I froze, staring at the cover in shock.
The image of a young girl and boy took up the paper binding, and I felt waves of nostalgia wash over me. The two children were smiling at each other with the sort of heartbreaking innocence only found in fiction. It looked so professional, like a real book. Nothing like the hand-drawn pile of pages I recalled from my childhood.
Did . . . did he make this? I thought dazedly. He must haveâit was in his apartment, lying on his floor. He'd been reading it after pulling it out of storage sometime recently, that much was clear. But even so, I couldn't fathom why he'd have it in the first place.
I flipped through the book, still gaping in disbelief. It was all there, the whole story. I couldn't help but bark out an incredulous laugh. Despite my assertions that he remembered, I hadn't known how much. But refurbishing that old story we'd written together? There could've been no clearer signâhe knew as much as I did.
Everything.
"What are you doing here?"
My head snapped up to see Rian standing in the doorway of his bedroom. His voice was gruffer than usual, and I couldn't help but notice how well the just-rolled-out-of-bed look suited him. Until my gaze drifted downward and my mouth went dry.
"Uhh . . . " I stumbled, my eyes glued to his shirtless chest. "Clothes?"
He glanced down, seeming to only just realize all he had on was a pair of low-slung sweatpants. I felt my cheeks redden against my will, but I was having trouble turning my eyes away. Why bother with jeans at all? Sweatpants suit him, I thought absently. They hooked onto the V of his hips, and accentuated his abs in exactly the rightâ
Wait. Abs?
"No way!" I exclaimed, raising my eyebrows in surprise. "You have abs? As in real, actual, visible abdominal muscles? Since when?"
Rian frowned. "What?"
My eyes widened as I spotted a dark shape on his skin. My pulse quickened, though I wasn't totally sure why. "And is that a tattoo?"
Curling around his hipbone was a black inky tendril, split into jagged edges towards the end. The rest of it was hidden underneath the waist of his sweatpants, but I'd seen enough to know it matched another, separate tattoo that wound around his upper left arm.
"Oh, and there's another one," I breathed, very affected by this new discovery. "As if you could have gotten even more . . ." I shook my head, feeling like I needed a cold shower. "And now you have. Great."
Rian ran a hand through his hair in annoyance. I could only watch enchantedly as the tattooed ink rippled over his lean muscles. "What are you talking about?"
I wasn't listening. "Well that's just not fair," I muttered a little irritatedly, my stare still roaming over him. My childish anger grew with every second I studied his infuriatingly majestic form. "You ever hear of the term 'hanker sore?'"
"No. How is that relevant?"
"Look it up. You'll get it."
Rian sighed in frustration. "God, you never change," he muttered.
I didn't hear him, too caught up in my own umbrage. "But seriously, it's not right!" I continued in indignation. "The face, eyes, abs, smarts, tattoosâgod, what don't you have?" I raised my gaze to his face again. "Other than your memory, that is."
He glared at me darkly. "Youâ" he began, but he was interrupted by a series of coughs. Oh, right, I thought a bit guiltily. He's sick. Forgot about that.
I trotted over to him and helpfully patted his backâstill shirtless, in case anyone was wonderingâa couple times. I resisted the urge to let my fingers wander and trace over that captivating ink pattern on his hip.
"Are you sure you should be up already?" I asked concernedly. After a few moments, he regained his breath and straightened, turning to glower at me.
"I don't need your help," he said roughly.
"Sure you don't," I retorted drily, my hand slipping away from his still-too-hot skin. "I guess you can't recall being on the brink of death less than two hours ago, either. Maybe you're just prone to amnesia?"
Rian didn't say anything. Now that I was right next to him, his movements seemed tense and stiff. His stare had dropped to my hands, and I curiously followed his gaze to see what had captured his interest.
"Oh. This old thing?" I raised the book, letting a wicked grin dash across my lips. "You left it on the floor."
Seeing his expression darken predatorily, I hastily put the book down. Maybe it was the sweat and mussed hair from the fever, or the fact that he was shirtless and less than a foot away, but he suddenly seemed much more intimidating than usual.
"Calm down, we don't have to talk about it right now," I assuaged, raising my hands in surrender, but my feeling of triumphant victory was as strong as ever. Who knows? Maybe I wouldn't need two weeks to break him after all. "We can discuss when you feel a bit better."
Rian kept his eyes pinned on me a moment longer, then stalked off to his room. I blinked in surprise, watching as he went in and rummaged around a bit, before reemerging a minute later with a black silk robe.
Probably a good idea. He is sick, I thought, feeling not at all disappointed as he smoothly slid the robe over his shoulders. My mouth did not water in the slightest at the sight of his muscles rippling underneath the silk belt, or at the sliver of tattooed skin left tantalizingly open to the aiâ
Whoa.
