Yunho popped his head back in the doorway. “Are you coming?” he asked. I looked up from looking down at the tiled floor. I didn’t actually think he’d stop to see if I was coming. I looked up at him and nodded before stepping towards him.

“Are you going to tuck me in?” he asked as I followed him up the stairs.

I looked at the back of his head, confused, hoping he would turn to see the expression on my face, but never did. I guess if he expected it, it was my duty to do so, and I gave him an affirmative answer.

Seriously, was this guy five? Does he need a mother again to cook for him, clean his house, kiss him goodnight and check for monsters under his bed and in his closet? I didn’t understand him much. All I really knew about him was that he was famous, his name was Jung Yunho, he’s older than me, and, well, he’s hot.

Upon entering his room, he pulled his already ed jeans off, checked the pockets—setting whatever was in them on the dresser—and threw them in the hamper. In the meantime, I walked over to his bed, pulling the covers back for him and waited for him to crawl into bed, which he did in a timely fashion. He rolled to lay on his back his head resting back on the pillow and this was the only time my eyes actually scanned his face.

His left cheek had two scars on it, one under the eye and one closer to his nose. There was also a scar on his forehead, which I couldn’t have noticed earlier because it was covered by his hair.

His eyes closed and I reached forward with my right hand, my index finger running over the scar closest to his nose and he flinched away. I immediately pulled my hand back and he opened his eyes. “Don’t,” he uttered darkly.

My mouth was gapped as I searched for words. I wanted to apologize for invading, I also wanted to ask where he got it, but nothing came out and I stood there like an idiot with my mouth hanging open.

He inhaled deeply through his nose, exhaling through his mouth as his eyes closed. “Goodnight, Ally,” he prompted for me to leave.

I pulled the covers up to his collar, tucking them slightly around him before turning to leave, uttering my goodnights to him as well.  “I don’t get a goodnight kiss?” His voice was gentle and quiet as he commented and I turned to look at him questioningly.

“What?” I asked, my eyebrows drawing together in confusion. He struggled to free a hand from under the covers before pushing his hand to his forehead. “I don’t get a goodnight kiss?” he asked again and I approached his bed.

“Are you crazy?” I asked, leaning down to get closer to his face.

“You’re my maid, you follow my orders. Goodnight kisses, please,” he demanded in a harsher tone this time.

I sighed deeply and pushed his hand away from his forehead, pushing his hair back and leaned down, his eyes fluttering closed before my lips reached his forehead and I kissed it gently, just above the scar it held. My hand ran from his forehead and over his cheek, trailing partially down his chest before it dropped back at my side as I continued out the door, closing it behind me.

I exhaled deeply as I stood outside his closed door before trekking into my room, setting the clock to wake me at 8 AM. It was already 12:30, so that would give me at least seven hours of sleep by the time I actually fell asleep. I pulled back the covers on my bed—not bothering to shut the door to my room—and fell into the silken sheets I had laid eyes upon earlier.

I groaned, my body relaxing into the mattress before I got more comfortable, shifting, and raising the covers to lie across my body. The moon shone in through the cracked blinds of the window and into my room, not lighting it too bright, but just bright enough.

____________________

There was a loud knocking against the frame of my door and I flinched awake. I didn’t care to look who was at my door; I could make an educated guess as to who it was.  Instead, I looked at the clock which read seven AM.

I rubbed my sleepy eyes before sitting up. “What?” I asked in an irritated tone. Yunho was dressed and standing in my doorway. I could guess what he wanted. He was going to work and needed a lunch.

“Can I just bring it to you during my lunch break?” I asked, growling deeply as I stared at the very blank wall. There was nothing on any of the walls in my room besides mirrors, just white paint. Most of the space was covered by dressers, mirrors, and window space. My hands rested against the bed next to me.

“I don’t like your attitude,” he said.

“It will be fresh, god dammit,” I replied, whispering the last part to make sure he couldn’t hear it.  He was back to being the Yunho I had met when I first arrived. A snooty while he was not under Jae’s watch. I threw the covers off me and stood, my arms over my head as I stretched, Yunho continued to watch me.

“Hello? I said it will be fresh,” I repeated. He seemed to snap out of a daze before replying.

