Subject 3033...(BWAM, Sci-fi Romance, 18+)

Chapter Eleven

"Noe, you are back," the words leave my mouth before my brain can ponder.
"And you are naked, Tallulah," man responds, turns to look away from me, his palms to his hips.
"Uh, yes. Forgive me," and as I speak, I reach for the dress shirt, slip it on, button it up.
"How are the five people you rescued?"

"Are you dressed? May I turn?"
"You may. Again, I apologize, Noe."
This is the very thing that has taken me so long to get accustomed to. It feels like a second skin, so very difficult to shed. You grow up knowing only the eyes that scrutinize and prod and pry without permission and it becomes much like a chore to get used to a different way of life.

Noe turns, faces upon me with arms folded before the rigidity of his chest.
"We rescued all of them I'd like to think. Unfortunately, two succumbed to the virus, died before we could get to Tokyo's lab. By the way, I hunted deer, skinned it too. The chunk I've brought back is in the kitchen. Should I cook or will you do me the honours?"

"You must feel exhausted, Noe. I'll cook. You want it fried, boiled, or stewed?"
"Fried sounds just about right," he concludes, reaches for the laces of his boots and unties.
I may have never cooked a day in my life, but from the books I've perused through in Noe's home coupled with the little he's taught me in the month of my stay here, I should do just about fine. Hopefully.

"How was your stay by the way? You went to see Tokyo?"
Momentarily, man lifts his head, looks up upon me then down where he continues to untie boot.
"I did. The results came out negative."
"Some piece of good news."
He straightens and towers above me as he did before, offers a subtle smile of sorts, one that warms my heart in a manner.

I proceed for where he remains perched and stand before him. Craning neck and on the tips of my toes, I lift and press a peck to his cheek. Apparently, the art of kissing can be an exhibit of friendship, perhaps even affection -I read. And I do hold some semblance of affection towards Noe. Man gazes upon me in quiet confusion though I smile as I look upon him.

"I missed you, Noe. I am glad you are safe," I speak genuinely, tilt head ever so slightly.
His mouth gapes open then falls back shut. For a time, for short minutes he appears to ponder to himself. Then, with a lovely smile of his own, his palm moves to the top of my head where he pats tenderly my hairs.
"I missed you too, Tallulah," gentle is his tone, one that elicits an even wider smile from me.

"Well, I will leave you to freshen up."
And his palm formerly atop my head now moves to cup my cheek. I do not know for what reason, but it's as though something flutters deep inside my stomach. It feels as though multiple butterflies flap their tiny little wings and tickle my insides. A peculiar feeling really, one I have never come upon before knowing the man who stands before me. It petrifies me, it does.

"I'll...I'll go cook now," comes my voice a little lower, a little softer, foreign even to my own ears.
And as man's palm drops to the side, I tread past him and exit the chamber entirely. It takes me forty three minutes to season and fry and set the table and drag seat for myself. Noe makes his way into the kitchen arena in a more casual outfit, his blackly hairs knotted in a bun. He sits himself as I dish him some food onto platter.

"Where did you sleep last night?" I query as I mimic his moves and sit myself.
"Oh, we camped. There were so many mosquitos and owls and toads. At one point, a snake crawled its way into one of the men's tents," he casually responds, chews on a piece of meat and bread.
And as he makes his response, my eyes begin to wander, they memorize, they drink in the sight of him.

Yes, man appears to have been sculpted by some perfectionist artist of sorts. And that peculiar feeling begins to gnaw again. I blink to dispell all thoughts of it, clear my throat.
"Uh, did the snake bite anyone of you?"
He chews on his food, swallows, thinks to himself.

"It did. Bit the man on his foot. Good thing it was a non-venomous snake."
And whilst we eat, we continue to converse about anything and everything until I wind up with dinner. I rise, grab my platter and proceed for the sinks. Shortly after, man brings in his own utensils.
"Tallulah, I'm a little tired. I'll head over to bed but I'll cook and clean the utensils tomorrow. Yeah?"
"Alright, Noe. Sleep well."

I observe as he treads towards and past the exit, turn and finish off from where I'd left. Though thoughts of that peculiar little feeling begin to whisper inside my mind and taunt my ears, I battle to rid myself of. I battle to shove them down the deepest parts of my memory. I finalize the commission, exit the arena, mount steps and push past bedroom chamber doors.

Noe is sprawled atop softness of sheets, his one arm draped and concealing his eyes, his other folded and beneath his head, the covers trickling all about him and over his body from his chest. His breaths are shallow, are even. Is he a sleep? Has the slumber come to him so quickly or does he think to himself?

I do not pry, do not poke, only pad over the closet, grab a shirt and shorts, then tread towards bathroom doors where I slip in silently. Does not take me long minutes to shed my body of the loosely shirt and takes me even less minutes to cleanse and rid myself of the murkiness of the day's events. With shirt and shorts on, I tread back into bedroom chamber where I find Noe awake and staring upon the nothingness.

He sits straight upon bed, back to headboard, vision now colliding with my own. It seems a thing plunges his peace of mind.
"Can't sleep, Noe?" I query as I lean into frame of door.
"No, not really."
More silentness as I contemplate carefully.
"Do you wish to share?"
Our gazes maintain though man appears to be weighing his options -to share or not to share.

"Noe, is this about the two persons?"
Ah yes, it seems as though I am right. He blinks, swallows, blinks again as his brows furrow.
"Noe, death is a thing beyond man's control. You did your best, you tried."
"I know. But they should still be alive were it not for that virus, Tallulah," he speaks, sighs in defeat, pinches and massages the bridge of his nose.

More silentness, more quiet. Then thought comes to mind.
"I know what I could do to cheer you up, Noe. I am well aware of your repulsion for touch. But I could massage your head, yeah?"
A ghost of a smile -small, secretive- curves on his lips.
"I would like that very much," comes his baritone

"Head massage it is," I clap merrily, make my way towards bed and kneel myself between man and headboard.
Smoothly, I pull on the band that ties his strands in place so that now, his hairs pour all about his shoulders. I thread fingers through locks, knead and rub scalp with the tips of my fingers till man's head begins to loll, till his eyes flutter shut. For how long I kneel there I do not know.

What I do know is that in a manner, I do enjoy this simple act. It works to calm man's nerves just as it does my own. I move to withdraw touch but man's palm grips softly my wrists.
"Noe..."
"Just a little longer," rasps his voice.
"Just a little longer then."
I continue to work dexterously for long quiet moments until I finally draw back, fatigued.

Noe now half-asleep murmurs his thanks, slips under covers and passes out entirely. So, switching lights off, I rest myself next to man, face upon him in the solace of the silentness. My fingers itch a little and I find that my palm wanders and my index lightly traces the thick softness of his brow.
"Thank you, Tallulah," half-asleep he rasps his thanks once again.

The peculiar feeling returns. Or perhaps it is now that I truly acknowledge its presence. I let myself feel, let myself explore that fluttering in the pits of my stomach. What should it mean? Why have I never felt it for anyone else? Should I fear it for I fear that I already do. I sigh to myself, block out all thoughts, shut eyes and pray that the slumber comes to me more easily tonight...

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