Cheng Yun & Caspian
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We first met during one of those haughty charity fundraisers. We caught each other stealing looks across from our dinner tables. I remembered wondering why haven’t I seen you before, since the Ministry of Strategic Developments always had these events to soften our hard-line business advocacy image.
I was busy organising the leftover door gifts to be sent back to the office before you approached me. You must’ve waited for me, because most rich assholes will bolt as soon as they can. Earlier in the evening a colleague let slip your father’s sprawling properties across the city, so I tried to play it cool.
The second time we met we bumped into each other at the dark, slick bar counter in Taboo. I was having a blue spin. You were decked in denim, a white shirt peeking through your jacket, your hair tousled from all the dancing. I reached out to you, shouted in your ear that I wanted to buy you a drink, trying to point out the irony of your wealth, or something like that. By the time we danced, your arms were around my waist, and mine around your shoulders.