“I expect it no later than one,” he replied before leaving my view. I walked over to the door, shutting it violently before proceeding to get changed. I was kind of glad that I was allowed to wear whatever I wanted. It was October, a little chilly outside. I put on some whitewashed jeans and a skinny white tee, which clung tightly to my body like any skinny tee should, and being self-cut gave me a midriff.

Yunho never specified that I couldn’t be pierced or inked, which I was thankful for because I was both. I had a navel charm, it was cute. It was three small chains attached to silver stars which dangled on the end. My ears were pierced numerous times, which he couldn’t complain about, his ears were pierced, too. I had a small nose stud and my tongue was pierced, which I was surprised he didn’t notice when I talked. I would imagine it would stay very sparkly in there.

Speaking of being inked, I have two tattoos. I have my last name, Mizushima, tattooed in tiny Hangul on my right hip, which was clearly visible with the shirt I was wearing, which I got when I moved back here not too long ago, it was my newest tattoo. And the other I got in London of my name, Ally, in cursive on the back of my neck.   

I looked in the mirror just to see a blurry image and I cursed to myself for forgetting to take out my contacts. I went into the bathroom where all my toiletries were and proceeded to remove them, putting my glasses on and brushed my teeth before fixing my hair, changing it from a messy bun, to a messy pretty bun. There wasn’t much of a difference if you ask me. I slipped on some socks before heading downstairs to cook breakfast—fried eggs, white bread with a strawberry spread, rice, and a small bowl of fruit.

“Coffee?” I asked, making myself an instant cup. They were popular in Korea, though there were many Starbucks and Dunkin’ Donuts around.

He nodded as he continued to shove a grossly chewed mixture of eggs and toast down his throat, soon followed by numerous pieces of melon as I set the cup of steaming coffee in front of him. He didn’t pause to take a drink; at least he used his brains and realized it was hot. 

I started to wonder if this kid always ate like this, shoving food without thinking down his throat like he was starving.

“You’re going to get the hiccups if you keep eating so fast,” I commented, holding the spoon lazily in my hand as I plowed it through my small bowl of rice. He pouted like a small child and looked at his cup of coffee which was still emitting steam. I feel like a mother, dammit! It was horrible! I picked up the cup and held it in my left hand in front of me. My chin rested in the palm of my right hand and my elbow rested on the counter top. I stood slightly hunched over as I blew over his coffee and he sat at the bar, watching me intently as he shoved more food into his mouth.

“The least you could do is be a little civilized about how you eat,” I commented again, my eyes only on the coffee as the steam was blown away from it.

I handed the cup carefully back to him. “Drink it slowly, it will help prevent them,” I said and he nodded, taking the cup in his right hand, sipping it slowly before setting it down and continued to throw food into his mouth just as he was before I warned him.

He set his chopsticks down in their proper spot as he hiccupped.

“Karma’s a ,” I said and he stared at me, probably for my choice of words.

“Now we can get rid of these the easy way, or the hard way,” I said, pulling a knife from its holder and gripped it in my hand. He watched me intently, looking at me like I was crazy as I continued to grip the blade. He hiccupped again and I pulled the blade through my hand, he gasped and lurched forward. I held the knife in my right hand, opening my left hand to reveal nothing, my perfectly undamaged skin and he set a hand over his racing heart.

“You’re freaking crazy!” he bellowed, staring at me with disbelief.

“You’re hiccups are gone, aren’t they?” I asked, inspecting the slightly dull stainless steel blade before putting it back where I got it and turned to pluck a piece of fruit out of the bowl and stuck it in my mouth before pulling his empty dishes and utensils from where he was sitting so that I could clean them quickly and put them away.

“Well, I have to go. Don’t forget about my lunch,” he said and turned to head out the door before I had time to reply.

“For being older than me, you’re quite the little kid,” I said to myself before heading to find the vacuum.   

Time passed quickly as I vacuumed, to say the least. By the time I was finished, stairs and upstairs, basement, too, I had to cook and take Yunho’s lunch.

