The food court thrummed with life, a chaotic dance of bodies weaving through the crowd like streams carving through a riverbed. People darted and settled at tables, resembling ducks alighting on a shore.
The noise—a relentless buzz akin to cicadas shrilling in the summer heat—pressed against my ears, dragging up memories of jeering crowds from my elementary school days. Before the past could swallow me, a wave of aromas snapped me back: the sharp tang of sizzling food clashing with the delicate sweetness of flowers clutched in my hand.
Eyes flickered past me—some on me, some on the bouquet—though I couldn't tell which held their gaze.
Behind me, the glass wall of a furniture store reflected the bustle. A sale, perhaps, drawing attention I hadn't noticed. I started to turn when a scene straight out of a cheap novel unfolded: a woman cornered by two men, their voices dripping with sleaze.
She was a vision—barely 5'2, her hourglass figure framed by snowy hair that cascaded like a winter storm, cerulean eyes sharp as the ocean's depths. She shrank against the wall, dwarfed by the pair looming over her.
One, a dirty blonde with a wolfcut and slitted, lecherous eyes, oozed graceless charm. His oversized clothes and gaudy jewelry clashed with his lanky frame. The other, shorter with a messy fringe, boxed her in, cutting off escape. My stomach twisted.
"C'mon, lady, have some tea with us! I promise we won't bite~" the blonde crooned, his bony hand reaching for her. She flinched, pressing harder against the glass, eyes squeezed shut, gold ruby earrings glinting like a distress signal.
"You're not waiting on anyone, right?" the second chimed, his hand inching closer. Her helpless expression fueled my resolve.
"She's with me, guys," I said, voice cool and steady. My hands clapped down on their shoulders—one each—with an iron grip. A single twist inward, and they crumpled like paper.
"Ow ow ow! Give, give, give!" they yelped in unison. A light shove sent them sprawling to the floor, tumbling like weeds in the wind.
"Get out." My tone dropped, a low growl rumbling like a dragon's roar.
"Hieee!" They scrambled up, clutching their shoulders, fear propelling them away. "Don't fucking scare women again," I called after them, a final warning laced with venom.
A sharp crinkle drew my attention—a small bouquet in my hand, now a mangled mess. "Oh…" I turned to the woman, holding the ruined flowers. "These weren't supposed to be for them."
Confusion clouded her cerulean eyes before a giggle bubbled up, soft and fleeting like a snowflake's gleam. Her smile stunned me, her arms tucked beneath a cream sweater and light blue cardigan, accentuating her massive, head-sized breasts.
"It's better than being harassed, at least," she said, her voice a gentle drift of snow, laced with a Russian accent that wove sophistication into every syllable. Her white eyelashes fluttered, hooking me like a fish on a line.
'Ah, well, it was free,' I thought, still reeling as she plucked the crumpled bouquet from my hand. She studied it with a tender, empathetic gaze. "These flowers… what do they mean?" Her eyes flicked up, our height difference stark.
"I asked for ones meaning openness and appreciation," I admitted, heat creeping into my cheeks. "I was waiting for my date here—thought I'd give her a little gift for taking a chance on me." I averted my gaze, embarrassment burning.
"Oh!" Her face brightened, a hand rising to her lips as realization dawned. She pointed at me, brow cocked. "Are you Jonathan?"
I blinked, the snowy hair and blue eyes clicking into place from a message bubble earlier. "…Miss Yulia?"
Yulia's gaze swept over me, a slow once-over that brought a flush to her milky cheeks. She cradled her face with a delicate hand, her cerulean eyes half-lidded as a smile flickered across her lips. "I had doubts about the pictures, but…"
That smile shifted—less snowflake now, more like a spark tossed into the dry tinder of my nerves, igniting something deep. "What I see is what I get, mmm?"
"I didn't doubt yours, Miss Yulia, but I'm still enchanted." I scratched my cheek, a nervous tic, fighting to keep my eyes from drifting. Her modest skirt fell just past her knees, a subtle showcase of femininity, while her snowy hair tumbled down like an avalanche of untamed beauty—raw and breathtaking.
She felt less like a person and more like a fairy plucked from a storybook. "I bet you charm tons of ladies with that silver tongue, huh?" she teased, nudging my side with a playful elbow. The contact jolted me—I folded inward, unaccustomed to a woman's touch. Today was proving to be an exception.
"I couldn't really say…" My voice trailed off, half-hearted, as I glanced around. A small crowd had gathered, likely drawn by the earlier commotion, their murmurs buzzing like distant bees.
"Would you like to eat somewhere else?" I asked, voice steady despite the nerves flickering beneath.
"Take me away, Prince Charming~" Yulia's grin bloomed, and she flung herself onto my arm with a gleeful lunge. My bicep pressed between her breasts, splitting them like the Red Sea. 'Thank you, Moses,' I thought, a wry prayer slipping through my agnostic mind as her warmth sparked a quiet thrill against my skin.
For all her snowy beauty—hair like a winter cascade, eyes a piercing blue—her body radiated heat like a furnace. Maybe the chill of the day had sharpened my senses; I wasn't usually this attuned to temperature. Then again, today felt like a step into uncharted territory, a path Kirie's shadow had nudged me toward.
I steered us from the food court's clamor toward a quieter stretch of the mall, lined with restaurants. Words eluded me; conversation felt like a thread I couldn't grasp.
