[ Fran's POV ]
I've been calling his phone for an hour. It just rings and rings, the sound mocking me in the silence of our empty apartment.
This is the second time he's done this. Usually, Rain answers in less than a minute. Always.
Fine. You're really doing this, Rain? You're really going to push me?
I called again, my thumb pressing the screen with enough force to crack it. Finally, the line clicked open.
"Hello?"
I froze. It wasn't Rain. I pulled the phone away to double-check the contact. It was his number, but the voice was deeper, smugger.
"Who the hell are you?" I snapped.
"Who's this?" he shot back, his tone defensive.
"Where's Rain?"
"He's sleeping. What do you want?" Then, in the background, I heard a muffled voice—Rain's voice. 'Sean? Who's that?'
Sean.
He was still at that guy's place. At this hour. Blood rushed to my head, a hot, blinding wave of rage. I didn't say another word; I slammed the phone shut, ending the call.
Who told you that you could go away from me, Rain? Who gave you permission?
I grabbed my keys and sprinted to my bike. I didn't have his address, but I didn't need it. I checked the "Twin Watch" on my wrist—the matching trackers our parents bought us years ago so we'd never get lost. The red dot was pulsing steadily at a high-end condo downtown.
When I reached the floor, I didn't care about being polite. I pounded on the doors near the GPS signal until finally, one swung open.
It was him. Sean.
He stood there in just his boxers, his shirt unbuttoned and messy. My mind immediately went to the darkest place possible. Before he could even speak, I shoved past him, storming into the unit.
"What are you doing here—hey!"
I didn't answer. I followed the scent of the room until I saw him. Rain was sprawled across the bed, looking like a disaster. His shirt was rumpled, the top buttons undone, his skin pale against the dark sheets.
A fire ignited in my chest that I couldn't put out. It wasn't just anger anymore. This feeling , I don't know what it is, all I know is I don't like this.
[ Rain's POV ]
I was drifting in a feverish sleep when a hand suddenly clamped around my wrist. The grip was like iron, pulling me back to reality. I forced my eyes open, gasping in shock.
"Fran?"
"Get up. We're going home. Now." His voice was low, vibrating with a dangerous energy I hadn't felt before. He started hauling me off the bed before I could even find my shoes.
"What do you think you're doing?!" Sean shouted, lunging forward to grab Fran's shoulder, trying to force him to let go.
Fran didn't even flinch. He turned his head slowly, giving Sean a look so fierce it could have drawn blood. "None of your business. Stay out of this."
His grip on my wrist tightened, not enough to bruise, but enough to tell me he wasn't letting go if the world ended. He grabbed my bag with his free hand and began dragging me toward the door.
My head was spinning, the fever making every movement feel like I was underwater. I didn't have the energy to fight him. I didn't even have the energy to speak.
"Hey! Rain!" Sean called out, looking ready to throw another punch.
I managed to look back, giving Sean a small, weak wave and a shake of my head. It's okay. Just let him.
I knew this look in Fran's eyes. If Sean tried to stop him again, Fran wouldn't just punch him—he'd destroy him.
------
The ride home was a blur of dizzying lights and nausea. The moment the motorcycle stopped, I stood frozen, waiting for the world to stop spinning. But Fran didn't wait. His annoyance was a physical weight as he grabbed my wrist again, hauling me toward the door.
"Fran... wait. Please, slow down," I pleaded, my voice barely a whisper. He didn't even turn around.
The second we stepped inside, the pain in my wrist and the throbbing in my head became too much.
"Fran! I said it hurts!" I cried out, wrenching my arm away.
He finally let go, spinning around to face me. We stood there, breathing heavily, the air thick with everything we hadn't said. Suddenly, the silence was broken by a loud ping from my phone.
I looked down. A notification: "The apartment is available for viewing this Saturday. Are you still interested?"
Before I could lock the screen, Fran snatched the phone from my hand. His face contorted into something ugly.
"Fran! Give it back!" I shouted, using every ounce of energy I had left.
"Hah! So this is it?" He shook the phone at me, his eyes dark. "You're planning to leave? Who told you that you could do that?! Did I give you permission?"
"Fran, please. Not now... I don't have the energy to fight with you."
"Why? Did you spend all your energy on him?" He leaned in, a smug, bitter smile on his face. "Are you leaving because of that guy? Is that it?"
"Fran, please... stop. I'm so tired..."
"Tired? Why? Are you—"
His voice suddenly drifted away. The room tilted, the floor rising up to meet me. I didn't hear the end of his sentence. The last thing I felt was the sudden, desperate grip of his arms catching me as the world went black.
I don't know how much time passed. When I finally opened my eyes, the harsh overhead lights were off. I was in my bed.
Fran was there. He looked different—the fire was gone, replaced by a hollow, guilty look. He helped me sit up, his hand steady behind my back as he held a glass of water to my lips.
"Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" he muttered, his voice low. He wouldn't look me in the eye as he straightened the sheets, tucking me in with a gentleness that felt like a dream.
He sat on the edge of the bed and began to wipe my arms with a cool, damp cloth to break the fever.
"Fran," I whispered.
"Sleep," he said shortly, but his hand lingered on my arm.
The tears started then. I couldn't stop them. Being sick made me feel raw, my defenses completely gone. Fran froze, looking at me with a panicked intensity, before his hand moved to my face. His thumb brushed away a tear.
I reached up, catching his hand and holding it against my cheek. I couldn't lose this—not again.
"Fran... please... I'm sorry..."
My voice trailed off as the medicine pulled me back into sleep. Just as I drifted away, I felt something soft and warm press against my forehead. It was so light, so tender, that I told myself it had to be a dream.