I forcibly shook myself out of my thoughts, my cheeks flushed. Rian ran a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead messily. In an effort to distract myself from the annoyingly perfect way it flowed through his fingers, I marched over to the kitchen.
"Here," I called, lifting the lid off the dish I'd whipped up earlier. "I made chicken soup. It's supposed to be good for fevers."
"I told you I don't need your help."
"Well I didn't come here to help you," I shot back, reheating the broth. "I actually came to discuss our game plan for the ecomp, since you haven't been in class," I said, turning to glare at him. I pulled the sheet of recipe ideas out of my coat pocket, waving it at him as proof.
He stalked over to me and plucked the paper out of my hands, slamming it down on the island next to him. I gulped slightly as he leaned forward. "How did you even get in here?" he demanded harshly.
"That's not important," I responded quickly.
"Seems pretty important to me."
"Well then," I fumbled, "you need to check your priorities." He raised an eyebrow, and I used the opportunity to brush past the subject entirely. A girl had the right to keep her hobbies to herself. Especially if said hobbies were less-than-legal.
"What we should be focusing on right now is that!" I exclaimed, pointing to the list he'd taken from me.
He only scowled skeptically, and I sighed in frustration. "Remember what you said to me a few days ago?" I asked, looking at him unflinchingly. "It applies here."
Rian's scowl deepened. "And what exactly did I say a few days ago?"
"I need you," I said quietly, acutely aware of the double meaning to my words, "to stick around at least until the Evaluation. After that I don't care what you do."
Rian said nothing, leaving my words hanging in the air. His arms were planted on the counter on either side of me, leaving me trapped between him and the marble to my back. That familiar weight settled onto my shoulders as I looked into his ink-black eyes, and I felt a strange sense of dizziness caught between his cold gaze and the heat radiating off his body.
"Fine," he said finally. He withdrew, and I let out a breath as he picked up the list of recipes and thrust it back into my hands. He glared deep into my eyes and my throat suddenly felt parched. "Just for the ecomp. Then you get out."
"That's all I'm here for," I agreed, staring back at him defiantly despite myself.
"Good."
"Every Tuesday and Thursday for the next two weeks."
"Yeâwhat?"
My lips tugged into a devilish smile. I grabbed a glass and started to fill it with water from the sink. "Remember Prof's schedule? Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays at my place. Every other day at yours."
His eyes narrowed, and I continued with a sense of self-satisfaction. "Sundays were supposed to be voluntary, but given your recent absence, I'm pretty sure that's no longer an option. So I guess I'll be here on Sundays too."
Rian glowered at me and opened his mouth to respond, but I beat him to it. "I'm just saying you better get used to having me around," I added nonchalantly, strolling around the counter. I picked up the bag of fever medicine and extracted two pills from one of the bottles, reaching over and placing them in Rian's palm. My wicked grin widened in delicious anticipation, my voice lowered to a taunting whisper. "And make sure to feel better quick, okay? I'm told I'm not easy to deal with."
Rian maintained a tense silence, his gaze searing. I motioned for him to swallow the tablets and handed him the glass of water I'd poured. After a moment, he grudgingly took it and downed the medication.
"There we go," I said cheekily, which earned me another glare. "Don't want you getting hurt after all," I added unthinkingly.
It was a statement dangerously similar to that day in the staff restroom, when Rian patched up my hand, and I regretted the words as soon as they passed through my lips.
The quiet grew heavy as we stared at each other, and that old sensation of getting lost in a pitch-black sea threatened to overwhelm me. I resisted the urge to fidget; so many things had happened in just one day. Apartment 212. The fever. Rian's nightmare. It was a little too much to deal with, especially with the added pressure of Rokim's ultimatum.
And then there was the shirtlessness.
My face heated up in a fraction of a second and I cleared my throat, breaking the weighty silence. I quickly moved away from him and tried to ignore my racing heartbeat. What was happening?
"In that case, what do you want to do?" Rian asked lowly.
His voice, still husky from the coughing, did not help calm my speeding pulse at all. And who phrased a question like that? It was rife with potential innuendo and just waiting to be misunderstood.
I cleared my throat again. "We won't do a whole lot today, just hammer out a basic plan for ecomp." I winced as 'hammer' inadvertently slipped out of my mouth. Poor choice of words, Han. "But that comes later."
Rian frowned. "Then what about now?"
I turned back to the boiling pot on the stove, forcing myself to get it together. I had one goal: get him to recognize me. These stupid, mouth-wateringly tempting thoughts were only getting in the wayâbesides, even if he did acknowledge our history, his dislike for me seemed genuine. He wouldn't want me anywhere near him.
And for good reason, I thought with a tinge of bitter sadness.
"Now," I said, pushing all other thoughts out of my mind, "you're gonna sit down and eat your soup."
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A/N: The term 'hanker sore' is a definition from The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows, btw. SO awesome. I definitely recommend checking it out sometime.