Sky's POV
One year ago, I spilled coffee all over the Ice Prince of Ellesmere.
Today, I'm making him strawberry milk with a heart-shaped ice cube because, apparently, I've learned absolutely nothing.
To be fair, a lot has changed since that day.
For one, I now know that Rain Chen isn't just the untouchable, top-of-the-class football captain with cheekbones carved by angels and a voice that could ruin my life — he's also kind. Quietly kind. Subtle in a way most people miss. The kind of kind that returns your umbrella two days later after you lent it to a stranger, without saying a word.
And Ren?
He's gone from being the scary hot guy always two steps behind Rain, to being my best friend, my honorary big brother, and the person who threatens people with "I know where you live" when they mess with me. He taught me how to punch (I still hit like a plush toy), takes selfies with me when Rain won't, and drives me to my night classes because, in his words, "Rain would kill me if you got rained on."
They're my boys.
I love them both — but one of them?
One of them ruined me.
Rain Chen doesn't know it, but I'm madly, pathetically, tragically in love with him.
The kind of in love where I save his voice notes and replay them when I'm sad.
The kind of in love where I lie awake at 2 AM and imagine what it would be like to hold his hand.
The kind of in love where I bought three different kinds of lotion because he once said he liked vanilla.
And the worst part?
He's so gentle with me now.
He looks at me like I'm fragile and foolish, and it makes me want to cry, because all I've ever wanted was to be someone he could lean on.
Instead, I'm the one leaning. Constantly. Always. Desperately.
But I can't stop.
It's a Thursday when I realize how bad it's gotten.
I've woken up at 6 AM, baked him panda-shaped bento lunch with seaweed details, and made strawberry milk in a thermos that says "Boss Baby" on it.
He hates that nickname.
I love that he lets me call him it anyway.
I practically skip to class, the lunchbox wobbling in my tote bag and my hair already sticking to my lip gloss. I'm halfway up the steps when I see him — tall, devastating, leaned against the rail with a book in hand.
"Rain!" I call out, louder than necessary.
His eyes flicker up. Calm. Focused. Then softening.
He says nothing.
He never says much.
But when I trip on the last step — naturally — he reaches out, one hand catching my elbow, the other around my waist.
"You okay?" he murmurs, his hand still on my lower back.
"I swear this campus is plotting my downfall," I groan, regaining balance. "One of these days, you're gonna see me cartwheeling into the fountain."
He doesn't laugh, but something tugs at his mouth.
"Let me see your hands."
I blink. "Why?"
"You said you baked," he replies smoothly, brushing past me and sliding the tote off my shoulder.
He opens the lunchbox, pulls out a rice panda, stares at it like it's personally offended him.
"You did this?" he asks.
"With tweezers," I say proudly. "I call him Rice-nardo DiCapanda."
A beat of silence.
"God," he mutters, rubbing his temples.
"You're welcome," I beam.
Then — and this is new — he reaches into the box, takes one of the strawberry pastries, and holds it up.
"To feed me or just to flex your domestic goddess energy?"
I blink, stunned.
Did he just flirt?
"Why not both?" I whisper, before my brain can stop my mouth.
His eyes lock on mine. Something shifts. Dangerous and warm.
But before anything else can happen, Ren appears behind us.
"Sky, you bribing him with pandas again?" he drawls. "Is this what we've come to?"
"Yes," I say, not missing a beat. "And next week I'm making dumpling ducks. Prepare yourself."
Later that day, I find Rain alone under the olive tree behind campus.
He's eating the panda rice slowly, deliberately, like it's the last meal he'll ever have.
I slide down next to him, legs crossed, watching the leaves sway above.
"You know," I say softly, "you could've said you didn't want them."
"I didn't say that," he replies without looking at me.
"You didn't say anything."
"You never let me."
A pause.
I look at him, eyes wide. "Do you want me to?"
He glances at me. "Sometimes."
My heart flutters like an overcaffeinated butterfly.
I rest my head on his shoulder, and he doesn't move. Doesn't flinch. Doesn't sigh.
Just… stays.
Quiet. Solid. Here.
I close my eyes.
I don't say I love him.
But I think he knows.
And that's enough for now.