After putting on his clothes back and add an extra of knitted sweater, I tucked him in to bed in one of the empty rooms. I turned off the lights when I leave, but he sat straight and is very eager to leave his bed as soon as I did, so I suppose he doesn’t like darkened room. I left the lights on for him; I even left him a jar of candies next to his bed in case he woke up for sweets. After telling him that he should sleep and I’ll be downstairs, I left his room somehow knowing he would be fast asleep.

I went downstairs to clean up the mess he made, all the bread and cookie crumbs everywhere. There are also his dirty clothes… I decided to get rid of them. It was so nasty, so dirty and it doesn’t even pass as a clothing item, for me. I went to the terrace to look for his shoes, but when I didn’t found one, I suppose he came barefooted.

It made me wonder… what is Leo, actually? The tattoo behind his neck, his scarred body, and the power his name held over him…. I wonder what happened to him. Who tortured him so badly until he can’t even speak a single word. His tattoo doesn’t even seem like an ink tattoo. It looks like it was carved to his skin, and I don’t want to know how it gained it dark color. Maybe it was carved… since he really hated it when I touched it.

My hand phone rings and it woke me up from my thoughts. It’s Seungra, a classmate. She texted me to relay a message that a teacher asked why didn’t I attend classes today and I told her I was sick. I don’t think it would be a good idea to tell a classmate that I was tending to a stranger that happens to trespass my home…

After finishing the long hours of cleaning up, I went upstairs to check on Leo, and he’s still asleep. His chest heaves up and down in rhythm as he slept. I pulled on a chair and sat next to his bed, waiting for him. He moved around a lot in his sleep and I had to fix his blanket several times, and he doesn’t seem to notice. I took a glance at the clock on the side table. It’s almost 12. It’ll be time for lunch soon, and I’ll have to wake him up so that we could have lunch together.

I really look forward into teaching him some expressions so that he could tell me what happened in his life. It doesn’t have to be words or a language… who knows; maybe he could draw me a picture of what is going on. I watched as his stern expression turned childish while he sleeps, and how he covered his face with the blanket… it’s cute, somehow. Like a kitten who’s always looking for warmth.

12 P.M. The cuckoo bird on the clock came in and out, making the same ‘cuckoo-cuckoo’ sound every time it moves in or out. While I was admiring the clock, I didn’t think Leo would wake up over something so trivial—but he did. He stood up straight and covered his ears confusedly, and he looked at me; asking for help. I told him it was only the clock, I pointed it at him, but he shook his head still. In our agreement, shaking head means disliking… So, he disliked the clock, or the sound it made, I guess.

“Do you want me to take that down?” he nodded, still covering his ears until the sound stops two minutes later.

I stood up, dragging my chair towards the clock, then I took a step up the chair and tried to keep my balance as I take the clock down, and I didn’t realize Leo was beside me, looking up at what I was doing. He touched my leg and I jumped up a bit in shock, yelping and throwing the clock as I tried to regain my balance, while Leo moved swiftly to kick the swaying chair and catch me in his arms, before hesitantly putting me down. Then came down the clock, hitting the floor with a crashing sound.

I sat there on the floor, a stupid look plastered on my face while Leo hurriedly approaches the clock and uselessly try to put the pieces back together. He exchanged looks between me—who’s still sitting stupidly there, looking at him with my mouth gaped open—and the broken clock, barely recognizable after the fall. He looked very… guilty, and as I regain my wits enough to crawl and approach him, he backed off, looking very scared.

I laughed at him and he looked at me weirdly, tilting his head to a side as he doesn’t understand what is going on.

“I never really liked the cuckoo clock anyway. It was very noisy,” I said in between my laughs, and he looked at the pieces he held, showing me the part of the clock one on hand and the severed cuckoo bird on the other, before shaking his head and looking at me.

“Yes, yes. I don’t like them. Let’s throw them away, shall we?” I grabbed the nearest dustbin, and motion him to throw the pieces in but he put the pieces in slowly and delicately, so I took a piece myself and throw it there. He seemed excited, and he threw in the last piece himself, before turning his head to look at me. I nodded in approval, and although his expression still remains the same, he seemed happy.

“Let’s go downstairs. I’ll cook you something nice for lunch, yeah?” I stood up and offered my hand, helping him to stand. He nodded, and I remembered it was something we would use to express if he liked anything. “So you liked eating, huh?” He kept nodding while he held to my hand. We walked downstairs hand in hand. He holds on tightly, and I can’t help but remember it in a sense of a child that fears to lose his mother in a shopping district. I laughed silently as we reached the kitchen, still remembering the earlier facts that happened.

How come does he kick the chair, catch the falling me in his arms, then putting me down, and all of that happened before the clock I threw hit the floor?