The man Snow bumped into was tall— taller than most —with a build that suggested both power and strength, he towered over Snow with ease.
He was not too lean and not too bulky, but he was built solid. One could tell he'd spent a lot of time sculpting it to perfection. It truly made a guy think twice about his own physical appearance.
He wore a dark suit, crisp and clean, but not flashy. The white collared shirt stretched taut against his chest, peeking out of the black suit. His wheat coloured skin showing from the opening of the white shirt, like he didn't care enough to button it to the top but still managed to look better than anyone else.
His face was striking in a way that felt almost unfair, sharp lines, high cheekbones, pale grey eyes that looked down at Snow in an apathetic way, and a mouth that looked like it hadn't smiled in a long time. His black hair was cut a little short, nothing extravagant, just something that complemented his face.
Their shoulders had brushed, just barely, but the contact had frozen Snow mid-step.
And for a split second, their eyes locked. Stillness against stillness.
Snow didn't move. And for a second, neither did he.
"Sir," A voice called from behind, interrupting the invisible sparks flying between the two men.
Finally, the man glanced awa, toward the one who'd spoken. It was an aide in a buzz cut and tailored coat, standing beside the open door of a sleek black car.
His eyes, unbothered, drifted from the aide and back at Snow.
Snow lowered his gaze slightly, his tone even.
"Sorry." He said to the man and stepped aside, giving way.
The man gave a small nod, then turned and walked off without a word.
"Any problem, sir?" the aide asked in a low voice.
"No" the man replied. His tone absolute.
He slipped into the car, the door shut behind him with a muted click. Seconds later, the engine purred and the car pulled away from the curb, disappearing into the traffic.
Snow didn't look back. But as the wind shifted and the scent of cologne faded, his eyes narrowed just slightly — the way a knife narrows to a point. No smile. No expression. Just a small change in the shape of stillness.
"Zuzu!" Jamie's voice cut in, snapping him out of his trance like state. "Come on, table's in the back!"
Snow turned, letting the moment pass. He moved with quiet steps, trailing behind Jamie through the bar's soft hum of voices and lights.
The booth was cramped with energy. Three girls, dressed to kill, sipping cocktails and throwing easy laughs into the air. It seemed like Jamie had done a good job of keeping them entertained before Snow got there.
"For the sake of my friend who promised not to be late but is in fact late, I'll introduce myself again" Jamie threw a side eye at Snow and smiled back at the girls.
"I'm James, only close friends call me Jamie. Twenty-seven. Gemini. Emotionally available. I make a killer truffle omelette and I don't ghost unless I'm dead."
The girls laughed.
"And that—" he motioned toward Snow dramatically, "—is the international man of mystery. Don't let the face fool you, he has a soul… I think."
Jamie introduced himself like a puppy off-leash, shaking hands and making jokes, it was all charm and zero brakes, like he'd make friends with a brick wall if it gave him a smile.
Snow slid into the corner of the booth, settling in with a grace that didn't match the noise around him. He didn't try to smile. He couldn't be bothered to.
The girls noticed.
One leaned closer whispering to Snow.
"What's your name?"
"Xue— Snow," he corrected, calmly.
"That's so pretty," another one said, cocking her head. "Is it a nickname?"
Snow didn't know how to reply. It was the literal meaning of his name. Finally, he spoke. "Something like that."
"Where are you from?"
"Here."
"No, like originally?"
Snow took a sip of water, unbothered. Sure he was of Chinese origin and he wasn't born in the UK, but he's lived there for the most his life, so wouldn't that make him English?
"Depends on what you mean by 'originally.'"
The girls exchanged glances, then laughed. Snow wasn't sure about what was funny to the girls but they were certainly intrigued.
Jamie nudged him under the table, leaned in, and whispered,
"Told you. Asian rizz. You're like a mystery buffet to them, bro."
Snow didn't respond. He just looked at Jamie, blinked once, then let his gaze drift lazily back to the girls.
They kept asking him questions, about where he went to school, if he had a girlfriend, what music he liked. Snow answered some, dodged others. He was always polite but was careful enough not to say too much about himself, he preferred it that way.
Still, the mystery did its work.
One of the girls leaned in a little too close, brushing his arm.
"You're the quiet type."
"Mn," Snow remarked weakly, trying to put some distance between himself and the girl.
"That's hot."
Jamie suddenly whooped up beside him.
"Zuzu, if you don't leave with at least one number tonight, I'm disowning you."
Snow let the moment hang. Then weakly murmured back to him, "Wouldn't you have to know me first to disown me?"
Jamie blinked, clearly he didn't expect Snow to reply him in that manner, then burst into laughter.
"Damn, Zuzu! Where was this savage energy last semester?"
Snow didn't answer, he just looked away, out the window. The streetlights blinked outside like tired stars.
He wasn't really listening anymore. Not to Jamie, not to the girls.
His mind had already drifted back — to the man in black, the one with eyes like winter glass and steel.
Something about that moment still clung to him. Not just the way the man had looked at him — but the way Snow had looked back.
Snow's fingers tapped in slow rhythm on the table.