I wasn’t exactly sure what he liked, but he always said he wasn’t a picky eater so I cooked what I had normally cooked up for Jung-hye while staying with her: Grilled short ribs, select cuts of smoked salmon, crab sushi rolls, a small serving of rice, a small cup of kimchi soup, fried dumplings and sautéed vegetables. It seems like a lot, but when you cram it all into a small box; it doesn’t seem like so much. Atop of the very crammed and sealed box were collapsible stainless steel chopsticks with matching spoon all wrapped up in a thin white cloth.

I stood there with my hands on my hips, kitchen cleaned and Yunho’s freshly prepared lunch on the counter. “How the hell am I supposed to get there?” I thought, remembering I had no form of transportation.

“Well my life,” I said and turned to the fridge. There was a note attached to the fridge via hooked magnet. I knew instantly my life and his stomach were saved.

Ally, here’s keys to my other car; I hope you know how to drive, and I’m sure you know where I am. Remember, no later than one. Yunho.

Well , I get to drive Yunho’s car, I thought happily to myself, snatching the keys off the hook and headed to the garage. That was when I remembered that I don’t live in London anymore, and Korean’s typically don’t have garages. I changed paths and headed out the front door, Yunho’s lunch tightly in hand.

Though I must admit, Yunho’s very large house was extremely westernized, carpet and everything. It was close to what we had in London, yet so different. Then again, most of us lived in apartments. It was very cramped, not so much a comfortable place.

The drive to SMent was very short, shorter than I had expected anyway and I nervously entered the building. The secretary was quick to great me, though I never noticed she was there and her voice caused me to jump. She laughed and apologized for scaring me before asking again where I was headed.

“I’m here to bring Jung Yunho his lunch,” I replied in somewhat broken Korean. After living in London, speaking English and such, my Korean was shabby, something I really needed to work on.

The secretary smiled at me before giving a floor number, a door number, and directions on how to get there in case I got lost. I smiled, bowed, thanked her and headed for the elevator. I pressed the number 5, which light up in a bright orange glow, and the elevator door immediately opened.

Upon exiting, I tried to remember what the secretary had said to me, room 7? I don’t really remember and I hoped I was right as I walked down the hall past four doors before taking a right into a recording studio where TVXQ’s manager stood in the sound room, arms crossed and watched.

“Can I help you?” he asked, taking me slightly by surprise.

I told him why I was there, and he said he would hold Yunho’s lunch until he allowed a lunch break. I smiled, thanked him and bowed simultaneously, before heading back out the door, exhaling my utterly held breath. Damn, I was dying to get the hell out of there. I felt completely awkward and I hated the feeling.

After arriving home, I took it upon myself to dust every single little thing that I would even think to attract dust—which, in the gist of things, was everything.

I’m pretty sure I know how the giving up of Yunho’s lunch went down. His manager would call for a lunch break and I bet he was hoping to see me there, innocently holding his lunch in my tiny pale hands. But that wasn’t the case at all, I had changed the idea to that of he went into the sound room and his manager would have shoved his lunch into his hands and say,  ‘some girl brought this for you, said it was your lunch,’  or something to that effect.

I could only imagine Yunho’s reaction, either a pfft—something along those lines—or some comment about how I was prompt, open his lunch and die of amazement at how awesome of a cook I am, or something.

Now that I think of it, that’s probably not how it went down at all. I’d have to ask him when he gets home, which should be in a couple of hours.

Earlier I mentioned that my mind tends to wander and I still manage to get things done. This was one of those times. While I was hopelessly pondering/ scheming totally unlikely events about the receiving reaction of Yunho to his delicious short ribs, I got everything dusted, every surface wiped down, everything put in very neat order.

He never specified if I was allowed in his room. I imagined not. Too bad that didn’t stop me. I cleaned it—vacuumed, made the bed, dusted, reorganized (which I was sure he would strangle me for) and left it spotless, cracking the blinds to let in that good ol’ sunshine.

I also thought of the possible outcomes if going into his room as breaking a rule. The pros: I went into [i]Jung Yunho’s room[/i]. Well, so much for that. The cons: I would get fired, a long preachy speech about how I’m not allowed in his room, get mega -slapped for rearranging his , or possibly even get no reply.

