The first time he met her was rather unfortunate. She was about to punch in the code to her quaint apartments’ cluster when she saw a movement on her left, near the bushes. She was an avid street-feeder and the motion made her heart clenched at the thought of another hungry cats near her house. She went to the dark bushes besides the building, not thinking too much with a can of cat food in her hand. Wouldn’t you know? She did found a wounded creature, but it was closer to her variety than the feline one.

“Oh my God. Are you okay?!”

As what she heard was unintelligent mumble, she took her phones out to dial emergency line. Note on the was about to.

“Don’t”

She stopped short, her body frozen as a set of brown eyes pierced hers, hands knocking down the cell she was holding to the ground. He could still stand, but not long after, his body went lax and she was forced to bear the weight.

“You can barely stand. You’re hurt. We need to go to the hospital.”

“Don’t”

She couldn’t see his face as half of it was covered, leaving his eyes the only visible thing. She would feel stupid afterwards, but she clearly didn’t think straight after that. Thus, it was only when he was laid on her couch, looking ridiculously too long for her couch (his feet was hanging on the other end) that she had a moment of clarity.

‘What the am I doing?’

A groan could be heard from the couch, and that prompted her to take her emergency kit. Being an accident prone herself, she had almost everything from roller bandage to alcohol solution. Taking the box to the coffee table, she debated whether to wake him up or no.

“Did you bring the box?”

‘Aa, he didn’t sleep.’

“Yes.”

“Open it.”

She obediently opened it. He immediately helped himself with the kit, like it was his own to begin with. She pretended not to be disturbed with it and silently watched him tended to his wound. All the while still keeping his mask intact.

It seemed like he was not that badly hurt. An alcohol dab here and there before bandage wraps (which she assisted, mind you) were all he needed before he lay back on the couch. He didn’t speak of anything else and closed his eyes. She waited until she was sure that he was asleep before going into her room and cleaning herself.

As she washed away that day’s grime in the shower, her eyes darted to the blouse she had chucked on the little chair outside the transparent shower wall. Her pink blouse had spots of brown, courtesy the man lying in her couch now.

Finished dressing herself in sleeping attire, she went to the living room again. Remembering his bristle attitude when she helped him dressed his wound earlier, she doubted he would let her helped him taking his outer garments.

‘He didn’t look comfortable sleeping in that, still’

She resolved to just leave a glass of water and antibiotics on the tray on the coffee table.

When the morning came, she was oddly unsurprised to find her living room void of any creature. No thank you notes or other sentiments. It was like he was just an imagination, except she was sure that it must be otherwise as she checked her first aid kit box. The diminishing bandage roll was proof enough that someone other than her had used it last night.

--

The second meeting was a lot less dramatic. Call her paranoid, but she always felt like she was being followed. It was not her first or second time being followed. Her job demanded her to stay quite late in the office and as the result, she was often being the short end of stick of creepy people. Thank God there were good Samaritans all over and of course, her trusted pepper spray.  She would love to take a self-defense class, but she just didn’t have a time.

That night she met him was another late nighter. She was quite optimistic that tonight would be another safe return at home, only to find out she was dragged by a drunk man not far from the station. She had her pepper spray can on hand, and she make good use of it before running away back to the train station.

Only her luck wasn’t so good that time. The street was unusually deserted that night and the drunkard was more persistent in dragging her away. Close to screaming for help, she felt a hand covering . She was raging with anger and she kicked her knees where the sun don’t shine. The drunkard howled loudly and clutched his appendages in pain. He was about to hit her in retaliation when someone stopped him from doing that.

“If I were you, I would stop now.”

“Aish!!! What the are you doing? The need a lesson what-“

“Call her names again and you’ll be happy it was her who kneed you instead of me.”

“Let go of me you-“

That someone looked like he didn’t do much, just a slap to the drunkard face from the back, hitting the face, but the drunkard looked like he was bearing much more brunt than that. He staggered to the wall beside the street and howl loudly in pain. Louder than when she kneed him in the groin.

She looked at the dark figure in delighted confusion. Delighted of his help yet confused to his sudden appearance when she was sure she was alone.

“Thank you so-“

“You are really a danger magnet, don’t you?”

“Eh?”

“That man had been leering at you since you were both on the train. You should have called the station’s police on him.”

She scoffed at that.

“This country had a disgustingly protective law of drunkards like him. What do you want me to do exactly?”

Her irritation, no matter how big, still didn’t shadow her gratitude. If the kick didn’t work out, she didn’t know what else to do. She looked up as she finished tidying her bag, surprised to find a familiar set of dark brown eyes on her. Looming and dark like their surroundings.

“You…”

“Me.”

“What…How…Why…”

“I hope there’s no need for us to meet again.”

