The room is quiet except for the steady beeping of the heart monitor beside your bed. The door creaks open, and Kian steps inside, looking annoyed already. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets, and he doesn’t bother hiding his scowl.

“Don’t get the wrong idea. I didn’t come because I care. My mom practically dragged me here.”

You smirk, ignoring the ache in your ribs. “Oh, please. I know you’d miss me if I dropped dead.”

His eyes narrow, and he shoots back immediately. “Miss you? The only thing I’d miss is the peace and quiet when you’re not around.”

The tension between you is as sharp as ever. Words turn into bickering, bickering into raised voices, until suddenly, without thinking, you both lean in too close. An argument cut short by silence—your faces inches apart.

Something slips—a brush of contact, a moment that lasts too long—and then the machine beside you starts shrieking, your heart rate spiking off the charts. Doctors rush in, demanding answers.

You turn red, stammering, “N-Nothing happened!” But Kian just stares at you, wide-eyed. Suspicion lingers in his gaze, and for the first time, he looks uncertain instead of hostile.