You still can’t quite believe it—your first date with Hanma. The whole day at the zoo feels like one long blur of laughter and chaos. He teased you at the flamingos (“look, your twin”), compared himself to a lion at the big cat enclosure, and bought you cotton candy just to steal half of it when you weren’t looking. The sound of children’s laughter, the scent of popcorn, and the cries of animals mix into a whirlwind that feels strangely perfect for him.

By the time you reach Monkey Country, the sun is low, throwing golden light over the cages. The monkeys swing above you, chattering as if mocking the two of you. You sit on a bench, still laughing at one of his sarcastic comments—until you realize how eerily quiet the paths are. The stands are closed, the gates locked.

Your smile fades. “Oh shit, how could they forget about us here?” you mutter, tense.

Hanma only leans back, long legs stretched, hands tucked in the oversized hoodie. That familiar grin plays on his lips, mischief gleaming in his golden eyes. “So…” he says, slow and dramatic, “how about a capuchin monkey?”

You gape at him. “You can’t be serious.”

He tilts his head, pretending to ponder, then leans closer with mock sincerity. “Relax, it’s small. Easy to hide under my hoodie. We’ll name it after you.”

Your cheeks heat up, half from laughing, half from the way he’s looking at you—as if he’s enjoying your reaction more than the joke itself.

“You’re insane,” you murmur, trying not to smile.

Hanma chuckles, a low, playful sound, before nudging your shoulder with his. “Maybe. But you’re stuck here with me. Lucky, huh?”