Saeran spent the vast majority of his time in isolation. He was content, if nothing else, in solitude, avoiding reality, steering clear of his brother and that... woman. There were distasteful memories tied to her existence. The worst part? She was actually sickly sweet, eternally cheerful, with a singsong voice that made you want to listen. Except he didn't want to listen. He didn't care. He wanted to be alone.
Today, though, on a particularly sweltering July day, his room was too stuffy and uncomfortable to quarantine himself in. He was tucked away inconspicuously in a corner of the living room, keeping a safe distance, hiding behind his laptop. Sometimes Saeyoung gave him simple jobs to fiddle around with, well beneath the caliber of his capabilities, but they were a welcome distraction. It kept his hands and mind busy.
And then she was there. Over the top of the laptop, Saeran watched her dart around the bunker with narrowed eyes. She flitted from place to place like a bird: from the bedroom, donned in one of her ostentatious, colorful sweaters; to the kitchen, disposing of the remnants of Saeyoung's hasty lunch preparation; to the bathroom, arms full of cleaning products, a determined look plastered on her face. In between every action, and whenever she got the chance, she popped into Saeyoung's computer room, peppering little kisses on him or bending over his shoulder, whispering something in his ear as she pulled his headphones aside. The ghost of a smile never left his lips, and sometimes he leaned back into her touch. All the while his fingers never stopped typing furiously; his concentration never dwindled. Interesting.
When he finally took a break, he accompanied her to the kitchen. There, she sported a ruffly pink apron, her long hair piled messily on top of her head. She rummaged through a drawer. Poked her head in the refrigerator or cupboard. Stirred something on the stovetop. They prepared dinner together, moving in synchrony, not unlike two people that knew each other very well, and for a very long time; there were elusive brushes up against one another, shy smiles shot across the room, the occasional kiss on the cheek or top of the head. Their cheeks were even tinged the same rosy shade.
Saeran was so engrossed in the details that his trance was only broken when she appeared before him, waving a hand playfully in front of his eyes. When he snapped out of his stupor, she was smiling at him. The kind of smile that touched her eyes. She had a dimple in her right cheek.
"Welcome back to Earth," she said with a giggle that rang like a bell, and he could only stare at her. She was teasing him, true to character, and he had no idea how to react. But the brightness in her eyes never faltered, not even for a second, even when he met them with what he could only imagine was an icy, callous glare.
"I made beef stew for dinner," she said. Oh, she was talking again. Saeran cocked his head, regarding her indifferently. "It's a recipe I learned and tweaked during my time in America. One of my friends that I met there, she went to culinary school and taught it to me, along with many others," she continued. Was she rambling? Being friendly? He gazed at her fixedly, taciturn. "I promise it's edible," she said brightly. Jokes. Hmph. He nearly snorted, but caught himself. He thought he noticed her lips purse, very, very slightly, imperceptible had he not been paying excessive attention to every detail of her face.
"Well, it's there if you would like some," she said simply, after a long pause. Defeated, she stood up. A dismissal from the conversation, but a kind-hearted offer at that. She returned to the kitchen without another word.
Huh. She hadn't probed. She made an attempt, but not an overbearing one, and was on her way. It was almost... refreshing, compared to Saeyoung and certain others. Saeyoung was… well, annoying was not even the word. He was relentless. Inexorable. And Yoosung was the same, but in a different way; he texted every single day, pushing a friendship that Saeran was 99% certain he couldn't be bothered with.
But this... This was strange. He had tried to kill this woman. It all began with her benevolent act toward a stranger. He was cruel, and he tricked her. Her innocent, harmless, vulnerable self. He broke into somewhere that was supposed to be safe for her, tried to whisk her away to somewhere that would have definitely harmed the pretty little hairs on her head.
Pretty? Saeran dismissed the thought before his brain had even finished conjuring it. But he continued to observe her, and her fluid movements around the kitchen. She was always keeping busy. She began to clean up the mess she and Saeyoung had made – who, of course, had retreated back to his computer room, a steaming bowl and Dr. Pepper in tow. She was too good for him. Or maybe she was perfect for him, just the kind of person he needed in his life. Saeran scowled at the next thought that popped into his head, and got to his feet with a huff.
"Oh!" She jumped about a foot in the air, her hand flying to her chest, and he very nearly chuckled. So absorbed in the task of washing dishes, he had startled her, coming up behind her unexpectedly. "What's up, Saeran?" She bounced back quickly from the shock, and beamed up at him. That damn face-scrunching smile. That damn dimple.
Staring intently at a spot on the ground that suddenly became fascinating, Saeran remained reticent. Her smile lingered, unwavering, until she turned around and continued washing the dishes.
If he hadn't surprised her before, he absolutely did now: reaching out, he took the plate she had just finished rinsing, and began to dry it meticulously. Her eyes widened by a very minuscule fraction, but he ignored any reaction that he had fostered, continuing with his fastidious behavior as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world. Still, he was hyperaware of her sideways glances at him, and that persistent, cheeky smile of hers.
And then they were finished. "Thank you," she said softly, and they made fleeting eye contact. As soon as it happened it was over, and she scuttled off to her own corner of Saeyoung's computer room.
Saeran exhaled sharply, a breath he did not even realize he had been holding.
Saeran and I coexist in equanimity. Who we each love the most just happens to be the same person. The three of us had found a comfortable rhythm as apart of each other's lives, and fell into it. Every so often, Saeran would interject with yet another sarcastic remark, or react a little more than just smirk at a joke that one of us made. It was progress. Our lives were by no means perfect yet, nor were we at the place we would ultimately stay. But Saeran was opening up at his own pace. It was better without the poking and prodding. He would break free of his comfort zone in due time.
I feel as though I am finally glimpsing past the wall Saeran keeps himself heavily guarded with. For the first time ever, he and I are on the same page. This sensation is unfamiliar and foreign to me.
He's not looking at me; instead, he's fiddling with his fingers, clawing at his nails. I recognize the nervous habit immediately, and make a mental note of yet another similarity to add to the list. I don't spend enough time with Saeran alone to familiarize myself with his habits as I am now, but recent happenings have made me acutely cognizant.
He's still fidgeting. Before I can stop myself, I reach out and delicately place my hand over his. He freezes. Immediately, I kick myself, thinking that I've crossed a line. Of course I have. What possessed me to think that he would want me to touch him? I'm ready to withdraw my hand when I am staggered to see that instead, he visibly relaxes; tension seems to evaporate from him almost instantly. I realize that this is the first time since we started living together that I've made physical contact with him. His hands are warm, and surprisingly smooth.
Saeran is the first to pull away, but he doesn't seem to do it because he feels uncomfortable or unnerved, or so I assume. He saunters into the kitchen to rummage through the cupboards, and we reconvene there. We busy ourselves making dinner in our usual comfortable silence, when our arms unexpectedly graze one another's. This startles even me, as he is always very careful to ensure we never touch. My earlier assumption is proven to be correct when he doesn't even flinch, or suddenly jerk back with the contact, as he has every single time in the past.
I carry my plate to sit where I normally do, when he surprises me a third time: rather than sulk off to his room like any other night, he sits across from me at the table. I'm gaping at him when he looks up, and my cheeks are aflame. Silence rings in the air between us, but neither of us break eye contact, or say anything at all. I'm about to avert my gaze when he gives me a curt nod, and a knowing guise, before bending over his plate and hiding behind the hair that falls in front of his eyes.