Three days left until the end of the world. Somehow, it still doesn't feel real. I keep waiting for some massive sign—explosions, meteors, giant chickens descending from the sky—but no. Just silence, with the occasional annoying beep of a car horn somewhere far away.
The streets are empty. Completely empty. Yet electricity works fine. The TV is blasting the usual nonsense: cooking shows, reality dating disasters, and infomercials that somehow make sense. It's unnervingly calm. Almost like the world forgot it's supposed to be ending.
But none of that matters. Not even a little. My ex-boyfriend's brother—that is, Xenon—is the only thing occupying my thoughts.
I was lounging on the sofa, pretending to read a magazine, when he appeared, fresh from the bathroom.
I called out, loud enough to startle him.
"Oh, did you find the towel? I didn't know where I should put it. Always been bad at learning how things work at other people's places, you see."
He flinched—just slightly. "It's alright," he muttered, eyes downcast as he tried to sidestep me.
I huffed softly. Classic Xenon, avoiding me like I was about to perform some terrifying magic trick.
I leaned forward, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. "I'll dry your hair for you," I offered, smiling like this was perfectly normal.
"I'm good," he replied, tone clipped, eyes darting somewhere else entirely.
Ah, yes. The famous avoidance tactic. I've seen it before.
When our kiss had ended, it left him flustered, panicky then retreated to his room without a single word. He only emerged when I finished cooking dinner.
Today, he hadn't even dared look at me until just now, though he wasn't avoiding me outright. Every step, every glance, betrayed his nervousness around me.
I leaned a little closer, pretending to casually inspect the magazine again. "Come on. Just let me. I'm an expert in drying a man's hair."
He froze mid-step, eyes widening but knowing I wasn't going to let it drop, he reluctantly sat down in front of me.
I grinned softly, picking up the towel. Light, careful movements followed as I began to dry his hair. The way his hair clung damply to his scalp, the faint tension in his jaw, the occasional shiver when my fingers brushed the back of his neck… it was all far too endearing.
"Have you gotten in touch with Argon lately?" I asked.
I gently squeezed out the excess moisture from Xenon's hair, working from his hairline upward. My eyes drifted—against my will—to his ears. Well-shaped. Cute.
'So this is what people mean when they say they want to eat someone up,' I thought.
…Yeah, no. If I said that out loud, he'd combust. Best to live.
"Well... He was concerned about my well-being back here."
"Did you tell him you're getting by just fine?" I asked, fingers still busy.
He suddenly turned around and glared at me, hair half-fluffed, half-wild. "I told him you already left. So please don't say anything."
I blinked. "You covered up for me? How nice."
I think about how Argon, back when I dated him, has never done this. He was impregnable, never breaking character in front of me. Always a perfect, handsome boyfriend. I wonder what he's up to now.
"No, I was just ensuring that I'll still be free to do whatever."
At the entranceway, my axe rested quietly where I'd left it.
Just in case.
If he ever came back, I wanted things to be… final.
I stood up and fetched the hair dryer from the bathroom, plugging it in before Xenon could protest. The low hum filled the room as warm air washed over his hair, making it flutter slightly.
"What're you studying at school, Xenon?" I asked over the noise.
"Nothing special," he replied. "Just normal college stuff."
"Define 'normal college stuff,'" I said, leaning in a bit closer, clearly not satisfied.
"…General courses. Requirements. Annoying lectures."
I hummed, carefully guiding the dryer, fingers occasionally combing through his hair. It was beautiful—black, smooth, healthy. Clearly well cared for.
'Absolutely worth the effort.'
I took my time. Maybe too much time. But with three days left in the world, who was counting?
"Sera, didn't you go to college?" he asked, his tone casual, but I could feel him peering at me curiously while I still ran the dryer over his hair.
Now I had the sudden, irresistible urge to give him a big, warm hug from behind. I could almost hear him yelling, "Stop! Hands off!" if I actually did it, so maybe… I'd just let the thought linger.
"I did graduate, for what it's worth," I said, shrugging, letting my fingers linger a moment longer in his hair before pulling back.
"So… you didn't study?" he asked, cocking his head slightly.
"I did, but… no, never mind. My bad for bringing up the studying stuff." I finally turned off the dryer, hair perfectly fluffed, like a little victory in itself.
"Heh, how about I help you with your studies, then?" he said, eyes lighting up, the slightest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
I noticed the glint of triumph in his expression—he seemed pleased to have found one of my "weak points." For a split second, his smugness reminded me of Argon, though far softer, far more… genuine.
"Ah," I teased, letting the words drip with playful mischief. "Is that an invitation to study naughty stuff together?"
He immediately glared, eyes sharp as daggers. "It's not."
I laughed lightly, ignoring the blush rising faintly in his cheeks. "You know what? Why don't we try teaching each other stuff? Exchange knowledge about something we're actually good at."
"No," he said immediately, cutting me off like he'd anticipated the suggestion before it even escaped my lips.
"I haven't even said what I'm good at yet, though," I said, pouting for dramatic effect.
"I already know what it'll be," he said, glaring as usual.
I laughed, shaking my head.
He turned his back to me like a stubborn kid, nudging me lightly with his elbow as if that would somehow create a buffer between us. Naturally, I caught his arm before he could escape.
"Can you stop?" he muttered, refusing to look at me, but his voice was softer than usual.
"Listen," I said gently, holding onto his arm, "if there's anything you want to say to me, just let it out. Don't bottle it up."
He finally faced me, eyes narrowing slightly. "Then tell me… what did you mean by being an expert at drying men's hair?"
"Huh?" I blinked, caught off guard. I was bracing myself for something dramatic, or at least a snarky comment, but this? This was unexpectedly… cute.
"Do you always do this for other men?" he asked, tense, like it mattered on a life-or-death scale.
I couldn't help but smile. The way he fretted over something so trivial was… ridiculously endearing. Persistent, anxious, earnest—so unlike his brother.
"I sure do," I said, shrugging lightly.
He raised his face then, and I swear there was a tiny hint of jealousy hidden in his expression.
"I work at a salon, after all," I added, casually like it was the most mundane thing in the world.
"Huh?" His eyes widened slightly, a mixture of surprise and, I suspected, something else.
"Your brother never told you? Well… I quit my job already, though," I said with a small smile, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
He blinked at me for a moment, silent. Then, as if trying to reclaim some composure, he muttered, "…I see."
"Why? Can't I do it for someone else?" I asked, tilting my head innocently.
"N–no, that's not what I meant!" he stuttered immediately, ears turning red. "J–just forget it!"
I smiled, because of course he would react like that. "Tell you what, I can be your personal hairdresser if you want."
"I don't want that!" Xenon stiffened, arms tensing as he glared at me like he was trying to scare me off. Unfortunately for him, those eyes only made my chest feel warmer.
Then his tone shifted. "You did that for my brother too, right?" he asked coldly.
"I did it for other men because it was part of my job," I said honestly. "But your brother? Nah." I shook my head. "That man hates having his hair touched. Besides…" I paused, meeting his gaze, "…you'll be the last guy I'll be spending my time with."
The words settled between us.
The world was ending. Cities would fall silent, skies would burn, and everything people worked for would disappear. But none of that mattered right now. Not the countdown. Not tomorrow.
All I could think about was him.
I wanted to feel him—his warmth, his presence, the way he reacted so honestly to everything. I didn't want to overthink it. I didn't want to protect myself anymore.
So I stepped closer, heart pounding, giving it everything I had left.
"I like you," I said softly but firmly. "I really do."
He froze.
"Will you be my boyfriend?"
For once, there was no teasing in my voice.