The tray felt unusual heavy on her arms as Ha-Eun slowly opened the door. 

Just bring him his food, they had said, it’s fine as long as you don’t do anything stupid. Somehow that didn’t really manage to calm her, but she needed this job, and who was she to disagree with her employers?

She opened the door and was met with a burst or used air. She coughed a little and took a shy look around her. A small light bulb was lit and flickered slightly, and the afternoon sun sent long sunrays through a small window in the ceiling. It was closed, and the thick, heavy air made it obvious that it wasn’t being opened very often.

Then her eyes fell onto the boy lying in the small, simple bed, one of the few pieces of furniture that left the room almost bare white. He had his eyes closed and his breath going even, but yet she couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

Curiosity took over logical thinking, and if pulled by an invisible force she approached his bedside. She knew she should just put down the tray and leave, but she simply couldn’t help it.

She studied his sleeping face.

He was about her age, maybe a bit older. His short, brown hair framed an even, oval face, full lips, a straight nose, thick eyebrows and closed eyes with thick eyelashes. His skin was almost perfect porcelain, and it reminded her of the first snowfalls in December, when after a long night of heavy storm she would wake up to find the fields in front of her house all covered in untouched, innocent white as far as her eyes could reach.

But there was something in his expression, something buried behind his perfect features, an unswerving calculus, unaffected by human emotion. She shivered, and was freezing despite the warm sunlight touching her skin. Yet, looking closely, she also noticed something else. It was something hidden in the slight tension with which his lips were shut, or the way his hands were clinging onto his thin blanket ever so softly. It made him look more fragile, more vulnerable, more… human.

Ha-Eun had worked in this household for soon to be 6 months, and always had she wanted to meet Joon Young. Although he wasn’t allowed to leave this room, his presence in the family was undeniable. They spoke about him in the short, uncomfortable silences when someone asked about his mother, and the scared smiles when telling she was fine. They spoke about him in the looks they threw at each other when finishing their meals and someone had to bring him his share, and they all wondered, why didn’t they just let him starve?

And they spoke about him through sending all guests away before nightfall, and through the earplugs they put on before going to sleep so they wouldn’t have to hear his screams.

They also spoke about him by making Ha-Eun sign a contract to never lose a word about him to anyone.

All of a sudden his eyes flew open, and in the next second he was standing right in front of her, one hand on her arm. The tray fell down with a loud noise, spilling the food on the floor.

She took a shaky breath. He was close, too close. She could almost feel his breath touch her skin. His grip on her arm was rough, almost painful, and his dark eyes were glaring down on her.

“Are you scared?”, he asked.

She stared back at him for a second, unable to form any words. Then she slowly shook her head. They stood like this for another short while, bodies almost touching, then he finally let go of her. He sat down his bed.

Her body was still tingling in excitement.

Focus, she told herself, and bent down to start cleaning up the mess the fallen tray had created. With relief she noticed that all the plates were intact, though the food was covering half the floor.

She felt his gaze on her as she was cleaning up, his dark eyes following her every moment, studying her figure. She bit her bottom lip nervously.

“I’m afraid you won’t get anymore food today”, she said when she was finally done.

He looked at her directly, but instead of an answer a small smile parted his lips. There was no warmth in it, no bless, nothing but a mere movement of a body part.

She was trembling slightly as she left the room.