INT. ERION'S PAD — NIGHT
He raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, last time."
Evah's face glowed softly in the light of the candles surrounding the room.
"Don't make it too obvious," Erion muttered, lowering his arms again. His tone carried fatigue, the kind that laced even his humor.
"What?" Evah straightened her face instantly, stopping the small crease tugging her lips.
"Obvious that your face gave you away. You're looking at me like I'm your new toy," he said, shaking his head in disbelief as he walked toward the bedside.
"What do I do?" His voice was straight. Clueless.
"What do you do in a spa?" Evah asked, walking toward one of the humidifiers and adjusting the setting. The machine hummed louder, releasing clouds of mist that shimmered faintly in the candlelight.
"I don't know. You tell me," Erion said as he sat down, peeling off his jacket with the most reluctant expression she'd ever seen.
Evah reached for the tablet she had been hiding on the table. "Hmp… lay down, and try to relax your breathing," she said, eyes glued to the screen before turning to him.
"At least pretend you know what you're doing," he hissed.
"I do!" she shot back, stressing every syllable. "I was just tense! For your information, I've been practicing this for two days!" She slammed the tablet down and reached for a bottle beside the lamp.
"Are you sure?" He pulled his legs up onto the bed, sitting fully now.
"Yes!" she snapped, walking toward him. "Go! Lay down on your stomach and remove your shirt!"
She had already braced herself for his inevitable teasing.
"Maybe not the shirt," he muttered, turning so his back faced her.
"Nope. I need to put oil on your back." She sat on the edge of the bed with the bottle in hand. The scent of lavender began to drift faintly through the air.
"Massage can actually help with sleep," she began, her tone soft but firm. Putting the bottle on the side table. "Not just relaxing—biologically helpful. It lowers stress hormones. Cortisol drops. It boosts serotonin, which then helps produce melatonin—the hormone that tells your body it's time to sleep."
Her eyes lingered on his back as she spoke. She knew he'd keep mocking, or at least disagreeing, but these were studies she'd prepared long before this night.
"It relaxes muscle tension," she continued. "And aromatherapy massage—lavender oil—has been shown to lower heart rate and improve sleep quality after surgeries." She recalled the lines of her research papers as she spoke, her voice fading a little.
"Maybe it could help you sleep better," she said more quietly. "Maybe reduce the nightmares."
Silence. No mocking. No dry sarcasm. Just the sound of the humidifier humming, and the faint flicker of candlelight reflecting off the glass bottles.
Evah hesitated. Was I saying too much?
Then he chuckled. "Maybe not the shirt, hmm? You don't wanna see me half-naked."
"Hey! I've worked in a hospital. Seeing naked bodies doesn't bother me," she retorted quickly, trying to sound confident, though her face was already heating. If she'll be affected by his mocking, he will tease her more.
Erion turned slightly, now facing her where she sat on the bed. His expression was serious, his eyes avoiding hers.
"Let's skip the shirt," he said, tone low.
It clicked instantly. She shot up from her seat. "Do you have a new wound?" Panic filled her voice. "I'll get the first aid kit—"
Before she could take a step, his hand caught her wrist. His grip was firm but gentle.
"I told you, it's not a good sight," he said quietly. His voice was low, raspy.
A pang of guilt struck her chest. How could I forget?
She turned to him, eyes wide in realization.
Erion gave her a lopsided smile—empty, not mocking. And that hurt even more.
She sat slowly on the edge of the bed again. The sheet shifted beneath her weight, the soft sound echoing faintly in the dim room.
He doesn't like people seeing the scars. How did I forget that?
"You might not be able to endure a second look," he muttered with a faint chuckle, trying to lift the tension.
But the guilt inside her was too deep. Too suffocating.
I was too selfish, just caring about the experiment.
Two long scars across his back. Several smaller ones—some healed, others still new. The image of them from before flashed in her memory, but she wasn't afraid. She wasn't disgusted. Just… it was shattering.
"That's not—" she stammered, struggling to find her words. "If you don't want to, it's fine. If you don't want me to see them."
"It's for your own good," he replied, turning away again.
For a moment, only the sound of the humidifier and the faint swaying of candle flames filled the silence. Just the sight of his back, not knowing what he was actually thinking.
"I'm not scared," she said, her voice trembling. "But if you are, I won't force you."
Erion grinned. "You're stuttering."
"Shut up! I'm not! You want me to pull that off for you?" she blurted, reaching for the hem of his shirt in challenge.
Without looking, he caught both her wrists. His voice turned serious again—but softer this time, the kind of softness that made her heart ache.
"Bunny," he murmured, almost a plea.
"I told you they're okay," she said quietly. She chose her words carefully now. The guilt was pressing against her chest like a weight.
Erion finally let go of her hands. Evah did the same, and slowly, he peeled off his shirt.
The candlelight revealed more than just the cuts on his arms—it traced across his back, over scars that looked carved by both blade and memory.
Evah couldn't help but stare.
The candlelight danced across the uneven surface of his skin, highlighting every hollow, every mark—like the flickering reflection of the guilt that burned inside her.
"Can you lay down flat?" she asked softly.
He didn't reply, but he complied, resting silently against the sheets.
Is he still uncomfortable? Does he hate them?
Evah poured a bit of oil into her palms and rubbed them together. The lavender scent bloomed between them, wrapping the air in calm warmth.
For a moment, she hesitated. Her hands hovered above his back. It wasn't disgust holding her back—it was the weight of how much pain must have created these scars.
"You can have them removed," she whispered, adjusting where she sat. "There are laser treatments now."
He shifted slightly, his voice quiet. "Some of them remind me of something… or someone I don't want to forget."
Then silence again.
Those few words hammered straight into her heart. She knew what he meant—but hearing it made the ache heavier than before.
It's my fault for asking, she thought, biting her lip.
"I'll start," she said, forcing her voice steady. "Please focus on your breathing."
Erion didn't say anything after that.
And in the quiet that followed, only the steady hum of the humidifier and the slow rhythm of his breathing filled the room.