Page 117 of Glitched Fates & Stolen Mates

I told him about getting swept up in the crowd surge at rush hour, how I’d lost my phone and couldn’t find the exit signs with bodies pressed against me from every direction. How I’d ended up sitting on the platform floor for two hours, back against a pillar, trying to remember breathing techniques whilst security guards and concerned strangers kept checking on me. Kit’s expression grew increasingly concerned, his stirring slowing to a stop as he listened. I glossed over the worst bit—my complete mortification of being twenty and having a panic attack in public.

“That sounds absolutely terrifying,” Kit said softly.

“It was. But Seoul’s incredible when you’re not having a breakdown in the middle of it.”

Kit’s eyes lit up, the soft edges of a smile dancing on his lips. “Maybe one day we could go together. I could handle the crowds for you. Make sure you don’t get trampled.”

My heart did the impossible—became a helium balloon broken free of its chain, floating up and up until it pressed against my ribs. This. This was what it was supposed to feel like.

I’d never understood what people meant when they talked about chemistry, about that spark. I’d kissed a few people before—girls, and that disastrous attempt with Wren—but it had always felt like following a script I’d never properly learned. Like I was missing some crucial piece of software that everyone else had installed at birth.

But this thing with Kit? It was like discovering I’d been colourblind my whole life and suddenly seeing the world in full spectrum. Addictive in the way that first hit of caffeine rewired your neural pathways, except instead of jittery energy, it was this warm, golden certainty spreading through my chest. I wanted to chase this feeling, hoard it, let it reprogramme every circuit in my brain. Bind it to myself so thoroughly that nothing could ever take it away.

“Yeah,” I managed. “Sounds like a plan.”

Kit set me to watering his houseplants while he finished cooking, giving me increasingly detailed instructions about how much water each one needed—apparently the snake plant was a drama queen who’d sulk if overwatered.

Upon tasting the wine, I had to admit it was quite nice. Kit’s mushroom pasta dish was, unsurprisingly, the best thing I’d ever eaten. He packed up the leftovers in a container for me to take home, and I set a mental reminder to drag Lily round to try some.

“Right,” he said, wiping his hands on that flour-dusted apron. “Dessert time.”

Soon, the smell of frying batter filled his flat, followed by the sweet warmth of cinnamon and brown sugar as he spooned the filling into each golden pancake.

When he finished, instead of setting them out on the dining table, he loaded them into a deep bowl and gave me this shy, almost nervous look.

“Come over here,” he said, settling onto the sofa and patting his lap.

I raised an eyebrow but climbed onto him anyway, legs straddling his thighs. “What are you—”

He picked up one of the hotteok and brought it to my mouth, eyes sparkling.

“Seriously?” I said, though I was fighting back a smile.

“Humour me.”

I rolled my eyes but opened my mouth obediently. The pancake was perfect—crispy outside, soft and sweet inside, the filling still warm enough to make me close my eyes in appreciation. Kit’s thumb brushed away a crumb from the corner of my mouth, and a shiver trilled through me.

“Good?” he asked.

“Amazing,” I said. “The best hotteok I’ve ever had.”

He fed me another, then another, eating half himself, until the bowl was empty except for the crystallised sugar stuck to the bottom. Kit scraped it up with his fingers, golden grains clinging to his skin.

“Open,” he said softly.

I parted my lips, and he slipped his fingers into my mouth. The sugar dissolved instantly, leaving behind the taste of cinnamon and Kit. I swirled my tongue around his fingertips, cleaning away every trace of sweetness.

His breath hitched.

The sugar was long gone, but I kept his fingers in my mouth anyway, watching his pupils dilate as I sucked gently on them. His free hand gripped my hip, and his breathing turned ragged.

“Felix,” he whispered, and there was something desperate in the way he said my name that made heat coil low.

I released his fingers with a soft pop, but before I could say anything, his mouth was on mine, urgent and hungry, and all I could think was more, more, more.

He broke away, bringing his mouth to my ear to murmur. “Do you still want to—”

I nodded so rapidly I nearly gave myself whiplash, trying to transmit every desperate yes through the movement even though my stomach was doing acrobatics that would make Freddy jealous.