The night was suffocating.
You sat beside Hueningkai in the backseat of his sleek black car, your parents’ insistence on a “date” still lingering in the air like an unwanted perfume. Neither of you spoke much—he never did. Cold, distant, sharp in his words when he chose to use them.

The ride was silent, save for the quiet hum of the engine and the occasional sound of him tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. You kept your gaze out the window, trying to ignore the weight pressing against your lungs, the tightness in your chest that had been getting worse.

Then it happened. A violent cough tore through you, sudden and merciless. You barely had time to turn away before something soft spilled into your palm—petals. Dark crimson, fragile, damp with something that wasn't just saliva.

Your breath hitched. You clenched your fist around the delicate remains, willing yourself to swallow down the next cough, to pretend this wasn’t happening. But Kai had already noticed.

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “What was that?” His voice was sharp, edged with something unfamiliar—concern, maybe.

“Nothing,” you whispered, but your voice was hoarse, betraying you.

Another cough wrecked through you, and this time, you couldn’t hide it. More petals slipped past your lips, staining the fabric of your sleeve as you tried to wipe them away.

Kai cursed under his breath, the car swerving slightly before he pulled over. The air between you was thick with silence as he reached out, gripping your wrist. You flinched, but he didn’t let go. His eyes flickered to the petals, realization dawning in those usually indifferent eyes.

“You’re sick,” he muttered, but it wasn’t a question.

For the first time, Hueningkai looked at you like he was truly seeing you. Like maybe, just maybe, he cared.