The first thing I noticed was that this person's heart seemed more of a mess than the room was.

I didn't expect there to be someone, but the fury in his eyes and the way his fist collided with the wall made me flinch as his gaze met mine. Was he going to hurt me too? Would - Would he use his hands on me? As we looked at each other, his face seemed to suddenly relax, and he slowly took his arm away from the wall and rubbed his fist with his other hand. Papers were scattered everywhere around him, a contrast compared to the pristine, neat room that I was asked to clean. With all the mess on the ground, and the numerous boxes lying on the floor, I thought that this might have been what I was called for to tidy up. Lowering my head, I slowly bent down to help him pick them, pushing them all into a single pile.

That was when I felt him grab my arm.

My heart hammered, and I felt a cold fear start to wrap around me. I opened my mouth but no words came out - I was unable to speak, unable to scream - and I couldn't ask for help.

God, I was going to die, I was going to -

"Hey. It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

I slowly looked up, glancing at his face the moment I'd heard his voice. It was husky, low, and rough, with a deep tone that attempted to relax me. My eyes widened as he immediately let go of my arm, and took the papers himself. "Did I scare you?"

I didn't know I could say - I wasn't capable of speaking. I was still frozen in shock, scared, and yet I understood he was trying to make me feel safe. Shaking my head, I tried to stand up, but my feet wobbled from the effort. Tripping over the mop I'd dropped on the ground, the boy beside me lunged, grabbing me by the arms and holding me upright. My face was close to his chest, my head barely reaching his shoulders, and I blushed at my clumsiness. His hands were warm on my arms, and they held me strongly, preventing me from falling on to the floor. Hiding my face behind my hair, I unconsciously put a hand up to my mouth and bit on my fingernails, nervous and shaky from the encounter, before nudging away from his touch.

"Are you okay?" He asked, and I nodded firmly.

"Don't be so clumsy next time, okay?" He said, still eyeing me carefully as I backed away from him. I was about to run out of the door and leave, when I noticed that his fist was now bleeding. As if he'd read my thoughts, he quickly hid the hand behind his back and shrugged. "It's nothing," He said, as I glanced at him from behind my bangs. "Really," He added, even though I wasn't convinced. Reaching into the pockets of my jeans, I remembered hastily stuffing a couple bandages into them because I was always accident-prone. Fumbling as I tried to pull them out, I looked at him again, ripping open the plastic and handing it to him.

"For me?"

He looked surprised, but I shoved the bandaid into his hand, insisting that he take it.  I hope you feel better, I thought, hoping that he would understand.

"Thank you," He said, his voice softer now, and his face looking at me intently. I lowered my head again, and he rubbed the back of his neck in apprehension.  Slowly looking back up at him, I watched as he haphazardly began rubbing his fist, trying to ease the pain that was stemming from it. I could sense that he'd been through something that made him upset, and so I quickly bent down to pick up the pile I'd created earlier, as well as the box that lay where it was thrown on its side. "You don't have to -" He began, but I shook my head and packed everything neatly into the container. While I was picking up the pieces, I noticed that he wrote a lot of music - blank pages had scores and notes scrawled everywhere across the page, while lyrics were written underneath.

Did he work here?

"I'm a rapper," He said, as if he'd heard the question that I'd said in my head.

Nodding, I couldn't help but be curious at his compositions. Scanning the pages, I was surprised to see that he was methodical - despite the messiness of his rough drafts, his final copies were all laminated and saved, and he wrote out every note by hand. His lyrics were also beautiful and almost poetic, his ability to write allowing his words to flow like water. There must have been thousands of pages that were held in each box, and that made me understand exactly how serious he was about his passion and the dedication he placed into it. "I probably won't write much anymore, though. Today's my last day here," He said, his shoulders giving off a defeated stance as he started packing the papers in the box as well.

Why?

Once again, as if he was listening to me speak, he replied. "Reasons," He smiled. "Is today your first day here?"

I nodded firmly, and he grinned.

"It's a shame I won't see you more often. You're okay, you know?" He ruffled my hair, and even though I flinched, this time I wasn't as fearful of him.

He gave me a small smile, and I stared at him, before giving him a hesitant grin back. He grabbed the box from my arms, handling it with one arm even though it was extremely heavy, and waved his fingers at me. "Thanks for the bandage again," he said, as he helped me gather my things, before frowning slightly. "You should really be more careful though, okay? I'll walk you back down to the janitorial office - can't have you tripping and falling again," he said. Walking towards the doorway and holding all of my supplies in his hands, I followed him, but came to an abrupt stop when another figure appeared in the room.

"Hitting on janitors, Yong Guk? Didn't know you were the type," the person said, as he stared at me.

The man beside me called Yong Guk sneered.

"Miss me already, Kris?"

 

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