Honeymoon Boarding — Not So Romantic

The dining table buzzed with the aroma of fresh toast, scrambled eggs, and the tension that only Lucien's parents could stir. Haru sat stiffly beside Lucien, pushing scrambled eggs around his plate, while Lucien leaned back casually, sipping coffee like he was already on vacation.

"So," Lucien's father began with a knowing smile, "you're leaving in a few hours, huh?"

Lucien nodded, smirking. "Yeah, Dad. All packed."

His father turned to Haru, voice light but laced with protectiveness. "You better take good care of him, son. We're trusting you with our most precious Haru for five whole days. He better not come back sad."

Lucien chuckled, straightening his posture. "I promise, I'll guard him with my life."

Haru opened his mouth to speak, but the words tangled in his throat. He wasn't used to this—being fussed over like some delicate treasure. His gaze flicked toward Lucien's mom. She looked less thrilled, her spoon clinking loudly against her teacup, clearly unimpressed by the playful exchange.

The silence from her side was louder than any disapproval she could have voiced.

Airport -----------

Hours later, they stood at the bustling airport, wheeling their suitcases side by side. Haru kept a safe inch of distance from Lucien—not that Lucien respected it.

As they passed through the gates, Haru murmured a flat, "Let's just get through the formalities," then walked ahead.

Lucien, in a black fitted coat, crisp white shirt, and sunglasses that screamed troublemaker billionaire, strolled beside him like the world owed him admiration. Haru wore simple jeans and a hoodie—low-key, just how he liked it. But every passing eye seemed drawn to Lucien.

Haru noticed it. Everyone noticed it. But he looked away, pulling his phone out and pretending to scroll.

Then it happened.

A group of girls approached Lucien, giggling, holding their phones like recording him might be their life goal.

"Excuse me… are you an actor?" one asked.

"Or a model?" another chimed in. "Can we get your number?"

Lucien blinked, mildly amused. Before he could answer, Haru muttered without looking up from his phone:

"No use. He's a playboy. Gets bored fast. He'll leave the second your sparkle wears off."

Lucien's eyes flicked toward Haru, a small smirk curling on his lips. The girls, confused, looked between them.

One girl dared again, "Just your number, please?"

Lucien didn't even flinch. He reached for Haru's hand and boldly lifted it, showing the engagement ring glinting under the terminal lights.

"I'm taken," he said smoothly. "Sorry."

The girls mumbled disappointed goodbyes and scurried away. Haru quickly yanked his hand back as if burned, clutching it to his chest.

"You didn't have to do that," he said, voice dry. "I don't mind you flirting. It's not like you're the loyal type anyway."

Lucien stayed silent.

He didn't smile. Didn't joke.

Just stared at Haru like there were a thousand words trapped behind his eyes.

---------------

Once on the plane, Haru found himself seated beside Lucien—business class seats that should have had enough room to breathe.

But Lucien sat like he owned both seats.

Haru kept inching toward the window, trying to put space between them, but Lucien subtly leaned closer every time. A leg here. An elbow there. An "accidental" shoulder bump.

"Do you have to sit like you're occupying the whole row?" Haru grumbled, hugging his arms.

Lucien smirked. "My apologies. Didn't know your side came with invisible borders."

Haru gave him a glare and turned away.

But slowly, the motion of the plane and exhaustion crept in. Haru's eyes drooped, and at some point, he slumped sideways—his head resting against Lucien's shoulder.

Lucien froze.

Then, slowly, his expression softened.

He looked down at Haru's peaceful face, the faint crease between his brows fading in sleep.

"How can you still trust me enough to fall asleep beside me?"

Lucien brushed a strand of hair from Haru's forehead and whispered like a secret:

"If only you knew how long I've waited to have you this close again... If only you'd forgive me."

He let his head lean slightly against Haru's, closing his eyes as the plane took off—two hearts in silence, flying toward a future neither had planned.

Arrival in Paris

Hours later, the cab rolled to a halt in front of a luxurious hotel. Haru stepped out groggily, suitcase in hand, blinking at the marble pillars and red carpet.

Lucien was already at the front desk, checking them in with his usual effortless charm.

Haru looked up at the towering hotel and muttered to himself, "Five days. Five whole days with him. I can survive this. Probably…"

The bellboy escorted them to their deluxe honeymoon suite. Haru stepped in—and froze.

One bed. King-sized. Soft lighting. Rose petals?

He dropped his bag at the door like it burned him. "W-Why does this look like a place for… actual honeymooners?"

Lucien kicked off his shoes and fell on the bed with a dramatic sigh.

"Well, darling, that's because it is."

Haru stared. "I don't speak French. I don't even know how to order water here. And I'm stuck with you. This is exactly why I said no."

Lucien propped himself up on his elbows. "And yet… here you are."

Haru groaned and dragged his suitcase into the farthest corner. "If you touch me in my sleep, I'll throw you off the balcony."

Lucien laughed. "Touch you? Please. I'll be too busy watching you drool."

Haru grabbed a pillow and threw it at him. Lucien caught it with ease, still grinning.

As night fell over Paris, Haru curled up on the edge of the bed, blanket cocooned around him like armor.

Lucien lay beside him, back turned, hand resting dangerously close between them.

They didn't speak.

But the space between their bodies was filled with unspoken memories—and the beginning of something neither of them wanted to admit yet.