Owned by Him (rewrite)

22. Lukewarm Dream

"Asta!"

I gasped, awakened by the voice of Marvel. I blinked and from my eyes dripping some briny water, still warm and painful despite my unconsciousness, rushing as if the blockage had been destroyed. Beads of sweat had arisen all over my body, soaking my clothes wet. Cold.

"Asta?"

I flinched. The same voice that was calling my name had become softer, and just slightly, I could even hear the concern in it. When the blurry image in front of me was gradually turning clearer, I knew what I was seeing and I was right.

It took me a while to realize that I had been in Marvel's bedroom, no longer in Doctor Plainn's clinic. I shifted my vision to find the clock, it was two past midnight.

So, Marvel brought me home from the clinic, and then...

I couldn't remember anything and to be honest, it was scary. That mysterious doctor, he didn't intend to kill me, did he? I got a weird dream when I could finally sleep after all this time and...

Huh? It was... a dream?!

I immediately turned my head and Marvel was underneath me, my crotch above his stomach, my hands clenching the clothes around his neck. I was straddling him and I didn't know why. I didn't know how.

On his bed, we were facing close enough to feel each other's presence, unless when I was unknowingly grabbing him by the collars and in the realization of it, I could only be stunned in silence, temporarily unable to react.

"How are you feeling after the medication?" Marvel asked and reached my forehead, his fingers softly wiping my bangs aside to see my face properly. "You got a fever."

He gazed upon my eyes that were slightly shaking. He watched my complexion and talked as if there was nothing wrong with my behavior. He touched me like he always did and in an instance, I got my awareness back.

I got down and jumped backward, staggering after that abrupt move. My lips quivering before they could even produce a word, my fingers slipping away from Marvel's clothes like they no longer had any power left to grip. I gulped hard. Composure couldn't quite disguise my fear.

"I... I'm sorry that I fell sick..." I stammered, pulling away from him that my shoulder bumped with the backrest of the bed. "I've learned my lesson... I won't do anything reckless... I will obey you, s-so please don't get angry again..."

As Marvel got up, he frowned in confusion toward the oddity of my speech and demeanor, inconsequent than any five-year-old. He didn't do anything to respond, just watching. The silence separated us long enough. At such moment, I was filled with my own dread and incapable to identify the new ambience that pervaded the air.

"When did I get angry at you?"

Marvel asked me with a low, unemotional tone. His cold stare was enough to hammer my chest, the strikes radiating pain in a way that shattered my heart, or at least, that was what it felt like. My gaze fell to the tiles, sticking on the concrete. When he slanted closer toward me, my jaw clenched in anticipation and already I was resigned to the discomfort to follow.

"If I were really angry, you wouldn't have-"

Marvel halted as he cancelled his sentence. I looked at him, the vulnerable image of my reflection dwelling on his steel-blue eyes. I believed he was going to say something to make me miserable, but then he stopped, probably still having compassion.

"Nevermind it," he rose from the bed and stood up, his hands inside the pocket so as to make me feel safer from any forthcoming physical contact. "Lie down and go back to sleep. Make sure you also take your medication tomorrow."