Then he went away from her sight, the fire-like warmth from his body gone leaving her alone with the unconscious body of the drunkard and concerned police officer who had come too late. She was told that she didn’t need to fill in a statement since the one who reported it had fill it in for her.

She walked home in a daze, refusing the police’s offer to catch her a cab.

--

She would love to say that her life returned back from normal, but she didn’t. Could not was probably more fitting. Her boss had suddenly cut her work load, fully reprimanding her for not telling him that she was assaulted on her way home due to her late night finish. She didn’t know how the news got to his ears, but she was thankful. She was then able to clock out two hours earlier than usual. It was still late, but at least she no longer frequent the last train with questionable individuals.

She still felt like she was being followed, but she chucked it up to her paranoid self. Although the small, girly part of her hoped it was the brown-eyed stranger following her home. Ensuring she made it home safe.

Despite the secrecy surrounding the once-wounded stranger, she still noted it down dutifully on her journal. Her gratitude, her questions and her general curiosity were all written down on the pink cherry blossom pages. Hours of working in front of the computer made her less eager to write her feelings on screen, thus the old-fashioned way.

‘This way, no one will know our secret’, her mind told her.

She put it at the second drawer of her study, careful to lock it up after she stored it.

Her sense of security, however, begin to felt false. And it all stemmed from Instagram.

She never felt the need to vent on social media. Heck she even made an Instagram account due to her friends’ insistence, not out of her own will. Just so they could tag her in the pic. The thing is, Instagram made her post things she likes and she didn’t like. She didn’t upload a single post, she used the stories feature instead. How convenient. 24 hours after and poof, the post is gone.

The thing was, whenever she post a story, there would always be a fulfilment out of it. Like how she craved cheesecake or how she loved the current gloomy weather despite her broken umbrella. She’d suddenly have a cheesecake waiting in her desk and when she went out of the office intending to stop by the nearest Seven Eleven to buy a replacement, a long black umbrella was perched in the umbrella stand. With her name on it. Talking about creepy. She was tempted to leave an angry note at the stand, but she didn’t want to ring a false horn to the innocent bystanders.

She was always looking behind her back whenever she walked home, at first. When nothing extraordinary caught her eyes, one day she just snapped and screamed in frustration in the middle of the street. At 10 pm at night, before scurrying out of the neighborhood in fear of being called crazy.

Blame that stranger’s haunting brown eyes and the creepy stalker.

--

“Alright. I’ve had enough.”

She resolved to post something outrageous. Something impossible to get in this weather. She had even consulted the nearest store and figured out that although not impossible, it would be outrageously expensive to purchase one when it was not in season.

‘I would give anything for a bucket of peonies right now’

There. That should teach the stalker something. Whoever they are, they better back off.

After a week of nothing, she was optimistic that whoever it was had given up. She went home in light steps, a bag full of ingredients to make her favorite dish in her hand. Her light steps was halted when she realized the door to her unit is slightly ajar, not enough to alert other tenants but enough to raise her suspicion. She went inside with trepidation, and stopped short when she spotted the cause on her kitchen island, sporting an open wound in black leather jacket and black jeans.

A moment went by, both of them looking at each other.

“A little help please?”

She went on robotic response and put her grocery on the couch in the living room, before proceeding to the voice source.

“Can I bother you again for that first aid kit?”

Another robotic response made her bring the box to him. Only when he looked like he was struggling with taking off his shirt, then she was brought out of her stupor.

“Here. Let me.”

He let her cut his shirts, dabbed his wounds with alcohol and cleaned the used bandages he had in place before replacing it with the new one. She had so many questions in her head but she couldn’t bear looking at that dark brown eyes without having a panic attack so she settled on this. Settled on the heaviness in her chest that when the morning comes by, he would be gone like he used to.

“Not much of a talker, do you?”

She looked at that covered half face, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Just so you know, this is not a hospital.”

The chuckle she heard after was so rich, it felt decadent on her ears.

“You worked better on me rather than sterile medicine, sweetheart.”

She mumbled on how his words are complete rubbish.

“Now, now, don’t get worked up on silly details.”

“God, the wounds are too much. Did you have a death wish? Or did you anger a wrong person?”

“If anything, it was that bastard who anger the wrong person.”

She didn’t ask further, and he didn’t elaborate. It was like they both knew that the topic is off limit.

“Sorry I’ve ruined your dinner plan. Big nights? Your boyfriend coming over?”

He motioned to the neglected brown shopping carton on the couch, the tip of leeks visible from the kitchen.

She threw him a look that say ‘Really?’

“You tell me.”

His eyes were dancing in mirth. Had she not treated his wounds moments earlier, she would not believe that he was injured at all.

“How could I know?”

“You would. You. Would”

She pointed her index finger to his chest, painfully aware of the flexing muscles beneath it. ‘Minds off of the gutter, please.’ She chided herself.

