“Oh, poor baby…” Easter cooed as he hugged me tightly, his palm rubbing slow, comforting circles on my back. “You’ve been through so much.”

I sniffled into his shoulder, body still trembling with aftershocks I couldn’t shake off.

“That bloody Pran is fucking dead,” Dao declared, voice sharp with fury as he paced the room like a loaded gun. “How dare he touch you like that?”

“You’re reporting this, right?” Phoon asked from the bed, his brows furrowed in worry. “You have to report it.”

I nodded weakly, wiping my face with the back of my hand. My eyes were red, my throat raw from crying, but I was finally—finally—starting to calm down.

“Of course I will. That disgusting bastard—what makes him think he could lure me out and lay a finger on me? Ewwww!”

I lifted my arms to show them. “My wrist......they’re turning red,” I whispered, lips trembling again.

And then the tears came back, streaming silently as I stared down at my skin.

Easter didn’t hesitate—he pulled me into another hug, tucking my head under his chin like I was something fragile and breakable.

“Shhh, it’s okay now. You’re safe. We’ve got you.”

“Thank God we asked P’Johan to go look for you,” Phoon muttered suddenly.

My breath hitched.

Wait. What?

“You… you asked him?” I looked up, blinking away tears. “You called P’Johan?”

“Umm.” Phoon scratched his head, glancing toward Dao.

“When we got back and saw you were missing, we panicked a bit,” Dao explained. “So we figured maybe you were lurking near P’Johan again, like you usually do.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up a finger.

“Anyway,” he went on, “we asked his group if they'd seen you, but P’Tonfah said you hadn’t shown up anywhere near them.”

“And then a Nong working near the library said he saw you walking toward the back of campus,” Phoon continued.

“Everyone else was busy prepping for the festival,” Dao added, “and apparently the only person not doing shit was P’Johan, just scrolling on his phone and looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.”

“P’Hill practically forced him to go look for you,” Easter said with a small laugh. “He was so annoyed about it too. Grumbling the whole way, apparently.”

I stared at them.

“He....”

They all looked at me, waiting for the rest of my sentence.

“He…”

My voice faded.

“He was so mad,” I finally whispered. “That asshole doesn’t know the first thing about consoling someone. He yelled at me the entire time. All the way back to the dorm.”

Easter frowned. “Yelled?”

“I was already shaken up because of P’Pran, but I think I got even more scared because of his anger.” My voice cracked again. “He didn’t even ask if I was okay. Just scolded me like I was a burden. Like I was stupid for getting caught.”

I buried my face in my hands.

“And then he just left after dumping me at the dorm. No ‘are you okay,’ no ‘do you want water,’ nothing! Just gone.”

My friends sighed like they’d expected this.

Then—flick!

“OW!” I yelped, rubbing my forehead. “Dao! What the hell?!”

“That’s for being dramatic,” he said bluntly. “You are okay. That’s what matters.”

“You should be thankful,” Easter chimed in, arms crossed but gentle.

“I am…” I mumbled, eyes cast downward. “I really am…”

There was a pause. The air turned softer, heavier.

“I just wish…” I trailed off. “I wish he wasn’t always so angry when it comes to me. I wish he didn’t make it feel like caring for me is a chore.”

Phoon looked at me with a sympathetic tilt of his head.

“You think it’s that simple?”

I blinked at him.

He continued, “You think a guy like P’Johan, who shows zero emotion and zero patience, would bother going after you if he didn’t care—even a little?”

My lips parted, but no words came out.

“Maybe he doesn’t know how to show it, North,” Easter said gently. “But I think… if he didn’t care, you wouldn’t have seen him that angry.”

Dao snorted. “Angry men are still stupid. But in his case? It probably means he was worried out of his mind and didn’t know how to handle it.”

I stared at my hands in silence, their words echoing in my head.

Maybe…

Maybe Johan did care.

Just not in the ways I wanted. Or understood.

I sat alone on the rooftop of the dorm building, knees pulled to my chest, my face still a little puffy from all the crying earlier. The sky above was dimming, bleeding pinks and oranges across the horizon like someone had smeared paint with reckless hands.

The air was still, the kind of quiet that made you reflect—unwillingly.

And reflect I did.

Everything was… too much.

Too many things had happened in a single day—getting ambushed, being rescued, yelled at, comforted, scolded, and then hugged like I was a fragile glass about to shatter.

But now, sitting here alone, everything finally crashed down.

My chest hurt.

Not from fear, not from bruises—

But from a very specific, very foolish realization.

I…

I think I actually liked Johan.

Like really, truly, heartbreakingly liked him.

Doomed.

Absolutely, undeniably, head-over-heels, emotionally-bankrupt, irreversibly doomed.

I buried my face into my arms.

This wasn’t just about the dare anymore. It hadn’t been for a while, if I was being honest with myself.

Maybe it started the first time I made him lunch, and he silently ate everything without complaint.

Maybe it was the way he is always emotionally constipated.

Maybe it was how he showed up just in time when something bad happened—like some grumpy, emotionally repressed, knight-in-black-Honda.

I sighed, eyes prickling again.

Still sniffling, I pulled out my phone, thumb hovering over our chat.

There it was.

The empty message thread with P’Johan.

As blank and emotionally constipated as him.

I bit my lip, hesitating.

He yelled at me, sure.

He was cold, sure.

But he came for me. He found me. He made sure I got home safe.

That had to mean something, right?

I chewed the inside of my cheek, then slowly typed out the words.

Phi… thank you for helping me.

I stared at the message.

Should I send it?

Should I?

I pressed send.

There. Gone.

Out in the void of digital space to the man who wouldn’t know emotional reciprocity if it slapped him across the face with a bouquet.

I stared at the screen.

One minute.

Two minutes.

Three.

Nothing.

And then—

Seen.

He read it.

But didn’t reply.

My heart clenched. Just a little.

Of course.

Why did I expect anything else?

Still…

I sighed, dropping my phone into my lap, head tilting back to stare at the darkening sky.

“It’s okay, you emotionally constipated asshole,” I muttered to no one. “I’m still thankful.”

And maybe a little bit in love.

Just a little.