1.3 | the art of cupidity ✓ - Chapter 9: Chapter 9

THE UNIVERSE MUST HATE SORA LEE.
This morning, she'd literally fallen out of bed (there's a bruise on the corner of her jaw), slipped in the shower while squeezing out the last of the body wash, and missed her early lecture. So yes, Sora's having quite a terrible morning, and it's a fucking Tuesday nonetheless, and all she wants to do is to walk to Sue's Corner and scarf down some fluffy strawberry pancakes.
She's a brat (Rylin makes sure to remind her all the time with his hands up her skirt), and Sora takes a few deep breaths as she opens her slim notebook to look at the linear algorithms and integrals. Opens the notebook—and then closes it again, because what the fuck? Sora groans internally. She loves math, loves the equations and the multiple answers, but not when she's bordering an intense migraine.
The campus is mostly empty at eight o'clock in the evening, and Sora gathers her supplies before exiting and smiling just a bit as the blue air brushes past locks of her hair. Her boyfriend was dragged out for a night with his friends, and she hopes that he has a great time—just don't let that waitress flirt with you again, Sora had hissed at him, and Rylin flicked her forehead in return.
It seems that her boyfriend just gets better looking as their relationship progresses, and it's a cruel joke from above, because Sora's acne is still present and her hair still turns oily the day after she showers; it doesn't bother her that he sees her bare-faced before she falls asleep on his shoulder, but it certainly did make her consider a few factors.
When Sora realized that Rylin Carter had a better sense of fashion than her, it was ironic in a way, and almost amusing—until they went out and her shirt had three holes at the hem and he stood next to her looking like an angel fresh out of the gates of heaven. But this was a much-needed transition, she'd realized, because Sora had to eventually fix her poor closet and fill it with more sophisticated pieces that won't let people mistake her for a child. Rylin had taken her to the mall and placed so many pieces of fabric on top of her arms that she was afraid they'd fall off, but she was surprisingly giddy. They decided on vintage jeans that were just loose enough for her to comfortably walk everywhere, crewneck sweatshirts, two blouses, and an old-school jackets with patches on the sleeve that was right up her alley.
Rylin, it seems, is surprisingly well off, so he paid and said it was a gift from him, claiming that he'd be offended if she gave it back. So Sora didn't, and the clothes decorate her new closet and she smiles every time she opens the wooden door.
Without realizing it, Sora turns the corner and heads over to the ice rink even though it's Tuesday and hopes—just hopes that rink three will be open.
She lies on the ice and stares up at the ceiling, tears staining the bottom lashes before trailing down in a salty mess at the edges of her cheekbones. The pain flares every now and then when she just moves her legs, and Sora really, really hates this day of the week.
Fuck Tuesdays.
Debating whether or not to limp out of the rink, getting up and standing is a whole new obstacle, and the ice is too slippery for her to get a good-enough grip with the blades of her skates. Sora winces and lets out a small, meager sound as she realizes that the only person here is the owner probably still lounging around in his office, so there's no way in hell that he'll be able to help.
With the only last option available (she doesn't want to disturb Rylin; when he texted earlier, it sounded like he was having fun), Sora slips her hand into her back pocket and dials the three number with her vision fuzzy and breath unsteady.
"911, how may I help you?" The operator's voice breaks up, but Sora fills in the gaps and stares at the colorful flags lining the circular room.
"I think I hurt my ankle," Sora says, voice vulnerable and just a bit scared. "And I can't move, so there wasn't anybody else for me to call."
"Can you explain your situation in a bit more detail for me to fully understand?"
So Sora explains how she was skating to relieve stress, and when she'd come back down from a jump, the toe of her skate had pierced the ice, caught itself in a crack, and she'd come tumbling down with a concerning crack sounding from her ankle. The pain arrived a mere twenty seconds afterwards, and it's been about ten minutes of her convincing herself that she'll be alright.
Can I still skate after I heal?
The person on the other end of the line murmurs here and there. "Alright, ma'am," she says distantly, "I'm sending an ambulance to your location. Any sign of dizziness?"
Sora nods and then remembers that the person she's talking to can't see her movements. "Just a bit," she admits, voice cracking in the middle.
"Nausea?"
"Yeah, that's here too."
A pause. "I'm going to keep you on the line until help arrives—is that alright, ma'am?"
Sora gets irritated, but she knows it's only at herself and her thoughtless decisions. "That's—fine," she grits out, eyes shutting and hair turning ice-cold from the freezing temperature she's laying on.
Propping herself up on both elbows, Sora sneaks a peek at her right ankle and sees the skin turn a concerning shade of angry indigo with a smear of blood drying on her heel as it drips down. Blood? Sora shivers as a few more tears slip out and she makes a fist with both hands, nails digging in to jolt her system.
Ah, she thinks dejectedly, noting a piece of white bone near the surface of her flesh. That's why.
When help finally arrives and Sora is carried and placed on top of a stretcher, she curses so loudly that the middle-aged man strapping her in pulls back and looks a little shocked at her colorful outburst.
After all, Sora Lee is many things—but timid isn't one of them.
When she gets out of open reduction surgery (where the doctors lined her bones up), Sora doesn't expect to see anyone waiting for her. She's a legal adult and decides not to call her parents, but her mother isn't in the waiting room. Instead, even with his back turned to her, Sora takes in the silk shirt, black jeans, and tousled hair—
"Rylin?"
