My eyes fluttered open.

At first, it was difficult to tell that I was in a hospital. Instead of the usual fluorescent lights, the room was lit with a warm, honey-like glow. Instead of staunch sheets and stiff hospital wear, I was dressed in an oversized hoodie and pyjama pants, lying on a soft feathery bed. Instead of the permeating scent of formaldehyde, I was met with the comforting aroma of lilies and shampoo.

I frowned. Shampoo?

Ignoring my aching neck, I turned my head to the left. I spotted an IV inserted in my hand. My breath caught when I saw a familiar mess of dark hair slumped on a chair, head lying on the edge of my bed, asleep. 

Rian.

I smiled, attempting to lift a hand to brush away the black locks hanging askew on his forehead. It was only when my hand refused to move that I realized he had it wrapped up in both his own, cradled near his chest.

Something in my own chest swelled, the sensation suspiciously warm and fuzzy. How exactly had I managed to stay away from him so long?

A quiet groan distracted me from my thoughts. The hands on mine tightened infinitesimally, just until their owner managed to prop his head up. Brow furrowed with fatigue, he opened his eyes.

"Finally," I teased, the sound of my voice startling the sleep from his face. "Sleeping beauty wakes."

The joke went unanswered as Rian's eyes settled on me, wide with shock. I squeezed the hand in his grip, sending his disbelieving gaze down to our intertwined fingers.

"You're awake," he said, his voice soft and raspy. It was more like a question than a statement; a feeling which was only emphasized when he glanced back up at me, uncertain.

I tried to lighten the atmosphere again. "There's such a thing as too much beauty sleep, you know."

But Rian wasn't having it. He was still staring at me like he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. 

"Rian?"

At the sound of his name, he released a huge, shuddering breath. He let his head drop back down to the bed, resting his forehead on my knuckles. 

"You're awake," he murmured again, his voice weak with relief. "You're alright."

Without sparing another second, he launched himself at me. I jolted in surprise when his arms wrapped around my back, enveloping me in warmth. "Hanna," he said, cheek pressed against the top of my head, as though just the sound of my name was enough to satisfy, calm, excite him.

Slowly, I raised my hands so they were pressed against his back, melting into his body. "What?" I replied, the beginnings of a smile playing at my lips.

He pulled back to look me in the eyes, that same awed, tender glint shining out of his own. I smiled.

"Are you fucking insane?"

I blinked, the smile freezing on my face. That sounded like neither awe nor tenderness. "Huh?"

He pulled away completely, ruffling an agitated hand through his hair. "You got kidnapped?" he said, the anger in his voice clear now. "Less than 24 hours after you left my house? How is that even possible?"

I scowled, my anger rearing its head. "Are you serious? You're blaming the victim?"

"Of course I'm blaming you!" he answered, getting up to pace the lavish hospital room. "You don't understand. I was in my car, I was driving, and then I get this call." He squeezed his eyes shut as though he were in pain, and my anger faltered. "From Rokim. Hanna's missing, he says. Missing. No one can contact her, her apartment door is unlocked, there's laundry everywhere." His voice dropped and he rubbed his hands on his face. "I couldn't—I nearly caused an accident, I turned around so fast."

I frowned, my annoyance quelled, but I still didn't understand. "Yeah, but that doesn't mean—"

He stepped forward, drawing close again. "That's the thing. The whole reason I left was to keep you safe, and not even a full day after I did you were . . . you were . . ."

He trailed off, the anger evaporating from his face as he sank back down into his chair. He put his head in his hands, muffling his voice. 

"I don't think I can leave you, Hanna," he admitted quietly. My heart skipped in my chest. "Not again. And especially not after this."

"That's great!" I said hopefully. "I don't want you to go, anyways."

He raised his head to look at me tiredly. "But I can't be around you. I'm a—a health risk. If you're near me too often, then—"

"Yeah, yeah, you could trigger the episodes, I could die, blah blah blah," I interrupted, waving my hand dismissively. I saw anger rising in him again and I held up a finger. "But this unfortunate incident—"

"You mean your kidnapping."

