Chapter 4

Dylan’s POV

“So warm.”

My hand stops slicing my meal; my brother notices it.

“What’s wrong?” He asks.

“Nothing,” I answer and continue eating. Once my plate is empty, I excuse myself and head to my room.

I need an ice-cold bath as I’m constantly reminded of my most shameful action yet. Just… just how desperate am I that I did such a thing? And to someone who doesn’t feel anything besides hate towards me?

F*ck. A bath; I need one right now.

Not minding my clothes, I stand before the shower and turn it on. 

With my eyes closed, I slightly pucker my lips against his fingers. His hand felt rough, yet the tips felt like marshmallows. His fingers are so light and soft like I remember them from before. 

I looked at him and saw him with slightly wide eyes; it woke my senses. “Ah. I’m sorry!” I frantically shout and let go of his hand. And in no time, I feel the intense heat creep up to my nape; I stand and go for the door to unlock it. Yet, instead of leaving immediately, I take one last peak at him and say, “I’ll wait for you.”

“What the heck was that, Dylan?” I ask myself and slam my head on the wall.

A week has passed since then—a week without proper sleep due to anxiousness and overthinking. Still, even though it’s tiring, I feel relieved to see Tristan in school. However, no matter how much time I spend in the corridors, I can’t find the chance to talk to him. I know I said I’ll wait for him, but each passing day adds a toll on my body.

“Are you trying to kill yourself?” My brother scolds me.

My body gave in; I collapsed last night.

“I know I said to set things right, but exerting yourself will not help,” he slaps my forehead with a cold towel. “We came from the same d*ck, but why are you stupid?”

“How are you a doctor when you’re this sh*tty?” I ask him.

He rolls his eyes at me and leaves my room. I wheeze and turn to my side. My body hurts all over and feels hot. While trying to find my sleep, I can’t help but think about Tristan. My actions were hasty and thoughtless. It may seem insincere. If I were him, I’d be skeptical, too.

It’s been two nights since I got sick, and sleep didn’t visit me for some reason. The sun will soon rise, yet I still can’t feel the drowsiness I always yearned for after school. So, instead of lying down, I prepare to go to school early since I might bump into Tristan on the way.

A knock erupted on the door, halting my preparations. “Young Master, you have a visitor. I’ve let him in the living room and served him a light snack.”

My brows creased. It’s too early for someone to visit unless it’s my father. Yet the maid didn’t address who it was.

“He has a pass, so the guards escorted him here.”

My hands stopped packing my things. It’s Tristan! I exited my room and rushed down the stairs without a second thought. Once I see him, a smile escapes my lips.

“Tristan, you came,” he looks at me and nods. I then gesture the seat behind him and sit parallel to him. “It must be freezing outside, but you haven’t drank what we prepared. Is it not to your liking?”

He doesn’t answer but instead places the pass on the coffee table. My heart began pounding in nervousness. Tristan stands up, but I stop him.

“W-Wait,” I catch his hand. “Y-You can’t return this. I—”

He snatched his hand away and began trembling and wheezing. I feel my heart tighten. A mere touch from me made him feel vile. Did I really took things too far?

Feeling defeated, I hide my hand and look away.

“Oh, Mr. Abad is here.”

I look up the staircase. “Brother…”

He doesn’t mind me and proceeds to welcome Tristan. “You’re here early. Did you have breakfast yet?”

Tristan looks away.

“Brother, Tristan is leaving. You can’t—”

He eyes me, and I shut my mouth. He then smiles at Tristan and gestures him to our kitchen. “It’s too early for you to go to school, so have some breakfast with us first before you leave.” He signals the maids.

Tristan immediately looks at my brother. “N-No. I—”

Brother stops the maids. “Then have some hot chocolate with Tristan. You’re in no position to reject,” he then uses his business smile, which I’m scared of to this day.

 Tristan, who planned to leave, slowly sat down on his seat. I sigh, feeling defeated once again.

“You don’t think I’m capable of setting things right, do you?” I snap at him in the kitchen. He says nothing and continues to stir the drinks. “Don’t do anything reckless. I don’t want him—”

“Not give a f*ck about you?” He hands me my mug. “Don’t worry, younger brother. After this, you’ll thank me,” he smiles and leaves me alone.

“I made yours lukewarm so you can be on your way immediately. Enjoy,” my brother hands out Tristan’s portion. Tristan hesitates, but after a few moments, he caves in and reaches out.

We drink in silence, but from time to time, I peak at Tristan. Not once did Tristan look up; his eyes were glued to the drink as if it were fragile momento. While the silence envelopes us, I debate if I should talk to him.