Chapter 169 A Crush on Her
~Hermes~
Ted let out a slow sigh. "Hermes, I explained this already… It’s selective memory loss. That’s how trauma works. You remember some things and forget others but—"
"I know." I ran both hands through my hair, fingers locking at the back of my skull. "I know. I’m supposed to get everything back slowly. I just—"
My voice cracked. Pathetic.
"I just think I shouldn’t have forgotten about her."
Ted’s brow creased, curiosity sharp. He leaned in. "Why do you think so?"
I hesitated. My throat felt tight, words trapped there like something shameful. God, I couldn’t believe I was about to say this aloud. But the pressure was unbearable.
"I think I had—" I swallowed hard, lowering my voice to a whisper.
"I think I have a crush on her."
Ted’s eyebrows shot up.
"Like an unrequited, stupid, high-school-love type of crush," I muttered, dragging both hands over my face. "Fuck, I can’t believe I’m saying this."
Images of her in the elevator flickered behind my eyes—her breath on my palm, her weight against me, the way every cell in my body responded like it knew her.
"From the moment I saw her…" I shook my head, frustrated. "Argh. I don’t even know how to explain it, Ted."
Ted nodded slowly, placing a hand on my shoulder. "So… you’re saying you think you’ve got a crush on your secretary."
I let out a bitter laugh. "I’m saying I have a crush on her. It’s… it’s some fucked-up work ethic violations shit."
Ted exhales slowly, sliding his hands into his pockets.
"Hermes… it might be a crush, or it might be your brain latching onto the person who feels safest right now. Recovery does that sometimes."
He keeps his voice calm, neutral.
"Don’t assume it’s some deep past connection. Not yet. Just… take it slow. Be around her. Observe. Your instincts will tell you the truth before your memory does."
I let the words sink into me like cold water on overheated skin. I nod, jaw tight, staring at the floor.
Ted’s phone vibrates sharply in his pocket.
He checks it, steps back.
"I have to take this. Rest, Hermes."
And then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving me in my emotional turmoil.
I release a long, heavy sigh—one that drops straight from my chest. Ted’s advice circle my mind like a quiet hum, but it does nothing to calm the restless pull burning beneath my ribs.
I try to lie back down. I try to close his eyes.
I try—God knows I try—to stay in that bed.
But after thirty minutes of staring at the ceiling, the urge to see her grows unbearable.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, grabs the headboard for support, and walks out of my ward.
The hallway lights sting my eyes as I move, but my body knows where it wants to go. When I reach the common ward, the sight of it punches something instinctual inside me.
Too many people. Too noisy, and exposed.
And she was lying in there?
My June?
I step inside, my voice low and commanding.
"Bring her to my room."
The nurse sputters, confused.
"Sir, this is a shared—"
I meet his eyes once, and the protest collapses instantly.
Within minutes, June is being wheeled toward my VIP ward, pale and unconscious, curled slightly on her side as though she’s cold.
I walk behind the stretcher the entire way without even realizing it.
Hours have passed. It's night time.
The full moon spills a bluish glow into my room, turning everything soft and unreal.
I had already dismissed the guards. I didn't want to disturb June.
I told the nurse to check in only if I call.
Now it’s just the two of us—Me on my bed, and June on the spare bed I demanded be placed right next to mine.
I lie on his side, facing her, propping my head up with my hand.
She looks small under the blanket.Small, but steady. She's breathing deeply, calm now.
Ted’s words echo into my skull again.
"Take it slow. Observe. Your instincts will tell you the truth before your memory does."
I swallows hard, eyes lingering on her sleeping profile.
What am I missing?
Just then I see her shift slightly in the bed, the moonlight catching strands of her hair, shadows dancing across her face. Her lips move, forming words I can’t catch at first.
I swing my legs off the bed and approach her carefully, each step measured, quiet.
"Do you need something?" I whisper, leaning closer.
"Hermes…" she murmurs. My name on her lips makes something tighten in my chest.
"Yes. I’m here." My voice barely more than a breath.
She tries to sit up, but instinctively I pull her back gently. Not too harsh, just enough to keep her safe.
"Careful. Just tell me what you need. I’ll get it."
"You…" she breathes, eyes half-lidded, searching mine.
Before I can process, her lips crash against mine. I freeze, heart hammering in my chest like it’s trying to escape. Time slows. Her lips, soft and demanding, feel impossibly right, and a heat rises through me I can’t explain.
All rational thought vanishes. All memory gaps, all confusion—gone. For a moment, there’s nothing but her and the pull I can’t resist.
My hands hover near her shoulders, unsure whether to hold her or let her go, but I don’t move away. I can’t.
Every instinct in me screams that this is supposed to be happening, even if I don’t understand why yet.
Then she moves. Her lips are warm and soft, pressing insistently against mine. Shock hits first—my body stiffens, my heart racing like it’s trying to punch out of my chest—but the tension in me melts as soon as I feel her tongue brush against mine. It’s tentative at first, testing, but hungry. Like she’s been holding this in, waiting for the moment, and now she’s claiming it.
Every nerve in me ignites. My hands find her waist, gripping her gently but possessively, pulling her closer. She’s impossibly small, delicate, and yet she has this fire in her that makes my body ache with need I don’t even fully understand.
I taste her—soft traces of her mouth, the faint tang of mint—and it drives me wild. Her hands clutch my shoulders, nails grazing skin through my pajamas, sending shivers down my spine. I lean into her, deepening the kiss, letting my lips mold with hers, exploring. Every brush, every slide of her tongue against mine, is electric.
I feel her body respond against me, the curve of her hips pressing into mine. My chest tightens, my breathing quickens. I want more—more closeness, more heat, more of everything she’s giving me without words. There’s a rush, a dizzying mix of longing and relief that she’s here, that she’s alive, that I can feel her, even if my memories haven’t fully returned.
Her lips part, and I take the opportunity to trace them with mine, holding her jaw gently, memorizing the shape, the softness, the taste. Every second feels endless. Every motion is more than physical—it’s claiming her, it’s needing her, it’s finally letting myself feel the ache I didn’t even know was there.
I realize, panti
ng slightly, that my hands are shaking against her, my body trembling not with fear, but with desire I can’t and don't understand.