- Love is strange, so real in the dark -
It's dark and cold in the kitchen, the low buzzing of the fridge the only sound as I stand at the counter. I'm trying the best I can to wash my hair in the sink, but my hair is so long, I just manage to tangle it more and more as my fingers work on the long red strands, my neck starting to cramp in this uncomfortable position.
"For fucks sake!" I let out, then jump in surprise when I hear a low chuckle behind me.
I twist my neck further, narrowing my eyes to make out the shadow that is Kim Taehyung as he leans against the doorframe. In the darkness, his wet hair looks black, strands of ink melting in the obscurity surrounding him.
A car passes by outside, orange headlights suddenly invading the kitchen with the sound of an old creaky radio. It draws moving patterns on the boy's face, letting me see a snippet of his chiseled face before it's gone and all I see is a dark figure wearing my dad's sweatpants and hoodie.
"You need some help?" he asks, devilish in the way he approaches.
"No. I'm fine," I say, teeth gritted as I go back to my task.
Shampoo leaks into my eyes, and I hiss as I try to wipe it off with the back of my hand.
"Come on," Taehyung says, "Let me help. It's the least I can do."
His voice is calm and low; gravel-like. I feel the heat of his body settling behind mine as he takes over my hands, the weight of my drenched hair suddenly leaving my palms.
"Alright," I finally cave-in.
He's a lot more gentle than I thought he would be, going deliberately slow like he's finding some kind of pleasure in the act of running his fingers through my hair. His thumbs dig in my scalp as he massages my skull, getting the last traces of mud out of my roots. He applies just the right amount of pressure to make goosebumps line up my arms, and I can't help a helpless sigh when his fingertips reach my temples.
"You're good at this," I tell him in a whisper, and he suddenly presses a little harder.
"Thank you."
I can hear another car coming by and I open my eyes, just in time to see my own reflection in the window before me, as well as Taehyung's. He looks focused, eyebrows furrowed and his eyes meet mine through the glass for a second before the headlights disappear in the distance and darkness claims my sight.
"Turn around," he tells me and I do as he says, bending my body awkwardly to keep my head at the sink level.
"Is that too hot?" he asks, checking the water temperature on his hand first before making it run through my hair.
"It's perfect."
Again, it takes a moment for him to rinse the bubbles away, and I close my eyes, enjoying the feel of his fingers.
"Voila," he finally declares, taking the clean towel I brought with me and patting my head with it. He does a pretty good job at getting most of the water out before wrapping the towel around my head tightly.
"Thank you," I mumble, standing up at his side.
His presence, inches away from me, is so tangible I suddenly get the urge to touch him.
"Now let's eat."
I don't know why, but I suddenly feel a wave of nervousness and I step away from him fast, running to the fridge as a distraction. His eyes don't leave me as I take out two plates from the cupboard, boring holes at the back of my neck. He helps me, taking out the spaghetti pot from the fridge, and watches as I fill our plates.
The microwave seems very loud as it beeps, disrupting the quietness of the night. I look at the clock above the stove and read 2 in the morning.
A moment later, we sit at the table with our fuming plates of pasta when I realize I forgot the utensils.
"I got it," says Taehyung, already standing up to open the right drawer on his first try.
It's almost like he never left this place.
"Careful, it's hot," I tell him, but he doesn't seem to mind, already digging in his plate with so much enthusiasm I'm suddenly afraid he's not chewing at all.
"Fuck. It's so good," he lets out in between two mouthfuls while I'm staring, lips parted at the sight.
He seems ravenous, finishing his plate in a minute while I barely touch mine. He finally realizes he's eating way too fast when his eyes move to my plate, guilt immediately nesting in his orbs as he looks back at me.
"S - Sorry," he stutters.
I shake my head, pushing my plate towards him.
"Take mine. I'm not hungry."
He seems to hesitate, but hunger gets the better of him and he takes my plate, this time eating a lot slower and savouring every bite.
I can't help but think that the reason for his hunger is that he doesn't get to eat to his heart's contempt every day. Are the Jeons even feeding him? It certainly looks like he's been starving to death.
He deciphers my thoughts because his gaze hardens, and he drops his fork to the side.
"I'm not usually this hungry... It's the cold that makes me want to eat everything. Bodies producing heat uses a lot of calories, you know."
"I know," I simply reply.
The fact that he's finding excuses for his behaviour tells me everything I need to know.
"I'm going to bed," I suddenly decide.
Almost freezing certainly used a lot of energy because I can feel my eyelids getting heavier every second.
"You can sleep in the guest room, and there are extra blankets in the cupboard if you're cold."
He nods, taking his last bite of spaghetti before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"If you're hungry or thirsty, you can take anything that's in the fridge," I continue, but he suddenly shakes his head, eyes going down to his empty plate.
"I should just go home."
He winces like the word 'home' is burning his tongue. I take a long moment to respond, trying hard to find the words that will make him stay.
"You can't go home," I finally say, and he raises an eyebrow, suspicious, "I'm terrified of staying here all alone. The cadavers in the basement are... scary at night when the old wooden walls start to crack. Today, you pulled me in the freezing water, and I found myself covered in leeches because of you, so you owe me. I want you to stay at least until tomorrow so I don't have to be on my own."
Silence invades the room and for a second, I'm sure he's going to walk out the door without a look back, but to my surprise, he nods.
"Alright," he accepts, "But just for tonight and after that, we're even."
"Deal," I quickly agree.
He still insists to do the dishes before we both walk upstairs. I yawn loudly by the time I get to my bedroom door, turning on the light on the yellow familiar walls.
I take a glance behind me and see that Taehyung is staring with a fond gaze at something in my back.
"I remember this," he says, pointing at the dream catcher adorning the metal head of my bed.
It's made of a branch and some string, tacky beads and some painted feathers completing the object. We made those a long time ago, in kindergarten to be precise.
"I can't believe you still have yours," he says, "I dropped mine in a sewer two days after finishing it."
The expression on my face stops his smile from reaching his eyes.
"What is it?" he asks.
"You have it all backwards," I tell him, "I dropped mine in a sewer, so you gave me yours so I would stop crying. This isn't mine. You made that one."
"Oh."
It was always like that; him protecting me, me protecting him.
"I'm glad you still have it," he finally says.
I'm not sure how to respond, and we just look at each other for a good five seconds before he slowly backs up in the corridor.
"Well. Goodnight, Sage." he whispers before leaving my field of view.
I can't help a scoff from leaving my lips as I caress the old dream catcher. The paint is peeling off, yet I've always kept it. I tried to remove it once, to see what my room would look like without it, but it felt wrong and I immediately put it back in place.
Without thinking more about it, I turn off the lights and get in bed, smiling as I bury my head in my pillows. One simple thought keeps spinning in my head; the fact that Taehyung stayed.
He stayed! Despite the fact we both know I'm not scared of anything, and certainly not of staying alone in my own house. Corpses in the basement or not, I always sleep soundly.
But he decided to stay anyway.
And I can't help but smile.