May 7, 2025
Friday, 11:15 PM – The Drunken Apology That Went Wrong
The knocking started loud.
Then it turned into pounding.
“Ada!”
I nearly tripped over the edge of the bath mat, gripping the towel wrapped around me tighter, my hair still damp beneath the smaller one perched on my head.
The knocking continued. “Spoon Girl!”
I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut. This could not be happening.
“Come on! I know you’re in there!”
I rushed toward it, terrified that he was about to wake up the entire hotel.
I barely managed to unlock it before his fist came down again, missing the doorframe entirely.
The second I pulled it open, he swayed forward, blinking very, very slowly, like he hadn’t actually expected me to answer.
And then—slowly, blatantly, unapologetically—
His eyes dragged down.
Over the towel wrapped snugly around my body.
Then back up again.
Over the damp strands tucked into the smaller towel on my head.
His smirk faltered.
For a second, he didn’t say anything.
Didn’t move.
Just stood there, unblinking, his gaze lingering too long, too slow, too obvious.
Then, finally—he exhaled.
“Whoa,” he muttered.
I folded my arms over my chest. “Leo. What the hell are you doing?”
Leo blinked at me again.
Then, in a hazy, half-slurred voice, he said, “Apologising’.”
I exhaled sharply, tightening my grip on the towel and stepping behind the door a little for coverage. “For what? The fact that you and Ethan spent the entire night treating me like a chew toy?”
Leo grinned, which was absolutely not the correct reaction.
“See?” he slurred, “Knew you were still mad.”
I gave him a flat look. “Because I am still mad.”
Leo hummed like he was considering that. Then he swayed slightly, tipping forward before catching himself on the doorframe.
“But,” he said slowly, “you diid open the door for me.”
I stared at him. “Because you were about to wake up the entire hotel.”
Leo grinned, loose and smug.
I groaned, rubbing a hand over my face. “Leo.”
His gaze dipped again.
There was a heat in his eyes now, the same slow, half-lidded kind of awareness that had been there in the taxi.
I’d just been too busy panicking to notice.
Leo exhaled, his voice dropping lower, rougher, more slurred.
“Spoon Girl.”
I swallowed. “What?”
His fingers slid off the doorframe, his body swaying just slightly toward me.
“You look—”
He trailed off, brows drawing together like his own thoughts were taking too long to reach him.
For a second, his eyes flickered down again.
Then back up. And I watched his throat bob slightly.
His smirk wasn’t gone.
But it wasn’t sharp now.
More hesitant. More muddled by the alcohol.
More real.
I sucked in a sharp breath, stepping forward to push him back before he got any ideas.
“Leo, go—”
Before I could finish, he stepped in.
And in one slow, careless, unsteady motion, he shut the door behind him.
The lock clicked.
The hotel room suddenly felt too small.
Leo was standing way too close, his body loose from the drinks, but still too solid, too heavy in this space.
I sucked in a slow breath. “Leo, seriously—”
His hands found my waist before I could push him away.
Not rough.
Not demanding.
Just holding me there.
I froze.
Not because I was scared.
Because I wasn’t sure if I wanted to move, the scent of him mixed with alcohol and all sorts of unwise decisions.
Leo exhaled, his head dipping slightly, his breath warm against my cheek.
“Spoon Girl,” he muttered.
My heart stopped.
“W-what?”
Leo leaned in.
And then—just as I braced myself for something that was definitely a bad idea—
His lips parted.
And he muttered, “I’m gonna pass out.”
And then he collapsed.
Right on top of me.
Friday, 11:20 PM – The Slow, Tragic Fall
I felt the moment his legs gave out.
One second, he was standing.
The next—he wasn’t.
I let out a startled gasp as his full weight slammed into me, knocking me straight onto the carpet.
Leo was completely unconscious.
His forehead pressed into my shoulder, his arms still loosely wrapped around my waist, his entire body pinning me to the floor.
I groaned loudly.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
Leo didn’t respond.
Because Leo was already passed out.
I wiggled underneath him, pushing at his shoulder.
“Leo.”
Nothing.
I tried again, shoving harder.
“Leo, wake up.”
He let out a soft, completely unbothered sigh against my collarbone.
I felt my entire body tense.
I braced my hands against his chest and shoved.
Dead weight.
His forehead was still pressed against my shoulder, arms half around my waist like I was a pillow.
I groaned, shifting my legs. “Leo. Get. Off.”
His breath hitched slightly, and then he let out a slow, gravelly noise—somewhere between a groan and a sigh.
“Mm.” Leo didn’t open his eyes.
Instead, his fingers tightened slightly around my waist before finally, finally, he shifted.
I took my chance and shoved him off me with more force than necessary. His back hit the carpet with a quiet thump.
