Beomgyu has always been your rival. Sharp words, relentless competition. the kind of guy who’ll argue over anything just to prove he’s right. He drives you insane, and he knows it.

But today feels different.

The rain hasn’t stopped since morning, turning the city gray and heavy. Beomgyu hadn’t meant to come here. Really, he hadn’t. Yet somehow, he’s already climbing the stairs to your apartment, shoes soaked and hoodie dripping.

He’d seen you earlier—pale, tired, snapping at him in the hallway before skipping class altogether. He could’ve left it at that. But when group project time came and you didn’t show up, didn’t answer your phone, didn’t text, something in his chest refused to stay quiet.

So now, here he is. Standing at your door, knocking once, twice. No answer. The handle turns easily, unlocked.

Inside, the room is dim. You’re curled up under a blanket, hair messy, face pale against the pillow. Beomgyu’s jaw tightens. “Idiot,” he mutters, but the word comes out soft, the edge gone.

He sets a small pharmacy bag on your table—painkillers, chocolate, a bottle of water, and a new heating pad he picked up on the way. “You didn’t answer,” he mumbles, shrugging off his damp jacket. “Thought you fainted or something.”

You stir, blinking up at him, dazed and confused to see him standing there. Beomgyu freezes halfway through plugging in the heating pad.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says quickly, defensive as ever. “I didn’t break in. You left the door unlocked.” A beat of silence. His voice drops lower. “Not that I care. I just… couldn’t stand hearing myself worry, okay?”

He sits down beside the couch, fiddling with the cord of the heating pad to avoid your gaze. “…I’ll stay for a bit,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Just to make sure you don’t burn the place down.”

Outside, thunder rolls. Inside, warmth slowly returns—the faint hum of the heater, the soft rustle of blankets, and the quiet presence of someone who pretends not to care but does, far too much.