GORYA

"I promise you nothing.

I know, now,

how much I love you.

Now, like hemoglobin

you move in my blood…"

-Abdullah Pashew


"Isn't it great?"

Gorya smiled at the sound of his voice as she walked away. Joy, Thyme's joy in particular, was something that she found contagious. It's just hard to admit sometimes. To let go, and let the feeling infect her as easily as it took over him.

But then she remembered his face the evening he had dinner with her family for the first time. The fascination, the longing. He's different. He would welcome all the things he's never had with open arms, even if he didn't exactly know how. It was endearing, in a way.

When she had woken up earlier, it had only taken her a second to process where she was and what could've happened. Working at a flower shop had certainly wired her brain to count. One, she had fallen asleep in his bed. Two, she must've slept in the car next to him. Three, maybe, maybe, her head had been on his shoulder or lap at some point. Four, she was horrified to find that the bed felt a little too comfortable. And five…she didn't want to get up.

And here I am, borrowing a towel from his closet.

She had gotten a red towel, the color of the same shade as his robe. There was a white one and another sky blue on top of the pile, but she felt strange about having to use anything light-colored that wasn't hers. The red one looks fluffier.

The size of the whole bathroom was three times the size of the one she had back home. Possibly more. Her eyes widened in surprise, seeing that the tub was separate from the shower. So this was how the rich liked their bathrooms. Gorya sighed at that. She had never liked excess, but perhaps bathrooms were an exception. Or kitchens. Her mother would've liked bigger kitchens at least.

She laughed, hanging the towel at the rack. It's strange how comfortable she was. Maybe it was all the sweat in her body, screaming to be scrubbed off.

It was only after discarding her clothing that she remembered her shoes had already been off for a while. Did Auntie Yu take them off?

Or. Thyme. Her cheeks flooded with warmth at the thought.

No matter how embarrassing it felt, at least, it meant that he was serious about taking care of her. Perhaps that's how boyfriends are. But she wasn't sure. After all, there was nothing typical about Thyme, so he certainly wouldn't be the typical boyfriend.

Having stepped into the shower at last, she couldn't help but peek at the bottles Thyme kept at the built-in shelf to her left, even if she had the shampoo and femme wash from her basket. There wasn't much. What surprised her was how neat it was. Or maybe she underestimated him. This was his bathroom after all.

It wasn't until she had lathered her hair with shampoo that she realized that she had no soap to use. She peered at the basket again. Nothing. Oh. She was going to have to use… I can't. The femme wash bottle was too small, and it looked like Auntie Yu had gotten it from her stuff back at the servant's quarters, so there certainly wasn't enough of it to use.

She turned to the shelf, hoping against hope that he used liquid soap at least.

That would spare any weird- Oh no.

No matter where she looked, there was only a used bar next to the shampoo and conditioner bottles. There's no way she'd call out to ask if he had something else. But what's the big deal? It was only soap. Her parents certainly didn't raise her to be picky. Gorya took a deep breath and grabbed the soap bar and after a sniff, tried it on her damp wrists.

It smelled quite nice. It was pink too. Come to think of it, it smelled like…her brain whirled as her nose registered the scent. The smell was rather strong, but not unpleasant, possibly strong enough to last an entire day.

But it hit her then and there, that it smelled very much like him. Like roses. Now I'm going to smell like roses too. She smacked her cheek as if to stop her train of thought. Don't be a weirdo, just keep washing up and it'll be over soon.

When she finally emerged from the bathroom, dressed, and with the towel wrapped around her head, Thyme was still on his couch fiddling with his phone. He brightened up at the sight of her. Oh that look. Gorya would've thought that the look was some kind of ploy on his part, if it were not for the fact that he was incapable of hiding how he felt.

"All done?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said. Should she say anything about the soap? Perhaps not. That would be awkward.

She looked around for a trash can. She forgot about the wipes in her hand. Right by his speakers. She walked over and absently peered down to drop the tissues, except, there was something else in there. Square, silver, but not opened.

There was no mistaking the packaging, the label. She had seen it in over a hundred commercials. At first, she merely stood there, contemplating whether or not to give him a good smack. Run. Leave. Find an excuse. But the thing was not open.

And it's in the trash.

She went back to where he was, and sat on the couch next to him. She could see that he was trying not to look at her, perhaps waiting for a scolding.

But Gorya didn't know what to say. How do you even begin?

"We should dry your hair," he finally said.

She blinked in surprise. "What?"

He smiled, gesturing at the towel on her head. "It would be better if your hair was dry before you go back to sleep."

"I-"

He chuckled and grabbed her hand, pulling her up. "Don't worry, I know you're tired."

Before she knew it, they were both in the bathroom this time. And she was letting him take charge. Though she wouldn't let him take the towel for her. She smiled, as he brandished a hair dryer in front of her face. "I'll show you how it's done."

"Alright then, let's see if your skills are better than the salon people." He snorted at that and plugged the hair dryer next to the mirror and very gently started to work on her hair.

