The first thing I noticed when I woke up was my position.

More specifically, my position with Rian. In his bed.

My eyelashes fluttered as I came to, slowly taking in my surroundings. It didn't take long for me to realize that the toned lump of whatever that was currently acting as my heat source wasn't just a conveniently-placed radiator. 

My arms were tucked against it, and my face was nestled into the crook of its—his—neck. Our legs were tangled together. His arm was around my waist. I could feel the muscled outline of his entire body against my skin.

And his eyes were open. 

I yelped and jolted away, already feeling heat rush to my cheeks. Rian's resulting chuckle resounded through the bedsprings, and I could feel it rattle my bones. His obsidian gaze followed my movements, somehow illuminated by the natural light streaming into the room.

"Morning," he greeted, an eyebrow raised.

I regarded him carefully. Last night was a bit foggy, but I could remember most of it. I'd had a nightmare, and Rian had comforted me. We'd gone to sleep in his bed, which was already pretty disconcerting.

It was only the events that came after that I couldn't recall. Nightmares always left my memory a little iffy the morning after. When exactly had I drifted off?

"Morning," I returned, looking anywhere but at him. "Uh . . . what happened?"

Both eyebrows went up now. "You don't remember?" he asked amusedly.

"Not exactly," I admitted, frowning. "I remember up until we came in here. I must have been really tired, because the rest of the night is kinda fuzzy."

"Hm," Rian hummed thoughtfully. A demonic grin broke out over his face. "How unfortunate."

My frown deepened. "Why unfortunate?" I questioned warily.

"No reason," he responded, but the devilish smile he still wore betrayed his true feelings. My eyes widened in panic as he got up out bed, heading for the door.

"Wait, Rian," I called at his retreating back. "Rian, why unfortunate?"

He ignored me, instead whistling to himself as he entered the living room. I groaned worriedly. I'd thought that we just went to sleep, but judging by how he was acting . . . there was no way, was there? He had to be playing me.

I scrambled out of the bed and hurried out the door, pausing when I saw him rooting around in one of his cupboards. He turned when he heard my footsteps, smirking when he saw me.

"Bedhead looks good on you," he drawled, pointing to my unruly hair.

I glared and tried to pat it down, but my efforts were in vain. He chuckled—he was doing that a lot more lately, and I was starting to like it—and tossed me something, a plastic package. I caught it confusedly.

A toothbrush?

"Bedhead is one thing," he explained. "Morning breath is another."

I rolled my eyes and nodded. "I'm surprised you even had a spare toothbrush on hand."

He shrugged, walking over to his washroom. "It's good to have one around. For . . . overnight guests."

I tensed, raising my eyebrows at him. I felt a twinge of fire in my gut, but it had nothing to do with any nightmare. "Oh? And do these guests come around often?"

He smirked again. "I'm looking at one," he answered smugly. "Though judging from last night, the others have nothing on you."

My face went red and my mouth popped open. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He laughed, truly laughed, and headed further into the washroom. My cheeks were blazing, but I kept glaring in embarrassed fury. 

"Rian! Did you hear me? I asked what the hell—"

"There's another bathroom to your left," he interrupted amusedly. I chucked my toothbrush at him, but he simply laughed again and shut the door before it could hit. It clattered against the hard surface and fell to the ground.

In his absence, my thoughts immediately went over a thousand potential scenarios, none of them comforting. Pleasing, sure, and a little seductive, but not comforting.

What exactly did I do last night?

I tugged my hands through my hair agitatedly, an intense blush still staining my cheeks. I was overthinking things. He was messing with me, he had to be. Because if he wasn't . . . if he wasn't . . .

"Nope!" I told myself sharply, letting my hands fall to my sides. "Not thinking about it."

In an effort to distract my whirling mind, I stalked over to the bathroom door and picked up the toothbrush I'd thrown. I could hear the sound of the shower inside, and my thoughts immediately went to the gutter. 

So much for distracting my whirling mind.

I quickly stepped away from the door, heading instead to the other bathroom Rian had pointed out. As soon as I walked inside, the toothbrush in my hand clattered to the floor again.

What is this, the Four Seasons?

It was lavishly decorated, with an wide bathtub and a marble vanity. A huge mirror hung over the porcelain sink. The sleek glass shower had more settings than I knew what to do with. The whole thing screamed uber-modern. And rich.

