Searching for Your Traces (3)
The sweet, lingering aroma of cocoa wafted gently through the warmly heated air of the living room. It was a cozy, comforting scent that could melt away even the tensest shoulders bristling with thorns—but could it thaw the heart of the one who had shattered into pieces and frozen solid?
Such a bittersweet thought flickered through my mind just then.
Rustle.
The massive blanket cocoon huddled in the corner of the floor began to stir ever so slightly. I could sense her slowly pushing herself up inside it. She made a tiny gap in the blanket and peered out first with cautious, wary eyes, scanning the surroundings. Then, she stretched out a slender hand from the blanket, carefully grasping the mug of cocoa I'd left on the table with both hands before pulling it back inside.
A moment later, a faint whoosh came from within as she blew on the hot steam, followed by the delicate sound of her sipping the cocoa.
"Hoo…."
Then came her tiny, drawn-out sigh. It was so fragile that if I'd had the TV on with some variety show or news like usual, it would have been completely drowned out. But because I'd turned off the TV to let her rest undisturbed, holding my breath and listening intently—maybe because I was just as tense as she was—that small sigh landed crystal clear in my ears.
Still, it was a relief. Just hearing that warm little breath made the stiffness in my shoulders melt away alongside her sigh, without me even realizing it.
I didn't stare at her or say anything. I just kept my eyes fixed on my laptop screen, quietly listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing from inside the blanket and the soft swallows of cocoa.
Clink.
Soon enough, I heard her carefully set the empty mug back on the table. Without looking away from my screen, I tossed a casual line into the air.
"Even if the whole outside world hates you and turns their backs, at least I didn't. That's what matters."
It was a plain, undeniable fact. The cold, horrific stares and mockery from people beyond the front door vanished the moment they tried to enter this living room. In this tiny world of just the two of us, with me firmly on her side, it meant everyone was on her side.
I left it at that and got up from my seat. I picked up the phone she'd flung away earlier, held down the power button until it shut off completely, then opened the living room drawer under the TV and tossed it in—loud enough for her to hear clearly, so she could retrieve it herself whenever she was ready.
As I sat back down at my laptop, she pulled the blanket down from her crown to just below her nose and stared straight at me from her huddled spot on the floor.
"Really…? You'll really… do that…?"
Her voice trembled, her eyes shaking as she spoke. I met her gaze head-on, packing my words with sincerity instead of my usual prickly tone.
"It's been that way since that rainy day when I opened the door and let you into this house."
She froze for a moment under my resolute stare, then reached out and tugged the blanket back up a little. But this time, she didn't bury herself completely head to toe. She left just enough pulled down to show her eyes, gazing at me with slightly relaxed wariness.
Good… At least she hasn't slammed the door shut on her heart toward me completely.
Even if every door in the world felt closed, in our little world, there was no need for locks. As long as I was here, she could open it and step out whenever she wanted.
Since she seemed to crack her heart's door open just a sliver, I figured we could do some housework together to clear her head of stray thoughts. But she glanced around furtively, caught her reflection in the dark TV screen like a mirror, and startled—yanking the blanket back up over her face.
Haa… Looks like even facing her unfamiliar new self is too scary right now.
No helping it. Without a word, I grabbed the remote and turned on the TV—not variety shows or news with people's faces, but the 24-hour channel that played only soft music.
Once the screen lit up and her reflection vanished, she finally peeked out again, pulling the blanket down to just under her eyes.
"Listen to some music. I'm heading to the balcony to take in the laundry."
I parted the blackout curtains slightly over the living room window and stepped out. The laundry she'd hung so neatly was basking in warm sunlight, almost fully dry and smelling fresh.
"Time's… passed quite a bit, huh."
Looking out the window, the sky was already starting to dye red with sunset. I'd kept the thick blackout curtains drawn all day with just the sleep light on to accommodate her, so she'd been oblivious to the outside world's flow—missing even the simple sight of laundry drying and the sky turning to dusk.
Beyond the glass, the outside world rolled on indifferently and peacefully, just as it had yesterday and today.
Yeah… Our little world inside these curtains isn't perfect like that one, but it's peaceful in its own way.
I comforted myself inwardly, grabbing armfuls of the dried clothes from the rack in big bunches. With my hands full, I nudged the balcony door open with my foot and stepped back inside, catching her gaze peeking through the laundry in my arms.
