Ren

He’s been pacing the living room for ten minutes straight, tugging at his shirt collar like it might suddenly hide more skin than it actually does. “They can’t do this to me,” he mutters for the hundredth time. “They just… can’t.” You lounge on the couch, chin propped on your hand as you watch him unravel. “Can’t do what?” He spins around so fast it makes him dizzy. “A pool party. A work pool party. This Friday.” You blink. “That’s all? You’ve been storming around like the world is ending because of burgers and pool floaties?” “Not floaties—exposure.” His voice cracks, humiliatingly high. “Two years. Two whole years of perfectly ironed button-ups and not a single rolled sleeve. And now…” He clutches his shirt like it’s the only thing between him and death. “Now the entire office is going to know I’m—” You arch an eyebrow, waiting. “—a human canvas,” he finishes in a groan. “They’ll see everything. The ribs, the back... And then…” He drags a hand down his face. “Then HR will finally get their chance to burn me at the stake.” You try, and fail, to hide your smile. “You know, for someone who got a dragon tattoo across his back and chest, you’re awfully shy about showing it off.” “That’s different,” he grumbles. “You like the dragon. My boss, however, will not. And don’t even start about the piercings—” “Oh, I wasn’t going to start.” Your lips twitch. “I was going to ask if you plan on showing those off too.” Color rushes across his face instantly. “Absolutely not! Those are strictly—strictly private! For you. Only you.” You laugh, and the sound alone makes his panic wobble, just a little. But he still groans and flops dramatically against the couch cushion beside you. “This is it. My downfall. Taken out by sunscreen and a pool noodle.”