Hospital.

The word rang through my mind over and over as we rushed to the nearest emergency centre. I felt cold everywhere, like someone had dumped ice-water over the top of my skull and not bothered to hand me a towel.

Hospital. Hospital. Get to the hospital.

Time passed by in a blur of worry and barely repressed panic. I was dimly aware of the presence of others—Rokim and Lisa and oh my god why Rian—but it didn't provide much relief. It was too close, too goddamn similar to before.

To the incident, just a little over three years ago.

No matter how I tried, I just couldn't get it out of my head. Prof was hurt. Prof, who I'd known nearly ten years, who was a friend of the family, who gave me pointers on how to cook, who was never anything but kind, who sent me off to France when he knew I needed to get away, who wasn't allowed to get hurt because it was him, because it was Prof—

And then the car screeched to a halt.

God, I fucking hate hospitals.

We pulled up to the medical centre and scrambled out of the cab. The building loomed before us ominously. I think one of us managed to remember to pay the driver, but it was difficult to be sure. My mind had gone blank.

We ran inside and things happened, all in one big scared haze. There were people everywhere, getting in the way, loud and annoying and sad. We got to the information desk. The clerk bobbed her head and pointed to the left. We moved—elevator. Hallway. Bright lights. Formaldehyde. Room. 

Then Prof.

I stopped short when I saw him. He was lying on a bed, his long frame sprawled out on pristine white sheets. A familiar pang ripped its way through my right side, but I smothered it by pressing a palm on my ribcage. I noticed Rian looking down at me from the corner of my eye, but my gaze was fixed on Prof.

His left leg was wrapped in a cast but his eyes were open. I scanned him quickly, still in panic mode. He was wearing one of those hideous hospital gowns, his clothes in a rumpled heap on a nearby chair. Nothing missing, I noted. Open eyes were a good sign, right?

We all rushed to his side, trying not to stumble over one another in our haste. "Prof?" I murmured breathlessly, the frantic run over here finally catching up to me. "You're not . . . you're not dead."

He looked over all of us, eyebrow raised. "I see you're sharp as ever, Hanna."

We all let out a collective exhale of relief. Sarcasm meant he was fine.

I covered my face with my hands, trying to keep them from shaking, but also to keep away the traumatic memories that threatened to flood through me. Suddenly three years ago seemed like only yesterday.

I forced myself out of my thoughts, instead turning to Prof concernedly. "Seriously, Prof," I began. "Are you oka—" I stopped myself. "No, dumb question. A better question is," I corrected, "what exactly happened?"

Prof surveyed me amusedly and chuckled, but winced when the movement aggravated his injuries. His dark brown hair was mussed out of its usual neat form, and his black-framed glasses were sitting broken on a table nearby. A few cuts and bruises poked out from underneath his hospital gown. I shuddered at the thought of how much worse things could have been.

Prof opened his mouth to answer my earlier question. "I don't think it was necessary for you all to come rushing over here," he began wryly. "Accidents happen. It was just—"

"Damien!"

A new voice interrupted us, and we all snapped our heads to the open door on our right. A slight, finely-featured blond man was standing there with a stricken look on his face.

He rushed to Prof's side and I blinked in surprise. He seemed vaguely familiar.

"Adrian," Prof sighed exasperatedly, but his lips had tugged into a little smile. "I'm really fine."

The blond man huffed, clearly upset. "My god, Damien. You have a cast!" He interlaced his hand with Prof's, his slender white fingers a sharp contrast to Prof's tanned skin. "Tell me now—who was the bastard who did this to you?"

"You make it sound like something from a bad mob movie," Prof said drily, patting the other's hand in comfort. "Adrian, it was just a car accident. Someone ran a red light and hit the driver's side of our BMW. Doctors say I'll be good to go in six to eight weeks. No italian mafia involved, okay?"

Adrian huffed again, muttering quietly. "You're italian anyways, I wouldn't be surprised if the mafia really was involved." 

His grip on Prof's hand tightened, and I noticed the genuine worry in his eyes. My gaze drifted down to the ring on his finger, then to the glittering band left on the table to next to Prof, and I finally remembered where I knew him from.

