Chapter 42: 40 - Villain and Vigilante

"Nnngh," I groaned. Everything hurt.

Another groan answered mine, and I glanced down my body to see where it came from. Was my stomach talking to me?

But my stomach doesn't have ears on it . . .

My eyes widened as I realized the moaning lump on my belly was actually Rian's head. We were on the couch, his arms encircling my waist and him extended halfway across my torso. His legs poked out over the end of the sofa, with me sprawled out at its front.

I scowled. I was his freaking body pillow.

"Hey," I muttered, patting his head. Somehow, his hair was still unbelievably soft, despite the wild night we'd had. I ignored my desire to run my fingers through it and patted him again, harder this time.

"Hey," I repeated gruffly. "Wake up."

He growled throatily and nuzzled his head further into his pillow. Which, again, was me.

"Get off," I mumbled irritatedly, pushing uselessly at his arms. "Off. C'mon, sleeping beauty."

After another wrenching groan, he raised his head blearily. A few slow blinks chased the sleepiness away, and he lazily propped his chin on my belly. The blinding morning light, streaming in through the windows, cast long shadows underneath his eyelashes. Rays of sun glittered in his irises, like precious gems embedded in a wall of obsidian.

I swallowed, my mouth dry. No human deserved to be that dazzling.

"If I'm sleeping beauty, does that make you Prince Philip?" he asked, his lips curving into a crooked smile.

His remark broke the spell I was under, and I scowled again. I gestured to his outstretched body, pinning me underneath it.

"Let me up, please."

He sighed, removing his arms from around me with a groan. His hair flopped down over his eyes as he drew himself away.

I immediately heaved myself out from under him, sitting up at my end of the couch. He crashed down onto the other end, his head lolling backwards.

"Why do I have so many windows?" he muttered angrily, raising a hand to block the light.

I stretched myself out, wincing when I heard a few pops. My head pounded. I threw Rian a cursory glance when he shifted around, and immediately did a double take.

"Where the hell is your shirt?" I demanded, unable to keep from drinking in the sight of his toned torso.

Warm, caramel skin pulled taut over lean muscle. Those tattoos were on full display, curving over his left shoulder and right hipbone. The jagged edges called out to my fingers, waiting to be traced.

My eyes shot away from his abdominals when their owner cleared his throat. He raised a brow, hair still a glorious mess, and sat up.

"It's over there," he answered drily, jutting a thumb to the floor. The shirt was in a crumpled heap, two feet from the couch. "It was hot, so I took it off. I am allowed to undress in my own home, aren't I?" he asked mockingly.

I simply rolled my eyes, too hungover to respond. My own clothes were a mess; I was still in Rian's giant wool shirt, the socks I'd borrowed scrunched up around my shins. The sweater's neckline had stretched and left both my shoulders completely bare, exposed to the chill.

A surprising throb twinged near my collarbone, sensitized by the cold. I frowned and glanced over to look.

Red . . . ?

I gasped as I remembered, my hand clapping over the sensitive skin. "I can't believe you freaking bit me!" I exclaimed, whipping around to glare at my assailant.

A lazy smirk crossed his face. "Oh, the mark's still there?" he drawled in self-satisfaction. "I'm glad."

"You're glad?"

He leaned up to look straight at me, his abs rippling. "Yes, glad. Think of it as a reminder not to let people too close."

I scowled, vaulting off the couch and stomping over to his washroom. I turned in the doorway, glaring at him fiercely.

"I'm gonna take a shower. Try not to assault anyone while I'm gone, will you?"

I slammed the door shut, his wicked laughter echoing behind me.

♛

Twenty minutes later, I strode out of the bathroom.

I was wrapped in a fluffy white towel, rivulets of water still running down my skin. My hair was drenched, the water turning it a deep crimson. The clothes I'd been wearing were bunched in one hand, the mottled red semicircle on my neck clear as day.

Rian glanced up from where he was still lounging on the couch. His jaw dropped open when he saw me.

