Chapter 15: Pulling Herself Together (3)
Her emotions spun like a carousel, whirling round and round well past dinnertime. But as bedtime approached, exhaustion finally seemed to catch up, and she quieted down a bit. I watched her sitting still on the sofa, the blanket pulled up to her chin, and casually brought up sleeping arrangements.
"Where do you wanna sleep? My room? Or the sofa like last night?"
"The bed… sounds good…."
She peeked out from under the blanket, looking up at me with a tiny voice. Yeah, the soft, warm bed had to beat the sofa. I nodded lightly.
"Got it. You stick with that attachment blanket you're wrapped in. I'll grab my own from the room."
I'd just finished speaking and was heading to my room for my bedding when—
Tap.
A small hand shot out from behind, grabbing my shirt hem tight.
"What? Something wrong?"
I stopped and turned. She just stared up at me, silent.
What's this? Scared to be alone in the room?
Last night she'd insisted on squeezing onto the cramped sofa with me, and now she wanted the bed together. Was it anxiety? Or something else? I wanted to ask, but she clearly didn't want to spell it out—just clutched my hem like a lifeline, her eyes pleading.
I wasn't heartless enough to grill her with that look, so instead of words, I just nodded silently to say I got it.
"Thanks…."
Only then did she let go, murmuring another soft gratitude.
She rose carefully from the sofa, wrapped head to toe in the thick blanket like a cape, then shuffled toward my room, dragging her feet inch by inch. I watched her go, flicked off the living room light, and followed.
She'd already climbed into bed by the time I entered, cocooned in her blanket and plastered against the wall on the far side. To avoid startling her with my presence, I perched precariously on the outermost edge.
Whoa… there's enough space between us for another person easy.
At this rate, I'd roll off the bed in my sleep, or she'd slip into the crack between the bed and wall. One or the other was bound to happen in this awkward setup.
Eh… deal with it if it happens.
I tossed my phone from my pocket onto the bedside table, pulled the covers to my neck. But the moment I did, a faint scent brushed my nose. Her blanket, rolled around in all night—subtle, sweet, woven into the air inside. Woman's fragrance? Shampoo? Body wash? Something soft and indistinct.
Just new fabric softener she doesn't usually use. Or that cologne she spritzed back in the day.
I forced my brain away from wandering thoughts and rationalized it away. Settling my mind, I squeezed my eyes shut to sleep.
Swish.
Something warm and soft touched my left pinky, then gripped it tight.
What? Holding hands?
I cracked my eyes open cautiously, lifting the blanket a peek. Across the Pacific Ocean of space between us, she'd stretched out one small arm and latched onto my pinky with her little hand.
Sigh… too close and touching scares her, too far alone terrifies her.
If she were just a normal girl, this might've seemed cute, endearing sulkiness. But this tiny contact screamed how anxious and chaotic her mind was.
Too scared to share full body heat, but desperate to hold onto the sensation that I was there. Realizing that, the careful warmth of her grip on my pinky tugged bittersweet at my heart.
Those pensive night thoughts faded as cool air gave way to morning light seeping softly through the curtains. No blaring alarm jolted me awake—instead, gentle sunlight coaxed my eyes open naturally.
Haha… feels like a lazy vacation.
Mornings unbound by clocks taste sweetest when they sneak up unannounced. I stretched lightly and glanced at my left hand.
She up already?
Her lifeline grip had lasted all night, leaving my pinky numb and tingly from poor circulation.
I lifted the blanket and peered toward the wall side where she'd been. No sign of her—just her attachment blanket, neatly folded into a perfect cocoon at the bed's corner.
Fashion major through and through—folded it all crisp and pretty.
I chuckled inwardly, then it hit me. Wait—she wasn't buried in the blanket anymore?
The meds calmed her enough to come out for real?
Half hopeful, half worried, I sat up and headed out. In the living room, there she sat on the sofa.
What… new army recruit?
Her posture was rigidly straight at the sofa's edge, thin arms angled perfectly on bare thighs—pure private stance. But tense toes wiggled on the floor, and those oversized breasts made the pose uncomfortable, her arms trembling faintly atop her thighs.
