Chapter 13

Christin stayed glued to his study desk, finalizing his assignments and submitting them ahead of time. He glanced at the clock. He had ordered something for Austin earlier, though he wasn’t sure if he’d like it.

As he studied, he heard shuffling from Austin’s bed. Christin looked up. Austin, as usual, took his time waking up. The medication made him especially drowsy. He sat up, noticed the pillow, and looked around the room, searching for Christin.

He seemed surprised to see him studying—early, or so he thought. Austin checked the clock. It was already a little past nine.

He stood up.
“Good morning,” he said casually as he passed Christin on his way to the bathroom.

Christin’s face lit up.

When Austin returned after freshening up, Christin quietly took a tumbler from the fridge and placed it on the dining table.

“Austin,” he called softly. Afraid of being scolded, he added quickly, “For you.”

Austin paused.

“For me?” he asked quietly.

“Um… you—you like coffee,” Christin said, struggling to meet his eyes. “But you can’t have hot drinks right now. So, I—I ordered iced coffee. The sugar is on the side—you can adjust it.”

Austin felt a wave of guilt hit him as the memory of knocking over the sherbet resurfaced.

“I—It’s okay if you don’t want it,” Christin added quickly, his voice stammering. “T—There were more flowers o—outside for you. I put them on the counter.”

Austin stood still, watching Christin retreat into himself again—polite, distant, guarded. His chest tightened.

Are we back to square one?

“I’m sorry, Christin,” he said suddenly. His voice shook. “I’m sorry for yesterday.”

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” he said, barely able to get the words out. “You were trying so hard to take care of me.”

Tears slipped down his face.

“Christin…”
He hesitated, then asked quietly,
“Are you… scared of me?”

Christin watched silently. He had never imagined Austin breaking down like this.

Am I scared of Austin? he asked himself.

As he watched Austin apologize so sincerely, he realized the answer clearly.

No. Not anymore.

Christin wanted to stop Austin’s tears, but he didn’t know how.

After a moment, he picked up the tumbler and walked towards him. He gently took Austin’s hand and passed him the iced coffee. Then, without thinking too much, he lifted his sleeves and wiped Austin’s tears.

“I’m sorry too,” Christin said softly. “I’m a little clumsy. I’ve always been looked after… so I don’t really know how to look after someone.”

He hesitated, then added quietly, “I’m not afraid of you, Austin.”

He lowered his head as he admitted the rest.

“I was scared that you might hate me.”

“Never,” Austin said instantly.

Christin’s eyes lit up. His chest tingled as he looked up and met Austin’s gaze.

Austin’s eyes were steady. Honest.

A soft smile spread across Christin’s lips.

Austin let out a deep sigh of relief. He leaned forward and rested his head against Christin’s shoulder.
“My head hurts, Christin,” he said quietly. “I just woke up, but I already feel tired again.” His voice was still strained.

Christin was taken aback by the sudden closeness, but he reminded himself that Austin was still healing. Carefully, he helped Austin over to the dining table.

Austin took a few sips of his iced coffee, then moved back to the bed—Christin’s bed this time. It made things easier. Christin could keep an eye on him while continuing his studies.

Breakfast was on its way.

Soon, they heard the doorbell ring, followed by a knock.

“Mr. Ivanov,” someone called from outside.

Christin took the initiative and went to open the door—cautiously. He opened it slightly.

Alik Popov stood there with some actors Christin had seen before at the workshop. He couldn’t immediately recall their names.

“Who is it?” Austin asked as Christin lingered at the door.

“The director and our fellow actors,” Christin replied, uncertain about what to do next.

“May we speak with Mr. Ivanov?” the male actor asked. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, equally uneasy.

Behind them came their regular server, carrying breakfast and a get-well card for his favourite actor.

“Sir, your breakfast,” the server said calmly, now accustomed to seeing The Russian Paradox answer the door. “The watermelon sherbet will be available in another twenty minutes,” he added. He handed over the card and left the small group standing there in quiet awe.

