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Gyuvin never liked spring. It’s not a perfect in-between of summer and winter like autumn is— spring is always too hot or too cold.
It was an April night, cold like a midwinter night, as neons reflected in opposite store windows: weak, artificial, blinking on and off but always on. Gyuvin found himself ducking into the nearest building as he shielded himself from unforgiving rain with nothing but a drenched, pathetic backpack. He silently mourned his papers goodbye.
It took him a minute to bear his surroundings, having mindlessly ran into whatever building was closest. A pet store— no, an animal shelter. The bunnies twitched their noses at him; the birds chirped and fluttered at his arrival. It was ironically cheerful, in contrast to him having been drenched head-to-toe, looking like a sad, drowned puppy.
Gyuvin peered outside; he had to stay a little longer, he reasoned, as the rain continued unrelentingly. He heaved a long suffering sigh, and dropped his backpack haphazardly on the floor to text his parents.
“Hi,” A voice said, and Gyuvin almost dropped his phone in surprise. “Can I help you?”
Gyuvin spun around, “Sorry, I just had to hide from the rain, I hope you don’t mind—” he’s met with a tall blonde man, as tall as he was (a rare thing), with big, winged eyes and elegance radiating off him and a tattoo on his neck. Not someone you’d typically expect to find at a dingy animal shelter. “Um. Yeah. Sorry.”
“Okay.” His voice was soft, a slight accent and deep and velvety and Gyuvin’s ears turned red. The man eyed him up and down, probably taking pity on his miserable, wet form.
“Do— would you like a change of clothes? You look…”
“Oh.” Gyuvin hadn’t realised he was shivering, and he blushed with embarrassment.
Maybe he shouldn’t have followed the attractive stranger to the back for clothes owned by a man he doesn’t know, but the cold permeated his brain and the only thing on his brain was an escape from the nasty feeling of wet clothes.
“So… You work here?” Gyuvin asked, as he followed the man past a cat tree with a lounging white cat, whom the man stopped to greet.
“Yeah.” They continued their trek. Gyuvin considered apologising for the wet trail he left behind.
“Um, what’s your name?”
“Ricky. Shen Ricky.”
Ricky wasn’t unkind in his silence— he was just the type with little words.
“Cool. I’m Kim Gyuvin. Sorry for running into your shelter.”
“No problem. It’s not mine, though.” Ricky hands him a bundle of folded clothes. Their hands brush. “These are my back-up clothes. You can come back sometime and return them. The bathroom is over there.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
The clothes consisted of a black undershirt, a grey hoodie, and loose black jeans— all seemed pretty expensive, and fit perfectly on him. His shoes were still wet, but he couldn’t do anything about that. He attempted to wring out his own clothes in the sink.
When he stepped back outside, he found Ricky feeding a crowd of rabbits a box of strawberries.
He turned at Gyuvin’s squelchy footsteps, and flit his eyes down Gyuvin once, before nonchalantly turning back to the nibbling bunnies.
“It fits you well.”
“Yeah. Thanks. I’ll wash and return it as soon as I can.”
Ricky dusted his hands and stood up from his crouched position. “No rush.” Gyuvin followed his form as he took the empty bowl and placed it on the counter; how he did this with such easy grace, Gyuvin would never understand— not with his gangly, clumsy, too-big limbs.
Gyuvin gingerly picked up his soaked bag, mouth forming around a goodbye, until they both jumped slightly at the crackle of lightning, “Well.” Gyuvin grimaced, “Looks like I might have to stay longer.” He carelessly dropped his bag back to its original place.
“That’s okay. I don’t mind.”
Gyuvin found that he also didn’t mind nearly as much as he should have.
The place seemed more like an apartment with a great deal of animals than a shelter— Ricky made him tea at the kitchenette, and they sipped it side-by-side in comfortable silence (despite being near-strangers) with an occasional question and answer.
Gyuvin learned that Ricky lived alone, attended the same university he did, was only a few months older, lived in LA, was born in Shanghai, worked at the shelter because he was friends with the owner, and because he liked the animals.
Gyuvin told Ricky about his major: dance, his siblings: three, two brothers and a sister; his dog, his mundane favourites, and his friends.
The rain didn’t stop. Their tea turned cold. Ricky stepped outside, and Gyuvin followed him under the extended roof, and Gyuvin watched as he produced a cigarette.
Rain pelted into the road, a car drove through a puddle, a flash of lightning momentarily lit up the world; “Light my cigarette,” Ricky had said, voice soft and smooth, handing his lighter to Gyuvin.
It took him three tries to produce a flame. Ricky’s eyes, half-lidded, glowing, so cat-like, so big, so unintentionally sultry; it made Gyuvin so warm on a midwinter April night.
Gyuvin watched him take a deep inhale, exhale; and subconsciously copied his breaths. It was the first time he didn’t hate the smell.
He returned the very next day, with Ricky’s clothes freshly washed and folded in a gift bag.
“Keep them,” Ricky said, “They look better on you anyways.” Gyuvin highly doubted it, and told him so, with a blush on his ears.
It was the first time he saw Ricky smile, with his gums showing and his eyes scrunching, pretty pink blooming on his cheeks.
He went back the very next day.