"Oh. She's sick," Nikki says with a soft smile, but there's a calculated cadence to her words. Each one lands like a chess move. "Resting. Said the weather got to her."
"Is she okay?" Yraiza asks immediately. Her brows knit together out of concern.
Nikki nods. "Yeah. She skipped the morning to rest. Said she'd push through the afternoon."
A ripple of tension slides through The Thirteen like a change in barometric pressure.
Wonwoo's jaw ticks. Minghao glances away, lips pressed thin. Hoshi narrows his eyes at Nikki, arms crossed, skepticism practically vibrating off him.
Mingyu hasn't said a word. He's staring at a scuff on the marble floor like it's the root of all his problems. Seungchel draws agitated circles on the rim of his water bottle, eyes blank.
Dino's tapping away at his phone like nothing's happened, but even that feels too... deliberate.
And Jeonghan?
Jeonghan just leans back, laces his fingers behind his head, and surveys the table like he's seen the final scene of this melodrama and brought snacks.
The smirk? Still there. Unbothered. Infuriating.
But it's Joshua who moves first.
His back straightens like someone yanked a string.
"Why didn't you tell me—I mean, tell us—sooner?" he blurts, his voice an octave higher than normal. "Does she need anything? Soup? Tea? Electrolytes? I've got a stockpile."
Nikki arches a brow, amused. "Relax, Joshua Nightingale. I made sure she drank her meds and rested well."
"Are you sure she's okay?" Joshua presses, eyes darting between Nikki and Yraiza like they're about to confess to a crime. "She doesn't let people take care of her. Someone has to."
There's a beat of silence before Jeimyka tucks her hair behind her ear and leans in, voice syrupy sweet with danger.
"Well, well," she drawls. "What happened to the academy's resident virgin loverboy?"
The entire table explodes. Teasing flies everywhere.
Joshua goes from concerned to a human tomato in seconds.
"C'mon, guys. I'm just being a good friend," he coughs. "Also, I've done this for other people before. This isn't weird!"
"Oh really?" Hoshi grins. "Because it smells like fresh simping in here."
"Premium-grade," Vernon mutters, sipping his coffee before Seungkwan also takes a sip.
"Name one other person you've gone into nurse-mode for," Jeimyka challenges, pointing a fork like it's a dagger.
"Well...I helped Dino once—"
"You tossed a Band-Aid and told me to 'walk it off,'" Dino interjects without looking up from his phone.
Minghao crosses his legs and turns to Dino. "Was that the same time he asked, I mean, forced you to climb a tree?"
Dino nods. "Uh-huh!"
"I sneezed and you said 'Bless you' via text," Hoshi adds helpfully.
"You were just overdramatic," Joshua defends.
"Overdramatic, huh?" Yraiza leans forward with a gleam in her eye. "What about me, your dear sister, when I had the flu. You gave me expired cold meds and said, and I quote, 'You'll build character.'"
"Okay, okay, you made your point!" Joshua groans, covering his face with both hands. "I hate all of you."
"You're welcome," Jeimyka says sweetly.
But across the table, Mingyu is still staring at his drink, his mind clearly elsewhere. He doesn't understand why he cares so much about your absence.
Seungcheol says nothing either.
He hates how his chest clenched when Nikki said you were sick. Hates that he had to stop himself from getting up then and there. Hates that he cares.
He doesn't know when that happened or how it happened. But it did. And he doesn't like it.
Later that afternoon...
You're late.
Or technically, not yet late but just late enough that you're walking faster than usual, clutching your notebook too tightly to your chest, the strap of your bag slipping off your shoulder with every few steps.
Still foggy from the cold meds, shivering slightly under your blazer as you make your way toward your first afternoon class, a student intercepts you.
"Sinclair," she calls, holding out a large bouquet wrapped in cream silk paper and pale green ribbons.
The flowers are fresh, dew-kissed, elegant white tulips, soft chamomile, and a few sprigs of lavender. Delicate, understated. Nothing gaudy.
There's a card tucked between the stems. You pull it out slowly.
"Get well soon."
No name. No signature. No initials. Just the clean scrawl in ink, tilted slightly to the right.
You blink at it once. Maybe, twice?
Confusion creeps in.
Who the hell sent this?
You can feel the shift in the air around you. A group of well-dressed girls, all curls and cosmetics, standing by the windows, lean in toward each other, loud enough for their whispers to snake through the hallway.
"Oh my god! I knew it. She came here to fish for rich men," one says.
The others chuckle.
