Thunder rumbled in the distance, low and ominous, a harbinger of the storm rolling ever closer. Sera's eyes snapped open, her breath catching in the suffocating quiet of her dark apartment.
"Are you still here?" she whispered into the shadows, her voice trembling with hope.
Silence.
"Hey," she tried again, a soft plea—fragile and uncertain. But the emptiness swallowed her words whole.
Her fevered body ached with every movement, but she dragged herself from the bed, her bare feet padding softly across the cold floor. She didn't dare turn on the lights—she couldn't risk scaring him away, if he was still out there. She searched every corner of her small apartment.
But there was no one. Just her, alone with the oppressive stillness.
She moved to the window and cracked it open just a sliver, letting the damp night air brush against her heated skin. Above the city, heavy, dark clouds gathered like an ominous weight on the horizon, their looming presence threatening to swallow the skyline. Leaning against the windowsill, she called out once more, her voice now tinged with desperation.
Still, there was no answer.
The air in the room thickened with the tension of the storm outside, the atmosphere heavy and foreboding. Hunger gnawed at her, and she decided to try the same trick again. Scribbling a sticky note, she left it on the windowsill—a quiet plea.
She waited. And waited.
But no one came.
No knock at the door. No shadowy figure emerging from the darkness.
The weight of disappointment settled over her like a shroud. This time, she left the front door wide open, its emptiness gaping as if it, too, was calling out for someone to come.
The storm finally broke. The wind howled through the open door, carrying the sharp scent of rain. Drops splattered across the floor, cold and unrelenting, as the storm invaded the small space she called home.
Her fever clouded her mind, muddling her thoughts. Exhaustion tugged at her, and Sera slumped to the floor by the door, falling asleep right there. Her small figure, fragile and still, was framed by the storm raging just beyond the threshold.
---
She stirred awake when the silhouette of a tall, well-built man moved to close her front door. Before she could process what was happening, she found herself back in her bed.
"Don't do things like this again," the man said, his voice low, carrying a hint of exasperation.
"Why did you leave me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I'm sorry," he replied, softer this time. "I was taking care of business."
Guilt tugged at her fevered mind. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed…"
He cut her off, his tone firm but gentle. "Don't leave the door open like that, and lock it properly."
Her gaze shifted to his shadowed form standing a few feet from the bed. Reaching into her drawer, she retrieved a small object.
"Come here," she said quietly.
He obeyed without hesitation, stepping closer. She pressed the cold metal of a key into his hand, but he shook his head.
"Either you keep that key, or I'll keep the door open," she said firmly.
He exhaled softly, as though defeated, and pocketed the key without further protest. His hand reached out tentatively, brushing the back of his knuckles against her forehead.
"You're burning up," he murmured, his golden eyes glinting faintly in the dim room.
"I want ramen," she said, her voice small but resolute.
He stilled, meeting her gaze with his own. "Wait here," he said, preparing to leave.
"No!" she called after him, shaking her head. "It's storming outside. Just make the instant kind." She paused before adding, "I won't look at you, I promise. Ah, is it too troublesome? I can make it myself—"
"Stay." His single-word reply silenced her, his tone leaving no room for argument.
To her surprise, he turned on the kitchen light, though she kept her gaze fixed downward, keeping her promise. The soft hum of activity in the kitchen filled the space—a comforting sound in the otherwise still night.
A short while later, the quiet clink of a bowl placed on the dining table broke the silence. Sera rose from her bed, still careful not to lift her eyes, and began making her way toward the table. But before she could take more than a few steps, he was at her side, taking her hand.
"You'll fall again," he said simply, guiding her.
She smiled faintly at his words as they reached the table. Her eyes darted to the bowl before her. "You only made one?"
"You want two?"
"No, it's for you."
"I'm fine," he replied, his tone dismissive.
"Do you want something else? I can make fried rice or—"
"I'll make it myself," he cut her off before taking another bowl and preparing another portion.
They ate in silence, his movements quiet and measured. Sera's gaze stayed on her own bowl, but she couldn't help noticing the grace in his every action. Everything about him spoke of refinement—a man accustomed to a different kind of life, a higher-class one.
The thought gnawed at her. Why would someone like him choose to follow someone as plain and unremarkable as her?
"Tell me," she began hesitantly. "How should I call you?"
He didn't answer at first, the pause heavy with unspoken thoughts.
"You don't have to give me your real name," she added quickly. "I just… don't know what to call you."
"Ryou," he said at last.
"Ryou," she repeated softly, as if testing the name on her tongue. "What is it?"
"Nothing," she murmured. "Just… trying to call you."
He didn't respond, instead steering the conversation in another direction.
"Why is your heater off?"
"Oh… sorry," she said sheepishly. "It broke three days ago."
No wonder she fell sick, he thought.
"You didn't get it fixed?"
"It's kind of expensive," she admitted. "Besides…"
"Call the building management. I'll pay the fee."
"No need! The building's being renovated next week anyway."
"So, you're moving out?"
She nodded. "Yeah, don't worry. I'll let you know once I find a new place."
"You haven't found one yet?"
"It's hard to find a cheap apartment in this area," she explained. "This building's old, so I got it for a good price."
He paused for a moment, his expression unreadable.
"I have an empty residence two blocks from here," he offered. "It's closer to your work."
Her eyes widened. "Really? How much is the rent?"
"I don't rent it. I own it. You can stay there. I've only used it twice—it's practically abandoned."
She hesitated, her spoon stilling in her half-empty bowl. "So, you're rich, huh?"
He didn't reply.
"If it's not a bother, then… thank you. I'll stay there until I find a permanent place."
He ignored her second sentence entirely. "Finish eating. I'll drive you there tonight."
"Tonight?"
"It's too cold to sleep here."