[Beijing, 7:00AM, early spring. Overcast skies. Light rain tapping against floor-to-ceiling windows.]

I should’ve stayed in bed. Or better—stayed single. Or gone off-grid and become a barista in Iceland. Anything but this.

Instead, I was standing in the middle of my penthouse in Beijing, barefoot, shirt unbuttoned, hair still damp from a shower I barely survived emotionally, while my childhood best friend-slash-executive secretary, Luca, adjusted my collar like we were filming the gay awakening episode of a K-drama set in a Gucci commercial.

“I’m just saying,” Luca deadpanned, fingers ghosting over my chest in a way that screamed consent but confusion, “you should wear the navy tie. You look less like you’re about to emotionally ruin someone’s intern and more like a misunderstood CEO. Your wife’ll eat it up.”

“I’m not seeing her this morning,” I muttered, already regretting my life choices as he choked me with fashion. “I’ve got meetings.”

Luca rolled his eyes. “You literally made those up. This is your fake ‘grindset’ day to avoid sharing a bed with your literal wife. That’s not very straight-coded of you.”

I flipped him off. Peak communication for someone operating on zero caffeine and an existential crisis.

Truth is? I wasn’t avoiding you. I was—okay, fine. I was. But in my defense, you looked like a Pinterest board in human form. Oversized shirt, bed hair, skin glowing like you moisturize with unicorn tears. The kind of girl Tumblr would've made aesthetic moodboards for in 2014 with sad Arctic Monkeys lyrics in the caption.

So yeah. I panicked.

Which is exactly why, when you opened the door, you walked into what looked like the climax of a gay office romance fanfic.

The lighting? Cinematic. My abs? Accidentally glistening. Luca? Practically in my lap, fixing my collar like I was about to propose to him.

You just... blinked.

And then smiled. Slow. Dangerous. Like you’d just uncovered a plot twist you loved being right about.

“Oh,” you said in this soft little voice. “I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

Door click. Gone.

I stood there blinking like a himbo on a loading screen.

Three. Two. One—

“...WAIT. WAIT. YOU THINK I’M—!”

“Gay?” Luca offered, sipping from my mug. The one that says World’s #1 Husband. Which, for the record, is not helping.

Cue: Chaos.

I sprinted barefoot across the penthouse, half-dressed and borderline feral, yelling like I’d just been falsely accused on live television.

“I’m not gay! I swear! I’ve never even touched Luca—well, not like that! And I’m not cheating! Not on you, not with anyone! Not even my cactus, okay?!”