Not the Kiss

"W-Why are you here?!" Selena swallowed, her voice brittle with confusion and disbelief.

Theo only blinked in response—slowly, deliberately—as though the act of acknowledging her existence required tremendous effort. She could see it plainly now: the war going on behind his eyes. His body was rigid, posture tense, like a tightly wound spring threatening to snap at any moment. Every muscle in his frame screamed that he wanted to bolt from the room, and yet… he didn’t.

He stayed.

And he looked so strained sitting beside her, as though invisible chains were coiled around his limbs, binding him to that awful hospital chair like some cursed penitent. His jaw was clenched. His arms were crossed too tightly. His gaze drifted to the floor, then to the IV stand, then anywhere but her face.

Selena was about to ask more—demand something, maybe—when a glint of color caught her peripheral vision. She turned her head slowly, carefully, and her breath caught.

Beside the bed, the table was drowning in color and excess.

Bouquets—plural—were crammed into elegant vases, their petals flushed with impossible vibrancy. Peonies, roses, hydrangeas—none of them cheap or store-bought. The flowers looked as though they had been picked at sunrise and arranged by hand by some florist with god-tier taste. They were too perfect, too pristine. For all she knew, she could see them sparkling—literally glimmering as if someone had sprinkled fairy dust over the petals for effect.

And the fruits.

Oh god, the fruits.

A silver bowl overflowing with opulence sat among the blooms. Plump strawberries, golden kiwis sliced with surgical precision, red grapes that shimmered like polished rubies. An apple so glossy she could probably see her reflection. Every piece of fruit looked unreal, like it had been photoshopped into existence.

Selena blinked. Then blinked again, because surely this was a hallucination. She slowly turned back to Theo—who now seemed even more exhausted, if that was possible—and then looked back at the divine altar of produce and petals.

Her voice came out flat, suspicious. “Who bought these?”

"Magic," Theo answered dryly, then sighed as if deeply offended by the effort of speaking.

Selena chuckled—forcefully, awkwardly—because for the first time in the history of mankind, Theo had attempted a joke. Or so she thought. But her amusement fizzled instantly when she looked up and saw him glaring at her like she'd committed treason.

Okay, joke rescinded. Back to brooding Van Gogh.

"Did my parents send these?" Selena asked, her tone shifting to a more grounded, skeptical note. She scratched the edge of her brow as she examined the extravagant display again. "I mean, I’d be surprised. They were never this… mushy."

She waved vaguely toward the florals and the glamorized fruit bowl, like it might suddenly sprout answers. Then she turned back to Theo and dismissed him with a flippant gesture.

“Anyway, you may leave now. What were you doing here even?”

Theo only stared at her, his brows slowly knitting in what looked like actual confusion for once—not judgment, not disdain. Just... confusion.

“What?!” Selena cocked a brow, suddenly defensive.

“You…” Theo leaned forward slightly, his gaze narrowing. “You don’t know?”

“Don’t know what?” Selena shot back, frown deepening—but Theo didn’t answer.

Instead, his eyes dropped down—very pointedly—to her chest.

Instinctively, Selena crossed her arms over herself with a scandalized yelp.

“Y-You uncultured swine!” she screamed, flailing her limbs and accidentally tugging her IV. She winced, hissing in pain.

Theo barely blinked. “There’s nothing there. Don’t be so dramatic,” he muttered, rolling his eyes like she was the problem.

He then dragged the chair even closer—rudely close—and plopped himself back down, legs spread, arms crossed. His finger began tapping rhythmically on his chin as he continued to inspect her chest like some sort of disgruntled professor.

Or surgeon. Or cursed exorcist. It depends.

Selena froze when she noticed where, exactly, he was staring—not at her chest but at something on it. Or rather... through her hospital gown, at the glowing mark just beneath the fabric. She slapped a hand on her mouth so hard she almost cracked her jaw.

“That’s odd,” Theo muttered more to himself than to her, his tone analytical. “Nexus said you’ll have a vision about your fate when the contract activates...”

Selena sat bolt upright, pain and IV be damned.

“Nexus? Who the fuck is Nexus?! And what vision?! What fate?!" Selena was practically vibrating with confusion now. She pointed violently to her chest, where the faint glow pulsed through the thin fabric of the hospital gown. "A-And this! What the hell is this?! You see this?! Do you?!"

Theo, infuriatingly, didn’t even acknowledge her spiraling questions. He remained seated like an arrogant sphinx, one finger rhythmically tapping his chin in thought.

“Hmm…” he muttered aloud. “Does this mean the contract hasn’t activated yet? Then why was I forced to kiss this gremlin?”

Selena’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

“You said what?!” she gasped.

Theo finally looked at her, tilting his head with maddening calm. “You… gremlin.”

Selena snapped. “No, not that—the kiss part!”

“I had no choice,” Theo mumbled, already bracing to shrug—clearly ready to deliver some philosophical nonsense about how fate compelled him or the stars aligned or whatever... but he never got that far.

Because a moment later, Selena’s fist connected squarely with his jaw in a glorious, reflexive punch, knocking him backward off the chair with a dramatic thud.

The bouquet trembled. A fruit rolled off the table. Somewhere, a nurse might’ve heard something but decided to mind her business.

Theo lay on the hospital floor, eyes closed, one hand twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to return to the living world or just stay unconscious out of spite.

Selena blinked down at him, chest heaving, her IV now halfway dangling like a misplaced wind chime.