Ling didn't wait for the stretcher.
The moment Rhea coughed weak, broken Ling's arms slid beneath her without thought. One arm under her knees, the other supporting her back.
Gasps echoed.
Everyone knew the rule.
Ling touched no one.
Ling didn't carry people.
Yet here he was.
Rhea's body was warm and heavy against his chest, soaked fabric clinging to curves Ling absolutely refused to notice and failed. Water dripped from her hair onto his arm, each drop grounding, undeniable.
"What are yo..." Rhea said.
"Clear the corridor," Ling said.
Not loud.
Final.
He moved before Rhea could speak.
Before he himself could think about the fact that his lips were still burning.
Before he could face the truth clawing at his chest
That he hadn't jumped into that pool because he was in control.
He had jumped because the thought of losing Rhea Nior
had felt unbearable.
Jian and Rowen moved instantly, pushing students back, blocking sightlines. The crowd dissolved, stunned into obedience.
Mira took a step forward. "Ling, the med..."
Ling didn't look at her.
"Not you."
Two words. Cold. Absolute.
Mira froze.
Ling walked.
Boots steady. Spine straight. Expression unreadable.
Inside, something was cracking.
He could feel Rhea's breathing shallow, uneven. Feel the faint tremor in her fingers when Ling adjusted his grip.
Rhea's head fell against his shoulder, lips parting as if to speak and failing.
Ling's jaw tightened.
You don't get to be fragile, he thought fiercely.
Not in my arms.
The private changing room doors slid open.
No one had ever been carried in here.
Ling laid Rhea down gently gently on the padded bench, hands lingering a second too long before he forced them away.
Rhea's swimsuit was darkened with water, clinging, exposing the rise and fall of her chest.
Ling turned his face away sharply.
This was not him.
He was efficient. Controlled. Detached.
He didn't watch people breathe.
But he checked Rhea's pulse anyway.
Strong. There.
Relief hit him like shame.
Ling dragged a towel from the rack and wrapped it around Rhea's shoulders, movements precise, almost careful. His fingers brushed Rhea's collarbone accidentally.
He pulled back as if burned.
"Idiot," Ling muttered to himself.
Rhea stirred.
Barely.
Her lashes fluttered. Her lips moved.
Ling leaned closer without realizing he was doing it.
"…cold," Rhea whispered, voice raw.
Ling froze.
He took his blazer from rack and draped it over Rhea without hesitation tailored fabric against soaked skin, absurdly intimate.
If anyone had seen this, they wouldn't have believed it.
Ling straightened, forcing distance.
"This changes nothing," he said quietly, as if Rhea could hear. "You don't get special treatment."
His eyes betrayed him.
Because this was special.
Rhea shifted again, brow furrowing, breath hitching as consciousness tried to return. Her fingers caught the edge of Ling's sleeve weak, unconscious instinct.
Ling looked down at that grip.
Something dangerous settled in his chest.
He didn't pull away.
Outside the door, Mira stood frozen, nails biting into her palm.
Inside the room, Ling Kwong who ruled through fear, hierarchy, and distance stood guard over an unconscious girl he was never supposed to touch.
And for the first time in his life, Ling understood the truth he had been fighting since yesterday:
He hadn't jumped into the water to save a rival.
He had jumped because losing Rhea
felt impossible to survive.
The room stayed silent.
But control...
Control had already slipped through his fingers.