003. “We are one…”

      People from the orphanage from where I was often called me summer.

      A question often bugged me before, and it still does until now; how can someone so cold bring warmth to others?

      They would always make it a point to tell me how I exude this certain aura of warmth; lighting up an area by merely being there.

      I never believed any of that crap.

      But that day, standing with a person having the same face I have, I wish I do exude this warmth they are talking about. From my stiff and surprised expression, I knew I needed the warm feel of life to wake me up from that surreal dream I was in.

      “I do wish you can stop gaping like that. It wasn’t acceptable during my time, and I do believe it still isn’t to this contemporary day.” His heavy accent and heavier way of clothing told me he wasn’t from our time even before he opened his mouth the second time.

      And that he was not supposed to be there with me.

      “As for your hanging question,” he slowly made his way to where I was rooted before continuing, his free hand extended. “I guess you might want to take a glimpse and see for yourself...”

      I was too fazed to do anything just yet, and the thoughts in my mind were making me lightheaded. I needed air, I needed to get away from him then, but I couldn’t do anything other than stare at him and replay the words he said.

      Kim Kibum.

      He was me.

      I am him.

      And I know it wasn’t supposed to be that way.

      Finally after minutes of stalling, I lifted my hand to block him from approaching. “Ddd-do don’t.” my voice shook, just like every part of my body then, but I still wished for everything to be merely parts of my nightmare.

      I hit my head, thinking to myself that I am merely dreaming, so deep in slumber and that by hitting myself I would finally wake up. But his hand s its way into my arm, controlling my fist from doing further damage. I shuddered at his touch, and he must’ve felt my uneasiness and loosened his grip, slowly letting go.

      He was cold as ice.

      “Wh-what are you?” I crossed my arms to myself in a protective manner. My voice sounded so strange, even to myself. I knew I was questioning him, but deep inside, I battled with the thoughts of supernaturals, debating whether to classify this…person as one.

      “We are one.” He smiled warmly, but I wasn’t going to be swayed. I may be physically weak at the moment, but my thoughts are clear.

      Or so I thought.

      I had my back pushed to the cold wall, and wouldn’t budge. He walked a few inches to my couch, propping himself to its cheap fabric. His eyes lingered on my face, and I can clearly see he was as surprised as I was. He motioned for me to seat next to him, but I know better than to do that.

      “We have things to discuss Kibum. And I don’t think standing there with your back pushed on the freezing wall will make you comfortable.”

      “What are you?” I repeated the same question because only the same sentence kept playing in my mind. The years of being alone with nobody else to talk with made me indifferent to others. I don’t know how to carry on with the conversation, and by God, I really don’t know what to say someone peculiar as him.

      “Come, Kibum. I don’t bite. That was never my business; I’d leave the biting part to the vampires.” I don’t know if I was supposed to laugh at his dry joke, but it seemed he knew I wouldn’t. I still shuddered at the thought of him having eccentric relations with other creatures such as those he mentioned.

      “What business do you attend to, then?” I hoped he caught the sarcasm on my voice because as time elates, my already boggled brain seemed to desert fear altogether. He seemed harmless, from what I perceived back then. And so far the most intriguing part of his sudden existence is the fact we share the same features minus the clothing. He must be a distant relative anyway; so distant that he might have been from the Victorian era altogether.

      I had never been a fan of the supernaturals, in fact, I don’t acknowledge their existence. But seeing him that day, I knew I was faced with one. The coldness of his touch wasn’t because of winter, it was something else.

      I could sense him struggling to find the right words; suddenly the clarity and confidence in his voice earlier seemed to have no use for him.

      “I wish I could explain it to you easily.”

      “Try.”

      I was afraid to ask, but I had to know. Part of me wanted to bolt out of the door and onto the raging blizzard, but then the other half, the bigger part, wanted to stay and hear him out.

      I studied his features as he straightened his attire. I took in his calloused hands and the thin lines in his creased face. He is really my reflection, but a physically forlorn version. When he lifted his eyes, I saw it subtly spoke of mercy; as if I held and can do something that may save him.

      “I…do something to live. To sustain the little trace of life I still have. And it’s not through consuming human food.” He said human with spite, as if the word itself disgusts him.

      As if he isn’t one.

      “I’m not.”

      I don’t know whether to be scared at him for saying he wasn’t human, or whether because he answering my thoughts again.

      He stood up and walked to where I am, his eyes never leaving mine. I didn’t look away because for the first time, I felt the warmth I had wanted for so long just by drowning myself in his brown orbs.

      I need your help.

      There he was inside my head once more. Instead of relief, I suddenly felt the damned realization of how true and terrifying the events really are.

      I didn’t know what I did back then after he sent me the message of his plea, but I remembered the raging surge of wanting to be whole—to be accepted—surfaced. The tugging feeling that this…creature, as pathetic as it sounds, will fill the gap and make things better.

      Finally, better.

      The right words formed in my head, as if it was automatically there, just waiting to be stated. Atleast that’s what I thought back then, that it was indeed the right words.

      “What should I do?” I queered and gave in to his silent plea, and I dug my own grave with that question.