[ Rain's POV ]
I remained there, slumped against the wall, my fingers still trembling as I touched my swollen lips. The ghost of Fran's touch seemed to linger on my skin, burning me.
Does he hate me that much? I wondered. Is he so disgusted by me that he had to use force to silence me?
I eventually crawled onto my bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. The silence in the apartment was deafening, amplified by the mess of mushroom soup still sitting on the kitchen floor and the echo of the slamming door.
I couldn't do this anymore. For all those days, I had lived in a freezer, hoping for a thaw that might never come. For Fran's sake—and for my own sanity—I had to end this.
I picked up my phone and dialed the one person I knew would always answer.
"Yes, baby? You're calling? Is everything alright?" my mom's voice crackled through the line, warm and comforting.
"Mom..." I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice from breaking. "Can I find another apartment?"
"Oh? Why? Is the apartment not to your liking? Did you talk to Fran about it?"
"No, I mean... I want to move out. I want to live in the school dorms instead."
There was a pause. "Why? Did you and Fran fight?"
"No, Mom. It's not like that," I lied, the words tasting like ash. "I just really need to focus on my studies. I'll be a second-year student in a few months. Fran and I... we have our own lives now. We shouldn't be disturbing each other like this."
My mom didn't say anything for a long moment. I could hear her let out a soft, knowing sigh. "Okay, okay. If that's what you want, it's up to you. Just tell me if you need help with anything, alright?"
"Thanks, Mom."
After I hung up, the weight of what I'd just done hit me. I was leaving. I reached for my phone again and messaged the only two people I could turn to.
Me: Are you guys busy?
Michael: Busy! In a game, chat you later!
Sean: I'm free. Why? Is everything alright, Rain?
Me: Can I stay at your place for a few days?
Sean didn't text back. Instead, my phone immediately lit up with his call. I didn't say much—I couldn't—but Sean didn't push. He just told me he was on his way.
Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in the passenger seat of Sean's car, watching the familiar streets of our neighborhood blur past. I hadn't packed much, just enough for a few days.
"You can tell me anything, you know," Sean said, his voice soft and steady, devoid of his usual playfulness. "I'm here to listen."
I kept my gaze fixed on the window, watching the streetlights flicker. "I know. Thanks, Sean." I paused, feeling a hollow ache in my chest. "Do you have anything to drink at your place?"
Sean glanced at me, a small, encouraging smile touching his lips. "I'll make sure we have plenty."
After settling in, I walked back out to find Sean setting a bottle of wine on the coffee table. He sat down across from me, his usual goofy expression replaced by a look of quiet concern.
We sat in silence for a moment, the only sound being the hum of his air conditioner. I looked at him, trying to find the words to explain why I was there, but my stomach decided to speak for me with a loud, traitorous growl.
"Oi," Sean said, his eyebrows shooting up. "You haven't eaten dinner yet?"
"Well... hehe." I rubbed my stomach, trying to laugh it off, but the sound was hollow.
Sean didn't laugh back. He stood up immediately and headed for the kitchen. "I'll make you something. Just wait a minute."
"Eh? You actually know how to cook?" I asked, leaning over the back of the sofa to watch him. "You always make me prepare lunch for you at school!"
"Well, that's different," he called back, opening the refrigerator. "I can only make the simple stuff."
I watched him move around the kitchen. The Sean I knew at school—the "puppy-like," goofy guy who was always surrounded by giggling girls—seemed different here. He looked focused, almost serious, wearing a white sleeveless shirt that showed the lean muscle of his arms, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.
A few minutes later, he returned, presenting a plate with a flourish.
"Tada! Fried rice and Fried Spam," he announced, grinning like he had just prepared a five-course gourmet meal.
I couldn't help it; a genuine laugh escaped me. The way he presented such a simple dish was so uniquely Sean.
"There," he said softly, his eyes locking onto mine. "You finally smiled."
I froze, the laughter dying down into a warm, comfortable glow. I realized then how lucky I was to have him. Sean made me feel like I could just... breathe.
"You feel different today, Sean."
"Really? Do I look cool to you now?" He jokingly flexed his biceps, but that signature puppy-dog smile was back in his eyes.
"Yes. A hundred percent over two hundred," I teased, reaching for the plate and scurrying over to the coffee table. "Thank you for this. Really."
"Tsk. And here I thought I was finally going to get a serious compliment," he grumbled playfully, though he looked pleased.
As I ate, Sean poured the wine. We didn't talk about the apartment. We didn't talk about Fran. We just exchanged small smiles and comfortable glances. The hollow ache in my chest started to numb, replaced by the warmth of the wine and Sean's presence.
I didn't realize how many glasses I'd had until the edges of the room started to blur. I was full, slightly tipsy, and for the first time in years, I didn't feel like I was waiting for a storm to hit.