But then I remembered Adrian's words from the day before. The money was left for him by his parents. The reminder immediately dampened my awe, and I hurried to finish my business.

Within half an hour, I had brushed my teeth, washed my face, and showered, in that order. When I emerged, I rolled my damp hair up into a messy bun and wrapped a white towel around my body. I glanced around for my clean clothes.

Wait. I don't have any clean clothes.

I froze as the realization hit me. The cool air chilled my exposed skin, and I groaned. I'd come in here without any backup clothing, and all I had for cover was the small towel I'd just put on. 

Go me.

I eyed the clothes I'd come in with, debating whether or not I should put them on again. The problem with that plan was that they were gross from being worn all day yesterday and slept in through the night. My bad dream hadn't done me any favours, either. 

The fact of the matter was there was nearly nothing more skin-crawly then putting on dirty clothes right after a shower. And I wasn't in a skin-crawly mood.

I glanced at the frosted door, wondering if I should chance the trip back to Rian's room, where I could grab some of his clothes. Back in the day, he'd been notorious for taking obscenely long showers. I could only hope that hadn't changed as I eased the door open and stepped into the cold air.

But, as usual, fate seemed to have it out for me. He could be a real bitch sometimes.

Just as I shut the bathroom door behind me, the one across the hall opened. Rian stepped out, his eyes immediately locking with mine. Heat flooded my face, but my mouth went dry.

Guess who else was wearing only a towel?

Against my will, my gaze travelled down his sculpted body, acutely aware of his eyes doing the same to me. Stray droplets of liquid sparkled in the crevices of his abs, over tattooed skin, on his broad chest, in his hair. The damp locks seemed even darker than usual. They fell luxuriously over his forehead, making a sharp contrast between his caramel complexion and the golden beads of water trickling down his torso. 

At least now I knew why my towel was so small. It was meant to be worn around the waist, like Rian's was, not as a full-body cover. For the first time I was grateful for my size, because it meant that the amount of exposed skin I had was risky but not totally obscene.

"Is there a reason you aren't wearing clothes?" Rian asked, his obsidian eyes still trailing up my bare legs, arms, shoulders, before reaching my face. I scowled in embarrassment.

"I could ask you the same thing," I returned hotly, trying to conceal my mortification. He ran his lip between his teeth, and the move was so damn ravenous that a shiver went up my spine.

You are prey, the voice in my head whispered seductively. He is predator.

He tilted his head towards his bedroom door. "My clothes are in there," he taunted, smirking as though he'd read my thoughts. "But you . . . my, my. Did our little Hanna forget to pack a suitcase before breaking into my house?"

"Shut up," I muttered, finally regaining enough composure to move my feet. I padded over to his room, the floor cold beneath my soles. I stepped inside, turning rapidly to meet his rapacious gaze again. 

"I'm changing, so don't come in," I ordered. 

He simply laughed. The sound was rich and chilling and downright demonic, bouncing off the walls. For a second, I was sure he'd ignore my words and come for me then and there.

But he didn't. He stayed where he was, surveying me lazily. "Anything for—"

"The belle of the ball," I interrupted, feeling more heat rush to my cheeks. "Yeah, I know. Stop saying that."

His smirk widened. "Why should I? It's accurate."

"It's misleading," I countered, starting to close the door.

"How so?"

I gave him a diabolical smile of my own, forcefully suppressing my embarrassment. "You say you'd do anything for me. Shouldn't that mean you'll stay if I ask you to?"

His smirk disappeared, and I closed the door before he could respond. 

Away from his piercing gaze now, I slumped against the entrance, eyes wide.

I'm crazy. I'm really, truly, veritably insane. Why did I say that?

I groaned quietly, heaving myself up. My mouth had started to develop a mind of its own. I was supposed to be doing this subtly, intelligently, not just blurting things out as they came.

I started digging through Rian's closet, looking for something that wouldn't drown me in fabric. Albeit really, really good-smelling fabric. I smothered the urge to inhale deeply—I was crazy, not a pervert.

Finally, I found something that was decent, although a little embarrassing. I decided to put my ill-thought out words behind me. It was too late now. I'd just have to roll with it.

The door clicked open and I stepped out. Rian's now-dry head of hair poked out over the top of the couch, staring down at a book, but he turned when he heard me coming.