I gasped happily, my worry for Prof momentarily pushed to the back of my mind. "Adrian?" I said delightedly. "Do you remember me?"

I seem to have a tendency to ask that nowadays, I noted mentally.

Adrian tore his eyes away from Prof, fixing his bright green gaze on me instead. His confused expression soon gave way to amazed recognition. "Hanna? Is that you?"

He unlatched himself from Prof's side, reaching over to give me a hug. Rokim and Lisa shuffled out of the way in the small room, looking between the two of us perplexedly. 

"Han?" Lisa asked. "You know Prof's husband?"

"Yeah!" I affirmed excitedly. "He used to live nearby my house, before . . . um . . ." I trailed off. Adrian's jubilant expression filled with pity, and I looked away. "He was my neighbour," I forced out at last. 

Adrian patted me on the arm, and I switched subjects before anyone else could catch on and give me that same pitying glance.

"But I had no idea you got married!" I said, regaining my earlier enthusiasm. "And to Prof, too!" I looked around him to Prof, narrowing my eyes balefully. "I can't believe you didn't invite me to your wedding."

Prof smiled apologetically. "It wasn't so much a wedding as a gathering, really. With a minister. And besides, you were in the middle of your study abroad."

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever. I take personal offence at this." I turned back to Adrian, grinning warmly. "Anyways, congratulations!" I glanced around the room, pointing at each person. "You probably know these guys, but that's Lisa Hanover, and that's Rokim Benet, and—"

"We've met, Han," Rokim interjected drily. I stuck my tongue out at him childishly, making a point of continuing to gesture to each person in the room and introducing them to an amused Adrian. 

Rokim shook his good-naturedly and, at Prof's request, left the room with Lisa to go hunt down some food. I kept calling names tauntingly as they headed out the door.

"And that's the nurse who just popped in—nice guy, really—and that's the hospital attendant who just passed by our door, and," I faltered slightly at who my attention fell on next, "and that's Rian." 

Rian had been silent this entire time, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, fingers tapping as usual. At my mention of his name he let his eyes flick towards me. I fidgeted, my mind blanking on things to say about him to Adrian. "Uh, you may remember him," I began absent-mindedly, my eyes still held captive by his. "He used to live nearby too. Actually we were pretty good fr—" 

I stopped myself. Where had I been going with that? I tore my gaze from his, looking instead at the floor. "Uh, never mind. Don't know what I was talking about." I didn't notice it when Rian's fingers stopped tapping, but I was painfully aware of his dark eyes boring into me. 

"He's our class AC, since Leo's still out of commission," I said, scrambling around for a description of him that didn't involve our own pathetic history. "His name is like half of yours. Ree-an, Ad-ree-an, you know?" I said finally, masking my cringe with an awkward smile in Adrian's direction.

However, Adrian wasn't even looking at me. He was still fixed on Rian, staring at him with a surprised and almost sympathetic look on his face. I frowned when I saw Rian meet his gaze and tense up.

"Adrian?" I asked hesitantly. He jolted and broke away from his staring contest with Rian, turning back to me with a smile. "Yeah, sorry," he responded easily. "Got a bit distracted."

"Hey!" Prof protested behind us. 

Adrian shook his head amusedly, walking back over to Prof's side. "It's actually been great to see you, Hanna. Damien told me you were in France for three years." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "He missed you a lot, you know," he whispered with a wink.

He probably gets along great with Lisa.

I grinned back, ignoring Prof's disapproving glare at his husband. A nurse popped his head into the room. "Damien Profeta?" he called.

Adrian pointed down at Prof's incapacitated form. "Yeah, here he is." The nurse nodded and entered, changing Prof's IV. I looked on concernedly, but Prof waved my worry away. "I'm really fine," he assured me as the nurse left. 

"Not entirely true," Adrian pointed out, tilting his head towards Prof's broken left leg. He sighed dramatically while I grabbed a water bottle from the pack on the table. "Six to eight weeks you said?" he asked, looking to Prof for confirmation.