And her face… worlds apart from yesterday. Pre-meds, it was blank horror, soul evacuated. Now, her eyes sank heavy with the weight of all the world's worries.
Like the Han Junseo I knew vanished for good.
The old one sparkled with life in any crisis, bluffing shamelessly. Seeing her now, lifeless and burdened, stung my chest sharp.
But cheap pity wouldn't help. She needed steady normalcy to drag her back to routine, not sympathy. I strode into the living room and tossed out a blunt order.
"What, playing soldier? Quit posing at dawn. Got laundry to run before breakfast—get up and help."
"Uh…? Yeah… I'll help…."
My dry, familiar tone snapped her from her daze; she startled, then nodded slowly.
Today she'd crumble endlessly too—I'd have to yank her back to reality like nothing was wrong, every time. Some gut feeling said there'd be plenty of little tugs needed today.
I grabbed the laundry basket by the bathroom door. Inside, my piled-up dirties mixed with her shed clothes in a mess.
Hmm… toss it all in one load?
Hesitating—girl clothes, separate maybe?—I rummaged. Soft footsteps approached from the living room; she was at my side.
"What's up?"
I glanced down, but she just stared up silently.
Face a bit flushed?
Embarrassed seeing her stuff amid my guy laundry? Or meds stirring emotions again? No words from her, just hovering near my hem—wanting to help, or hating to be left alone?
I dumped the whole basket into the washer without a word, added detergent and softener, hit start, and returned to the living room. She sat rigid as a boot camp newbie again.
Why make it harder on herself….
Yesterday's blanket burrito watching TV looked way comfier; this stiff pose made my own shoulders tense.
I sighed softly and headed to the kitchen. Light breakfast vibes—I pulled cereal from the pantry, set two bowls on the table.
"Hey, chow time."
She bolted over like a called puppy, settling primly opposite me. I handed her milk from the fridge; she took the carton politely with both hands, pouring carefully into her bowl.
Heh. Look at those manners.
She offered the rest back with both hands. Even with cereal ready, she waited, spoon untouched, till I started.
"Person or pup?"
The quip nearly escaped when I spotted something off in her fidgeting.
Crossing and uncrossing legs nonstop….
Her lower half twitched subtly—curling toes, clenching thighs, twisting legs. Like a toddler fresh from diapers, uneasy with the new sensations down there.
No way… not now?
She'd overheard the doc call yesterday—her heat-beast frenzy all TS disease symptoms. Now reason returned, those uncontrolled memories tormented her late.
To ease her tension, I lobbed a blunt question.
"Gotta pee? You're squirming. Go if you need to."
"Eek…!"
She jolted, wide-eyed—I pointed out her pose lightly.
"Looking like you're about to burst. Making me need to go."
"N-not that……. Sorry……."
She apologized in that shrinking voice; I slid her a spoon, smiling faintly, softening.
"Sorry? Help hang laundry when the machine's done. Got it?"
"Yeah… I'll help…."
She took the spoon gingerly, started nibbling cereal. The quiet crunch filled the kitchen.
Best cure for spiraling thoughts: put the body to work.
I scooped milk-softened bites, pondering light chores for her today.
So, what to assign later? I mashed cereal under my spoon, mulling.
Cleaning now? She'd overdo it, mop corners I said skip.
Tell her vacuum only—she'd crawl everywhere scrubbing. Dishes? She'd polish every clean plate.
Best: stick close, do together. Something she's way better at.
Fashion whiz like her would shake, hang, and fold laundry neater than me post-wash. Start there.
And sneak in praises while working.
Reason clearing meant bad memories creeping back. Couldn't let rock-bottom confidence vanish into self-loathing.
A little "good job" on tiny things would ease her breathing room. Picturing us side-by-side on chores tickled my chest oddly pleasant—even soggy cereal tasted sweeter.
But across from me, she chewed rabbit-like, cute nibbles, eyes darting anxiously to gauge if I was okay.