Rian lifted the spoon to his lips. I leaned forward slightly, trying and failing to hide my eagerness.

He paused and glanced up at me from beneath his irritatingly long lashes. I impatiently gestured for him to keep going. He rolled his eyes and tilted the spoon, letting the soup spill into his mouth.

I rocked in my seat, studying his reaction carefully over the counter. "So?" I ventured. "How is it?"

He savoured it thoughtfully, and I felt a touch of pride watching him. Like a true chef, I thought, a little pleased.

"It's . . . decent."

My mouth dropped open. Rian looked at me again, the barest hint of a smirk on his lips. "Decent?" I spluttered in disbelief. "Decent?"

He shrugged. "Could have been better, in my opinion."

I waited incredulously for a moment longer before nodding slowly. "Okay," I acknowledged reluctantly, trying to rationalize being told my food wasn't amazing right off the bat. "Alright." Rian took another sip, his hair falling over his forehead alluringly. "I guess that's to be expected when it's the first time."

He choked and began coughing violently. Alarmed, I reached over and patted his back until he regained his breath. He stared at me in shock. "This was your first time?"

I regarded him warily, not totally sure of his recovery. "Yeah. Why?" I frowned, taking his spoon and tasting it for myself. He watched me, his eyes darkening when I put the warm metal to my lips. "It's not that bad, is it?" I mused concernedly.

Rian cleared his throat and glanced away. "Maybe I was a bit harsh," he said gruffly. "For your first time making chicken soup, that's . . . impressive."

I blinked. A slow smile stretched across my face. "No. Is this really happening?" I mock-questioned. "A compliment from Rian Aronhalt?" My voice was teasing, and I felt a little thrill when the cold black orbs pinned on me narrowed in response. "That's it. My life is complete."

Rian scowled, silently taking the spoon back from me and swallowing another mouthful. I sighed a little wistfully; his guard was back up. "It was an observation, not a compliment. Don't confuse the two."

"Whatever you say," I acquiesced, my playful smile still intact. His eyes darted menacingly to mine at my submissive tone, and when his tongue swept up a droplet of soup on his lip I suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

"Anyway," I blurted, forcibly breaking myself out of that same spell he always managed to put me under, "we should talk about the ecomp."

Rian nodded neutrally, easily scooping up a piece of chicken and taking a bite. "That list of recipes seemed fine. Does it really warrant further discussion?"

I huffed. "Yes, because these are all things we've done before," I said, gesturing to the list laid out between us. "See? The ratatouille, the tenderloin, the french onion soup, even that one time Lisa forced us to make fluffernutters—"

"Okay!" Rian cut in. "I get it," he said curtly, his brow furrowed in irritation and something else. Embarrassment? I recognized confusedly. But what's there to be—

Oh.

My own cheeks went pink as I realized where I'd gone wrong. Freaking Lisa, I thought, mortified. Now I understood that wicked grin she'd been wearing when she made her request.

I struggled to continue. "I mean—the point is we have to make something entirely new. Innovate, you know?" I felt the hint of a smile overtake my awkwardness. "We gotta improvise, adapt, overcome."

Rian looked at me strangely. "Alright," he said slowly, like he thought I'd knocked a screw loose, and continued eating. I sat back amusedly, not really surprised that my allusion to popular culture had gone completely over his head. "And how do you suggest we do that?"

I propped my head in my hands pensively, trying to figure out the best way to answer his question. "The best dishes are ones that reflect not only the talent of the competitors, but also their individual personalities. Something that really speaks to their creative spirit." I glanced at Rian imploringly, willing him to understand. "Does that make sense?"

"No."

My hopes sagged along with my shoulders. This was going to be harder than I thought.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "Okay, you're a psych student right?" I started, trying to phrase my ideas less abstractly. "You're used to breaking things down, analyzing them, and then putting them back together."

Rian nodded, eyeing me skeptically. "That's right."

I tilted my head towards his now-finished meal. "How would you profile me based off the soup I just gave you?" I asked evenly.

He raised a brow, and I could almost hear the scoff embedded in that one simple act. "That's not how it works. I can't explain an entire person based off some stew."

"Soup," I corrected, crossing my arms. "And not just the actual dish, everything. The way I served it to you, the presentation," I paused, resisting the urge to lick my lips, "how I watched you take your first bite." Rian went still, but I pressed on anyway. "All of that is taken into account at the ecomp. They'll see how you feel about your food and that'll be mirrored in your score."

Rian drummed his ridiculously long fingers on the marble counter. "Go on," I urged. "Try it."

He didn't speak for a few moments, and I wondered if he'd actually just ignore my request entirely, but he eventually growled out a reluctant "fine." 

