Page 73 of Deviant Obsession

But Rhea isn't just anyone. And the thought of losing her makes my chest constrict until I can barely breathe.

I need answers. And if she won't give them to me, I know who might.

The club office feels smaller than usual as I burst in unannounced, my boots heavy against the polished floor. Ethanbarely glances up from the stack of paperwork spread across his desk, but I catch the tension in his shoulders. As if he's been expecting me.

"Let me guess," he mutters, scratching something out with more force than necessary. "You can't reach her either."

"When's the last time you heard from her?" I drop into the chair across from him, studying his face for any hint that he knows more than I do.

"Tuesday." He sets his pen down slowly. "Said she needed to focus on an assignment. Hasn't answered since."

The muscle in his jaw ticks, a tell we share when we're trying to maintain composure. At least I'm not the only one she's ghosting. Though that thought brings more dread than comfort.

"This isn't like her," I say, leaning forward. "Even when she's busy, she always?—“

"Finds time to check in?" Ethan finishes, finally meeting my eyes. "Yeah, I know."

We stare at each other across the desk, wordless communication passing between us. For all our recent tension, no one knows me like my twin. No one else would understand this gnawing panic eating away at my insides.

"Maybe we've been taking up too much of her time," Ethan suggests, but his proposal lacks conviction. "Midterms are in full swing. Her scholarship depends on maintaining her GPA."

"Or maybe we fucked everything up." The words taste bitter. "After that night with the marking, and all the jealousy bullshit?—”

"Don't." Ethan cuts me off sharply. "We agreed to move past that."

"Did she?"

Ethan shuffles papers aimlessly, clearly as unsettled as I am beneath his controlled exterior.

When I can’t stand the silence anymore, I huff out a frustrated sigh. "She said she was getting sick. Could be true."

"Could be." Ethan nods. "Only one way to find out."

"Someone should check on her." I try to sound casual, like I haven't been dying to do exactly that for days. "Make sure she's actually okay."

"Agreed." A hint of a smile touches his lips. "And since you're already halfway out of that chair..."

"You sure?" After everything, I feel like I should at least offer him first shot.

"Go." He waves me off, already reaching for his pen again. "Take her some soup or something. Play nurse. Just...text me? Let me know she's alright?"

The concern in his voice mirrors the ache in my chest. Whatever's going on with Rhea, we're in this together. The thought steadies me as I push to my feet.

"I'll keep you posted," I promise, heading for the door. His call stops me with my hand on the handle.

"Dean?"

I turn back. Ethan's expression is carefully stoic as usual, but his eyes give him away.

"If something's really wrong..." He trails off, but I hear the rest anyway.If she's pulling away. If we're losing her.

I manage a tight smile. "I'll fix it."

I just hope that's a promise I can keep.

The fluorescent lights of the grocery store burn my tired eyes as I stare at rows of soup cans, paralyzed by indecision. Chicken noodle feels too basic. French onion too pretentious. My hand hovers over tomato basil. I think she mentioned once that she loved it, but she could also have said she hated it. I was distracted by her lips at the time, but she definitely mentioned tomato basil soup.

A middle-aged woman shoots me a suspicious look as she reaches past me for Campbell's. I must look deranged, glaring at soup like it holds the secrets of the universe. But every choice feels weighted with significance. Like picking the wrong flavor could somehow make things worse.

---