"Thanks for saving me earlier," Yulia broke the silence, her head resting against my shoulder. I slowed my pace to match hers, mindful not to tire her. She didn't strike me as athletic, though her curves might hide strength. "I'm not good with confrontations like that…" Yulia would add with a downcast look.
"It's okay. I'm just glad I was there." The thought of her trapped longer in that scene twisted my gut. Without thinking, I slid the arm she clung to around her back, drawing her gently to my side.
"What a tender touch…" she murmured, glancing up. "I won't break so easily, you know?"
"I just want you safe," I said, the words slipping out softly but firmly. She fell silent, a flush creeping across her cheeks as she leaned closer, her head nestling against me.
"Thank you… I'll make it up to you—lunch is on me today~" Her energy surged back, voice brightening.
'She really is like her texts,' I thought, a smile tugging at my lips.
"Ah!" She poked my cheek, eyes gleaming. "I knew it—you're a heartthrob! A womanizer!" Her playful fists thumped my chest, her blush deepening across her youthful face.
"W-what?" I stammered, baffled. What had I done to earn this?
"Nothing, hmph!" she huffed, turning away with mock indignation. We'd reached a fancier row of restaurants—pasta joints and cozy couple spots. One caught my eye: a café-creamery serving cold treats, ice creams, and desserts.
"Oh, this looks nice! Let's go here!" Yulia chirped, tugging my arm toward it with newfound zeal. It turned out that I am a person who is easily dragged around by others during an outing.
A quaint bell chimed as we stepped inside, the sound ushering us into a world apart. If the flower shop had felt like a medieval realm, this place was a fluffy dream. Pastel hues—soft pinks, blues, and lavenders—painted every corner, likely crafted to draw in women. A quick scan confirmed it: the room buzzed with female friend groups and couples, all nestled in this whimsical wonderland.
"It's all so cute!" Yulia squealed, her voice bubbling with delight.
"This place looks great. I'd love to eat here," I said, stepping toward the counter. The design stayed true to its theme—elegant yet playful, even the register's rounded edges echoing the aesthetic. The receptionist, clad in a stylized maid outfit of pastel shades, greeted us with a warm smile and a slight bow.
"Hello! Welcome to Cloudia. What would you like?" Her cheer sparked a faint blush when I returned the gesture.
From the corner of my eye, I caught Yulia pouting, her fingers reclaiming my arm with a possessive tug.
"Can I have one Cloudy Pasta and a Sky Rain Latte?" she chirped to the cashier. The pasta, per the menu, shimmered light blue, swirled with a three-cheese blend laced with cream cheese, while the latte promised a frothy, ethereal sheen.
"I'll have…" I glanced at the menu the girl handed me, its names dripping with whimsy. Food dye clearly played a starring role in the vibrant colors, though I wondered about the taste beneath the flair.
"The Galaxy Risotto and a Drop of Jupiter milk tea." The risotto gleamed with a cosmic shine—grains of blue and purple mimicking a starry expanse—while the tea layered hues of Jupiter's stormy bands in a tall glass.
"Would you like any pastry? I recommend—" the cashier began, her voice bright.
"We're okay, thank you! How much is the total?" Yulia cut in, sliding her card across the counter with a swift flick.
"Oh, the total comes to…" The cashier tapped the register, processing the transaction. Specialty café prices ran steep—higher than your average spot—so I silently hoped the food matched the cost.
I glanced at Yulia, my brow furrowing slightly. She caught the question in my eyes before I could voice it. "Don't worry about it!" she chirped, brushing it off with a wave.
"Your wait time's about fifteen to twenty minutes—sound okay?" the cashier asked. I nodded, collecting the receipt and card, then led us toward an open corner, quieter, away from the pastel-clad crowd.
I pulled out a chair for Yulia before settling across from her. "What a gentleman," she remarked, her tone hovering between sincerity and tease. Her half-lidded gaze locked onto mine, cerulean eyes glinting like a calm sea under moonlight.
"So?" she began, resting her chin atop her interlocked fingers. My eyes flicked briefly to her chest—framed enticingly between her arms—before snapping back to meet hers.
"What do you do, Jona?" The nickname rolled off her tongue, playful and warm.
"I write books and draw comics," I said, keeping it simple. Her eyes sparked, betraying a curiosity that outshone my plain delivery.
"That's awesome! Do you publish them?" She leaned forward, her interest palpable, snowy hair spilling slightly over her shoulders.
"Digital publications, yeah—on recognized sites. I've got monthly quotas to hit per my contracts." I kept it concise, watching her reaction.
"What kind of stories do you write?" Her eyes gleamed brighter, practically dancing. Was she a reader, or just hooked on the topic?
"Fantasy and action. Grew up on them as a kid—been hooked ever since." She nodded, her smile widening, soft and knowing.
"Mm, mm. Boys and their superheroes, their magical powers, huh?" she mused, her voice lilting with delight. Was she picturing a son, a nephew, some boy from her past?
"Foundation for all men, I'd say." I nodded, agreeing. Those heroes—their grit, their values—shaped me. And no matter the age, the allure of magical worlds and epic battles never dulled. Pure coolness, timeless.
She'd taken the lead, peppering me with questions. Now it was my turn to flip the script.