[ Rain's POV ]
The sun was high when I finally woke up. The heavy, suffocating weight of the fever dream had lifted, replaced by a strange lightness. My head was clear, and for the first time in days, I didn't feel like I was drowning.
I stepped out of my room, half-expecting to see Fran on the sofa, but the apartment was silent. He had already left for the university. However, something was waiting for me on the dining table: a bowl of soup with a simple note tucked underneath.
"Heat it up and eat it before you go to school."
It was Fran's handwriting—jagged and brief. I couldn't help the smile that tugged at my lips. After the "shards of glass" and the dark clouds of the past few days, this felt like a peace offering. I ate every drop, feeling a surge of new energy.
When I walked into the lecture hall, I was practically glowing.
"Good morning!" I chirped, sliding into the seat next to Sean and Michael.
They both stared at me like I had grown a second head. Michael's eyebrows were practically touching his hairline. "Are you... okay?" he asked slowly. "Sean said something intense happened last night. Like, 'kidnapping' intense."
I just smiled, opening my notebook. "I'm fine now. Better than fine."
"So, aren't you going to tell us?" Sean leaned in close, his eyes searching mine for any sign of trauma.
"Fine. After class. The professor is already here."
True to their word, they didn't let me out of their sight. We ended up at a quiet coffee shop, the air smelling of roasted beans and gossip. I took a deep breath and told them everything—about growing up together, the mothers' "destiny" plan, and the fight that shattered us right before university began.
"So..." Sean said, pouting his lips as he processed the information. "The food you've been giving me this whole time? It was actually meant for him?"
"Hahaha! Is the puppy jealous?" Michael teased, nudging Sean's shoulder.
"No," I laughed, though it felt a little bittersweet. "He won't eat anything I cook anymore. And besides, you paid for the ingredients, Sean. It was always yours."
"Whatever," Sean muttered, though his gaze softened. "He's lucky to have you, but he's taking you for granted anyway."
Michael tugged at Sean's shirt, a silent warning to stay in his lane. Sean looked at me, checking to see if his words had hurt me, but I just gave him a steady smile. I wasn't that fragile anymore.
As the day ended, Sean walked me to his car. "Come on, I'll take you home."
I reached for the car door, but the roar of a high-powered engine cut through the air. A motorbike skidded to a halt right in front of us.
It was Fran.
He hopped off the bike and pulled off his helmet. For a moment, the world seemed to slip into slow motion. The way his hair fell over his forehead, the intensity in his eyes—he looked effortlessly handsome, like a scene out of a movie.
He walked straight up to me, handing me his spare helmet. He didn't say a word.
"What do you think you're doing?" Sean barked, stepping between us.
The silence that followed was deafening. The two of them locked eyes, and I could practically see the sparks of electricity clashing in a silent war of dominance. Then, Fran shifted his gaze to me. His expression wasn't angry or annoyed. Instead, his voice was quiet—almost gentle.
"Come on. Let's go."
The change was so sudden it made my heart skip a beat. Without thinking, my body responded. "Okay."
Sean looked stunned as I followed Fran back to the bike. Fran didn't just hand me the helmet this time; he reached out and helped me secure the strap under my chin, his fingers grazing my skin. I climbed onto the back of the bike, and as we sped away from the university, I realized the "ice" hadn't just cracked.
It was melting.
At home, just before Fran retreated into his room, he muttered something over his shoulder. "I want sweet and sour for dinner."
My heart soared. He was requesting something. He was finally opening up. "Copy that!" I said with a grin I couldn't hide.
I hummed happily as I cooked, the familiar rhythm of the kitchen feeling right for the first time in months. When I called him to eat, he actually responded with a simple "hmm." We sat across from each other, and the food tasted better than it ever had before. I kept glancing at him until he finally caught me.
"What?" he asked, his voice guarded but not cold.
I just smiled. I knew him—he was acting tough, but he was enjoying every bite.
"I'll do the dishes," he said, standing up when he was finished.
"I'll help you," I offered, standing right beside him at the sink. He didn't shoo me away. Being this close, surrounded by his familiar scent, made my chest ache with affection. I really did love this.
After washing, I tried to put a heavy pan back into the high cabinet. I was on my tiptoes, reaching as far as I could, but as I finally slid it into place, I lost my balance. I tripped backward, but luckily, Fran's arms caught me before I hit the floor.
"Oi, Rain! Why are you always in trouble?" he scolded, his voice thick with worry as he checked my hands. "And you even planned to leave when you're like this?"
I froze, unable to answer. Fran had taken the blow from the other cooking tools that had tumbled out of the cabinet when I slipped.
"Don't mind me... Fran, you're hurt too," I said, touching his back. He winced, a small jump of pain escaping him.
We went to his bed so I could apply the medicine to his back.
He removed his shirt, revealing a fit, toned body. I don't know why, but my hand was shaking before the ointment even reached his skin. I slowly applied it, my heart racing as my fingers met his skin. I started at his shoulder, moving down to the curve of his neck. I don't know what came over me—maybe it was the fever from last night lingering, or maybe it was just him—but I couldn't stop.
My thumb traced the hard lines of his back, and I found myself admiring the strength of his biceps. I was jealous; Fran's body was a masterpiece. He's a cheat.
Suddenly, Fran's muscles tensed under my touch. His breathing hitched, growing heavy and ragged. Before I could ask if I was hurting him, he spun around, grabbed my wrists, and pinned me back against the mattress.
"Oi, Fran... what are you doing?" I gasped.
"You shouldn't touch someone like that, Rain," he growled, his voice lower and more dangerous than I'd ever heard it.
I was speechless. Up close, without his shirt, Fran looked majestic—like a storm about to break. My hand moved on its own, my palm sliding over the heat of his chest down toward his abs. I want a body like this too, I thought dimly.
But before my hand could wander any further, Fran's fingers clamped around my wrist, stopping me. He gave me a look I had never seen before—dark, hungry, and completely lost.
It sent a swarm of butterflies into a chaotic frenzy in my stomach. He slid his hand slowly from my fingers up to my shoulder, his face inching closer until our breaths mingled. I couldn't look away. The world outside the room ceased to exist.
Just as his hand reached my face, my heart hammered against my ribs so loudly I thought it would burst.
"Fran!" I breathed.
The sound of his name seemed to snap a cord. He blinked, the intensity in his eyes shattering into pure shock. He froze for a heartbeat before scrambling away from me, standing up in a visible panic.