Whatever, the point was I had done my job and his was cleaned. Oh, how I longed for tonight as I plopped down on the suede white couch, which I claimed to be a therapist couch, because that’s what it looked like. I had one armrest and a back; the other half looked like it was stylishly sheared off. At any rate, I the TV to some game show; it was the channel the TV must have been turned off with. I didn’t care to change it; I was relaxing now, all I needed was for time to pass and the white noise.

My cell phone buzzed in my pocket and my eyes snapped open. Whoever it was would pay dearly for—oh, it was Jung-hye.

Hey! How’s it going?

Well , how the hell was I supposed to reply to that? Oh, didn’t I tell you? I’m a maid for Jung Yunho, you know, U-know from TVXQ/DBSK. Ha, no.

If Jung-hye had ever found out I was a maid, she would ring me before Yunho could get his hands on me for entering his room.

Oh, nothing really. Just sitting around at work. :)

It wasn’t a lie. Technically it was my home, too. But she didn’t need to know that.

Oh, sounds like fun. You should come over for dinner tonight! :D

Dinner? TONIGHT? But, but… Yunho was cooking dinner tonight! I longed to taste what his cooking was like. I bet it was amazing, like everything else about h—Shut up.

No, I refused to believe that I thought of Yunho in that way. He was my boss. So what if I lived in his house? I was required to do manual labor. I didn’t think of him as anything else besides my master. Not in the dirty way, either.

Actually, Jung-hye, I can’t tonight. I’m working late, I’m sorry. :(

So I lied. Whatever. It’s not like Jung-hye hasn’t lied to me before.

I heard the door open; followed by a sound of utter exhaustion and I snapped my phone shut, shoving it in my pocket. I didn’t really want Yunho to know that I had a cell phone, but I’m sure he would find out after receiving my monthly bill in the mail. After I switch it over, that is.

“Welcome home.” I was tempted to call him master—like I promised myself I would—but bit my tongue before I could do so and stood, taking his jacket from his shoulders to hang up.

“Thanks,” he muttered before moving to the couch, falling against it to rest his fatigued body. I never knew singing took so much energy.

“So you got your lunch, I take it,” I commented. He didn’t mention anything about not getting it, so I could only assume that he did.

His eyes shut gently as a smile crept onto his face, his right hand finding his stomach. “I can only wish I had you around earlier,” he said. I smiled and looked away from him, attempting dearly not to blush. “Short ribs and salmon for lunch, I swear I had to fight off Junsu to keep even half of it.”

“You didn’t give any of it up, did you?”

“Are you crazy? I practically stabbed Micky in the hand for trying to steal just a dumpling out of that box,” he replied, chuckling slightly as he recalled today’s earlier events.

“Sounds intense,” I replied.

“Oh it was, four guys fighting for my lunch with one defending is completely unfair. I can only thank you kindly for such a delicious treat,” he said, his eyes rolling over to look at me as his head rested on the back of the couch. I couldn’t help but look away, my right hand finding my cheek only hiding that half of my blush.

He turned his entire body, resting his left elbow on the back of the couch and his head against his left hand as he looked at me.

“You know, I was thinking,”—, that can’t be good—“since you’re lounging around, you must clean fast. I’ve decided you’re off, except for cooking, when you finish cleaning,” he said and I bowed from my sitting position, thanking him.

I looked over at the clock that sat on the mantel, it was six, almost diner time and I was really craving some Miso soup. The last time I had it was back in Japan. I was happy to say that I had bought ingredients for it while I was at the market, it’s the only Asian market I had seen in years, much less been to.

“So what would you like for dinner?” he finally asked and I inhaled slightly. I wonder if Yunho even knew how to make Miso. Well, I was either going to cook it myself or I was going to teach him.

“I’m desperately craving some Miso soup,” I groaned, my head falling back against the therapist couch I was on. I was desperately hoping he had some idea, but no luck found me when he gave me his reply.

“You’re going to have to teach me how,” he said, rising from the couch and walked over, holding his hand out for me and pulled me up before dragging me into the kitchen. I had a horrible, horrible feeling that something completely disastrous or unexpected would happen and I was mostly hoping it would be something unexpected.