"Why—" He stopped mid-sentence, eyes helplessly running down my damp, exposed skin. As I stalked past him, he coughed and started again. "Why aren't you wearing clothes?" he asked, his voice strained.

I didn't respond, dumping the fabric in my hands onto the floor, next to his abandoned shirt. My hangover had dulled my sense of embarrassment, which is why Rian's probing gaze didn't bother me as much as it had the last time. I glanced around the room searchingly, ignoring Rian's presence when I felt him walk up beside me.

"What are you looking for?" he asked curiously. The heat from his body easily reached my chilled skin, and my grip on my towel tightened.

"Lisa had two bags yesterday," I answered simply. "One had alcohol in it. And the other, according to this text I just got," I paused, holding up my phone for him to see, "has—oh!"

I broke off suddenly as I spotted the bag. It was stuffed in the corner right next to the entrance to the apartment, and I vaguely recalled Lisa tossing it inside when I let her in the night before.

I ran over to it, ignoring the droplets of water that sprayed from the movement, and picked it up eagerly.

Rian looked on as I unzipped it. I sighed with satisfaction, drawing out an airy white blouse. "Bless Lisa's soul," I murmured happily.

"She brought you a duffel full of your clothes?" Rian asked incredulously, one eyebrow raising when I turned and nodded. "Exactly how long do you expect to stay here?"

I shrugged, digging through the rest of the bag. "As long as it takes."

"As long as it takes to what?"

I glanced up at him, the words prepared on my lips. As long as it takes to convince you the incident wasn't your fault. For some reason, my voice was stuck in my throat.

Rian stared back at me, eyebrows drawn together, and I faltered.

"As long as it takes for me to run out of underwear," I lied smoothly, feeling a guilty sense of satisfaction when his ears turned pink.

He looked away, ruffling his hair with one hand. He grabbed a nearby water bottle with the other. "What the hell did you do for underwear before she showed up?" he muttered, bringing the bottle to his lips.

I casually pulled my damp hair around my shoulders, still rooting through the bag of clothes. "I used yours, obviously," I answered distractedly.

A choking sound tore my attention away from the duffel, and I glanced up in confusion. Water dripped across Rian's lips as he stared at me, wide-eyed. He slowly dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, his cheekbones tinged pink.

Reddened cheeks? That didn't usually happen.

"What is it?" I asked, perplexed. "Are you catching another fever?"

He ignored my question, carefully placing the water bottle back on the table. "You—hm." He cleared his throat, raking his hair back from his face. "You . . . wore. My underwear."

"Yeah." My brow furrowed, still clueless. My hangover had dulled my finer sensibilities, and I could not for the life of me understand why Rian kept licking his bottom lip.

"They were pretty big for me, but I managed," I continued, tilting my head apologetically. "Sorry if I overstepped. I just thought it would be better than . . .  you know. Going commando."

Rian's teeth glinted white as he chewed his lower lip. At the mention of the word 'commando,' he'd gone very, very still.

"It's fine." He sounded strained. His lips were no longer their normal rosy colour, and had instead flushed red. "You're right. Commando would have been a problem. Especially given your choice of — of outfit."

Ah, yes. An oversized shirt and knee-high socks. I chuckled at the absurdity; commando would have been a poor decision.

The water on my body had made me cold, and I shivered. I hauled up the bag with my clothing in it, keeping one hand tight on my towel. For some reason, I shivered again when I walked past Rian on my way to his bedroom, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The bite mark he'd left throbbed with warmth.

I suddenly became very aware that we were both half-naked. And alone.

"Rian," I called abruptly, not turning to look at him. If I did, he would see the crimson blush steadily staining my cheeks. "Do you want to go out today?"

I heard him flop back down on the couch. "Go out where?" he asked, his tone once again cool and collected.

"I don't know. Anywhere. Just — do you want to?"

"Yes."

The answer was swift, decisive. I felt a surge of relief, which was quickly tainted by apprehension. There was an undercurrent to his voice that I didn't like: it was rueful, like he couldn't possibly deny a request to spend time together, because that time was undeniably finite.