He landed half-sprawled, one arm slung over his eyes.
For a second, he just lay there.
Then, sluggishly, he blinked up at me.
And something changed.
His gaze dragged lazily from my bare legs to the towel wrapped around me—damp, a little loose at the edges from wrestling him off. A single drop of water slipped from my hair onto my collarbone.
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And that was when I saw it.
The slow, dawning flicker of recognition.
It wasn’t embarrassment.
It wasn’t shock.
It was something else.
Something drunken and smug and undeniably pleased.
Leo’s grin curled, sharp and satisfied, and I didn’t like the way his eyes glinted with something triumphant.
Then, voice low, slurred but delighted, he murmured—
“Ethan hasn’t seen you like this, has he?”
I stared.
Of course he turned this into a competition.
Even now—drunk, sprawled on my floor, having just passed out on top of me like a human sandbag—Leo Huang still managed to turn this into a goddamn competition.
“Are you serious?” I said flatly.
Leo just grinned wider, stretching out on the floor like he had somehow won something. weight.
His forehead was still pressed against my shoulder, arms half around my waist like I was a pillow.
I groaned, shifting my legs. “Leo. Get. Off.”
His breath hitched slightly, and then he let out a slow, gravelly noise—somewhere between a groan and a sigh.
“Mm.” Leo didn’t open his eyes.
Instead, his fingers tightened slightly around my waist before finally, finally, he shifted.
I took my chance and rolled him off me with more force than necessary, his back hitting the carpet with a quiet thump.
He landed half-sprawled, one arm slung over his eyes.
For a second, he just lay there.
He muttered, “You’re really strong, Spoon Girl.”
I grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at his face.
Leo groaned, peeling it off. “Feisty.”
He grinned.
Leo’s smirk faltered—just for a second, just long enough that I saw it.
Something sluggish and smug flickered behind his eyes.
Like he was registering it. Like he was cataloging it.
Like he had just found something Ethan didn’t have.
“Ethan hasn’t seen you like this, has he?”
I stared.
Even now—drunk, sprawled on my floor, having just passed out on top of me like a human sandbag, Leo Huang still managed to turn this into a competition.
“Are you serious?” I said flatly.
Leo grinned wider. “I mean—”
I launched the pillow at his face.
“OUT.”
Leo laughed, dodging just barely as he stumbled to his feet.
But just as he reached for the door, he hesitated.
Then, softer—
“You really are mad, aren’t you?”
I exhaled sharply. “Yes, Leo.”
He nodded once. “Okay.”
Then he opened the door.
And just like that—he was gone.
Saturday, 8:45 AM – The Breakfast Game Plan
I woke up with a headache.
Not from alcohol.
From life choices.
From whatever the hell last night was.
From Leo Huang existing.
But instead of dwelling on it, I did the mature thing.
I got up. I showered. I dressed.
And I made a very important decision.
Last night?
Didn’t happen.
Saturday, 9:00 AM – The Breakfast Standoff
The dining area was quiet, filled with the slow movements of hungover travelers and the faint clinking of utensils.
Leo and Ethan were already seated when I walked in.
Both of them looked like hell.
Leo was slouched slightly, his coffee untouched, fingers idly rubbing his temple like he was trying to press the hangover out of his skull.
Ethan, sitting across from him, wasn’t much better—quieter than usual, gaze distant, sipping at his tea like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
Which, to be fair, it probably was.
I grabbed my food and walked straight past them to a separate table.
Leo’s eyes followed me.
Waiting.
Expecting.
I did not look at him.
I sat down. Picked up my chopsticks. Started eating.
Leo exhaled sharply, shifting in his seat.
I still didn’t look at him.
Across from him, Ethan blinked at his tea, visibly trying to recover from last night.
The last time he had seen me, I’d been mad at him. Very mad.
And he had been very, very drunk.
I could tell he wasn’t sure if I still was.
Leo, on the other hand, knew.
Because I wasn’t mad at him.
I wasn’t anything.
And that was worse.
Leo leaned forward slightly, resting his chin in his palm. “Spoon Girl.”
I hummed in acknowledgment.
Did not look up.
Leo’s fingers tapped lightly against the table. “You sleep well?”
I took another sip of tea. “Like a baby.”
Silence.
Then—soft but pointed, Leo muttered, “Liar.”
I finally glanced at him.
Just once.
Just long enough for him to see that I wasn’t playing this game with him.
Leo knew it immediately.
His jaw flexed, his fingers stilling against the table.
I went back to eating.
Ethan exhaled, shifting slightly. “Can you two keep it down?”
Leo huffed, leaning back. “You should be asking her to keep it up. I was enjoying the silent treatment.”
Ethan rubbed a hand over his face. “Jesus, Huang.”
Leo ignored him.
Instead, he stared at me for another long second.