"Did you manage to find anyth—"

He stopped mid-sentence, staring at me instead. I culled my embarrassment and tugged on the bottom of the oversized shirt I was wearing. It was made of wool and way too big for me, so it hung down to mid thigh. The neckline was loose on my shoulders, and the ends of the sleeves were rolled up into haphazard sweater paws. It was comfy, but that wasn't what had caught his attention.

Despite my success with the shirt, I wasn't able to find a suitable pair of pants. So I'd gone with the next best thing—socks. Like everything of his, they were too large for me, so they reached my knees and left a band of skin open to the air. 

I felt a little foolish, like I was cosplaying some cutesy anime character.

"What?" I asked, uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

His tongue darted to the corner of his lip, so fast I doubted it had even happened. A second later, he answered me. "Nothing," he replied, turning his gaze away. "I'm . . . glad you found something to wear."

"Me too," I replied wryly. Now that that was over, I rounded the couch and plopped down next to him. He'd also dressed, and was wearing a loose long-sleeve tee paired with torn grey jeans. 

"Where'd you get the clothes?" I asked perplexedly. "I was in your room the whole time."

He lifted a shoulder nonchalantly. "I have more than one closet."

"Ah. I see."

I glanced down wryly, trying not to mouth off about regular college-student expenses. Instead, I spotted the book he'd been studying earlier. It was still in his lap, and my eyes widened when I realized what it was.

"That was at my place!" I exclaimed accusingly. "You stole it back?"

He smirked at me, running an elegant finger down the book's spine. "I already told you, I own it. Why wouldn't I take back what's mine?"

I rolled my eyes and grabbed Apartment 212 from his hands. The weight of it in my grip was comforting, and I flipped through it nostalgically. 

"Do you remember when we made this?" I asked fondly.

Tap tap tap. Rian's fingers began drumming on his knee, and I glanced up at him. His face was marred by a frown, a concerned crease between his brows. "Yes, I remember," he answered, a faraway look in his eyes.

I nudged him confusedly. "Something wrong?"

The tapping stopped. He looked at me, a hint of surprise in his gaze. I guessed that he hadn't expected me to ask. "No," he answered, but the lie was clear as day. I felt a painful tug deep in my chest; he was thinking of his parents. 

"I'm fine," he insisted, his fingers curled into a loose fist. Acting really wasn't his strong suit.

I didn't confront him about it. Instead, I continued with my stroll down memory lane, trying to distract him. "We . . . we first made it when we were nine or ten years old, right?"

He nodded, and I was relieved to see a slow smile break out over his face. "We were grounded for a whole month," he added ruefully. "What was it for, again?"

I grinned. "I convinced you to help me prank our snobby neighbours. We stole all their garden gnomes and accidentally set their lawn on fire."

He snorted with laughter, his previous stress forgotten. "That's right!" he exclaimed, shaking his head. "You were a wild child, even back then. The epitome of the phrase 'bad influence.'"

"I wasn't that bad!" I protested. "And besides, it's not like you were an angel either. You stole your dad's car and took it for a joyride!"

"Just because I wanted to impress you," he shot back, rolling his eyes. "You were always doing crazy things. And it's not like my parents didn't have plenty of cars to spare."

"Oh, right. Because you were filthy rich, I remember." I laughed, pressing the book to my chest. "Man, I spent that whole month sneaking into your house. They took away all the fun stuff, so we had to satisfy ourselves with pen and paper." I shook my head a little wistfully. "Still the greatest month of my life."

"Mine too." I glanced at him, and found him studying me with a different look in his eyes than before. He reached over and ruffled my hair without warning.

I yelped in surprise, and he took the opportunity to twine an auburn strand around one long finger. I monitored his movements warily, all too aware of his proximity. There was a teasing glint in his eye. 

"Devil woman," he murmured, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

I gaped. Whatever I'd expected to hear, that certainly wasn't it. "Me?" I asked incredulously. "I'm the devil?"

He nodded smugly, twirling my hair around his finger. "Of course. Who else would it be?"

"Uh, you?" My voice screamed 'duh,' and I gestured to his entire body emphatically. "You're practically the devil incarnate!"

His eyebrows went up. He released the strand of hair he'd been playing with, rearing back to peer at me directly. "I'm sorry, have you looked in the mirror lately?" he asked in disbelief. "You're an absolute demon. And I'm saying that in the nicest way possible. "

I shook my head vehemently. "Name one shred of evidence," I challenged, sure he wouldn't be able to. "One thing to back your claims."