But I was getting ahead of myself. I squashed down my unease. He hadn't done anything to suggest he was still leaving. I was overcomplicating things.

With that thought in mind, I walked inside his room. The door shut quietly behind me, and I could hear the sound of his feet padding over to the other washroom. Then a few moments later, I heard the sound of the shower.

I forced myself to move, drying off and donning clothes in minutes. My hair had begun to curl on its own, and I decided to leave it that way. It was a nice change.

By the time Rian got out of the shower, fully dressed, I was lying on the sofa munching on the remainder of his hawaiian pizza.

He raised a brow when I idly glanced over at him, scanning his attire. A navy blue tee with the sleeves rolled up. Dark torn jeans. Silky black hair spilling over his forehead.

I bit my lip, turning back to where I'd been staring at the TV. He sat down beside me, lifting my legs onto his lap, and I had to forcibly keep myself from reacting to the touch.

This is bad. This is so bad. Bad Hanna.

The bite mark on my neck was still throbbing, but not in a painful way. Instead, each pulse seemed to remind me of the feelings I had somehow caught for the arrogant pisse-froid to my left. Feelings that had most definitely shown up in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Rian's fingers traced idle circles on my ankles, just above the hem of my socks, while he flicked through his TV. He glanced over at the pizza in my grasp.

"Pizza for breakfast, Hanna?" he asked drily.

I nodded distractedly. He was still drawing patterns on my skin, and I found it difficult to focus. "Uhh. Yeah. I just thought I'd polish it off before it went to waste."

"Did you even heat it up?"

"No. Too lazy."

He scoffed, reaching over to pluck the cold pizza from my hands. He placed it back into the box on the table, ignoring my protests.

"You're a chef, and yet you have the lowest eating standards I've ever seen," he muttered scornfully. I pursed my lips, and he eyed me. "Eat properly. Take care of yourself."

I closed my eyes, sinking into the couch. His touch burned across my legs, pleasant and electric. "Taking care of myself is a pain," I replied cheerily. "Too much work."

"If you don't put in the effort, who will?"

I opened my eyes and smirked at him. "Won't you?"

He paused, turning to look me in the face. He seemed to be struggling for words. "I'm not a maid," he finished finally.

"Ooh," I purred teasingly. "You'd look fun in a maid costume, Haltie."

He rolled his eyes, pushing my legs off his lap, and got off the couch. "See? The bad breakfast is already getting to your head," he called, striding to the kitchen. I poked over the sofa to look at him as he banged around his fridge.

He pulled out a carton of eggs, some vegetables. I padded over silently as he placed a pan on the stove.

"What're you doing?" I asked curiously.

"Showing you what a real breakfast looks like. Sit."

I felt the beginnings of a smile tug at my lips. I followed his orders and sat at the counter. "You're making me breakfast?"

"Only because you can't be bothered to make it yourself, apparently." He glanced at me, the eggs sizzling on the pan. "In the meantime, you can look up places for us to go today."

I gave him a little salute and pulled out my phone, my smile broadening when he rolled his eyes. It didn't take long for me to have a list of prospective destinations ready, and by that time the scent of seasoned eggs was wafting through the air.

I hummed as I scrolled through the phone. Rian eyed me. "You still do that humming thing?" he asked.

"Sorry," I said, looking up at him. "It's a habit. Does it bother you?"

He glanced away, running his hand over the back of his head. "No, I — actually, I like it."

My eyebrows went up in surprise as he turned back to the stove. I didn't pursue the topic, but to my chagrin, I felt pleasant warmth bloom in my chest. The fact that just one compliment could do that was not a good sign.

This was beyond the simple physical attraction I'd been battling with the past few months. Lisa was maddeningly right — I liked him. More than liked, actually. Not that I was ever going to tell him so.

"Here." Rian setting down a plate jolted me out of my thoughts. He sat across from me with an omelet of his own, handing me a fork and knife. "Eat."

"Thanks," I murmured, careful not to touch his fingers when I took the utensils. I cut away a piece of egg and popped it into my mouth, eyes widening.