Then, finally, he picked up his coffee.
And that was the moment he realized I wasn’t going to acknowledge last night.
Not now.
Not ever.
Saturday, 10:30 AM – The Last Team Outing
The team had decided on one last sightseeing trip before heading back to the hotel to pack.
Samantha had suggested Asakusa. “Cultural experience. Street food. Shopping. Perfect final day activity.”
Eric groaned. “Can we at least not walk a million steps today?”
“You’re literally built like a football player,” I pointed out. “I think you’ll survive.”
Leo, walking beside me, leaned heavily against my shoulder. “I won’t. Carry me, Spoon Girl.”
I shoved him off. “Absolutely not.”
Leo groaned dramatically, rubbing his temples. “Ugh, don’t be mean. I’m suffering.”
I ignored him, stepping ahead.
Leo sighed, picking up his pace to stay beside me. “Come on, a little sympathy? I was brutally attacked this morning, you know.”
I scoffed. “Attacked?”
Leo nodded solemnly. “With a pillow. Several times.”
I rolled my eyes, but my lips twitched.
Leo’s grin widened. He saw it.
The problem was—he always did.
And he always took it as a win.
Saturday, 11:45 AM – The Shift in Attention
I had spent most of the morning not looking at Ethan.
Not avoiding him, exactly.
Just… not engaging.
Leo had been keeping up his usual antics, teasing me, making sure my attention stayed on him.
And Ethan?
He had been silent.
Not out of detachment, but something else.
Something that sat in the way he rolled his shoulders, the careful way he held himself, the moments he almost spoke and didn’t.
Guilt.
Regret.
I had assumed he would stay that way.
Until, suddenly, he didn’t.
Leo bumped my shoulder lightly. “What do you think, Spoon Girl? Want a charm for luck?”
I scoffed. “I think you need it more than I do.”
Leo grinned. “Harsh.”
“Honest,” I corrected.
And then, for the first time since last night, Ethan stepped forward.
“You should get one for yourself,” he said smoothly.
Leo glanced at him, amused. “Oh? You believe in luck?”
Ethan shrugged. “No. But maybe she’ll finally be nice to you.”
I let out a surprised laugh.
Leo turned to Ethan. “Wow, you’re talking again. Thought we lost you back at the shrine.”
Ethan met his gaze evenly. “No, I was just waiting for you to stop talking.”
Leo smirked. But his eyes flicked toward me.
Because I was looking at Ethan now.
And just like that, he had taken back my attention.
Saturday, 3:00 PM – The Moment That Almost Happened
I realized we had lost the others only when I turned and they weren’t there.
I frowned, glancing up the street, expecting to see Samantha’s bright red jacket somewhere in the crowd.
Nothing.
I turned toward Ethan. “Where—”
“They went left,” he said easily, slipping his hands into his pockets.
I scowled. “And we didn’t follow them because…?”
Ethan lifted a brow. “You were busy.”
I blinked. “Busy?”
He nodded toward the paper bag in my hands.
I looked down.
Oh.
The handcrafted stationery set I had spent ten whole minutes debating over.
I groaned. “You could’ve said something.”
Ethan hummed. “Figured you’d notice your own surroundings.”
I shot him a glare. “Great. Now we have to find them again.”
Ethan exhaled, glancing up at the cloudy sky, then back at me. “Or.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Or?”
“Or we could keep going,” he said simply. “They’ll survive without us for a bit.”
I hesitated.
For no real reason, except that he was giving me an option.
An out.
Ethan was already watching me, waiting.
I exhaled. “Fine. Let’s go.”
And just like that, I chose to keep walking with him.
Saturday, 3:10 PM – The Tea House
We wandered without a plan, weaving through smaller side streets, the noise of the main district muffling behind us.
Then, tucked between two taller buildings, we found the tea shop.
It was cramped, warm, and quiet.
The kind of place that forced you to step inside fully—once you entered, you had no choice but to shuffle through the narrow aisles before coming out the other side.
I stepped in first, squeezing past the wooden doorframe, the scent of dried tea leaves and faint incense wrapping around me.
Ethan followed, his presence solid and steady behind me, close enough that I felt the warmth of him at my back.
There were only two aisles, just wide enough for one person to move through at a time.
Which meant that once we were inside, we had to keep moving forward together.
The shop was quiet.
No other customers, just the soft rustling of the store attendant behind the small counter, sorting through stock and not paying attention to us.
I exhaled slowly, stepping ahead, trailing my fingers over the delicate wooden shelves stacked with small tins of tea leaves, ceramic cups, and neatly wrapped gift sets.
Ethan walked just behind me, his fingers brushing lightly against the edge of a teapot, his movements unhurried, like he wasn’t in a rush to leave.
For the first time all day, it felt normal.