"Yeah, that—has proven a theory I've been considering for quite some time." I lowered my finger, grinning at him. "You don't trigger the episodes, Rian. You stop them."

He frowned, already rolling his eyes—but when I didn't deliver the punchline of what he clearly assumed to be a joke, his shoulders tensed. 

"Are you serious?" he asked, face expressionless. 

I nodded, knowing him well enough to realize his blankness was a front to stave off a much more damaging feeling: hope.

"It's happened a couple times, actually," I admitted. "I just wasn't sure until . . . yesterday?" I looked at him uncertainly, waiting for confirmation.

"Two days ago."

"Oh," I said, wincing. I'd been asleep for over 48 hours. No wonder he'd been so relieved to see me open my eyes. "Well, when you guys found me at that gas station, I was kind of in the middle of an episode." I grimaced when his eyes narrowed. "But just when I was about to hit the ground, you showed up and, um, hugged me. Right?" 

He glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck. "Dented my damn car, too," he muttered. "Not that I wouldn't do it again."

"But Rian," I insisted, turning his gaze back to me. "As soon as you touched me, the pain went away. Just like that."

He frowned, unsure. "You still ended up unconscious."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, because I'd just escaped from a crazed horror-movie-madwoman and stolen her car. Kinda tires you out." Wincing at the memory, I reached up to touch where Vanessa had dug her hands into my throat. To my surprise, I found the area bandaged.

"You were bleeding pretty badly," Rian said, his voice tight. His eyes had narrowed on the injury, murder written all over his face. "If the police hadn't gotten to her before I did, I swear . . ."

I frowned and glanced at the similar bandages on my right arm, where the rope tying it had burned the skin, and my hand fell away from my neck. "They caught her? How? I don't remember saying anything before I passed out."

His mouth tightened. "You were muttering her name in your sleep, and Lisa recognized the car you used to get away. They arrested her a few miles outside some abandoned slaughterhouse her family owns." 

"Oh."

He paused, raking his hands through his hair again. "A slaughterhouse," he repeated, appalled by the words. He looked up, and my heart clenched at the worry in his gaze. "God, Hanna, what did she do to you?"

I glanced at my lap, at my gauze-wrapped arm, seeing turpentine and rope and lighters. Scenting fat and fear and the blood of long-dead livestock. Tasting bile and copper and salted sweat. 

Suddenly, my practiced calm wavered, just a little, and a violent shudder tore through my body.

"Shit," Rian muttered, quickly climbing up onto the bed with me. He wrapped a protective arm around my shaking shoulders, tucking me against his chest with his other hand. 

"I'm so sorry, Hanna," he murmured, between my gasping breaths. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there."

I gulped down air, clumsily grasping for his shirt and clinging to the security it provided. "Just—just try to stick around this time, okay?" I said, half-joking in an attempt to block out the tears in my throat. "Maybe no booking plane tickets in the middle of the night?"

He laughed hoarsely, despite himself. "Wouldn't dream of it," he answered, his grip on my shoulder tightening.

We sat there for a little while, my suppressed sobs slowly dying down; Rian's fingers rubbing comforting circles on my skin; the scent of the lilies in the vase on the table chasing away the lingering stench of all things flammable. 

When my sight was no longer blurry, I fixated on those lilies, wondering when Rian had found the time to buy a bouquet of my favourite flowers.

Rian broke the silence first. "Do I really help stop the episodes?" he asked, when I'd gone still. 

I smiled, my cheek pressed warmly against his chest. "Yeah, you idiot. You really do."

A sigh. Then, "Good."

I squeezed him around the middle, once, before reluctantly drawing away. My gaze bounced around the room with a frown, assessing the unusual luxury.

"By the way, I meant to ask—what kind of hospital room is this?"

Rian snorted, sliding to the edge of the bed. "The expensive kind," he replied, his tone wry. "I finally found a reason to spend my parents' money, I guess."

My spirits dampened, and I offered him a sympathetic glance. He only shrugged and stepped off the bed, grabbing his phone.

"I should probably let the others know you're awake," he said, after a moment. "Rokim and Lisa were going out of their minds, but I managed to convince them to sleep off the jet lag before coming back here. Damien and Adrian insisted on staying. They went to grab food about fifteen minutes ago."