“I wouldn’t. I’m not your boyfriend afterall.”

She scoffed while saying “You would sabotage my attempt on having one,” all the while cleaning his shredded t-shirt and used alcohol pads.

He didn’t say anything but for once she looked at him on the eyes longer than few seconds after she went up from her previously bending positions to throw the trash.

That er might as well saying ‘Damn right I will,’ with the way his eyes going up and down her body. She didn’t need to cast a bet that he might as well be treated to a free show of her derriere before.

Now that her adrenaline wore off, she could looked at his backside a little bit calmer as she turn on the stove. She hoped he wouldn’t mind sharing rice cake soup with her.

“Care to give me a hand here, sweetheart?”

She pretended that the nickname didn’t faze her.

“Right. You should clean yourself.” She said while helping him getting down the island. Only then that she realized that the man was hella tall. She wasn’t by any means short, thus for him to tower over her by a good head is no small feat.

She ignored the warm palm pressing on her shoulder, focusing on not falling while dragging the giant to the bathroom.

“All the spares are beneath the sink. Help yourself.”

He looked at her with something in his eyes. She had a bad feeling already.

“I take it you don’t have spare men underwear in your cupboard?”

She flung a spare towel at him as the answer.

--

While she waited for her soup to boil, her mind wandered. So many whys in her head, but she didn’t have the gall to voice it out to him.

Why did he came here again?

Didn’t he make sure to spell out that he didn’t want to meet her again?

What was the deal with him flirting with her like that?

Why did he go out of his length to get her what she wants?

She disliked anything unclear. And everything about him was vague as best.

Hell, what was she doing with near stranger who took her bandages and spent her warm water inside her house? Her mother would have her head.

The bubbles inside the pot in front of her turned her mind back to reality. She turned off the stove, wiped up her hand on the kitchen towel and turned to check on the man in her shower. Shouldn’t it be a woman who took long in the shower?

‘Then again, he was injured,’

She was stunned. The only bathroom in the house was right next to her bedroom, and when she found the shower empty, she looked around before something caught her eyes in the bedroom. He fell asleep on her bed. On her side. On her pillow.

She would questioned the absurdity of it all later when her mind returns from the vacation, but then all she felt was only a sense of contentment. She tiptoed to her bed, careful not to make any noise lest it wake him up. She drank his sight to her fill.

His face was uncovered at last.

It was not what she expected.

She expected hard lines, grim face. Full of pain and wounds. Instead, she was seeing a face screaming of innocence. Long lashes, straight nose, elfish ears and full red lips begging to be kissed. She felt like a-

“”

And because she had thrown his shredded t-shirt in the garbage, she was subjected to the hard board he called chest as he pulled her into him.

What did she get herself into?

--

“What are you doing?”

“What are you. Doing?”

She didn’t know whether to curse or kiss the smirk on his lips.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“You look like a looking at a sleeping beauty.”

“Except I’m not a and you’re not a sleeping or a beauty.”

“You wound me.”

“You’re wounded already. How are they? Still sore?”

She couldn’t help but being worried.

“I’ll live. Though I wouldn’t mind other kind of soreness”

He trailed behind his words, and she felt his hands creeping up behind her back, beneath her blouse. She slapped his hand, but it didn’t deter him.

“Don’t pretend I don’t know what you hide inside that second drawer.”

She froze.

‘. He CAN’T knew.’

“You have such delectable collections of undergarments yet it was not the highlight.”

She tried to scramble off of his body, but for someone who was badly injured, he had a surprisingly firm grasp on her.

“Let me go.”

“As if.”

“Isn’t it enough to strip me off of my private possession? Must you strip me of my pride too?”

She felt ashamed. He knew.

“Stop squirming”

“Just let go.”

“You have to stop or I’m going to make true of what you wrote in it.”

“What?”

“You know what.”

He threw her words back at her while throwing her to the bed, reversing their position. Her back was on the bed while he hovered above her.

“What are you doing to me?”

“That should be my question, sweetheart.”

“I don’t understand.”

He ran his fingers on her soft tresses. Down on her nose, lingering on her lips. She could no longer pretend it didn’t affect her. She felt like an open book.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

She shook her head.

“You make me feel. For someone like me, it is a travesty.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I shouldn’t be here.”

“Yet here you are.”

“You’re really a danger magnet.”

She had had enough of all cryptic remarks and tried once again to overthrow him. Guess where that got her? Still beneath him. She wanted to shout in frustration.

“Can you stop with all this nonsense?”

“I always knew you would be a straightforward type.”

“What do you want?”

“I want my thank you.”

He kissed her.

--

She woke up the next morning with a blank expression. And she laughed out loud first thing in the morning. She felt ridiculous.

There, in front of her face, was a vase full of peonies. Dank him and his recklessness.