Guilt crashes over Neva like waves.
I hurt him, didn't I? I made the boy sad, she ponders, heart heavy.
She sighs, regretting her cruel words. She should have watched her wretched tongue.
Trudging to the door, she locks it securely.
Back in the living room, she picks up the abandoned medicine from the table and returns it to the first aid kit. After putting it away, she steps onto the balcony.
The cold gusts bite at her skin, reddening her nose and cheeks. She shivers, wrapping her arms around herself.
She picks up the cup on the railing and sighs—her hot chocolate is cold.
Her lips curl in quiet sorrow. She can't let it go to waste, so she drinks it in three big gulps, the chill of it somehow matching her mood.
Leaning on the railing, shadowed trees and the twinkling town below in view, her eyes dull.
She can't shake the memory of his wounded expression.
---
The following week drags by. Rhett didn't appear again.
At six in the dusk, Neva strolls home from a quick visit to the convenience store, a small grocery bag swinging at her side.
Reaching her apartment building, she climbs the stairs to her floor—then halts. Her heart flutters.
Rhett stands in front of his door, tapping at the digital lock.
"Rhett?" she calls.
His fingers pause mid-air. His clouded mind—suddenly clear.
But he doesn't turn to look at her.
Neva quickens her pace, frowning at his averted eyes.
"Is everything alright?" she asks, but he doesn't answer.
She grabs his arm and turns him toward her. His gaze stays lowered.
She purses her lips. He's acting like a child sulking after being scolded.
Then her frown deepens. He looks horribly pale.
Just as she opens her mouth to rain questions down on him, her gaze drops to his hand—and her breath catches.
He's clutching his abdomen. Blood stains his hoodie. The wound is still bleeding.
"Rhett, you're bleeding! How did you get hurt?" her eyes widens in terror.
Without waiting for a response, she drags him into her apartment—just a few strides away.
Inside, she guides him to the couch and sets him down.
"Undress yourself," she orders, groceries forgotten and slumped on the floor.
"What?" he asks in a small voice, staring up at her serious expression.
"Your hoodie. Take it off," she repeats. He doesn't move.
"I'm fine. You don't need to bother," he mutters, gaze shifting away—aloof, uncharacteristically quiet.
Neva frowns. She broke him.
Did he really take it to heart?
His saddened face from before flashes in her mind, twisting her gut.
"Raise your arms," she says, helping him lift them.
He stiffens but lets her guide him. She slides the hoodie over his head. He's wearing nothing underneath. His bare torso is exposed—strong, muscular.
Damn.
Neva purses her lips in shame, annoyed at herself.
Then she notices the wound more clearly. A deep stab in the abdomen, still bleeding.
The black hoodie had hidden the worst of it, but judging by the flow—he's lost a lot of blood.
She disappears into her room and returns in a flash with the emergency kit.
Washing her hands, she kneels beside him and gently turns his frame toward her.
She presses clean gauze to stop the bleeding, then applies pressure with a bandage. Carefully cleaning the wound, she applies ointment and wraps it securely.
"For now, I've stopped the bleeding, but you need to treat it at the hospital," she says, closing the kit.
"Does it hurt?" she asks, glancing at the still-silent Rhett.
He lowers his gaze, his heartbeat pounding. He shakes his head.
It doesn't hurt? Seriously?
"You need to get stitches," she warns.
Then she softens. "What's wrong?"
He looks like a spoiled boy needing comfort after a scolding.
"I'm sorry… I've troubled you again," Rhett murmurs, still not meeting her eyes.
She sighs. "It's no biggy." She pauses.
"About last time… I didn't mean it. You're no trouble."
Slowly, he looks up. Their eyes thread. "Really?"
She clears her throat. "I only meant the fever part. But are clearly annoying—following me around."
Hah! Did that hit a nerve again?
She almost panics, worried she upset him. But his face brightens.
Neva thinks he's really just a child at heart.
"Won't you ask how I got hurt?" Rhett says, livelier now, pulling his hoodie back on.
She raises an eyebrow. "You must be in a street gang. Aren't you?"
"What?" he says, amazed.
"Otherwise, how else? You probably got into a fight. And lost." She shrugs.
Rhett chuckles. He finds her absolutely adorable.
"What? That's not it?" she frowns. To her, he still looks like a boy without a plan in life.
"You're a genius, Angel," he says with a grin and a thumbs up. "But I'm not in a gang. And I didn't lose—I won."
"I don't want to know," Neva sighs. But in her heart, she's smiling.
He's back. Her mystery man.
She prefers this version of Rhett more.
"Still, stop being a stalker. Let's just be friendly neighbors," she suggests suddenly.
Rhett frowns. "But I want to be lovers."
Neva rolls her eyes. "You don't just say things like that!"
"But why?" he almost whines.
She bites her bottom lip, thinking. "Give me a reason to date you."
"Because I like you," Rhett replies instantly.
That's it? Where's your IQ? Where's your EQ??
Neva huffs. "Forget it. Go rest."
At least assure her about your good heart, your strength that comes with that great body. Far forget about bragging to keep her happy and prosperous loyalty…
She sighs witheringly and gets up to leave. He doesn't stand a chance.
But then he grabs her wrist. She stops, turning to see him smiling.
"Alright, for now—we can be friends. But later, we'll date," he says with bold optimism.
Clueless everafter.
She shakes her head, smiling.
Slipping her wrist from his hand, she says—blushing,
"Win me over."
Then she rushes away, leaving behind a man grinning like a fool.