He glanced back at me, thumbing at his phone indecisively. I blinked up at him, and he pursed his lips before sliding the phone into his pocket and stepping away. Rather reluctantly, it seemed to me. 

"I'll be right back," he said, heading for the door.

"Wait."

He paused, turning back to me questioningly. I gestured for him to come closer, only relenting when he was right at my bedside.

"What is it?" he asked, his expression both guarded and restrained.

I grinned. In answer, I carefully slid the IV out of my hand, ignoring his frown. I shifted to a kneeling position on the bed, so we were nose to nose, and placed bracing hands on his shoulders. 

I couldn't miss the surprise on his face when I leaned upward and kissed him.

His restraint barely lasted half a second before he was kissing me back—fiercely, ferociously—one hand wrapping around my waist, the other sliding into my hair. He made a sound remarkably like a growl against my lips, as though it had been all he could do to keep from doing just this, ever since the moment I'd opened my eyes. 

I smiled against his mouth, but it promptly turned into a little gasp when he hitched my legs around his waist and lifted me up. I wrapped my arms around his neck on instinct, and suddenly all of me, every thrumming nerve, was pressed up against him, soft and vulnerable and achingly pliable. I let out a noise that sounded embarrassingly like a whimper, and his responding groan was punctuated by a possessive nip to my bottom lip. Then my mouth opened and his tongue was delving, exploring, claiming like he never quite had before—or perhaps like he'd never allowed himself to before. My cheeks warmed when his touch began to trail over exposed skin, careful to avoid the bandages on my neck and arm, slipping down, over the hoodie I now recognized as his, then under the hoodie, capable fingers sliding against my hip, my waist, up and up and—

"Oh my."

We broke apart at the speed of light, Rian just barely managing not to let me crash into the mattress. Instead, I found myself sitting at at the edge of my bed, face burning with the heat of a thousand suns, as Adrian and Prof stood in the doorway.

"I see you've recovered," Prof said drily, eyeing the flaming tinge to Rian's ears. 

I awkwardly cleared my throat. "Um, yeah. It seems so."

"It's good to have you back, Hanna."

"It's, uh, good to be back, Prof."

The corners of his eyes lifted in a smile, and before I knew it he'd crossed the room to hug me. I relaxed and returned the embrace, grinning embarrassedly at him when he drew away. Adrian came over to do the same, perching on the side of the bed with me. He leaned forward conspiratorially.

"By the way," he stage-whispered, tilting his head in Rian's direction. "I totally approve."

My face flushed again, and Rian hastily excused himself to go call Rokim and Lisa. I watched him go, a soft smile playing at my lips despite myself. I turned to Adrian, fidgeting nervously.

"Actually, Adrian," I said. "I've been meaning to ask you, um . . . do you think I could drop by for a few sessions, maybe, sometime?"

His grin softened, and he patted my shoulder warmly. "Of course you can, sweetheart. Anytime."

I grinned in relief. "Does now count? Because I think I may have figured out my episodes."

His eyes widened, and he shared a glance with Prof before turning back to me. 

"Uh, yeah," he said wryly. "I think we can make time for that."

♛

"Okay, so—okay." Adrian rubbed his temples. "Before, when Rian touched you, like when you got stuck in that elevator and he grabbed your arm, that triggered an episode. Right?"

My face warmed at the memory, but I nodded anyway.

"And yet, when he held you only a few seconds later, in that same elevator, you said the pain faded. Right?"

Another nod.

"And the same thing happened two days ago, in that gas station parking lot? He hugged you and the episode just . . . went away?"

I nodded for a third time, watching as Adrian rubbed his chin in contemplation. "I see," he murmured. "Strange. Very strange indeed."

I bit my lip, twisting my fingers together. "Uh . . . may I posit a theory?"

Adrian's focus snapped back to me, his green eyes sharp and luminous. "Yes, of course. What are you thinking?"

I shifted on the bed, a little embarrassed. "I mean, I'm no psychiatrist, but I remember what it was like on . . . that day." I cleared my throat, glancing at my tangled fingers. "I felt so bad, I couldn't even look at Rian. It was like, suddenly, he was on the other side of this—this abyss. The thought of him even speaking to me, let alone touching me, seemed laughable. And I didn't think I deserved either of those things, anyway."

