Soda Pop: Bulletproof Kisses

The door exploded inward with a precise kick. Shards of wood skittered across the polished black floor tiles, skidding to a stop against her fuzzy pink rug. He moved in with silent efficiency, scanning the dim room tinted in electric pink. Neon strips blinked along the ceiling. Plush toys lined shelves. A cherry-vanilla scent thickened the air, sickly sweet.

Zina didn't scream. She never screamed.

Instead, she ducked low, rolled to her right, and whipped her yo-yo in a wide arc. The iron-thread snapped out with a deadly hiss, slicing the air inches from the intruder's face.

He dodged effortlessly.

His target was fast.

A flicker of movement to his left—she lunged, brandishing a yo-yo that gleamed under the lights, its wire slicing towards his cheek again. He tilted his head just enough to feel it whip past, air curling with metallic bite.

She flicked her wrist, retracting the yo-yo with a sharp zip, and lunged forward, jabbing the blunt end towards his throat.

He caught the next strike easily. His grip was strong—too strong. Her eyes widened as he twisted her wrist and sent her flying into a shelf of stuffed animals. The pink whale, commander blush, tumbled onto her head with a pathetic squeak....

She didn't scream. He admired that. Most targets screamed when they saw him.

She scrambled up and attacked again, knee darting for his ribs. He sidestepped, grabbed her hood, and slammed her down into her gaming chair. The wheels rolled back, crashing against the desk with a sharp clang. Her bowl of ramen toppled, broth spilling across black floor tiles like steaming blood.

She tore free from his grip, spinning with feline agility. Her pink hair fell over her eyes in wild curls, and she raised the yo-yo again in a familiar stance, her chest heaving with adrenaline.

He froze.

Time… stopped.

That stance. Those defiant red eyes. And most importantly, that familiar faint scar under her chin....

His heart thudded hard. No. No, it couldn't be. What where the possibilities?

His gaze flicked around the room, hunting for confirmation. Soda pop bottles lined the shelves. Cherry vanilla. Half-finished cans stacked on the windowsill. His eyes moved to her bed and there, sitting on her neatly made bed, was a small familiar raccoon plushie.

HIS raccoon plushie.

Tiko.

There were dozens of plushies like that, but this one was distinct. Right from the signatures he'd scribbled on the cream stomach part and the half ears.... He has only ever given it to one person.

He exhaled shakily, chest tightening beneath his tactical vest.

She watched him like a cornered animal, hair half-shadowed under the neon glow, yo-yo trembling in her grip. Tall. Broad shoulders. Long cornrows of blonde hair tied back neatly, stray braids decorated with silver rings that glinted under her LED lights. Gold eyes glowed faintly in the dark, and his dark honey-brown skin was inked with tattoos curling up his neck and under his jawline.

He wore all black—combat pants tucked into heavy boots, a tactical vest hugging his torso like a second skin. Over his chest, peeking from the loose collar of his shirt, was a small tattoo of a soda pop bottle with a cherry blossom wrapping around it.

Her legs were widened into an acrobat stance, defensive yet graceful. He remembered that stance. She invented it when they were kids, learning flips from her circus-performer mother. There was no doubt. From the soda pop addiction addiction, to the plushie, to the swift moves and then the scar...

His mission data flickered in his memory: Target – Code name: Soda Pop. Age: 18. Hacker. Location: Seoul, South Korea.

But the file hadn't said her name.

He spoke it anyway. He swallowed, throat burning as her name formed silently behind his lips. "Neve....." He called, unsure. Hoping that she would answer....

Her eyes widened. The yo-yo slackened in her grip as she faltered in her defense a bit. Her lips trembled as she scrunched her face into a warning glare "...How do you know that name?" she growled

Malik's pulse roared like bloodthirsty war drums. He reached up, pulling his comm piece out of his ear, letting it dangle at his collarbone." You're Neve?..."

Her heart raced. " Who the fuck are you and how do you know that name!"

His voice felt like glass scraping his throat as he said, " Halo....Neve, does that ring a bell?"

He watched her knees buckle. Her defiance shattered into something soft and trembling. Her grip on the yoyo slackened and lips trembled. Halo! The same name she buried. The same name she imprinted on her electric bike. The same name she mourned everyday." Whoever you think you are, this is not funny."

" Neve..." He took a step forward but she took one step back bringing her yoyo into a defensive position again. He raised his hand in surrender style." Neve it's me....Malik."

She shook her head, tears brimming and falling down her cheeks. "No… no, you… you died… They said you all died… Malik… you… you died—"

"Fuck, I didn't.....I" He turned his back to her slightly, pulling down his tactical collar to reveal the mark at the base of his neck. The birthmark—a broken halo, charred into his skin.

Her sob cracked through him like a blade. The dam was broken.

He turned back. Her yo-yo slipped from her fingers, clacking onto the floor as she whispered, " Malik? But how....how's that possible? How the fuck are you not dead!? And why didn't you come back for me! I thought you were dead for six years!"

His eyes blurred for half a second. He blinked it away. An assassin never cried on a mission." Neve...."

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Six Years Ago. South Korea, Boseong.

The room smelled like cherry soda pop and vanilla hair cream. Afternoon sunlight spilled through thin curtains, painting soft gold stripes on the lemon-yellow walls. Outside, sparrows chirped in the budding cherry blossom tree just below her window, their tiny wings fluttering with joy.

Zina lay sprawled on her bed, her snow white hair spread around her like cotton. She giggled as she poked Malik's cheek with her pencil eraser. "You're supposed to be helping, not falling asleep."

"I am helping," Malik mumbled, eyes half-closed, his long lashes brushing his dark honey-brown cheeks. "I'm your moral support."

She scowled at him dramatically, sticking her tongue out. He cracked a sleepy grin.

Between them lay her sketchbook, open to a page covered in messy doodles of soda bottles with smiling faces. Beside it stood two cold cans of cherry vanilla soda pop, condensation dripping onto the blanket.

Zina reached for her can and took a long sip, the sweetness bubbling in her mouth. "You're leaving tomorrow," she said quietly, eyes staring into the fizzy liquid.

He stiffened. She felt it. He sat up properly, shifting on her bed. His cornrows brushed his shoulders, stray braids jingling with silver beads. He looked down at her, gold eyes catching the sun's glow. For a moment, he didn't look fifteen. He looked older, sadder.

"Yeah," he whispered. "Dad got the Brazil job. Better pay. Better… everything."

"But not better for me," she muttered. Her voice cracked. She wiped her eyes quickly with the back of her hand, smudging pink glitter eyeshadow across her pale cheek.

Malik chuckled softly, though it sounded forced. He reached out, plucking a stray cherry blossom petal from her hair, his fingers brushing her scalp gently. She shivered. Her stomach did a little flip.

He blushed—he actually blushed. His gold eyes darted away as he dropped the petal onto her blanket. "You got flowers growing in your head now?"

"Shut up," she whispered, smiling wetly.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The sparrows outside chirped louder, like the world was trying to fill the silence between their pounding hearts.

Finally, Malik reached into his backpack beside him on the bed and pulled out a small stuffed raccoon. Tiko. Its half-torn ear was stitched with pink thread, and the cream-colored belly bore his messy signature in black marker.

"I want you to keep him," he said, pressing it into her arms. His hands were shaking.

Her tears fell freely then. She clutched Tiko to her chest, burying her face in his soft fur. "I don't want you to go."

He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. A soft, trembling kiss that tasted like soda pop and salt tears. "I'll come back for you," he whispered.