Mew had tried to distract himself, he really had.
On the first day, he had a day off and so locked himself away in his studio as he usually would, to work on music projects. But that day his lyrics could speak only of dark haired boys with tall, slender bodies and beguiling eyes, that disappeared into the night. So he gave up.
The next day, Mew had to take the red-eye flight to Chiangmai with his father to conclude an important business deal. Arriving at the hotel suite, he hung his freshly pressed suit on the rail before stepping into the shower room to freshen up. But as he stood under the powerful jets of water until his body began to shiver and wrinkle, all he could think of was how he had returned home the night that he met Gulf and had begun to take a shower on autopilot, only to jump out of the cubicle seconds later, realising that he really didn't want to erase Gulf's scent or Gulf's touches from his skin. Not yet anyway.
By the third day, things were getting out of hand. The smoking area outside the meeting room had sent Mew off into cascades of internal dialologues, debating why someone would have a packet of cigarettes if they didn't smoke. He 'winged' the meeting, clearly distracted, and could see his father frowning at him across the table. Then, on the way to the airport, he saw a cat stretching, arching its back, and could only think of THAT back arch. His caramel Frappuccino on the flight suddenly resembled HIS smooth skin. The avenues of cherry blossom trees photographed for the 'Visit Japan' pages of the in-flight magazine looked divine, so divine that Mew buried his nose in the centrefold and inhaled deeply, chasing impossible scent from the glossy pages.
"What is with you today, Suppasit?", his father's voice interrupted, tinged with irritation, forcing Mew to lower the magazine and give him a sheepish smile before leaning his head against the window under the pretence of taking a nap.
So it was that by day 4, Mew had had enough. He was tired of thinking about Gulf and even more tired of trying not to think about Gulf. There was nothing to be done but surrender, he realised. He had had his reasons for not calling the number scrawled on the cigarette packet. Although not proud to admit it, he felt more than a little scared.
'How could someone that I met for mere minutes have such an effect on me? Is this an alpha- omega thing that is pulling us together just for mating? Why am I drawn to take care of this man who quite obviously doesn't want anyone to take care of him at all?'. Mew's head spun like a carousel, his uncertainties unsettling. Because however unsure about all of it Mew was, what he did know with surety was that he felt a lot of things for Gulf - even though he barely knew him. Different things than with his past partners, past relationships even. Just sort of...more alive.
So it was with resignation that he climbed the marble staircase to his bedroom that afternoon to retrieve the cigarette carton. Resignation that he was opening Pandora's box, for better or for worse.
But when he arrived at his desk, the cigarettes were nowhere to be found.