I raised an eyebrow of my own; it was an uncharacteristic show of emotion for him to be anything but expressionless, but so far I'd gotten half a smirk and now a growl. Something was definitely different.

Ignoring my curious attention, Rian launched into his analysis. "In terms of presentation, there's nothing really impressive. The bowl and spoon, as well as the pot it was cooked in, all belong to me. I own them." 

His eyes flicked to mine and lingered longer than necessary before returning to the bowl.

"The lack of flair or flourish suggests that you were either in a hurry to make it or just didn't care. However, the latter possibility is contradicted by the soup itself, which was," Rian paused, seeming to have trouble getting the words out, "extraordinary." 

My cheeks flushed and I resisted the urge to duck my head in embarrassment. Lips parted, I continued to listen. 

"So it stands to reason that the chef—that you were rushing to prepare the soup. You cared how it tasted but didn't have the time to make it look . . .  pretty. The reason for that can probably be deduced by the way you served it to me," Rian hesitated again, this time stopping like a revelation had just revealed itself to him.

I was fascinated, totally engrossed by his flawless reasoning and the way his stream of thought was so visible, so there, right in front of me. So far he hadn't gotten a single thing wrong, and I leaned forward subconsciously. Anticipating. Wanting more.

Rian continued, his brooding realization clear as day on his brow. "It wasn't a request but rather an obligation for me to eat it—your attitude was forceful, and your expression suggested a sort of righteous expectation normally typical to parents or guardians. Also known as . . ." Rian eyes had widened, stricken by his own reluctant deductions.  

"Concern," he muttered finally, a dangerous edge to his voice. "Alarm, genuine worry. And then watching me, monitoring my reaction . . . " He glowered at me, but the mask was gone. I could see every individual notion that crossed his face. And this wasn't a glare of hatred. "Stupid. You just wanted to make sure I ate it all."

I rocked back in my seat, amazed. He'd always been smart, but this? This was on another level. 

"Wow. You were totally right," I said simply, a grin finding its way onto my lips. "That was seriously one of the coolest things I've ever seen."

His glower only intensified in response, but I didn't miss when the tips of his ears went the slightest bit pink. 

Still smiling, I nodded in satisfaction. "But yeah, that's basically what I was trying to get at. You deconstructed everything perfectly, so that should give you a pretty good picture of the foresight and planning that goes into just one dish. There's always a reason—an emotion, really—behind every decision in the cooking process."

Rian dragged a hand through his hair, messing it even further. "Fine. I get it," he said darkly. 

I frowned, a bit surprised; something had shifted. 

I studied him, a trickle of foreign emotion sweeping over me without warning. The guard was down, yes, but what was left was almost worse. It was fury, and loathing, and a million different types of negativity wrapped and concentrated and just barely kept under the surface. What had changed?

"Rian?" I asked hesitantly. For some reason my confidence and good humour had fled, lost in the calm of what I now suspected would be a devastating storm. 

He ignored me and stood abruptly. I blinked in surprise as he stalked to his room and slammed the door shut behind him, leaving the apartment silent in his wake.

"What the heck?" I mumbled confusedly. Maybe he just really had to, you know, go?

I couldn't entirely shake my feeling of dread, so I set about clearing the remains of the soup to distract myself. I hummed as I worked; it was a habit I'd had ever since I was a child. One of the few that remained, anyway.

My hums halted suddenly when I spotted the canister of fever medicine I'd bought for Rian. I picked up the bottle curiously, turning it over in my hands. Idly, I glanced over the label pasted to its side.

Caution: side effects include nausea, fatigue and mood swings. Do not administer to anyone with a history of liver disease, extensive trauma or stress disorder.

What the actual fuck.

I dropped the container in muted horror, barely noticing the obnoxious clatter it made as it hit the counter and rolled off onto the floor. Suddenly all of Rian's strange remarks and attitude throughout the day made perfect, terrible sense. Moods swings? I thought in awful disbelief, tempted to laugh at this absurd twist of fate. Extensive trauma? Are you fucking kidding me?

My incredulous inner spiel was interrupted by Rian's door slamming back open. 

"Hanna." 

One word was all it took to make me freeze. His voice was deadly smooth, but I didn't mistake that calm veneer for anything worth taking comfort in. I closed my eyes in dread. This was it. 

The storm was here.

"Rian," I began nervously, my eyes fluttering open as though they were also afraid to witness what I feared was about to happen. Afraid to anticipate, more like.

My voice died in my throat as Rian strode over to me, his normally iced-off demeanor burning with unfamiliar purpose. Against my will, I felt my cheeks heat up and my mouth go dry. I didn't know what to make of the way he was looking at me, the way his eyes roamed freely over my petite figure.