"Right?" another one says, flipping her perfectly ironed hair. "Didn't Charmaine say she'd get her claws in someone soon? Guess she was right. Rotten apple pretending to be fresh. Ew!"
Your fingers tighten around the bouquet. You want to turn around to confront them, but you're way too weak to even start an argument.
You inhale. Slow and careful.
You don't know who sent the flowers. You don't know what Charmaine's been saying behind your back. But you care less because the more you react, the more they like it.
You lift your chin, not giving them the reaction they want, and you keep walking while holding the bouquet tighter. Back rigid, eyes forward. The whispers follow you, clinging like fog.
As you walk away from them, questions begin pouring in.
Who sent the flowers?
Why anonymously?
And what exactly did Charmaine say that made those girls so sure you're just a gold-digger with good bone structure?
You're rounding the corner near the east courtyard when you nearly collide with someone. Solid, tall, and fast-moving in the opposite direction.
Ouch!
"Whoa—sorry," you mumble automatically, instinctively bracing yourself for the kind of cold dismissal this school so often offered.
But instead, the voice that replies is warm. Familiar.
"Rory?"
Your head snaps up.
Joshua stands just a breath away, eyes widening with surprise and something else. Worry?
He's dressed impeccably as ever, his collared shirt crisp, and his sleeves rolled up like he always forgets the rules of formal wear.
His brow furrows the moment he really looks at you. "You don't look okay."
You force a smile. "Thanks for the honesty."
"I didn't mean..." He laughs softly, running a hand through his hair. "I just meant, you still look pale. Should you even be out here? Nikki said you were sick this morning."
You blink. "How do you…?"
"She told us at lunch. Everyone's worried, I was worried."
He steps forward before you can respond, his hand brushing your forehead without thinking. His touch is gentle, featherlight, but it startles you all the same.
Joshua frowns. "Still a little warm."
"I'm okay," you say quickly, pulling back.
He watches you, thoughtful. "You skipped meals, didn't you?"
Your stomach chooses that exact moment to growl. Fantastic.
"I wasn't hungry."
He sighs like you've just told him you plan to take up skydiving with no parachute. "Come with me."
"What? I'll be late. You'll be late."
"Who cares? You're not going to class until you've eaten something."
You hesitate. You look at him. He smiles warmly but sternly at the same time.
You cave.
He makes you sit under the tree by the fountain, the most shaded spot in the courtyard. The breeze is kind here.
You take the orange juice he hands you, cool and tart, and sip while he watches.
"Slow down," he warns gently. "You haven't eaten properly since yesterday."
"You always take care of people like this?" you ask.
He shrugs, not meeting your eyes. "Not really."
You pause. Oh.
Before you can say anything, his gaze flicks to the bouquet beside you.
"Nice flowers," he says, but it's flat, offhanded, like the words taste bitter.
"Uhm." You fidget. "Yeah... some student gave them to me earlier. Didn't say who. They're too pretty to throw away."
Joshua hums. He looks at them like they've personally offended him.
"I can get you better. Bigger," he mutters under his breath.
"Huh?"
"Nothing. Finish your food," he says quickly. "Then we'll head to class. Mr. Smith's already on edge."
You blink, but nod.
Upper Terrace, overlooking the courtyard.
Unbeknownst to both of you, two figures stand frozen over the railing, half-hidden behind ivy and marble columns.
Seungcheol and Mingyu.
They just happen to be there with Hoshi to kill time before going to their afternoon classes.
Mingyu's brows draw together. His jaw ticks as he watches you tip your head back, amused at something Joshua just said. You look... free. At ease.
He doesn't even realize how tightly he's gripping the railing until a voice beside him breaks the silence.
"Mingyu," Hoshi teases, lounging against the column. "Have you been working out lately?"
"What?"
Hoshi smirks, eyes drifting pointedly to Mingyu's forearms, where veins are beginning to pop against the strain.
"You look ripped. The railing's about to snap in half."
Mingyu blinks, then immediately loosens his grip, flexing his fingers like that'll hide the way his muscles are still tense.
"Shut up," he mutters, but there's no heat in it.
Hoshi chuckles as he watches Mingyu walks away from the railing.
Meanwhile, down below, Joshua shifts slightly, brushing a stray leaf from your shoulder like it's second nature.
That movement pulls a thread loose inside Seungcheol.
He doesn't speak. He hasn't said a word in minutes. But his shoulders are tense, hands shoved deep into his pockets to hide the way his fists curl.
He hates how close Joshua sits. How natural it seems. How you let him.
He knows he doesn't have a claim. But watching you lower your guard for someone else, someone safer... someone not him, hurts in a way he can't name without setting something on fire.