With Thyme this close to her, she was suddenly overcome with that strange feeling from the bathroom once again. That this boy was her boyfriend now. So this is how it feels to like someone.

That this boy could mean so much, that for some reason, she didn't even care about what she had seen at the trash can.

That he was here, drying her hair, standing so close that she could see the limp curls of his hair, the mark on the side of his lips, and how the warm air blowing from the hair dryer seemed to heighten the smell of roses.

Minutes ticked by. Not that she was keeping track. It was impossible.

But out of nowhere, before she could even speak or blink, he suddenly leaned forward, trying to move the hair dryer to a better position. It was there and then that his face was suddenly closer to her neck. Gorya tried not to panic, as the hair dryer rapidly swooshed back and forth in his very serious attempt to dry her hair.

But after a while, she realized that he had stopped moving completely.

She raised her eyes, and found that he was looking straight at her. His eyes were a little wide, tinged with realization.

"W-what is it?" she asked, her voice dropping a pitch lower.

He swallowed for a bit, unsure of what he was about to say. "You smell nice."

"Oh," was all she could say in response. Time was frozen now, and every breath from him, was all she could feel permeating everything around her. Within her. It decimated both the fear in her heart, but made her feel like everything was burning at the same time.

"You."

"What?"

"You used my soap."

"Yes, sorry about that," she breathed out.

"You smell nice," he whispered.

"Well, it's your soap," she whispered back. He switched off the hair dryer almost immediately at her reply, and this time, wrapped his arms around her back, fully embracing her.

His nose, she felt, was dangerously close to where her right shoulder was.

"I know. I like it. I don't mind at all." he said, his voice achingly gentle. Then apologetically he said, "I'm sorry too. For what you saw in the trash can. It was in the basket, but I didn't want you to see it."

"I'm not mad." She smiled a bit at this, because she really wasn't. "We can't deny that older people would think that it's best if we had stuff like that. It's weird, but I can't blame Auntie Yu."

Letting go of his hold on her, Thyme stepped back and looked at her, really looked at her. "I won't force you to do anything," he said a little too fiercely.

Gorya laughed. Oh, you.

"I know. So don't worry about it." She patted her hair, and realized that it was indeed close to drying completely. He had done a great job after all. With a smile, she grabbed his hand and led him back to the bedroom.

"What are you-" but she shushed him.

"You're right," she said. "I am tired. So I'll be sleeping on the right side. You can be on the other side as long as you behave."

He stared at her in astonishment. "How are you not angry with me?"

She rolled her eyes and hopped on the bed, making herself at home below the covers with ease. He looked at her nervously for a while, before settling on the left.

She smiled, as if to reassure him. Okay. Though she had been bold to do everything that she did just now, a part of her was still trembling. But she steadied herself at the thought that he would never coerce her into anything. That he was weird and fun, and charming. That he was trying his best.

He moved closer, and now they were facing each other, their faces only a few inches apart. His right hand had reached over, and settled over her waist and on to her back. Anxiously he said, "Is that alright?"

Not to be outdone, she placed her left leg over his right. "Is this okay?"

Thyme grinned. "You're something else. I guess you're really not mad."

She only nodded. Feeling drowsy, she shut her eyes, suddenly feeling the weight of his touch on her.

The smell of roses. His breath. And now his touch. It was strange, how they felt foreign to her, but now she could have them.

Then her mind wandered back to the white shirt that she had seen on his closet. The shirt with her footprint on it. She opened her eyes briefly and found him staring at her. The smile she gave him was so wide, it hurt her cheeks. But Gorya was determined to at least tell him before she drifted off. To say, for once, what she found difficult to say.

"I'm not mad. No matter how annoyed I am. I'm part of you, and you're part of me."

Thyme smiled at that, and Gorya felt a sense of relief at being able to say it. Perhaps, she was just as changed as he was. He leaned forward and kissed her in the forehead. That was another thing that she would have to get used to. His lips.

"How was that?" he asked.

"Not bad," she replied.

I could get used to it. I think I'd like to get used to it.


The End


Author's Notes:

1. The poem [taken from a longer poem in Abdullah Pashew's Dictionary of Midnight] I placed at the beginning is where the title of this whole fic came from. The poem stuck with me for weeks the moment I read it.

2. Side note: I played around with different titles for a bit. It's weird. I love naming things before they're even finished.

3. Writing Gorya was a bit difficult. Not because she isn't relatable. But because no matter how expressive she was, there's also so much that she doesn't say, especially when it comes to love.

4. Back to the title again. Hemoglobin is a protein in our red-blood cells that carries oxygen to the body's organs and tissues. This particular body function, I thought, coincides with how physical this chapter got. It's obvious to me how Thyme adores Gorya, and how deeply affected he is by her to the point that he's kept both the shirt that had her footprint, and the pink towel she had given him. But in Gorya's case, it's never as visible. But you don't see hemoglobin, and you don't feel it, unlike some of your organs and muscles.

5. Perhaps accepting someone's love is like that. Like hemoglobin, it moves in your blood.