sketches taped on the wall... sketches of him.

Oh, no.

Before he can say anything, I panic and drop my beer bottle (loudly) before cupping his cheeks, forcing him to look at me. “Hey!” I say a little too loudly. “Eyes over here.”

He looks stunned, eyes wide.

My brain scrambles for something, anything, to say. “Do you think I’m beautiful?”

Smooth, Cercis. Real smooth.

The question hangs in the air. Shun blinks, caught completely off guard. I instantly regret opening my mouth.

“I mean—forget it,” I mutter, looking away. “That was stupid.”

But his voice comes softly. “You are.”

I look back at him.

“You’re beautiful,” he says again, this time more certain. “The most beautiful girl I’ve ever met.”

For once, I don’t have a smart remark ready.

He looks away, cheeks faintly red. “When we met again at the library, and you didn’t remember me… it hurt. I thought maybe you’d forgotten me completely.”

I swallow hard, looking down at the half-empty bottle in my hand. My chest feels tight, but I don’t say anything. Instead, I clear my throat, trying to shake it off.

“Well,” I mumble, “you can start by helping me out then.”

He blinks. “With what?”

I turn my back toward him, the golden fabric shimmering under the dim light. “Unzip this thing before I suffocate.”