"This is really good!" I exclaimed, the food in my mouth muffling my words.

He wrinkled his nose, handing me a glass of orange juice he'd poured. "Mouth full, Hanna, remember?"

I swallowed apologetically, taking a sip of the juice. "Sorry. But really, this is fantastic!" I took another bite, and the corner of his lips lifted into a lopsided smile.

"I had a good teacher," he said wryly, taking a bite for himself.

My cheeks flushed but I stayed quiet, not trusting myself to speak. We ate in comfortable silence. When we were done, I got up to wash my plate, grabbing his before he could protest.

"Come on, it's the least I can do," I said, grinning. He closed his mouth and instead picked up my phone, scanning through our options on google.

"Bowling, billiards, half a dozen ice cream parlours . . ." he mused, flicking through my list. "You didn't have anything particular in mind?"

"Not really," I replied, finished with the dishes. I sat across from him again. "I just wanted to hang out."

His eyes flitted to mine amusedly. "We can do that here."

I raised my eyebrows. "Oh? And what would we do to pass the time?"

His eyes returned to my phone, a small smirk on his lips. "I'm sure we could find some way to entertain ourselv—"

He stopped abruptly, frowning at the screen. I cocked my head, unsure what the problem was.

"Something wrong?" I asked, leaning forward curiously.

He cleared his throat, glancing at me warily. "Do you have a data plan?" he asked suddenly.

"Uh, no," I answered surprisedly. "I mean, I do, I just ran out. Why?"

He slowly put the phone down, interlacing his fingers. He cleared his throat. "Then how exactly do you have wifi? I don't recall giving you my password."

I stared for a second in absolute silence. Password . . . ?

gofreudyourself69.

I burst into laughter as I remembered. Rian scowled, apparently receiving the reaction he'd been hoping against. I covered my face with my hands, struggling to calm down.

"Ohh—I couldn't believe I got it right," I crooned, watching his ears go pink. "Last time I came over, I literally just guessed. Guessed, Rian."

He raked a hand through his hair in embarrassment. "It's a solid password," he muttered defensively. "You only figured it out because you know me."

My grin was so broad it hurt. "So the 69 was for security reasons alone, is that it?" I teased. "You're such a psych nerd, you really are."

"Alright, I get it," he said, letting a hint of a smile cross his lips. "Let's just go already. None of these places are appealing to me now."

I edged off my seat, heading for the door. He followed, grabbing both our coats. "Where do you want to go, then?" I asked.

He shrugged on his jacket, sliding his hands into the pockets. "I have somewhere in mind."

♛

I stared up at Branbury Hall, feeling a strange tremor skitter down my spine.

"We may as well. Staying away from this place won't do us any good," Rian said, glancing up at it alongside me. "Why not enjoy what it has to offer?"

A memory flashed through my mind.

"Hanna, sweetheart, why don't you visit Branbury with Rian?"

I scowl. "Rian's being an ass, mom."

"Language," my mother says, trying to sound disapproving but failing miserably. She pauses, sighs, and eventually continues. "Well, why exactly is Rian being an ass? He usually has a reason for it."

I lean forward on our kitchen counter, snatching a waffle off of my father's breakfast plate. He pouts and throws a blueberry at me. I catch it easily, grinning.

"Honey, our daughter is shaping up to be a criminal," he complains. He huddles around the rest of his meal, a grin matching mine spreading across his face. "Thief."

"See? That's why," I answer my mother, popping the berry into my mouth. "Rian thinks I'm out of control. Reckless, he said." I scrunch my face up in a frown. "A bad influence."

My mother ruffles my hair and sits next to me, a plate of waffles in her hand. "You kind of are, Han." She doesn't mince words, and I gape.

"Me?" I reply, appalled. "I'm an angel!"

"Without the wings, of course," my father adds. "Because wings are weird."

My mother and I both ignore my father's strange phobia of wings — ever since an incident with a pigeon a few years back, he'd hated them. Instead, I lean forward imploringly.

