My Adorable Little Rascal

Skylar stirs on the hospital bed. The pale fluorescent light washes over the ceiling. A hospital ceiling.

She's awake.

Her eyes flutter open, slowly adjusting to the sterile white of the room. Her fingers curl gently around her bandaged arm. Her mind feels heavy, like she's been trapped in a long, foggy dream… or a nightmare that had become too real.

The door clicks open.

Sunny walks in, carrying a plastic bag of food. Her eyes widen with delight when she sees the girl on the bed.

"You're awake! Oh my god, you're actually awake! Thank heavens!"

Skylar winces and smiles weakly:

"You're too loud… my head's gonna explode."

Sunny giggles, placing the bag on the side table.

"I figured that might happen, so I brought chicken porridge. My mom made it! Super delicious. Come on, try to eat a bit."

Skylar shakes her head slightly but tries to sit up, resting her back against the pillows.

"Thanks. Feels like I got run over by a truck…"

"Keep your voice down," another voice mutters.

Skylar glances toward the corner. Julian is sitting on the visitor's chair, arms folded, eyes fixed on his phone. His usual scowl remains intact.

"You're still here?" she asks quietly.

Julian doesn't answer right away. After a short pause, he says:

"Who else would look after the person who almost died?"

Skylar pouts:

"Wow. So arrogant."

Sunny chimes in: "He's starving but won't admit it. Keeps saying he's not hungry, but his stomach's been growling for the past hour. Total tsundere."

Julian turns his head away and huffs.

Skylar studies him quietly. Even without looking directly, she can tell he's tired—more than tired. His shoulders are stiff, and dark circles shadow his eyes. Has he not slept? How long had he been sitting there beside her?

When she was unconscious… was he the one holding her hand?

There's a knock at the door.

All three turn. A man in a white coat steps in. Middle-aged. His nametag reads "Herix Stan"—and his face resembles Julian's just a little too much.

He smiles warmly:

"Good evening, kids. Skylar, you're awake. That's good news. I checked your chart—nothing too serious. You'll be fine to leave by tomorrow morning. But go easy. Too much movement could reopen the stitches."

Julian stands up, bows slightly:

"Thank you, Uncle."

Mr. Stan walks closer, narrowing his eyes at Julian. Then, standing tall, he rubs his chin and smirks:

"Yo… didn't expect to see you bowing and saying thanks. Should I feel honored, young master of the century?"

Julian freezes slightly but keeps his composure. Straightening up, he looks his uncle in the eye:

"You should feel honored. Because I won't be repeating it."

Mr. Stan squints, as if trying to observe something—something tiny, buried deep within Julian.

"Wow. Didn't think you'd 'play nice' for someone else like this. That must be some friend."

Sunny clears her throat.

"Um… Sorry, but what's your name again?"

"Herix Stan," he replies with a smile: "I'm this punk's uncle."

Something flickers across Sunny's face. A gut feeling:

These two... there's something weird about them.

Mr. Stan turns to Skylar, then looks at both teens.

"Take good care of Little Sky for me, alright?"

Julian and Sunny glance at each other, a jolt of unspoken thought between them: Did he just call her 'Little Sky'? Like he has the right?!

Still, they nod.

...

That night, when everything falls silent again, Julian sits by her bedside. The glow of the city outside the window paints a soft hue across Skylar's sleeping face.

She's sleeping deeply now—peacefully, for once. Her breathing is steady. One hand rests over her stomach, the other slightly curled toward him.

Julian watches her.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours.

He doesn't move.

In the stillness, his mind replays the events of the day like a broken reel. The blood. The trembling. The forced smile. Those scars.

And that phrase.

"Oopsie... I tore the wound again."

She had smiled like it was normal. Like it was funny. Like it didn't matter.

He clenches his fists in silence. Every inch of him burns to demand answers—but he doesn't. Not now.

Instead, he just stays.

...

Later that night, Skylar opens her eyes to find him dozing off in the chair. His chin is tilted slightly, arms crossed, breath slow and even.

A wave of something indescribable rises in her chest. Not fear. Not pity. Something softer. Warmer. But unfamiliar.

She sits up carefully, trying not to wake him. But his eyes flick open the moment she moves.

"You're up."

His voice is hoarse, low from lack of sleep.

Skylar hesitates, then murmurs:

"Thank you. For today. Both of you."

Sunny, who had just returned with fresh clothes, places them on the table and pats Skylar's shoulder:

"Don't mention it. Just don't scare us like that again, okay?"

Skylar forces a tiny smile. But in her eyes, something flickers. Uncertainty. Guilt. Distance.

She lowers her gaze. Her voice is barely above a whisper:

"I want to make one condition."

Julian lifts his eyes to meet hers.

"Oh? Let's hear it."

Skylar bites her lower lip, then says gently:

"Don't tell anyone about what happened today. Just the three of us. That's it."

Julian raises an eyebrow.

"That's all?"

She nods.

He leans back, crossing his arms.

"Alright. I promise. No one else will hear a word about today. Just the three of us."

Skylar lets out a long breath, as if a weight has been lifted.

"With you saying that, I feel much better."

Julian leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest.

"But… I've got a condition too."

Skylar pauses.

"A condition?"

He glances at her, one brow raised, then lets out a soft scoff.

"If you're going to play the hero next time… let me know first."

She blinks.

"Huh?"

Julian shrugs: "So I won't have a heart attack or something."

Skylar stares at him for a second—then breaks into a small, genuine laugh.

"Wow... Didn't know you were capable of worrying about someone."

He clicks his tongue, looking away.

"I'm not. I just don't want to deal with another hospital trip."

She grins, but her voice softens.

"Still... thank you."

Julian doesn't respond right away. He gets up, walks over to the window, and looks out into the night.

His voice comes, low and even:

"Just don't scare us like that again."

...

And yet, even as she smiles again—just slightly this time—Julian finds himself wishing she wouldn't.

Because behind that smile… there's something broken.

And he's starting to realize—maybe she's been hiding it from everyone, including herself.