10 Minutes Later,
She stood there a moment longer—silent—steam curling behind her, before finally stepping out.
The towel clung tightly around her chest, tucked just above her breasts, leaving her pale shoulders exposed.
Her skin still glistened with water droplets—each one catching the morning light spilling through the blinds. Her pink hair, long and damp, fell across her collarbones like ink streaks on porcelain.
She moved with a kind of unintentional allure, hips swaying subtly as she walked to the corner dresser.
Her eyes—those soft, glassy pinks—were half-lidded in thought, still trailing the memory of him, of his chest, his voice, the way his fingers had brushed her jaw without hesitation.
Her cheeks flushed again.
"Tch… jerk."
She dropped the towel in one fluid motion—turning her back to the door—completely unbothered now that she was alone.
The cool air kissed her spine, goosebumps rising briefly before she began dressing.
A simple outfit. But on her?
It felt sinful.
Tight, light blue jeans slid up her legs, clinging to every curve, hugging her thighs, her round hips, her soft ass like second skin.
She gave a tug—zipping it with a breath that lifted her chest, the fabric pulling snug across her lower body.
Then, she reached for the white shirt: loose, yes, but thin. Too thin.
She didn't bother with a bra.
The shirt dropped over her bare shoulders, brushing her nipples as it fell. They perked under the fabric instantly, clearly visible through the white cotton.
Her stomach showed when she moved—flat and smooth with a tiny mole just above her navel.
She caught her reflection in the mirror, brushing her wet pink hair back with her fingers.
"Was he always that handsome… Should I ask him out?"
A quick shake of the head.
She picked up her phone from the side desk… then paused.
"…He didn't pack my bag today?"
Her brows furrowed.
Usually, it'd be there. Neatly placed. Already zipped and ready beside the door. Always.
But not today.
Not after last night. Not after ignoring her calls.
"…Is his hotness over his head or something?"
She clicked her tongue, tossing her phone on the bed, and stomped over toward the bag herself.
Fingers brushed through the books, and she frowned again. The order was all wrong. One book was even upside down.
"Am I this reckless…"
Something wasn't right. But she ignored the twist in her gut. Too much irritation clouded her.
Satteus always handled this. It was his way of saying "you matter" without actually saying it.
And today, he didn't.
"…Hah."
She muttered under her breath, slung the bag over one shoulder, and began moving out of the room.
Her legs, still damp, squeaked faintly in her jeans as she walked.
The hallway was quiet. Still.
Until—
"Kh—!?"
Halfway down the stairs, her breath suddenly hitched.
Chest tightened. Sharp. Sudden.
Her eyes widened—panic blooming. She clutched the rail, fingers trembling.
That… that thing.
Her allergy.
It had been nearly gone these past weeks… completely dormant. But now, it surged back like a shadow from nowhere. Her throat clenched. Breathing shallow.
She stumbled—vision blurring.
Her knees gave out.
"Ahhhh—!"
A short gasp left her lips before—
THUD. THUMP. TH-THUD.
Her body tumbled down the stairs, bag flying from her shoulder, her shirt rising halfway as she rolled, revealing the bare skin of her waist, her side, even a flash of underboob.
'!'
'N...no—'
Her eyes widened as she saw umbrella holders placed just below, eyes widening at the sharp edges of umbrellas within it, everything seemed to slow down with eyes looking through the gap at the side only to find Satteus holding a flower basket moving toward that direction.
"Arvia—!" His eyes widened, hand yanking the basket away as he sprinted.
Thwack!
Arvia hit the wall—
'Huh?' Or so she thought, colliding with something firm but it was soft and breathing.
"Urghh...."
The sound was low, pained, and so close.
She blinked—stunned—her body sprawled awkwardly across something firm, yet warm.
Her cheek was pressed to a shoulder, her palm splayed over a chest that rose… then fell… then rose again, faint but real.
Her breath hitched.
Slowly—achingly—she lifted her head.
"...Satteus?"
Her voice barely escaped her lips, fragile and cracking, like glass under strain.
And then she saw it.
The angle of his neck. The way his body was twisted beneath her. His arm was flung out protectively behind her head, cushioning the final slam—his head hit the wall, knees bent, holding her while back...
His back...
Drip
A faint smear of red trailing beneath them.
But her eyes caught it—her mind refusing to process—until the wetness reached her skin.
A slow warmth spreading across her belly where she lay on top of him.
Drip. Drip.
She pushed herself up slightly—hands braced on his chest—and her eyes dropped.
The back of his shirt was soaked. Not with water.
Blood. Thick. Dark. Blooming like cruel flowers from three jagged metal spikes—umbrella tips—stabbed clean through him.
One near his shoulder, one dangerously close to his spine… and the last—deep, lodged low. Still trembling slightly in place from the force of the fall.
Her entire body froze.
"No," she whispered, mouth dry. "No no no—Satteus…"
His eyes, heavy-lidded and struggling to stay open, found hers. There was a faint tremble in them, but more than that—a stupid, defiant smile tugging at his lips.
"You okay…?" he rasped.
Her heart clenched.
Why the fuck was he asking that?
She shook her head sharply, hair falling around her face, clinging to her cheeks.
"Ahhh... DAD! DAD!"
Her voice cracked. The name barely came out through the sobs choking her throat.
Arvia clung to Satteus like her hands could somehow hold his soul in place. Her palms were slick with his blood, fingers twitching, unable to let go. Her eyes were wide, shaking, filled with tears that wouldn't stop coming.
She was frozen.
Broken.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, dripping onto his chest. Her mouth opened and closed without words—just silent gasps and panic. Her legs felt numb, her breath too shallow.
"Please—no, no, please…"
Then—
Footsteps. Fast. Heavy. A door slammed open behind her.
"Arvia!"
Her father's voice. Solid. Cutting through the blur like a hand grabbing her from underwater.
She turned her head—barely—just enough to see him rushing toward them. Disheveled, half-buttoned shirt, jacket thrown on crooked, eyes taking in the scene in a heartbeat.
His face went pale.
Satteus. Blood. Umbrella spikes. His daughter kneeling in the middle of it all.
He didn't hesitate.
"Move!"
He dropped beside them, crouched low, one arm going around Arvia's shoulders first. She leaned into him without thinking, her whole body trembling. Her father's arm was strong, steady—pulling her gently aside even as she sobbed against him.
"It's okay. You're alright. I've got you."
Then he looked at Satteus.
The blood soaking through his shirt. The faint, painful rise and fall of his chest.
"Shit... Satteus—how the hell—? No, forget it. We're not wasting time."
He slid both arms under him with practiced care, gritting his teeth as Satteus let out a low groan.
"I've got you, son. Just stay awake."
He rose, strong and sure, holding Satteus with barely a flinch despite the weight and blood. Then he turned to Arvia, who was still on her knees, shivering.
"Arvia. In the car. Now."
"Ah... y-yes, S-Satteus..." She nodded, legs stumbling as she pushed herself up, wiping at her face with a bloody sleeve.
Her feet barely felt the ground as she followed him outside, the morning air hitting her like ice.
The car was already unlocked. Door flung open.
He guided her in, then slid Satteus in carefully beside her—making sure not to jolt the metal still lodged in his back.