His sinful Obsession

Agonized

"How's his report now?"
"He's improving. The flu hit him hard, but getting him admitted was the right call. If all goes well, he should be discharged in three more days."
Frida let out a quiet breath of relief, her fingers tightening around the phone.
"Casper, you're going to be okay. Just three more days, baby, and I'll take you home with me. Stay safe, alright?"

.

.

Frida walked down the quiet street, her arms crossed over her chest, the weight of her thoughts pressing heavily on her. The day had left her drained, her mind a swirling mess of uncertainty and exhaustion. She was almost at Lisa's house when—

"Frida."

The sound of her name, spoken so casually, yet with an edge of familiarity, made her freeze.
She turned around, her eyes landing on a man standing a few feet away.
He was tall, well-dressed, and oddly put-together, with tanned skin and a clean-shaven face. His smile was easy, too easy, but something about it made her uneasy.

Frida's brows knit together as she searched her memory. His face was familiar, but she couldn't immediately place him.

The man stepped forward, closing the space between them.
"You don't remember me, do you?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, as if amused by her confusion.
Frida offered a hesitant smile.
"Um... hi?"
He chuckled, shaking his head.
"Summer camp? We volunteered together."
Then it clicked.
"Gabriel?"
His grin widened.
"Bingo. I was starting to think I was unforgettable."
Frida exhaled, offering a more genuine smile, though a strange sense of unease still lingered. "I'm sorry, I've just had a lot on my mind lately. And—oh! You shaved your beard. That's probably why it took me a second."

Gabriel rubbed the back of his neck, his expression still laced with something unreadable. "Well... I thought you liked clean-shaven guys."
Frida blinked, caught off guard.
"What?"
"Nothing," he dismissed quickly, his eyes gleaming with something close to amusement before smoothly changing the subject.
"So, what are you doing here? Let's grab a coffee."
Frida shook her head, shifting the bouquet in her hands.
"Oh, I was just buying some flowers."
Gabriel's gaze flickered to them, his smile stretching.
"Want one?"
she offered playfully.
He chuckled.
"I'm a guy. I should be the one giving you flowers."
Frida rolled her eyes, plucking a yellow rose from the bouquet.
"Smell of misogyny," she teased.
"Here, take this."
Gabriel reached for it but hesitated, his fingers barely brushing against hers. Then, with a smirk, he murmured,
"But I wanted a red one."
His voice was lower this time, quieter, almost intimate. And then he leaned in, just slightly, his breath ghosting near her ear.
Frida's body went rigid, an involuntary shiver running down her spine.

She immediately took a step back, gripping the bouquet tighter.

"When will Ella be back?"
he asked, as if nothing had happened.
Frida hesitated, her unease deepening.
"How do you know about that?" she asked, watching him carefully.
Gabriel shrugged.
"I stopped by her shop. It was closed."

Something about the way he said it—so casual, so normal—sent a ripple of doubt through her. She let out a slow breath, forcing herself to stay calm.
"She'll be back soon."
"Good. I'll catch up with her later."
Frida gave him a polite nod.
"I should go now. Stay safe."
She turned on her heel, ready to leave—but before she could take another step, Gabriel's hand shot out and gripped her wrist.
Not painfully, but tight enough that her pulse jumped.
"Wait, wait,"
he said, his voice still light, still friendly—but something in the way he held her made her stomach twist.
"Give me your number. How else am I supposed to contact you?"
Frida hesitated. Every instinct screamed at her to refuse. But she was alone. It was getting darker. She didn't want to create a scene here.
Wordlessly, she pulled out her phone, reluctantly unlocking it.
Gabriel took it from her hands before she could even react, swiftly calling himself from her number.
Her jaw clenched.
"That was unnecessary."
He only smirked, handing the phone back.
"Now we won't lose touch again."
Frida forced a tight-lipped smile, tucking her phone away.
"Okay then, I'm going."
"I'll drop you off."
"No, Gabriel. Thanks, but I'm fine."
"But—"
"No," she cut in sharply, her patience wearing thin.
"Please don't bother."
Gabriel sighed dramatically, shaking his head with mock disappointment.
"Alright, alright. But thanks for the flower."
Just as she was about to step away, he suddenly reached out—lightly tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.
Frida stiffened, every nerve in her body screaming at her to move, to step back, to say something.
His fingers lingered just a second too long, his gaze heavy, unreadable.
Then, he leaned in just slightly, voice barely above a whisper.
"You gave me butterflies, butterfly."
Frida forced a stiff nod, sidestepping him before he could do anything else.
She didn't look back.
But even as she walked away, the unease remained, pressing into her chest like a weight.