Prof nodded as I gulped down mouthfuls of water, newly aware of Rian's presence in the room, of obsidian eyes fixed on me. That combined with my constant repression of unwelcome memories apparently made me very thirsty.

"God, our sex life's gonna be nonexistant."

I choked at Adrian's offhand comment, the bottle in my hand tipping over when Prof's mouth dropped open in shock. 

"Adrian!" he hissed, but the damage was done. Rian's eyes widened. Water was already spilling over my lips, the liquid from the bottle completely soaking my shirt. 

My white shirt.

My cheeks burned as all gazes in the room swung to me, but only one of which roved over my now-transparent blouse greedily. Prof coughed and looked away, nudging Adrian forcefully when he let out an impressed whistle. 

"What?" Adrian whispered to Prof, his voice still very audible even at its lowered volume. "For such a tiny girl, you wouldn't expect such ample—"

"Adrian!" Prof interjected, sounding appalled.

"Oh, don't worry Damien," Adrian assuaged, patting his hand consolingly. "I'm still very much gay."

Prof sighed in embarrassment. "That's not—"

"Hanna, sweetheart," Adrian called, interrupting Prof. "There are spare shirts in the hospital lounge. I'm sure they'll let you take one."

"Th-thanks," I stuttered, my face still bright red. I headed to the door, ignoring the intensified blush I experienced when I brushed past Rian on my way out. 

"Rian, was it?" I heard Adrian call behind me. "Why don't you go with her?" 

I stiffened. I was already a few feet out the door, but I could imagine Rian's icy response anyway. Adrian continued, his voice getting farther and farther away. "You can come back right after. Just leave us two alone for a bit. We have some lost time to make up for."

My fading blush intensified, and I wasn't even surprised when Rian immediately strode out of the room, closing the door behind me. Adrian knew how to get people to do what he wanted. The tips of Rian's ears were pink, matching my own rosy cheeks perfectly.

"You don't have to come," I offered quickly, eager to escape the residual discomfort from my description of him earlier. Despite my dread at strolling through a hospital on my own, my desire to get on—to get away from Rian was much stronger.

Rian shrugged, his eyes flicking over me coldly. "It's fine. Besides, you're not the type to enjoy wandering hospitals alone."

I sighed. Rian's eyes cut to mine, realizing his mistake. 

He was right. Of course he was right, because he remembered who I was. Of course he knew what I liked and disliked, and he was just waiting for me to call him out on it.

But I was tired.

I didn't want to keep playing this game with him. That stupid bet had been the last straw, and all thought of that had gone out the window when we found out Prof was hurt. Now I was just drained, both because of the emotional upheaval of the day and by my unhealthy interactions with Rian. I was pretty much done.

"Alright," I said blandly, not bothering to fight him on it. "Thanks. Let's go."

He frowned at my lack of resistance but didn't say anything. We walked in silence, and I shivered from the cold caused by my wet shirt. In my haste to get to the hospital, I'd forgotten my coat at home. Rian noticed my discomfort, glancing over at me impassively.

My nose wrinkled from the familiar hospital smell. I shuddered again, but this time not from the cold. I hated hospitals in general, but the circumstances under which we'd come to this one—overwhelming fear that a loved one was hurt, maybe irreparably—was definitely making things worse. 

At least last time I had been at the hospital with Rokim (and Rian, though that didn't last long), and we left soon after I regained consciousness. But anything longer than that always made me feel like throwing up. Or screaming. Or crying. Sometimes all three. 

I stilled as fabric settled over my shoulders, my unhappy thoughts forgotten. Rian withdrew his hands from where he'd draped his coat over me, the black material checkering against my sopping white blouse. 

"The ecomp is two weeks away. Better you don't get sick, wouldn't you agree?" he deadpanned.

His mention of the ecomp reminded me of Rokim's ultimatum. I shook my head tiredly—there was no way I was getting Rian to admit anything in just two weeks. 

"Thanks," I said quietly, my demeanor still abnormally passive. Rian's frown deepened, his brow furrowing in a darkened glare.

