So... yeah. Enjoy! (still undecided LOL)

This is Sojin's counterperspective of Luhan's POV in chapter 18 of the original story by the way.. and may I highly suggest that you reread (or scan) it first just to bring back the moment or something. But then again, it's up to you LOL (:

The glass of water stares back in tiny ripples. I sigh.

It is difficult to choke down both agitation and concern as I steady the glass in one hand and reach out for a tablet of paracetamol from the medicine cabinet overhead. All for the man who’s caused me heaps of misfortune.

But more so than that, I can’t believe I’ve once again become the victim of deception. Tablet in hand, I crouch back down and stare at the faucet handle, trying to unclench my fist lest the glass break with my hard grip. I could walk away. I could leave and never look back. I could escape yet another nightmare.

But I can’t. And this time I don’t have a choice – at least not one where nobody is hurt.

But why? I settle the glass carefully on the gutter. Why? My plan was already perfect; I finally got accepted in a high school within the metro, and right next to the building where my parents work. It isn’t as prestigious as my two previous schools, but to hell with that. I’ve had enough of these top institutions that have brought me nothing but pain and affliction.

And yet now, I can’t believe I’m back to square one. And to think; I’ve had to beg Kris for a glowing recommendation just to be considered for enrolment. Apparently, what with my colorful scholastic history, my jaw-droppingly good grades nearly held no weight in my transfer. But now, this…

I shake my head and gather all my thoughts over my epic fail transfer into one compartment of my brain. I won’t be speaking with Kris until a few more days. Better to just not think about how he had fabricated such a shameless scheme to make sure I remain in this school, under his supervision, with the source of all my anguish waiting by the next room.

But when I think about that man – the topnotch obsessed with winning, the Prefect with a peculiar sense of justice, the lame kid who’s currently ill – waiting for me, I can’t help feeling a squeeze around my heart. And while my agitation and concern should both channel towards him, I realize it is only the latter I feel; the agitation, I actually harbor against myself.

Why do I even care? Like I said, I can just leave. He’s sick, so what? It’s not like the world is ending for him.

And then I sigh. I forget it’s not his world I should be worried about. It is mine, because I don’t think I’ve ever felt this shaken before with the mere thought of someone being ill. What’s even more disorienting is the fact that it has to be him. Of course it has to be him.

I sigh again, unwilling to accept the fact that I already care too much about this man. This airhead of a Prefect who’s concerned of nothing else but to reach – or rather, remain at the top; who’s just recently lost that same spot to me (even when I think it’s totally unjustified); who’s too stupid to get himself sick; and who’s delusional enough to actually believe he’s in love with me.

I’m determined to keep my indifference intact as I swerve for his room. The instant I see his fingers pinch at his left arm though, and then at his unbelievably serene face that shows nothing of his competitive spirit inside, at his frail features in deep contrast to his sporty inclinations, at his lids sweeping down his lovely eyes, I’m overrun with sentiment, and I’m thinking only of one thing.

I miss you.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” I say instead, to his apparent shock. He eyes the glass and tablet of medicine I’m holding, his expression becoming thoughtful. I fight the urge to roll my eyes and tell him, yes, you moron, I’m going to take care of you.

Once again I rephrase my words – as I always do whenever I’m with him – and end up wording out an entirely different idea. “Does your head hurt?”

I haven’t asked a million-dollar question, right? So why is he looking like he still needs to decide whether his head is hurting or not? How stupid can he get? And how stupid can I get for actually putting up with –

“I’m not really sure –“

“How long exactly have you been sick, Luhan?” There, I just lost my cool. Darn. His name on my lips feels emancipating, though.

He shrugs. “I don’t feel sick.”

“You’ve gone numb,” I snap harder. How can a moron like him be the top student? “You’re insane, you know that?”

Before I can degrade him further in my thoughts, I hold out the glass of water and medicine. But then he says, “Is it really necessary?” and all I can think of is how childish he actually is. First, he doesn’t like the infirmary, and now he’s refusing to take his medicine. I’m no fan of commercial medicine myself, but I’m running out of options at the moment and his medicine box is a pity and he’s making it harder for me and what is this with him suddenly acting like a baby? Although he really does look like a baby, what with all his features and – what the heck am I even thinking about?

“Please don’t make this harder for me, Luhan,” I say at last in the firmest voice I can manage. I might have sounded convincing because he suddenly grabs the tablet and chugs it down in one go. Finally.

“Thank you,” I say. “Lichen said you’ve been sick for quite a while now, is it true?”

His tone sounds regretful. “Does it matter?”

It is in that one statement, in that single rhetorical question that I find myself gripping upon the strings of sanity as I try – with all my might – not to lash out on him for even thinking it doesn’t matter; that he doesn’t matter. In my mind suddenly flashes a memory so grim that I fear I might pass out.

My brother: in the hospital, pale as the dead, frail as a twig, his blood count dropping and dropping and not stopping, and my eyes constantly raining tears as I begged the heavens for a miracle. The feeling of not being able to do anything in the face of tragedy is humbling, but this – Luhan neglecting his health… this is just unforgivable.

Chest heaving, I clench my teeth. “It does, especially if you’ve had fever for more than three days already.” Why am I even feeding him information he already knows? I scoff, unable to bottle my frustrations any longer. “You met my brother in the hospital two Fridays ago and I know he has told you why he was there in the first place, an