Even without looking up, I could feel the sudden surge of sympathy from both Adrian and Prof, who had been sitting quietly in the corner of the room. I kept my gaze down as I continued.

"I also remember feeling so . . . I don't know. Comfortable? Or relieved, I guess, when Rian hugged me on the elevator. Like I'd been holding my breath, and now suddenly I could take in air." I winced at the cliché, but forged on anyway. "So I was thinking—maybe I made some subconscious connection between Rian, um, hugging me, and the pain. And the guilt."

Adrian frowned cautiously. "Sorry, Hanna, but I don't quite follow."

I exhaled shakily, tucking my hair behind my ears. I'd have to explain myself better if I wanted them to understand. "Okay. The only reason I started having these stupid episodes in the first place was because I saw—I saw my mom getting burned in the same place, and I couldn't save her, right? I couldn't help Rian, either, and I think every time I dwelled on things too long, or I felt particularly guilty or sorry or remorseful or whatever, that set it off. I really thought he hated me. And, um, when he hugged me, I didn't—I couldn't feel like that. How can you hate someone you're willing to hug, right? Does that make sense?"

I glanced up, and the softness I saw in Adrian's expression made me freeze. Before I could blink, he'd stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me.

"Oh, sweetheart," is all he said. Nevertheless, I felt wetness slide down my cheeks. 

It was only a moment before I felt Prof's warmth enveloping me opposite Adrian. The tears started to flow in earnest.

"I miss them," I choked out, my shoulders curling in on themselves. "I m-miss Mr. and Mrs. Aronhalt, too. I miss my neighbourhood. I miss my house. You know, my—my mom gave me money? For ice cream. Eighteen years old, and she was still giving me . . . she was still—"

I couldn't get another word out before I dissolved, sandwiched between the caring embraces of Adrian and Prof.

When I was done—and I really hoped I was done, because the past week had truly done a number on my tear glands—I simply stared at my hands. Slowly, as if they were afraid I'd break if they went too fast, both Prof and Adrian moved away.

"Are you alright, Hanna?" Prof asked gently. I glanced up and nodded, giving him a small smile. 

Adrian fetched me a bottle of water, which I gratefully drank. He watched me carefully as I gulped it down, eyes clouded in contemplation.

"Hanna, I'm still having a bit of trouble understanding what you mean," he said finally, rubbing the back of his neck. "Why would Rian set off the episodes some times and end them at others?"

I opened my mouth to try and reiterate, but Prof beat me to it. "I would think that's because he grabbed her arm," he replied easily. 

Adrian frowned. "Explain."

Prof cocked his head. "Well, Rian had to physically drag her out of her house. By her arm, if I'm correct." He ventured a cautious glance at me, but I was busy mulling over his words. "We already know that certain things that recall the accident cause burn-like pain in her right side, as a result of witnessing . . . what happened to her mother. So it makes sense that whenever Rian grabs her in the same way as he did on that day, in that particular moment, it would call up that same pain."

Adrian nodded thoughtfully. "And when he hugs her?"

I groaned quietly. "C'mon guys, all this hug talk is making me feel like a Care Bear or something."

They both ignored me.

"Like Hanna said, I'm no psychiatrist," Prof paused, knotting his fingers pensively, "but she was right before. It's unlikely anyone would willingly embrace someone they hated. And the pain she feels is rooted in her guilt. Ergo, when Rian, the chief object of that guilt, comforts her, it chases the guilt away. And by extension, chases away the episode." He shifted his eyes to the ceiling, brow furrowed. "Maybe that's because, in those moments, she realized on some level he didn't really hate her."

I gaped at him. Prof paused, shrugging. "I'm not totally sure. Still not a psychiatrist."

I kept staring, but Adrian only grinned at him lovingly. "Maybe you should be," he teased, walking past me and kissing him. "You could put me out of work. I'd get to stay home with the dogs all day."

Prof glanced away in embarrassment, but wrapped his arms around Adrian's waist when he kissed him again. I rolled my eyes, averting my gaze.

