He doesn’t respond, which most likely means he doesn’t disagree. But he waits, eyes flicking briefly to my hands as if to make sure I actually take them.
What does he think I am? Stupid? As if I would turn down painkillers in my current position.
I dry-swallow the pills, then take a sip of water before shoving the bottle back toward him. He doesn’t take it right away. Just watches me, gaze lingering, before he finally grabs it and tucks it back into the side pocket.
“Since when do you care?” I ask, more to fill the silence than anything.
Kai exhales, tilting his head slightly against the seat. “Since you started making an inconvenience out of yourself.”
I snort. “So, you’re invested in my survival out of pure annoyance.”
“Something like that.” The faint curve at his mouth almost makes it sound like a joke.
“Convenient.” I shake my head. “You’re changing the subject.”
“So are you,” he says, as he leans back, stretching his legs out—and of course, he seems to forget just how much space his legs actually take up.
I blink, ignoring the fact that his knee just knocked mine. “What?”
“You asked how I knew your password,” he says, voice low. “And then—conveniently—you got distracted.”
I open my mouth to say something and realize—to my great despair—that he’s right. In my irritation, I settle for glaring at him instead.
Damn it.
Kai watches me for another beat, gaze sharp. His lips twitch, the barest smirk. “You want me to answer, or should we pretend this never happened?”
I fold my arms. “That depends. Are you gonna actually answer me?”
“Probably not.”
I shift back into my seat. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, here you are,” he tilts his head, the faintest smile playing at his mouth, “still talking to me.”
And then, just like that, he turns away from me and closes his eyes.
I should look away.
I really, really should.
But for a second, I don’t.
He looks… quite beautiful like this. Of course, his face is mostly all sharp lines, but it’s also the kind of face you could imagine carved into marble by sculptors, celebrated in paintings of the Renaissance.
He has the kind of beauty legends were written about. If ever there were a face to be immortalized in literature, it would be his.
And the fact that I’m not exaggerating says enough.
It’s almost irritating.
He looks… almost peaceful like this.
I turn away before those thoughts can fully settle. Before it can mean something.
And I let myself sleep.
***