He whips around, and Sora's eyebrows furrow as she soaks in his expression. She's never seen one like this before: lips open, eyes wide, and skin pale. No, she thinks. This is new. Her boyfriend still remains the picture-perfect essence of artful teasings and French paintings, and she doesn't realize it at the moment, but Sora feels better.
Safer.
Wheeling over to him in her chair, Sora looks at him at a higher angle than usual. "What are you doing here, Ry?"
The boy in front of her softens at the nickname before remembering why he's here. "You—you're unbelievable," he scoffs, hands running through his hair before coming to rest on his silver chain resting on the center of his throat. "What the hell, Sora?"
To others watching, it might seem that they despise each other—that surely Rylin must not be her loving and caring boyfriend after yelling at her, but what they don't know is that Sora isn't too quiet herself.
"What do you mean, what the hell?" Sora glares at him (he's already glaring at her) and crosses her arms. "You're mean, Rylin Carter," she drawls.
He rolls his eyes. "And you're impossible," Rylin fires right back. A pause follows, and she looks to see his irises melt into a look of rare concern. "You could've really hurt yourself," he says lowly. "Why didn't you call me?"
She huffs and doesn't protest as he walks behind her and wheels her out of the hospital, head leaning back to rest on the back of his hands on the handle; from this angle, Sora can see both the column of his throat along with the stars in the sky, and she decides that this is one of her favorite views.
"You were having fun with your friends," Sora defends and grins up at him. "How did you find out, anyways?"
Rylin fishes for something in his pockets and unlocks the car before stopping right behind the trunk and kneeling down so that they're eye-level. "I was at the rink to skate with you," he starts, and hooks their pinkies together. "But you weren't there, and when I asked the staff where you were, they told me that you the ambulance took you to the hospital for a serious injury."
She feels a pang of something sweet bubble in her blood, and his voice always sounds like midnight satin and starry skies; Rylin does something to her, and his effect seems to be like the eye of a hurricane: quiet, deadly, and full of his quicksilver smirks.
Sora sticks her tongue out. "Who knew my boyfriend could be sweet?"
He looks baffled for a hot moment, eyes flickering all over the place as if trying to regain his cool composure. "Well I knew you didn't eat, so I decided to drive over and drop off a snack after your practice. Don't think you're so special to me, Sora Lee—"
"Hey," she says, reaching out both hands and caging it delicately around the sharp curve of his jaw. "Shut up." A pause. "You know I love you, right?"
Rylin's gaze snaps to hers, and Sora lets herself relax into his touch as her tough expression melts away and all that's left is glittering affection and shy glances. Her body is thrumming with white-hot adrenaline, and her blood sings as the angel on her shoulder curls up on its side. I love you, Rylin Carter, Sora lets herself admit to the solitude of herself. I love you, I love you, I love you.
Her boyfriend blinks several times and presses a soft kiss to the inside of her palm. "Well yeah," he murmurs, cocking his head to one side. "I love you too, Ice Queen."
Sora feels giddy and high and golden all at once, and she laughs loudly before brushing a piece of his hair back from his forehead, stamping his pretty beauty mark with the pad of her thumb. "Good," she says, "considering that I was in your bed this morning."
Rylin Carter is a combination of sweat, smoke, and neon electricity when they're in their apartment, and sometimes it's utterly exhausting. He prefers to tease her rather than just giving in, and Sora hates it (she loves it)—hates it so much that she'll curse at him while he kisses her neck and slides his fingers through her belt loops.
Rylin leans in and presses his mouth to hers once, twice, and then again as she whimpers embarrassingly on his lips. "We should clean you up," he says with a husky undertone, and Sora nods against his skin, feeling dirty and cold and in need of a steaming shower.
Her boyfriend takes his time with that particular task and tucks her in his bed after cooking her Korean rice soup (her favorite).
"Do you really love me?" Sora whispers against his heartbeat when he climbs in after her, body lean and artfully sculpted.
Rylin turns around on his side and the raw emotion lining his features shocks her into a rare, muted silence. "Do you doubt it?"
She shakes her head slowly, and the breath catches in her throat as he swiftly gets on top of her and presses his knees to both of her hip bones while his hands cage her head. "Need a reminder of how much I love you, pretty girl?" Rylin voices out steadily.
Sora glares at him but doesn't ignore the sultry tone as it slips out of her throat. "Yeah," she breathes out. "Forgot," Sora gasps. "Forgot how much you do."
His hands slip under her shirt, all too careful of her broken ankle and the ugly cast molded around it. "Safe word?"
She never says it.
Sora's recovery process results in petty fights, heated makeouts, and precious moments of warmth between the two of them. Her mother drops off food at his apartment (she loves Rylin, and it makes her feel a bit closer to her parents), and sometimes Sora pretends to be bratty and whines in the middle of light-hearted debates.
Rylin is tentative to her, too, and she never leaves his apartment without a new set of painkillers and a pair of his sweatpants.
To help, Claire and Adeena drive her around everywhere to help her avoid putting pressure on her bad leg, and she often falls asleep in the backseat with music ringing in her ears. And as expected, Sora's matchmaking business places itself on pause (for now) to elevate her healing process as her main priority.
She still continues to work at Sue's diner, even though the Korean woman with the electric-blue eyeliner insists that she sit down and take orders at the bar instead of waitressing like she normally does. Everyone, it seems, is on Sora's team.
Her boyfriend, as per usual, tends to be incredibly mean to her, and although she says she despises it, Sora Lee buys him a new pair of earrings just because she feels like he's more than deserving.
And although she can't admit that she's constantly thinking of Rylin Carter, her mind always seems to wander back to him and the way it feels when he holds her.