The room is small, though I suppose I should be grateful that it has four walls.

The ranger station was designed with two bedrooms and a bathroom between them. With the storm rolling in, Mina recommended we take the time to turn on the genny and get showers. They usually kept it off to avoid the noise alerting anyone who might be nearby, but with the thunder and rain, they felt the risk was mitigated. Mina promised we would finish talking after we were cleaned up.

The kid let me shower first so he could take a longer one after. That was fine with me; I wanted time to shave.

Standing in front of the small mirror in the bedroom, I can’t help but feel slightly unnerved at how much my face has changed.

My same tired, blue-gray eyes stare back at me. The circles under my eyes from late nights working overtime for ungrateful clients are still there. And yet—why does it seem like my skin has gotten better? It’s not like I’ve been able to do any sort of skincare. And my wrinkles… are gone? No, wait. Not gone. Just… less?

The white hair is shocking. But not bad, I suppose. I thought it would make me look older, but honestly, it almost seems like it’s making me look younger. Especially with my face shaved. And my wrinkles lessened. And my skin glowing.

Not sure how to feel about that.

The kid comes into the room just as I’m pulling a clean shirt over my head. As I suspected, underneath all that dirt and grime, he’s rather attractive. He’s toweling his hair dry but pauses when he sees me by the mirror.

“What?”

He shuts the door behind him, closing us into the small space. There’s only a single bed in the room, a nightstand, and a dresser. Our bags are tucked into the corner.

“Nothing, just… you look younger without facial hair.”

I scoff. “I may look that way, but don’t be deceived. I’m still miserably old and jaded.”

He sits on the edge of the bed to finish toweling his hair dry. It’s short, but longer than the business cut I wear. Without his shirt on, I can see his muscles are well-defined. He must work out too. I make time to go to the gym a couple times a week myself, though I expect I won’t be going again for a while, given the state of things.

“So, what do you make of them?” he asks, setting the towel aside and lying back on the bed.

I can’t help but admire the way his muscles stretch as he does. His pants ride low on his hips, and the elastic band of his boxers peeks over the top. I lean back and cross my arms over my chest as I consider both him and his question.

“They’re young.”

A smile quirks at the corners of his mouth. “They’re not much younger than me, though. Mina might even be a little older.”

“Exactly.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re really not that old. What are you—thirty? Thirty-two?”

I smirk. “A man never reveals his age.”

“Yeah, well, I’m twenty-six. It’s not like I’m some school kid or something.”

“But you’re still in school, aren’t you?”

“…Not anymore.”

The gravitas of our situation settles over us both for a moment as reality rushes back.

“Why did you lie?” His question isn’t accusatory.

“I didn’t. Not really. Just… withheld more specific details.”

“Oh, so your name is actually Jafar?”

I grimace. “Do I look like a Jafar to you?”

His laugh is surprisingly pleasing. Low and soothing. I hadn’t seen him even really smile before today, and suddenly here he is. Laughing.

That’s rather… dangerous.

He sits up then and eyes me from the bed. I can’t read his look exactly. Something between curiosity and… something more needy.

Ah. So that’s what it is.

“No.”

“But I didn’t even say anything!”

“You did. You’re asking me with your eyes. And the answer is no.”

He lies back down with a groan. “But why? I don’t understand why you’re so opposed. You didn’t seem to mind that first time.”

“Yeah, well.” That first time, I didn’t know what I was doing—what to expect. “Besides, you don’t need it.”

“How could you possibly know what I need?”

He’s staring up at the ceiling, his hands tucked behind his head. He’s probably just relaxing, but I can’t rule out that he’s trying to seduce me with his triceps.

The air between us is relaxed. His demeanor is relaxed. His mood is relaxed. His body is relaxed. I can tell. I can absolutely tell. Ever since the migraine subsided and the blood dried, I’ve been able to tell. I can tell he doesn’t need it—just as much as I can tell how much Yuichi does.

Even from this room, behind two closed doors, I can feel the dense and frayed energy Yuichi is emitting.

I know.

And yet, I won’t.

I shift against the dresser, switching the leg my weight is on as I consider the kid sprawled out on the single bed before me. I know he doesn’t need it, which begs the question: why does he think he does?

“Hey. What’s your name, kid?”

He spares me a glance. “Oh, now you’re asking?”

“Would you rather I keep calling you kid?”

“Maybe. I’ve grown rather fond of it now. It’s like a pet name.”

I scoff. “How cute.”

“How about this.” He sits up. “I’ll tell you my name if you manage to guess it.”

“You want me to… guess it?”

“Yeah.”

“Pfft. Alright, kid. I’ll guess. But in the meantime, you have to use whatever names I give you. Got it?”

His smile is softer now—but still cheeky. Still annoyingly boyish in the kind of way that makes him all too distracting with his shirt off and his hair still damp from the shower.

“Deal.”