Cercis

Shun doesn’t move.

He just sits there, frozen, like I’ve just asked him to disarm a bomb instead of unzip a dress.

I glance over my shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “What, you don’t want to?” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to, slurred just slightly. “I’m not gonna bite.”

Still nothing. The guy looks like he’s stuck in a moral crisis.

Fine. Whatever. I’ll do it myself.

I fumble with the zipper again, reaching back, twisting awkwardly, muttering curses under my breath. “I swear, if I die in this dress, tell Jerry to bury me in it so he can feel guilty for the rest of his stupid life.”

The zipper doesn’t budge. Of course it doesn’t.

Shun sighs behind me, quiet but deep, and before I can say another word, I feel his hand, warm, careful, on my shoulder.

I freeze this time.

His touch is so light it’s almost not there. He hesitates for a second, and then, with that same quiet gentleness he always has, he moves his other hand to the zipper.

The sound it makes is tiny but deafening in the silence.

zzzzzip

The air against my skin feels cold all of a sudden. The fabric loosens, sliding slightly from my shoulder. I don’t turn around. I can feel his breath, too close.

“Thanks,” I mumble, voice low. “I can manage from here.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just lets out a quiet “…okay.”

I take a small step forward, gripping the dress so it doesn’t fall completely. My reflection in the mirror catches the two of us, me, half-drunk and disheveled, him sitting behind me, his expression unreadable.

“I still wanna try your dress,” I say, trying to sound casual, but my throat’s dry. “You went through the trouble, right? Would be rude not to.”

Shun looks down, rubbing the back of his neck. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” I cut him off, forcing a grin. “Besides, gold’s not really my color.”

He smiles faintly at that, a quiet kind of smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Alright,” he says softly. “I’ll wait here.”

As soon as I entered my room, I exhaled a breath I didn’t know I was holding. My heartbeat feels way too loud for no reason.

I look at myself again in the mirror, the golden dress halfway undone, hanging loose around my shoulders. My hair’s a mess, my cheeks are flushed. I look ridiculous.

Still, I can’t help but smirk to my reflection.

“Nice going, Cercis,” I whisper. “Real smooth.”

Then, quietly, almost too quiet for myself to hear, I add—

“Why does it always end up like this with him?”

The black dress slips over my skin like it was made for me.

I study myself in the mirror, the way the fabric catches light, the way it clings and falls in all the right places. It’s simple but striking, and the color makes my hair look almost silver, my eyes brighter than usual. I tilt my head, smirking at my reflection.

“Well, damn,” I mutter. “Good taste, Kornblume.”

It’s ridiculous how much better this one feels than Jerry’s overpriced gold nonsense. The best part? The zipper. I can actually reach it. Independence restored.

For a moment, I let myself admire it. I feel bonita, not the kind of delicate, porcelain beauty Shun exudes, but something sharp, something that could bite back.

And maybe that’s what I like about it.

But then my gaze drifts past the mirror to the wall... to the sketches.

Shun. Giovanni. Their faces staring back at me in graphite lines. I sigh.

“Don’t get attached,” I remind myself quietly. “Keep him close, sure. But don’t be stupid.”

I peel off the dress and slip back into my usual clothes, oversized shirt, comfy shorts, the real me. The one who drinks too much and swears even more.

When I step out, Shun’s sitting on the couch, fiddling with his phone like a polite guest who doesn’t know what to do with himself.

I lean against the doorframe. “Alright, you can’t see me in the dress right now,” I announce, deadpan. “You’ll just have to wait ‘til the party. Builds anticipation or whatever.”

He looks up, blinking, then smiles, that soft, disarming smile that makes it really hard to keep my walls up. “That’s fine,” he says. 

“Oh, it does fit me,” I say with a grin, plopping down beside him. “Your pick wins. Don’t tell my boss I said that or he’ll deduct my paycheck out of spite.”

Shun chuckles, shaking his head. “Good thing I’ll see it in person, then. The agency I work with’s attending that party, too.”

I pause mid-sip of my drink, narrowing my eyes. “You’re going?”

“Of course,” he says, his tone calm, almost teasing. “So I’ll definitely get to see how good my dress looks on you.”

I roll my eyes, trying not to smile. “You make it sound like you designed it yourself.”

He meets my gaze, still smiling, but there’s something in his eyes I can’t quite read. “Maybe I just know you better than you think.”

My chest feels weirdly tight at that, so I break eye contact, snatching a donut piece from the box to stuff in my mouth. “Yeah, yeah, sure, psychic boy. Now eat. I’m not finishing these alone.”

He laughs softly and reaches for one, and for a brief moment, it almost feels… normal. Easy.

But deep down, I know it’s never that simple with us. It never was.