She sat on the sofa, her faintly glowing eyes fixed solely on me.
"Just waiting for the laundry the whole time? Come here and help fold."
I dumped the pile on the table in front of her. Without a word, she lowered the blanket to her waist and silently reached for the clothes to fold.
"Whoa… You really fold laundry like a pro. Impressive. Jealous."
This wasn't because her body turned female and her fingers got dainty all of a sudden. It was her old fashion-sense kicking in—perfectly crease-free folds that were genuinely amazing and enviable, so I tossed out the compliment casually.
But while her hands folded mechanically with precision, her gaze stayed stubbornly fixed on my face, not the clothes. Complicated eyes, like she had something to say—or ask.
"What? Staring at me won't fold them by magic. Hurry up so we can eat dinner."
I chided her lightly on purpose, and she finally flinched, tearing her eyes away.
"Uh… yeah…."
I had no idea what deep thoughts were swirling in her head, but she turned back to the laundry. In the quiet living room with faint sunset light filtering in, we focused silently on folding again.
Once done, two neat piles sat on the table. Normally, I'd just shove mine into a drawer in a lump, but with her here, I separated hers from mine neatly. Her pile was tiny—just the few new clothes from the delivery—but enough to fill the drawer I'd cleared for her. At least no outfit worries for the week.
"I'll put mine away. You handle yours."
These clothes were hers now, whether I bought them or not. And that drawer I'd emptied for her was her private space from here on—no meddling or doing it for her.
I gathered my pile in my arms to stand from the sofa.
Swish.
Suddenly, she tugged lightly at my shirt collar with a small voice.
"Um… You really… don't want anything from me…? I can do anything…."
That "anything" caught in my chest, but I paused briefly before answering nonchalantly.
"Want something? Hmm… How about you do the dishes after dinner? I'll make the food."
Guessing that's what she'd been hesitating to ask—how to repay me—I tossed her a light chore and turned to go.
But she didn't let go. If anything, she gripped tighter.
"Then… can I… stay here tomorrow too…? Even after taking my meds…? I don't have to go outside…?"
Looking up at me with trembling eyes, her face made me stop in my tracks.
Ah… So this was what she really wanted to say.
She could figure it out just by rethinking what she'd asked. She said, "Don't you want anything?" and I replied, "Do the dishes after dinner." Obviously that included staying past dinner—tomorrow too.
But she was too riddled with guilt, apology, and fear of being kicked out to affirm even the obvious subtext.
I glanced down at her small hand clutching my collar, then answered flatly, like scolding.
"Tomorrow? If you've got nowhere to go, live here forever for all I care. Oh, but you gotta help with chores."
To cut off any sobbing or weird add-ons, I spun and slipped into my room quick.
Even as I neatly stowed my folded clothes in the drawers, my ears stayed wide open toward the living room beyond the door. No relieved sniffles or ominous crumbling sounds came, so I finally relaxed, finished up, and shut the drawer with a thud.
Alright, what to make for dinner tonight.
I'd boasted about making her do dishes instead of chipping in for food, so no plastic trays of delivery slop. But instant convenience store stuff felt too sloppy too.
Guess I'll just whip up something simple I usually make.
Recalling what scraps were in the fridge, I pondered the menu and headed back to the living room.
She'd been staring at my closed door, and when I emerged, she whipped her head away hurriedly. Unsettled by being left alone even briefly while I was in there?
Pretending not to notice, I brought up dinner casually.
"Let's make something simple tonight. We have rice from earlier, so I'll throw together something decent."
She nodded faintly without a word. I went to the kitchen, opened the cupboard over the sink, and scanned for edibles—a helpless chuckle escaped.
Haha… Single guy's kitchen alright. Nothing much.
Canned hams of forgotten vintage, kim, and random seasoning bottles for show—that was it. Fridge check: manly as ever, just cold beer, soju, and half-drunk water bottles. No real ingredients. At least eggs remained.
"Kim, hot rice, ham, and fried eggs. That'll do."
I muttered while grabbing a can of ham. Not fancy cooking, but perfect for now. Salty ham and savory fried eggs were foolproof. And crucially, minimal dishes afterward.
I'd assigned her dishes boldly, so better fewer plates than a greasy pot-and-pan mountain. Lighter load for her.
I plopped the ham on the cutting board and started prep with a light heart.