"Come on, guys. I think they have spare rooms in this hospital somewhere. Please feel free to seek them out."

Adrian pulled away from his husband and raised his brows at me. "You have something to say, Miss I-Make-Out-With-My-Boyfriend-In-My-Hospital-Room?"

I pursed my lips, warmth creeping up my neck. "Fair point. Carry on." 

It was a moment before the rest of his sentence caught up with me, and the heat from my neck rushed to my cheeks.

"And he is not my boyfriend!"

Unfortunately, I had the world's worst luck, and it was just at that moment that Rian walked back in the room. 

He paused in the doorway, my heated exclamation still echoing off the walls.

I was overcome by a sudden and fervent desire for the floor to swallow me up.

"Who's not your boyfriend?" he drawled, holding a tray of food in his hands. My mouth dried as I searched for the words to answer him.

"Well, Damien, I think it's best that we take our leave," Adrian murmured quietly. Prof took his hand and quickly walked to the door, patting me on the shoulder on the way. In no time at all, they'd left us alone again.

Traitors.

Rian set the tray of food on the table, eyeing me. I swallowed as he shook his head.

"Wow. I feel so used." He put a hand on his chest, hurt crossing his face. "Am I just a piece of meat to you?"

My eyes widened. "No! Not at all! I mean, I just didn't, um . . ."

He took a few steps forward, forcing me to crane my neck to look up at him. "You didn't what?" he asked, that same pained note taking root in his voice. "You didn't think I was good enough?"

I blinked rapidly, my mouth flapping open and shut like a codfish. "No, that's not—I didn't mean—what?"

"I see," he said, nodding his head resignedly. "I see how it is. I guess I'll go."

"No!" I said forcefully, grabbing his arm. I stared straight ahead, ignoring the warmth on my face. "Stay. I would very much like it if you were my . . . my boyfriend." A new wave of heat flooded my cheeks as I released his arm, looking anywhere but at him. "It's just—we never talked about it before, and I wasn't sure—are you laughing?"

He was laughing. I glanced up at him, my shock morphing into accusation when I saw the broad grin on his face. His shoulders shook with restrained mirth. When he met my gaze the floodgates burst, and he was full-out losing his mind.

"Oh my god," he wheezed, collapsing onto the bed with me. "When did you get so—so gullible!"

I sat there, seething, as he continued to laugh. He threw an arm over his face, though his amused grin was still perfectly visible. 

"Are you quite finished?" I asked testily.

Still chuckling quietly, he peeked out from under his arm. His smile only widened when he saw my face.

"Aw, don't be mad," he cajoled, sitting up. His smile turned endearing. "Gullible or not, that was still the cutest thing I've ever seen."

I blinked at the unexpectedly sweet words, but I managed to keep my scowl intact. "You tricked me!"

"Yes, I did," he agreed, his voice suddenly solemn, but his eyes still twinkled. "I committed a grievous offence." He reached over to the table with the vase of lilies, deftly plucking one from the bunch. He offered it to me, his face the picture of honey-sweet regret. "Forgive me?"

I stared at the flower in his hand, then at his mock-apologetic face. Try as I might, I couldn't keep a smile from tugging at my lips. 

I took the flower, rolling the stem between my fingers, and eyed him. "When did you get so smooth?"

He grinned, hooking a finger into the collar of my hoodie and pulling me over to him. He pressed his mouth to mine, long and tender, as though I was something unspeakably precious, and the lily slipped out of my hands.

When he pulled away, I could only stare and try to hide my racing pulse. "What was that for?"

He shrugged impishly. "Nothing. I just felt like it." Then he grabbed the tray of food he'd walked in with and settled it on his lap, tossing me a granola bar. "Now for god's sake, eat something."

I blinked down at the snack, glancing back up at him. "I thought you said you hated having to take care of me."

He busied himself with opening a bag of chips. His ears were the slightest bit pink. "Yeah, I did say that."

I waved at him incredulously. "Then why are you—"

"Because I was lying. Now will you please shut up and eat your food?"

And for once, with red cheeks and a heart full to bursting, I did as I was told.