The early morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a golden hue over the quiet room. Tina sat on the edge of the bed, gently prodding the shoulder of the young man sprawled beside her.
"Jim?" she called softly, her voice tentative. No response.
She leaned in closer, brushing back a lock of his dark hair. "Jim?" Still nothing.
A sigh escaped her lips as she sat back, studying his peaceful face."I can't wake him up… sleeping like a log," she muttered.
Then her eyes lit up with mischief. "Got it," she whispered, grinning.
Without hesitation, she hopped off the bed and grabbed a small megaphone from the nightstand—an odd but convenient find. Stepping back, she took a deep breath and, with theatrical flair, shouted into the device:
"President Chin! It's time to get up!"
Jim jolted upright, hair tousled, eyes wide in confusion as the megaphone's echo faded. Tina beamed, voice sweet and innocent."Good morning~"
He blinked, dazed, adjusting to the golden light filling the room. Turning slowly, he found Tina smiling triumphantly, clearly proud of her dramatic wake-up call.
"I finally woke you up," she said, her laugh light and melodic.
He stared at her, unmoving, her voice grounding him. For a moment, something unreadable flickered in his eyes.
Then, without a word, he stepped forward and pulled her into a sudden embrace.
Tina gasped, startled, her hands hovering awkwardly before settling on his back. Her cheeks flushed pink as she looked up, wide-eyed.
"Jim?" she whispered. "Oh… what are you doing?"
He didn't answer right away. The world seemed to slow—the golden light streaming through the windows, the soft birdsong outside, the stillness of a moment not yet explained. His arms were warm around her, grounding, steady. Something unspoken lingered in the silence.
Finally, his arms loosened slightly, though he didn't pull away. His usual cool demeanor had softened, concern, perhaps, or something deeper.
"Good," he murmured, a small, relieved smile playing on his lips. "Your fever's finally gone."
Tina blinked. "Fever?" she echoed, puzzled. "Aye? Did I have a fever? Why don't I remember that?"
Jim's jaw tightened. "You really don't?"
She shook her head, amused, though a faint crease formed between her brows. "Guess not."
"You always forget things when you're sick," he muttered, mostly to himself.
He stepped back, scanning her with narrowed eyes. "Did you get caught in the rain yesterday?"
Her eyes widened slightly. "...How do you know?"
"You were soaked through when I found you. Passed out on the couch." His voice dropped, laced with restrained emotion. "You could've gotten worse."
Tina looked down at her hands, suddenly quiet. The silence that followed wasn't empty—it was heavy with things unsaid.
Her voice trembled. "Paiming broke up with me that day. He's going to France... with Wendy."
Jim's face darkened, but he said nothing.
"I'm glad he found love. I really am," she said, her smile bittersweet. "But…"
Her voice trailed off, the weight of what she didn't say hanging thick in the air.
"I also feel guilty. After all, I first...."
"No," Jim cut in, sharp and sudden, his voice slicing through the moment like a blade.
Tina turned to him, startled. His eyes burned—not just with anger, but with something rawer. Pain. Desperation.
He stepped closer. "Don't say that. You don't need to feel guilty. Not for him. Not for anything."
She stared at him, stunned into silence by the force of his words.
Then, softer now, he wrapped his arms around her once more. His voice gentled."You can't control your emotions. The choice he made…"He paused, then added firmly,"…was probably the best, for both of you."
Tina searched his face, her eyes wide and unsure. "Really?"
Jim smiled, just a little. "Yeah."
The space between them stilled, filled with something tender and unspoken.
"Now go wash up," he said, stepping back and gesturing to the hallway. "I'll take you out for something to eat."
"Okay," she murmured, barely above a whisper.
As he turned to leave, Tina stood motionless, the silence pressing in once more. Her mind blanked, until it hit her.
Her heart skipped. Her cheeks flushed.
Wait a minute…
Her clothes weren't the ones she remembered wearing.
"Jim," she called out, voice tinged with nervous hesitation.
He paused, turning his head.
"Where are my pajamas?" she asked, her voice rising, a mix of disbelief and dawning horror. "Did you… did you change them for me?"
He stared at her for a beat.
Then, a small, knowing smile curved his lips.
"Yeah," he said, casually. "So what?"
Her mouth opened, then closed again. Her chest tightened with outrage… or was it something else?
"You....You're scampish!" she blurted, the word tumbling out like an old-fashioned insult fueled by burning cheeks.
Jim blinked, then burst into laughter. A rich, teasing sound that filled the room.
"I can be more scampish," he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Before she could react, he swept her off her feet in one smooth motion.
"Ah!" she yelped, arms flailing before wrapping instinctively around his shoulders. Her legs kicked lightly as he held her, effortlessly, securely.
She wasn't hurt. Or scared. Just breathless.
His closeness was overwhelming. His warmth, steady. His smile, infuriating—and irresistible.
She looked into his eyes, heart thudding like a wild drum. She wanted to scold him, to say something.
But all she could do was stare, caught in the softness behind his smile.
"You're unbelievable…" she muttered, looking away, her voice barely audible.
But inside, her heart whispered something else.
'He took care of me.'
And somehow, that made all the difference.