Two weeks passed and I’m finally going to be discharged from this hospital. Minho helped me recovering from the accident. He visited me every day even though he complains about it every day, saying that it’s such a bother and a waste of his precious time. I’ve gotten pretty close to him these past two weeks. Father and Key oppa never came to visit me and Jonghyun oppa only visited me every weekends. He was the only visitor I had, even if I still don’t know him that well. My right hand is still in a cast and arm sling, preventing me from writing because I’m right handed. I’m now packing my things using only my left hand.

In a speed of light, he’s already standing beside me, folding my sunset coloured shirt. “I’ll help you.” He said thoughtfully.

“Sure.” I left my bag ped, my clothes—not including my undies—left scattered on the bed. I comfortably l sat on the couch and listened to my iPod. Mirotic played on my iPod. Huh... you really are my slave. I thought. I heard him grumble, but he did not stop from arranging my things and placing it inside my duffel bag.

“Are you going to take me home?” I asked curiously, half expecting him to say yes. We’ve developed a kind of friendship that no one can break—a friendship that’s very deep and meaningful—in the past two weeks.

Or so I imagined. “No, thank God. Are you out of your mind? Of course your brother will be doing that. I’m not your personal slave, you know.”  Wow. He sounded like he really does not want to take me home. Tch. Here I thought, we developed a friendship no one can break, guess not.

“But you are.” I muttered, almost like a whisper.

“What?” He turned his head to look at me but I pretended not to hear him.

Jonghyun turned out to be in a business trip and asked Minho to take me home instead but, turns out that our arrogant little Minho left his car at the hotel his staying in. It looks like we need to walk a couple blocks from the hospital to reach my house, with him carrying my heavy duffel bag on his shoulder. He wouldn’t let a poor girl carry her own heavy bag right? Right?

Here we are, walking on the sidewalk covered with snow, a couple of meters away from the hospital. Fortunately for me, it is snowing. I fought the urge to make a snow ball and to lie down in the middle of the street to make a snow angel. I only realized where we’re headed when I saw an old, unfamiliar building that stood out for its shabby looking brick walls.

“Uhm... you know—”

“Carry this, it’s heavy.” Before I can finish my sentence, he shoved the heavy bag onto me and strode ahead of me, leading the way to my house.

“Wow. So much for being a gentleman. Tsk.” Snowflakes fall gently from the sky, tempting me to stick out my tongue to have a taste but decided not to do it. It’s too embarrassing if Minho catches me sticking out my tongue in a sidewalk.

“You like me, don’t you?” I asked, catching up to him.

The sidewalk is unusually empty since it’s still early in the morning. The branches of the trees that hovered the sidewalk, carries heavy loads of snow that can slip anytime and fall on any person standing below it.

“I do.” Is this what I call a love confession? Omo. “If it’s the new word for hate.” He added. Psh. I got all excited for nothing. I know great background music for this, Give Love by AKMU. I can almost hear the song in my ears.

“Aish. Stop encouraging me. Playing hard to get does NOT suit you, if you ask me.” I said stubbornly as we walk on the side walk.

“Nobody did.” He shot back.

“An hour ago, you were acting so nice and caring but now, you’re being such a drag.”

“If I’m such a drag, then what are you?”

“A princess, walking with her slave.”

“And who’s that slave of yours? He must be really unlucky to have you as his master, poor bastard.” I flinched when I heard him say the word ‘bastard’. Well, it means illegitimate child. I just felt bad without any reason.

“You are, poor bostord.” I drawled, staring at the pair of fresh footprints we left in the snow, as if we’re the only people ever to walk here.

“What?”

“I said—”

“I know what you said and I’m not your slave and bostord? Really?” The topic we were discussing just a minute ago was forgotten and I answered his question on why I said the word bostord.

“What can I say? I promised right?” I suddenly realized that he was actually trying to change topic when I looked at his smirking face. “Wait, that’s not right. You’re trying to change the subject. You agreed to be my slave since the day you outstretched your ever so caring hand, showing me the smallest of smiles I have ever seen in my entire life,  and told me ‘Let’s go.’” I said, not forgetting to mimic his voice.

“I did not... well, I did but—” He looked taken aback and all he did was splutter.  “Now, I remember. You