They hesitated to speak directly to Christin, still unsettled by the violent incident. They were holding flowers and a gift box. Their intentions were clear.
It’s not just my room—they’re Austin’s guests too, Christin reminded himself.

He opened the door wider.

“We just wanted to see how he was doing,” the lady said gently.

The director stood silently behind them. He looked like a man who felt he had lost the right to speak.

Christin opened the door fully and placed the tray at the dining table.

The three guests entered.

Austin asked them to sit on the bed for convenience. Then he gestured for Christin to sit beside him. Christin sat quietly next to Austin.

“They are Mr. Radimir Mikhailov and Ms. Ulyana Zadachin,” Austin said, looking at Christin. “Mr. Mikhailov is playing your character’s older brother, and Ms. Ulyana is portraying the only female lead among the four ACES. I don’t think you’ve formally met before, right?”

“How are you feeling now, Austin?” Radimir asked. He seemed to know Austin from before.

“Better,” Austin replied. “Speaking loudly still hurts a little, but a full recovery is expected.”

Christin grew uneasy as the topic drifted toward that day.

Austin didn’t want anyone to believe Christin had acted intentionally. He wanted them to see—clearly—that they were sitting together without fear or resentment.

Missing that cue, Ulyana spoke up. “Wouldn’t it be better if you changed rooms, Mr. Ivanov? Considering what happened, perhaps you shouldn’t be staying together.”

“I think Mr. Vasiliev might also prefer that,” Radimir added. “Given his phobia.”

Their concern was reasonable. But Austin and Christin both knew how hard they had worked to build trust. Distance now would only undo that effort.

Christin stiffened. He knew, deep down, that blame still lingered.

Austin said steadily. “I don’t need to recuperate in a separate room. I had a fever last night, and he stayed beside me to help.”

When put into words, it became clearer to the actors that the conflict between them might have been resolved.

Alik observed. He had always believed setbacks were part of filmmaking.

Austin’s injuries were already close to healing. But what struck him more was Christin’s pace of recovery.

They’re probably ready to act, he thought. A few more days, and I should put them back to work.

The bell rang again; the server had returned with the sherbet.

Christin brought it inside. “Would you like it now?” he asked Austin, glancing at the clock.

Austin nodded and took the sherbet.

The bell rang again—but this time, it was followed by a heavy knock.

Radimir offered to open the door, but to everyone’s surprise, it was Andrei standing outside.

Seeing an unfamiliar face, Andrei stepped back and checked the room number—113. He was at the right place.

“Christin?” he asked, confused.

“He’s inside. We were just visiting Austin,” Radimir replied, a little taken aback by Andrei’s sudden appearance.

Andrei stepped forward, concern etched on his face.

To his surprise, Christin was sitting beside Austin—calm, comfortable, at ease.

“Good morning, Mr. Singh,” Alik stood up abruptly. “It’s been a while since we last met,” he said, trying to strike up a conversation.

“I’m the producer of your movie, Mr. Popov,” Andrei replied coolly. “We’ll have plenty of opportunities to catch up. Today, I’m here for Christin only.”

Alik’s expression darkened.

Christin looked confused.

“Uncle’s letter,” Andrei said softly. “I forgot to give it to you last time.”

Christin’s eyes widened.

Christin hurried over and took the letter. “I’ll read it later,” he said. He sat beside Austin again.

The visitors soon excused themselves. Christin closed the door behind them.

“Austin, let’s sit up properly,” he said. “Would you like to eat in bed, or at the table?”

Andrei stood frozen.

Not only had Christin remained calm around a small crowd—he was functioning normally around Austin. There was no visible tension. No fear.

Andrei exhaled slowly. “Christin, my assistant just messaged me. I need to head out,” he said, pretending to check his phone.

He cast a final, stern look at Austin—unease lingering in his eyes.

One thing was certain.

Christin wasn’t relying on him anymore.

Andrei felt it clearly now—his place in Christin’s life was slowly slipping away.