“Oh, fine,” she huffs, flushing. “Here. Take it.” She holds it out, but when Seokga gives it a tug, she doesn’t let go. Kisa’s eyes widen. I—forgot—that I wrote—about— “Just ignore…Just please ignore what’s been scribbled out.”

Raising his brows, he manages to steal the notebook from her. And, contrary to her plea, he does not ignore what’s been scribbled out. “Your handwriting is atrocious. This is English?”

“Yes,” is the sullen reply. “Can you read it?”

“Passably.” Personally, Seokga hates English. It’s an awful, inconsistent, mutable language to learn. But learned it he had, just in case Hani’s reincarnation lived on the other side of the globe…He has also learned Spanish, French, Italian, Thai, Chinese, Hebrew, and Swahili. He had just started on Arabic and Hindi when he was forced into this vacation.

“Maybe you should give it back.” Kisa suddenly looks extremely anxious. “Actually, yes—I think you should…”

Too late. His eyes have already latched onto something very, very intriguing. A scribble. And underneath that scribble…

“Interesting,” says Seokga, a grin stretching his lips.

Kisa’s hands fly to her mouth. “Ignore the scribbles!”

“I’ve always thought my ‘arse’ was my best feature, too—”

She practically launches herself over to his chair, leaping over the low coffee table, and snatches the notebook back. She’s breathing heavily as she glares down at him, and Seokga’s heart is hammering at how she’s half on the chair, one knee between his legs, a hand gripping one of the armrests…

He blinks lazily up at her. Her hair falls like a curtain around them. Before he can stop himself, Seokga reaches up and tugs one of the beautiful brown curls with a finger. To Seokga’s extreme satisfaction, Kisa’s eyes widen, and her lips part.

His gaze snags on those lips, on their perfect cupid’s bow, their luscious color that reminds him of crushed berries. He gives her every chance to pull away as he slowly moves his hand to her lips, brushing the plump bottom one with his thumb.

Kisa’s eyes darken.

Heat curls low in Seokga’s stomach as her tongue peeks out to tantalizingly swipe against his finger. A moment later, Kisa goes completely blue in clear mortification.

—no idea—why I did that—oh—my gods—

Kisa’s shakily backing away, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. In her hands is the notebook. “Just friends,” she whispers, almost to herself.

“Mmgmumph,” he manages, his brain a jumbled mess.

Eloquent.

Kisa is staring accusatorily at the thread. “It’s up to something,” she says. “I just know it. It’s making me feel…”

WHO, ME? writes the thread before smoothing itself back out.

She points at it, eyes wide in alarm. “Did you see that?”