Like I was something to devour. 

"Are you okay?" I asked, my voice unusually small. He was right in front of me now, leaning over me like a predator does his prey. 

He silently took a step forward, and I sucked in a sharp breath as my back hit the marble counter. It was intimidating, and exhilarating, and by all accounts like I really was prey that had been backed into a corner.

Except the prey doesn't like it. Doesn't enjoy every second of proximity with its hunter.

"No," Rian murmured, his voice silky and fatal. "I'm not okay." He sounded fundamentally different; not just his tone but all of him, strange and open and free to interpret. 

I glanced up into his eyes and nearly shrunk away in shock—his gaze was fervent and somehow more feverish than before, like he was allowing himself something he never would have otherwise dreamed of. 

I knew what it was, too well: longing. Desire.

"What have you done to me?"

I swallowed; that one loaded question had a million answers, none of which I was willing to give voice to. "I think I may have given you the wrong medicine," I offered weakly, not really hoping the excuse would work. More like the opposite.

Rian chuckled darkly, and the sound of his laughter sent a delightful chill down my spine. It was threatening, very clearly the sound of danger. So then why did I like it so much?

"I know what you're trying to do, Hanna," he said, his voice low and seductive. "And it won't work. I won't let it, for your sake."

"What are you . . . talking about?" I breathed, anxious to relieve the tension I felt building up in my chest, like a physical force keeping me stuck there, hating and hoping for something I couldn't name.

"Rokim was right, you know. I'm not good for you. Or anyone, for that matter."

"I don't—"

My voice choked off when I saw him move. He shifted forward, faster than my sluggish brain could keep up with, and suddenly his face was two inches from mine. One inch. 

Less.

I let my eyes flutter closed again, my breath bated not because I was short of it, but because his own was gently blowing against my reddened face. And then it wasn't just his breath.

He brushed his lips against my jaw, and I could feel rather than see his dark hair falling over his brow, tickling my cheek. "Open your eyes," he commanded. "Look at me."

"No."

"Why not?" The hint of dark anger I heard in his voice didn't strike fear into me so much as excitement, a sensation I just couldn't manage to feel guilty for. Not this time. "Are you nervous?" he asked slowly, echoing his words that first day we'd worked together. 

I swallowed. I knew what I was doing—going against my better judgement—but I didn't care and went along with the game anyway. Repeated the words I'd told him the first time he'd asked that question.

"Not in the slightest," I replied, summoning all my remaining strength for the command I knew was coming.

"Then look at me."

I finally followed his orders and looked into the raven-black depths before me. I saw my entranced gaze reflected in his glaring one. My breath left me as he drew closer and the distance between us shrank. 

"Tell me what you see."

This was new. I remembered Rian from the past, my best friend. I'd gotten used to the current version of him, cold and indifferent. But this person? I had no idea what to expect. I could only give into his demands and see where they took me.

So I kept on looking at him, searching for something, anything, that remained of the person he used to be. I recalled a time when his eyes glowed with laughter instead of anger. With emotion. Not now, that wasn't what this was. 

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. But his eyes were so dark, so empty . . . 

"Nothing," I whispered, overwhelmed by the realization. Overwhelmed, but somehow not discouraged. "I see nothing."

Rian closed his eyes for a moment, like this was the answer he expected—needed. 

He opened them again and smirked, his gaze still on me like it never left. He pulled away, leaving me feeling cold. I was dully reminded that he was sick, that the heat radiating off his skin was because of the fever, not me. 

"Exactly," he said, his voice soft and yet razor-sharp. "You see nothing—that's because there's nothing there." 

His expression tightened for a moment before relaxing back into whatever medicine-induced break of character he was experiencing. "And that includes whatever you hope to find, or have me remember." I winced as he almost spat the word out, and yet I didn't turn away.

 "But I did make a commitment, however poorly thought out it was," he continued disdainfully. "I'll have to stick with you until the ecomp is over, so go on and give it your best shot. Try and break me, Hanna." 

He said it like it was an impossibility, utterly laughable; as though there was no way someone like me could shove down the icy wall he'd built around himself. 

The arrogance in his tone finally awoke my anger and frustration, brought it roaring back through my body. He thought—dared to think—that this was out of my reach? That I couldn't drag him down to the hell I inhabited, force those memories back on him?

My sudden and seizing rage struck me dumb, unable to speak and tear him down where he stood. Guilt be damned. Remorse be forgotten. I could only watch him walk back to his room, where he turned and leaned against the door frame.

"See you tomorrow," he called, his menacing smirk potent as ever. I glared hard, not missing how our roles had been reversed. "Your place this time, right?"

Then he closed the door, leaving me trembling in fury and something else, alone.