"Just because I know how to have fun doesn't mean I'm a bad influence," I argue. My mother only smiles.

"Don't worry," she says. She has the same mischievous sparkle in her eyes that I do. "Rian may think that now, but he needs you around. You guys balance each other out."

My frown deepens, and I lean back into my seat. "Thanks, mom, but that sounds like a crappy romance one-liner," I groan. My father laughs and throws me another blueberry.

I'm munching on a waffle pensively, lost in thought, when our front door opens.

"Did you leave it unlocked again?" my mother asks my father exasperatedly. He raises innocent hands as she goes to check who it is.

We're all surprised to see Rian standing there, dripping wet.

"Rian?" I ask confusedly, dropping the half-eaten waffle back on my plate. "Why are you all soaked?"

He grins at me, his unruly black hair a drenched mess. He greets my mother with the usual kiss on the cheek, striding inside excitedly.

"Remember the Millers?" he asks, grabbing my arm. My eyes widen with recognition, and then delight.

"Those horrible neighbours? I thought they moved away."

"They're back," he breathes. "They're installing a new sprinkler down the street, and one of their annoying kids sprayed me."

I frown, already on my feet. My parents look on amusedly as I attempt to stomp past my friend, bent on giving those idiots a piece of my mind. And if that doesn't work, perhaps a piece of something more tangible.

"Wait, wait," Rian says, stopping me. I only just notice the wicked glint in his eye — something I'd never seen in him before. "I handled it."

My eyebrows raise. Sweet devilish anger pulses through me. My nerves sing when Rian's other hand grips my arm.

"How?" I ask, ignoring the foreign heat blooming from where his skin meets mine.

"I took a page out of your book," he admits, an apology crossing his face. I smile, forgiving him just as silently. "When their backs were turned, I may or may not have lodged a rock underneath the sprinkler nozzle."

My eyes light up with roguish glee. "And?"

"They're still trying to contain the water damage."

I whoop, jumping up and grabbing him in a hug. He locks his arms around my waist and returns the embrace, lifting me clean off the ground. In that moment, we are both villain and vigilante, united in our devilry.

My parents clear their throats, and he quickly lets me down. We turn and I try my best to look ashamed, but the glimmer in my father's eye mirrors mine.

"It seems that the two of you shouldn't be seen for a bit," he says drily. "Why don't you visit Branbury and get yourselves an alibi?"

We grin. My mother rolls her eyes, but she is hiding a smile of her own.

As we run out of the house, I feel a peculiar sense of gratitude. I briefly wonder what would happen if I didn't have my family by my side — but then Rian calls for me and I happily forget.

"Hanna?" Rian's voice jarred me out of my thoughts. I shook my head, banishing the memory.

"Hmm. What if the staff remember us?" I asked, squashing down my apprehension and smiling mischievously.

He scoffed. "I hope they don't. You made their lives hell."

"Not my fault they couldn't handle a few pranks."

He pulled me out of the way as a large group of people descended the steps. We patiently watched them pass, but my attention was fixed on his hand on my wrist.

I felt a curious little twinge in the right side of my chest, but I dismissed it.

"Fifty bucks says you can't beat me in a game of pool," Rian challenged, smirking down at me.

I raised my eyebrows. "Oho. Bold words, Haltie."

"I told you to stop calling me that," he said as we headed inside.

My grin widened. The air was cool as we stepped through the doors. Without the buzz of ecomp preparation, the place seemed even more familiar than the last time.

"I'll stop if you beat me," I offered smugly.

"Deal. I'll hold you to that."

"I would expect nothing less."

Rian's hand was still on my wrist. The twinge in my chest sharpened, and I rubbed at it confusedly. I felt a strange sense of déjà vu. Something was triggering the pain, but I was sure it wasn't Rian. It couldn't have been.

I forced back my concerns as we reached the billiards wing. The room was practically empty, and Rian tossed me a cue stick.

We circled a well-kept table, and a wolfish grin crossed my face. He smirked back at me.

"Alright, Hanna," he drawled confidently. "Let's play."