I tugged the jacket around me and poked my arms through the sleeves, huffing when I realized I was drowning in an ocean of surprisingly soft fabric that smelled too much like Rian.

It was way too big. 

And yes, I realized how it sounded. But keep in mind that I even though I told people otherwise, I was fucking five foot two and Rian easily cleared six feet.

It was Way. Too. Big.

"Freaking goliath," I muttered, rolling up the ends of the sleeves into sweater paws. "A goliath with stupid abs, and nice hair, and goddamn fucking tattoos to boot. Give a girl a break."

Rian raised his eyebrows—perfect, like the rest of him. He seemed intrigued by my sudden revitalization. Now don't get me wrong, I was still kinda done with everything, but I just couldn't understand how a person could be so physically flawless. It was infuriating.

And his behaviour. He definitely wasn't an angel, I knew that, even though he possessed the beauty of one. Plus there was the fact that he was easily the most aggravating person on the planet. Paired with all his dark enticement and that raven-black glare, there was really only one conclusion: I was in the company of the devil himself. 

And I was cocooned in his freaking jacket.

"So you have a thing for tattoos?" the demon drawled beside me. 

I rolled my eyes, snapping my head round to look at him. "Who doesn't?" I replied, my empty voice newly infused with mockery.

We reached the lounge, a nearby basket of cotton t-shirts visible from our position at the entrance. I pivoted on my heel to face Rian. We stared at each other in silence for a moment. 

"Well, aren't you gonna turn around?" I asked, raising both eyebrows at him.

He smirked, and I felt that coil of dread in my gut flutter into unwanted anticipation. "I feel like I've seen all there is to see at this point." 

My face flushed as he dropped his eyes pointedly to my transparent blouse, and I tugged his jacket around me tighter. 

He advanced towards me, and my eyes widened slightly when his tongue darted out to wet his lips. I found myself wondering if he'd accidentally taken that fever medication again—his expression was very similar to that day at his house, hungry and just one breath away from taking what he wanted. 

Yep. Definitely the devil.

I stifled a sharp intake of breath as he reached forward, the tips of his fingers brushing against my cheek. I was hyper-aware of the pad of his thumb brushing the corner of my lip. His hand lingered too long, and it was all I could do to keep from leaning into his palm and savouring that electric, dark promise of a touch. 

For a moment he seemed to pause and consider something, a distant possibility, and I held my breath as his black gaze pierced straight through me.

And then his hand moved from my face and smoothly plucked a shirt from the basket behind me.

"Here," he said finally, breaking the silence. He pressed the cottony garment into my hands. "I'll wait outside."

He turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. I stood there a little dazed, willing my hammering heart to slow down and my mind to get it together. 

I slowly slipped off his jacket and pulled my damp shirt over my head, tugging the new shirt over my black—and painfully visible—bra. To my chagrin, I immediately found myself missing the sensation of Rian's jacket wrapped around me, and I quickly put it back on as soon as I'd switched shirts. 

What? He may have been a devil, but the boy smelled good. 

A few moments later I exited the room. Rian didn't even glance at me when I walked out. He simply pushed himself away from his position against the wall and started walking back, obviously expecting me right behind him.

I scowled. Arrogant ass, I thought bitterly. My bitterness only grew when I found myself staring at his actual ass, which was snugged quite nicely into those jeans.

And there I go again.

I shook my head, resigning myself to the torturous voice of seduction that had made its home in my mind. At least it was better than spiralling down into that dark abyss, where nothing but memories of pain and fear and sirens and hospitals and the terrible flatlining of a heart monitor lay. Yeah, staring at Rian's shapely backside was definitely much better than that.

A thought struck me as I walking back to Prof's room after Rian, trying my best to ignore his alluring presence and my own turbulent memories. It was strange, but it kind of fit the whole absurd situation. I was surprised it was the first time I'd even thought of it. 

But even though the question was one that had never really occurred to me before, now it moved through my mind like it belonged there—like it would never leave. And it was this:

If Rian was the devil, then what in the utter hell was I?