4.6 | Dark Ages ✓

- 0 3 : 0 4

 

– 0 3 : 0 4

PALE SUNLIGHT FLITS through the curtains.

It bathes her in an almost ethereal glow as she sits by the window. Dressed in nothing but his white shirt and black cotton panties, with her mess of hair tumbling down her back, he thinks she looks utterly lovely there. He hovers by the doorway, watching her. Sheaves of notes scatter the ledge, the floor, her lap. One flutters from her hands to the ground, unnoticed, as she slides her thumb along her lip and nibbles on her nail. He doesn't dare to blink, let alone speak, for fear that if he does, he might miss it, miss her, miss watching her.

As though sensing someone's gaze on her, she glances up. She blinks owlishly at him for a second, before her confusion clears and a brilliant smile leaps across her face.

"Hello."

He swallows, unable to respond. At times like these, far more often than he deserves, the way she looks at him robs him of words. She looks at him like he's the sole reason for her existence. That he is her beginning and her ending. That he is the sun around which she, a lowly planet, orbits. That he is everything—and the only thing—she needs to know.

I love you, too.

The words linger on the tip of his tongue, unspoken. He wants to tell her that. He wants to whisper it like a secret into her mess of hair, he wants to spell it with his tongue against her inner thigh, he wants to breathe it like surge of fresh air into her mouth when she inevitably comes. He physically aches with the surety of loving her, but he still can't force the words past his lips.

Her smile begins the falter under the scrutiny of his gaze and she shifts, looking torn between self-consciousness and concern for him. The latter seems to win out and she moves up to her knees, shoving her notes aside. "Is everything alright?"

Say it.

He nods, still tasting the words on his tongue—sweet from the knowledge of loving her, bitter from his own reticence. Bittersweet. Say it, or you may never get another chance. He takes a deep breath and opens his mouth to speak.

He wakes up.

He blinks and stares up at the ceiling. His arm throbs with a full ache; his throat stings with dryness. Gradually, he becomes aware of his surroundings: this room, with its old furniture and worn rug, dim from the lack of sunlight. He glances over at the window ledge.

It's empty.

It had only been a dream then. He still hasn't found her. Fighting a crushing wave of disappointment and loneliness, he drags himself into sitting position. A faint resistance pulls him back. He looks down, only to find several tubes inserted into his veins. Confused, he turns to the monitor that they're attached to, then back to his arm, before blinking.

Wait. He stiffens and draws in a deep breath. The sweet scent of roses permeates the air, not obnoxiously pungent but a fraction stronger than it had been the last time he was in this house.

It's her.

The fragrance seeps into his skin until he can almost taste her scent—taste her—everywhere. Heart pounding in his chest, he pulls in another breath, expanding his lungs to bottle up her scent until it almost feels like they'll combust with the effort.

She's here.

He jolts up from the bed and yanks the tubes out of his arm. A sharp beeping from the monitor fills his ears, but he ignores it and stumbles towards the door. He's barely made it out when a man rushes towards him in alarm, holding out a hand as if to wave him back. It's the same man who'd tried to kill the zombie, he realizes, with a start.

"Don't move! We've only just stabilized you," the man says quickly. "There wasn't enough iron in your blood and you—"

Taehyung grabs the man by his sleeve. "Where is she?"

"Who're you—"

"Where is she?" he snarls, heedless of the way the man falls back in surprise. Shoving past the man, he twists his head left and right in search for her. "I know she's here! She has to be, so where is—"

"She's gone."

His blood turns cold. "What?"

"She left," the man hastily corrects, when Taehyung pins him with a hysterical, almost horrified look. "In a car, with some other guy who picked her up from here. Right after she treated you."

His fingers creep up towards the fresh wound on his arm, layered over with gauze. That she had been so close, right there, with him while he slept on is almost too good to be true. How could he have missed her?

"She did?" he asks, at last.

The man nods. "You were in a bad shape. You puked your guts out in the front yard, and then you collapsed from exhaustion. I personally don't know the—"

"Who are you?" he asks bluntly. The only thing he's latched on to is the fact that this man knows who she is, and that's a vital clue if he wants to find her. This time doesn't count—she found him.

"Me?" The man looks taken aback, but he smiles all the same and raises a hand for him to shake. "I'm currently with the government working as part of their special-ops security team, but I used to be her colleague. You can call me Hoseok."