44

"Jaewookie," I call out as soon as my feet enter the apartment. With no response, I head to my room. It's still dark in there—the curtains have not been opened. "Jaewook?" I ask, confused as to why the room is so dark when it's mid-afternoon. I see a bright light coming from my desk. Turning on the light reveals the sick boy to me, who now cowers and covers his eyes with a grimace. "Noona, too bright." "What the hell are you doing staring at a laptop screen in a dark room? It's a sunny day out." I open my curtains and sigh in contentment when the sun washes over my face. I feel light after the meeting with Hansoo, simply because he seemed much happier when we parted. That was my goal after all. I knew the whole match-making thing was futile, I just simply wanted to have some fun and build his confidence back up. He texted me on my way home, thanking me for making his day better. I may dislike most humans most the time, but it sure feels good to make them happy every once and a while. That is—the ones that are worth my time. A grumble from behind me breaks my smile. I turn around, and Jaewook is still at my desk, hunched over his giant gaming laptop. He's shirtless, but a blanket is loosely wrapped around him. Wait. "Jaewook! Why are you always naked now!? What happened to your decency?" "Oh," he speaks in bursts, distracted by the game he's playing. "I feel comfortable enough in our relationship now to just act as I normally do when alone." "So you just hang out in your room—literally—naked?" I sit down on my messy bed with a lazy thump, flabbergasted by this boy's strange habit. "Uh, yeah, only when home alone. It's—it feels nice—shit—" the mouse clicks fiercely, his eyes move frantically. "It's freeing, you know? You should try it sometime." He sounds congested. "No thank you, I'd rather not feel a draft on my private parts." He snickers. I watch him intently, amazed at how he doesn't even blink as his eyes quickly scatter all over the screen. He's playing some online, multiplayer first-person shooter game. "Wookie baby, you're still sick. I can hear it in your voice. Why are you playing video games?" I subconsciously place a hand on his forehead, just checking his temperature as I have been constantly. "I was bored. I can only sleep for so long," he sniffles and his voice only sounds more clogged by the second. I grow irritated and stand up to grab my tissues. "At least take a second to wipe your nose," I grumble as I take a tissue and wipe it for him. A stupid little open-mouthed smile adorns his face as he continues to stare at the screen. "Thanks Noona." "Did you really go to your room to get your laptop just to come back?" I lean against my small desk. "Yeah." "Do you like my room that much?" His eyes finally leave the screen for the first time since I entered to quickly look up at me. "I like you that much." "How cute," I replied unenthusiastically. "Now end your shooting game or whatever. Let's eat something." "Just—just one second. There are only six people left." "Those six people can wait." "No they can't, it's a game Noona. I can't just leave now." I sigh exasperatedly and decide to at least make the bed. It looks gross and full of sick people germs. "Are you staying over again tonight?" "Yeah—oh shit, did you see that?" He actually turns around to look at me, that's how excited this kid is. "Headshot." "Sure, anyways," I groan, "Will you ever sleep in your own bed again?" "I graduated, I don't have to ever return if I don't want to." "Sorry to break it to you, but you can't just live here. My brother may be cool with you being my boyfriend, but he's very serious about money and will not tolerate you just mooching off him." "I'm just kidding. I'll go back, I just like it when you take care of me." I playfully hit the back of his head from the mischevious little smile on his face, and he laughs. Guess I can't clean the sheets just yet then. There's no way I'm not getting a cold after this, my immune system is not made of titanium. "Hasn't it been better at home? You said that a while ago." I mindlessly make the bed and ask this as his laptop keys sing their own furious tune. "Fuck—" "Hey, watch it," I turn to scold him. "Sorry, sorry, three left. Uh—yeah it's been good actually. Kinda strange. My dad hasn't drunk in a long time, he just sits on the couch and watches TV a lot. He doesn't say much lately." He says this very casually, but I can't help but contemplate his words. This change of behaviour seems peculiar, out of the blue. His dad couldn't have just decided to stop being an alcoholic so suddenly—it takes a lot longer to recover and stop the intense alcohol abuse he clearly grew dependent on. It just doesn't add up, it doesn't make sense. "He doesn't say much? Did he used to before?" "I mean, kinda. When he wasn't drunk he'd act like a normal dad I guess; one that works a lot and is reserved. But he doesn't really say anything at all lately." "Since when?" "What?" "When did his behaviour change?" He looks over at me, his eyebrows crossed in confusion or annoyance—I'm not sure which. "Why does it matter? As long as he isn't drinking everything's great." "It does matter because it's not normal to just stop drinking cold turkey when you're an addict." He looks back at his screen, his jaw clenched and expression very different from moments before. "Can we stop talking about this? It's making me feel even sicker. Dammit—" He slams his mouse down and closes his eyes. I guess he didn't win his game. "I'm sorry, I just worry that's all." "You like to analyze people and their behaviours too much." I don't miss the sharpness in his tone. I cross my arms. "So what? What's the problem in wanting to understand people better?" "Nothing, there's no problem." He sighs and closes his laptop. "Let's just move on, okay? I just don't like talking about him." With a sigh, I stand beside him where he sits and stroke his messy hair. "I know, I'm sorry if I pushed too far." His eyes close from my petting, his head even leaning into my touch. "It's okay." He reluctantly stands up and stretches his limbs. I cover my eyes, "My God, I think you're too comfortable around me." He simply laughs. "You need to put something on before leaving this room." "Fine." Minutes later he sits in the kitchen, with pants and the blanket still around him, as he watches me attempt to cook. "What do you usually eat when you're sick?" He just shrugs his shoulders. "Great help," I roll my eyes and rampage our cupboards. As usual, they're greatly disappointing. "I can cook you know—" "No, you're sick. You're going to get snot all over everything." He giggles and reinforces my statement with a sniffle. "I hope I don't get you sick." "Oh you most definitely will," I turn to look at him with a joking smile. "It's too late for me, I've accepted my fate." He just smiles back. ...