ALISA:
I could hardly believe my eyes when he showed up at my door, panting, blood oozing down his leg like a grotesque badge of honor. Zane-arrogant, infuriating Zane. Why was he here, bleeding like some reckless hero? Anger bubbled within me, though a strange part of me recognized that was just my frustration.
"What the hell happened to you?" I snapped, trying to hide the worry that crept into my voice. He opened his mouth, likely to launch into one of his self-congratulatory monologues, but instead, he grimaced as he swayed. No more conceited comments; just a pitiful sight.
"Just a scratch," he muttered, but his face was pale, eyes glazed with pain. Ignoring his bravado, I stepped forward and examined the wound, a deep gash that had me fuming and flustered in equal measure. Arrogance had no business roaming the streets bleeding like this.
"Just a scratch? You're going to need stitches!" I sighed heavily, my annoyance washing over me. Tending to him felt like an obligation and yet, some part of me couldn't shake the almost visceral urge to help him. That infuriating man.
Hours later, the world blurred around him. I had cleaned, bandaged, and made sure he was comfortable, my emotions a chaotic swirl. Zane lay on my couch, burning with fever, and I watched him mumble incoherent words, as heavy eyelids drooped.
"Alisa..." he murmured, and my heart did a deranged flip. I didn't want to care, but there was something so vulnerable about him that chipped away at the walls I built around my irritation. "You are... trouble," he whispered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips even as his brow furrowed in discomfort.
"Look who's talking," I retorted, unable to hide the smile creeping onto my own face. "You're the one bleeding all over my doorstep. If you could peel yourself off that couch and not be such a nuisance..."
He let out a soft laugh-almost delirious. "You care. You look after me." His eyes fluttered as if trying to find clarity in a haze of fever. In that moment, something in his voice changed-no longer the bravado of the man I knew, but a softer tone, genuine and almost sweet.
"Why do you keep me around?" Zane questioned, his voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with a sincerity that caught me off-guard.
"Because you're impossible and I think someone needs to keep you alive," I shot back, but the softness in my tone betrayed my intention to sound harsh. I was taken aback by the flicker of vulnerability I saw in his fever-brightened eyes.
"Maybe I'm just a fool, then," he murmured, breath hitching. "But... you make me feel... less of one. When I'm with you..."
His voice trailed off and he succumbed to the fever's grasp, drifting further into a haze while I stood there, frozen with surprise. Was he really capable of these thoughts? The arrogant, rude Zane?
As he teetered on the brink of consciousness, still clutching onto threads of clarity, I realized something-despite my anger towards him, there was something undeniably intoxicating about witnessing this side of him. A sense of comfort settled over me, and I found myself leaning closer, brushing a damp strand of hair off his forehead.
"You're lucky I'm here, Zane," I whispered, forcing down the swell of complicated emotions. "Rest now; you need to heal." I stayed by his side, conflicted yet curious, as I watched him drift away, hoping that when he woke, the arrogance would still be there-but a little tempered with gratitude, a little sweetened by honesty.
The clock ticked softly, an almost soothing sound against the silence of my apartment. Zane had passed out on my couch, fever-ridden but thankfully stable. I let out a sigh of relief, finding my thoughts drifting to him more often than I cared to admit. Maybe I was overreacting, but there was something compelling about caring for him, even despite his annoyingly arrogant demeanor.
After a few hours of pacing and worrying, I decided I needed a distraction. Tea. Simple, soothing tea. I rummaged through my cupboard, pulling out the box of chamomile I usually kept for nights like these. Perhaps a steaming cup would calm my nerves and fill the air with a scent stronger than his stubborn presence.
As I prepared the kettle, my mind wandered, refusing to settle. Images of Zane-particularly when he had shown up bleeding-swirled through my thoughts. Where had his bravado gone? I couldn't believe a part of me missed it, but the softer moments we shared today lingered.
Just as I turned to grab my favorite mug, a soft thump echoed behind me, followed by a hesitant shuffle. I whipped around, nearly dropping the mug, my heart throttling against my chest. There stood Zane, pale and shirtless, one hand propped against the doorframe for support.
"Look who's finally up," I shot out, my voice thick with surprise and something else-I couldn't quite place it.
He leaned against the door, revealing those sculpted abs and a tattoos all over his body a rather imposing sight, even in this weakened state. "I couldn't let you have all the fun while I was slaving away on your couch," he said, an infuriating smirk dancing across his lips. It was infuriating, yet simultaneously... deliciously distracting.
"Slaving away? You were unconscious!" I replied, trying to convey annoyance, but I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks despite my best efforts.
Zane took a step forward, swaying slightly as he did, and I felt a strange heat course through me, stirring something inexplicably electric in the air. "And here you are, all alone, making tea. I guess it turns out I wasn't the only one in need of rescuing."
"Don't flatter yourself," I shot back quickly, attempting to mask my fluster. Yet, as he approached, I couldn't help but notice the way his eyes sparkled with mischief. "What do you mean by that?" I crossed my arms defensively, trying to maintain some semblance of composure.
"Just that you seem a bit... hot and bothered," he replied, his tone teasing, and I could feel my temperature rise another notch. "You really should take a breather, Alisa. I wouldn't want to be the cause of your distress."
"Really? Because I think you've already exceeded that limit. Why don't you just sit back down and let me handle the tea?" My words were incessantly sharp, but my heart raced as he took another step closer, towering over me with that smug smile.
"Why bother with tea when I could be the one warming you up?" He leaned in slightly-too close for comfort-and I was struck by an involuntary pulse of heat that surged through me. In that instant, I remembered the feverish looks he had given me, the sincerity masked behind arrogance.
This wasn't fair. How dare he come here, half-clad and full of bravado while I was trying to keep my cool? I could feel my pulse quicken, and before I could stop myself, I snapped back, "You're lucky I'm not calling for backup, Zane."
"Backup? For what? To protect you from a dangerously handsome man?" He winked, clearly teasing, but I couldn't help the way my heart fluttered.
I rolled my eyes, desperately hoping to shake off the sensation he stirred in me. "You don't know the half of it," I replied, trying to sound indignant, but my voice faltered as I caught the gleam in his eyes.
With a soft laugh, he straightened, creating a pocket of air filled with unspoken tension. "Maybe, just maybe, I'm not so bad when I'm not being a complete jerk."
I opened my mouth to retort, but the words tangled in my throat. There was a strange thrill in this moment-a mix of irritation and undeniable attraction.
"Well, you're still wearing that ridiculous expression," I managed, though my voice wavered as I snapped back to reality. "And with a fever, you should probably be lying down."
"After tea, perhaps?" he replied, a soft challenge in his tone.
"Oh, just sit down already," I muttered, shaking my head. I knew it was already too late; he had checked every box on the list of distraction, and the only thing left was to navigate this tension between us.
"Only if you promise to make it worth my while," he said, a teasing lilt to his words, and I realized then that this would be a battle I wasn't quite prepared for.