The tension from last night, from breakfast—all of it felt distant here.
I picked up a small ceramic cup, its glaze smooth beneath my fingertips.
“It’s nice,” I murmured.
Ethan hummed. “You already have too much stuff.”
I huffed a small laugh. “Samantha’s going to kill me.”
Ethan’s voice was amused, low. “You brought a second suitcase just for omiyage.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t plan on filling it completely.” I sighed, then, without thinking, I glanced up at him over my shoulder.
And that’s when Ethan said it.
Saturday, 3:12 PM – The Apology
“I was an ass last night.”
I blinked.
Ethan wasn’t looking at me.
He was studying a row of cast-iron teapots, turning one slightly in his hands. His voice had come out even, casual, like he wasn’t saying anything significant.
But he was.
I set the cup down. “Wow. No buildup? No small talk first?”
Ethan lifted a brow. “You hate small talk.”
I scoffed. “Still. A warning would’ve been nice.”
Ethan’s lips twitched. “Would you have let me say it?”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Scowled. “Fair point.”
There was a pause, just long enough to make me aware of how quiet the store was, how close we were in the narrow space.
Then Ethan exhaled.
“I let it get out of hand,” he said, rolling the teapot handle between his fingers. “I should’ve pulled back before you had to tell me to.”
I wasn’t expecting that.
I had expected an excuse.
Expected some justification.
But this?
This was something else.
I shifted slightly, watching him now. “You really mean that?”
Ethan held my gaze. “Yeah.”
The words landed heavier than I expected.
I nodded once, slowly. “Good.”
Then, after a second—softer, almost to myself—
“I guess I was kind of an ass, too.”
Ethan tilted his head slightly. “Mark the date.”
I let out a quiet laugh.
And for the first time since last night, the tension between us lightened.
Saturday, 3:15 PM – The Moment That Almost Happened
We both reached for a ceramic cup at the same time.
Our hands brushed.
The touch was barely anything—just skin against skin for the briefest second.
But it was enough.
I looked up.
And suddenly, we were close.
Not too close.
But closer than I had thought.
His posture was still relaxed, but his gaze wasn’t.
His fingers, still barely touching mine, flexed slightly against the ceramic.
And then—I looked at his lips.
I let myself do it.
Let my gaze drift, let the moment stretch, deepen, become something heavier between us.
And Ethan?
He noticed immediately.
His posture shifted, his focus sharpened—like he had been waiting for this, like he had been waiting for me.
The space between us dwindled, drawn tighter by something neither of us acknowledged, but both of us felt.
A slow inhale.
A quiet pause.
And then he shifted just a little closer.
I could feel the warmth of him now, the steady, deliberate press of his presence against the quiet hum of the shop.
His eyes lowered slightly, flicking over my face, my lips, then back up—like he was making sure.
My pulse skipped, then stuttered.
He was leaning in now, just barely, just enough for me to feel the shift in air, the slow, deliberate pull of something that had always been there but had never been named.
And then—his voice dipped lower, smoother, deliberate.
“Tell me to stop.”
The words landed low, deliberate.
My breath caught.
The control was slipping.
Not because of what he was doing.
Because of how I was looking at him.
His gaze searched mine.
Waiting.
Testing.
I didn’t tell him to stop.
But then—I hesitated.
And Ethan saw it.
Ethan’s fingers flexed slightly, his thumb brushing against the ceramic cup in my hands.
He inhaled sharply, like he was on the edge of something dangerous. Like he was waiting for me to pull away first.
He paused, and I saw him swallow as he pulled back.
His hand ran through his hair—something I rarely saw him do—before he took a shaky breath.
Then, he seemed to reset, his usual restraint clicking back into place like it had never left.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
The space between us felt different now—smaller, charged, something unspoken humming between us.
Then, finally, Ethan exhaled.
“Let’s head back to the others.”
He glanced at me, his voice steady, but there was a warmth in his gaze that seemed new.
He turned first, heading toward the door.
And after a long, heavy second—
I followed.
Saturday, 4:00 PM – The Reflection I Wasn’t Ready For
The tea shop had been quiet, small, ordinary.
Nothing about it should have stood out.
But now, standing in my hotel room, staring at the ceramic cup on the desk, I could still feel the moment.
The space between us.
The way Ethan had looked at me.
The way I had looked at him.
I swallowed, pressing my palms against the desk, steadying myself.
It would’ve been so easy.
To let him kiss me.
To close the distance.
To finally see what had been simmering between us all this time.
And yet, I had hesitated.
And Ethan—Ethan had understood.
I ran a thumb along the edge of the cup, my pulse still too fast, too uneven.
He would wait.
That’s what his eyes had told me.
That’s what his voice had told me.
I wasn’t sure how much longer I wanted him to.