He grinned, baring perfect white teeth. Of course. "Oh, I can name more than one." He lifted a hand, ticking things off on his fingers. "For starters, you broke into my house and coerced me into letting you stay."

I scoffed. "Please. That was nothing! And besides, it wasn't coercion," I argued, eyeing him. "It was thievery. There's a difference."

Rian continued like he hadn't even heard me. "You stole my wallet."

"I literally just said—"

"And then you bit me!" he persisted, ticking each point off. "You do realize you have honest-to-goodness fangs, right? Talk about demonic." He saw me about to respond, and he tutted. "Uh-uh. I'm not done, Han."

I shut my mouth. Han?

He kept listing my many offences. "You ambushed me at the elevator. You threatened to stab me with a fork—twice. Apparently, you taught Lisa your ways, too."

I blinked in surprise. "How did you know that?"

"Rokim and I talk."

"What—"

"You interrupt," he continued ironically. "You show off. You argue like there's no tomorrow."

"That is not—"

"Case and point," he drawled, cutting me off again. "There's still more. You have no fear, no sense of boundaries. You've done nothing but mess with my head since the moment I met you."

I blinked again, my argument dying on my tongue. He studied my expression, letting that winning smile bloom across his lips once more.

"And worst of all," he finished, pausing for dramatic effect, "you absolutely demolished poor Waddles' self-esteem."

My eyes bulged and I burst out laughing. He grinned at me, apparently achieving the result he'd been looking for. My hands went to my sides as I gasped for breath.

"Wh-what," I stumbled, trying to regain control. I made the mistake of thinking of his words again. "Waddles—"

And then I dissolved back into hysterics.

It took a full five minutes for me to cool off, and by that time all my tension had disappeared. Rian was lounging on the couch with his head propped up on his arm, surveying me lazily. 

"You should laugh more," he said, after I'd calmed down.

I looked up at him, a broad grin still on my face. "What d'you mean? I laugh plenty."

His lips quirked into a smile of his own. "Not really. Not like that."

My grin faltered a little, and I glanced away. That's because being happy is hard, I thought ruefully. But I didn't say that. Instead, I decided to shift the focus of the conversation. 

"Well, genuine or not, mine is way better than yours," I said, leaning into the couch. "You laugh like the devil, that's for sure."

As if to prove my point, he released another one of those low, piercing laughs. I suppressed a shiver as he tugged on his lip with his teeth and released it, dark eyes on me. 

"I suppose that's true," he mused. "But there's a difference between being like something and actually being something. And you, Hanna, take the cake."

I rolled my eyes and flipped Apartment 212 open again. He really didn't give up. "Alright, you win. I'm the devil," I acquiesced, riffling through the pages absently.

My fingers stilled when I felt a rustle of air. Rian tugged on a strand of my hair softly. He began twining it around his finger, like before. 

"Uh," I said confusedly. "Is there a reason . . . ?"

"No," he replied simply. I turned to him, and was surprised to see the entranced look on his face. It was the same look I got whenever I stared at him too long. "I just wanted to."

I hummed in response. It felt kind of nice. "Okay then," I said, opening the book again. "I want to reread this, anyways."

"Read it out loud," Rian suggested, still idly playing with the auburn locks. 

I didn't know it then, but this—his hands running through my hair—was the sensation that I'd miss the most in the days coming. It was so innocent, so benign. Nothing like what the past three years had conditioned us to feel. And maybe, if fate continued on his cruel path, nothing that I'd ever feel again.

But that comes later. For now, I flicked to the beginning of the story we'd written together, heart filled with hope. 

Before I could begin, a buzz came from my sweater pocket, and I picked up my phone. I raised my eyebrows amusedly when I read the text I'd received.

"Guess what, Haltie?" I said, glancing over at him. He tore his attention away from the red strands between his fingers long enough to meet my gaze. 

"What?" he asked, eyes narrowing when he saw the look on my face.

"We're gonna have guests." 

I showed him the text, and he scowled. I smirked teasingly—petulant anger looked adorable on him. 

"Aw, you don't like the idea of having more people over?" I taunted. "Afraid they'll melt your castle of ice?"

"Shut it," he said, the tips of his ears going pink. "Just read the book, Han."

"Anything for the belle of the ball," I replied smugly, earning me another sharp glare.

The world was good. My friends were coming over. Rian wouldn't leave. That's what I believed. So without protest, like a trusting fool, I did what he said.

I began to read.