The cell phone in my hand stops vibrating when I slide my finger across the display, finally answering the call after taking it out from my jacket in the hall. I dread for all the calls I have missed, all the text messages I haven’t even read, but most of all I feel dreadful when hearing his voice on the line. “Go outside, now.” A furious tone demands me to go outside, and I don’t even hesitate to put on my shoes and head outside, my phone still in hand and wearing skinny jeans to a sweater. It’s still cold outside, the snow under my feet makes their sound when I walk from the house to the port and when opening the door it feels three times heavier than usually because I am scared of what I will meet on the other side. I’m barely through the door when he shows up in front of me, and exactly like I saw red earlier today his eyes are glowing with anger when he walks up to me, grabbing a hold of my arms and pushes me back inside. “Are you out of your mind?!” he hisses with the anger bursting through him, taking me with such a surprise that when he lets me go I almost stumble on my own feet down to the ground, but I stay standing. The port closes after him. “Why haven’t you answered? For what idiotic reason have you kept me build up anger all day?!” I think I expected a lot, but I didn’t think he would be this furious. “I told you I was working,” I mutter, flinching when he suddenly turns around. He takes his hand through his hair and turns back to me. “Are you serious, Hannah? You couldn’t even talk to me on the phone! You- You- It’s the worst behaviour, Hannah! You got any idea what I have had to deal with today? The comments I have gotten at the radio? I even had a staff ask me about it and you won’t even pick up the phone for a few seconds to let me hear your voice!” he is screaming at me, cold puff of air breathes out of him. “It was one article, Jonghyun,” I say, trying to be the calm and collected one of us because he clearly is not the one. “It’s not like-” “I don’t care if it was one or a million articles; when I call, you answer!” “Ya!” a voice is heard from the house and I am quickly covering my mouth though I was not the one making much sound, and Jonghyun turns around to look at Emelia, who is looking furious by the door. “It’s almost three in the morning. If you dare wake anyone up with all that shouting I will tie you both up lying in the snow until your limbs are black!” And she closes the door after her. I had forgotten we have guests. Jonghyun turns back to me, and he looks like he is on the verge of crying. “Why did you hold hands?” he asks. “What?” I frown. “At SBS, why did he take your hand? Why didn’t you remove his hand?” Jonghyun asks, and the anger has turned into disappointment, yet all I can do is start glaring at him. “You-” I stop myself in the surprise. “What? You think he held my hand?” “The whole freaking scandal is based on that you hold hands!” Jonghyun answer, raising his tone but remembers Emelia was just telling us to be quiet and he looks away from me. I am so confused, and when he wipes his hand over his eyes I get even more confused. He is crying. “He never held my hand,” I tell him, not sure why my voice is trembling. I don’t know if I’m angry at him for thinking Kai held my hand, or if I am sad he thinks I would let anyone hold my hand when I even avoid having my ladies hold my hand. “He touched my arm to congratulate me on the award. That’s all. Are you seriously thinking I…” Thinking what? That I would walk around holding hands with someone else, or that… I’m cheating on him? Would he think that low on me? I can’t get the words out of me, it’s outrageous: I would never do that. Why would he think that? Why would he believe in an article? He has walked around all day thinking I’m cheating on him? Jonghyun swipes the back of his hand below his nose when stepping up in front of me, taking a hold of my face with his hands but I remove them. How can he think that of me? “I think you are too naïve to say no when someone takes your hand,” Jonghyun explains in a low voice, not backing away though he doesn’t try to touch me again. I can’t see his eyes, he is looking down. “I think… that you have ignored me all day because you feel guilty for having another article like that being written, that ignoring my existence the article’s content won’t mean as much. Do you have any idea of how my anger has kept rising for each time I reached your voicemail today?” He takes my hand in his, linking our fingers and holds up our hands above my head, holding me against the cold stone wall. I’m freezing, my eyes are tired and my insides are making a revolt of emotions trying to tell me how to react and what to say, but nothing comes out of me other than a leap of sound through my lips when he gets so close to me that I can feel his body heat through his clothes. “Don’t ever hold another man’s hand,” Jonghyun warns me. When I look up at him this time he looks down at me with the kind of expression that is not to play with. He is serious. The words I wanted to tell him, that he doesn’t decide that, won’t even reach my throat to be said. “And if you ever ignore my calls again I will make sure you regret it,” he threatens. I don’t want that. I don’t want to be told what to do by him, to have Jonghyun decide whose hand I can touch and what calls I can make. But the force of his body against mine, his cold fingers entwined in mine, that expression staring down at me, and the traces of tears in his eyes. “Tell me you won’t allow anyone else than me to hold your hand,” Jonghyun whispers, his tone demanding again. My frown returns as I glare at him. “He didn’t hold my hand,” I say like a child. “That’s not the point.” “I still can’t tell you that,” I answer, knowing it would be silly to promise I won’t hold anyone’s hand when I never know what my work will lead me to do; what if I film a music video and the director asks me to hold someone’s hand? Would I refuse because of Jonghyun? No! He looks upset when letting go of my hands, and cold air comes between us when he takes a step back. “I can’t promise you something that I don’t know if I can keep,” I tell him and Jonghyun takes another step back. “Jonghyun, what if work tells me to hold someone’s hand? I can’t promise you something that I can’t keep!” “You can’t either answer my calls for a day because of one article,” he mutters and blinks away his new tears, not looking at me. “Yet you act as if the article doesn’t matter.” “It doesn’t-” I stop to continue when he suddenly goes to the port. “Where are you going?” “Home,” Jonghyun mutters, opening the door and I follow. “You’re going home? But I’m not done!” “I’m done,” he answers. His car is parked right outside and just as he reaches out his hand for the door I push his shoulder for him to turn around. “Now who’s the idiot?” I ask him, angry that he wants to leave just like that. “I couldn’t talk to you today because I wanted to focus on our last day of promotions together with everyone.” I grab his chin to have him look at me, forcing my glare to meet his. “But no, Jongin didn’t hold my hand and I would never let him. I don’t need to promise you that I won’t hold anyone else’s hand, that’s something you should know I would never allow. And yes, I am naive but I’m not that much of an idiot that I wouldn’t do anything if someone held my hand against my will.” I’m done. I drop my hand from his chin and stomp away because I want to cry and I don’t want him to see it, and behind me I can hear the car door open and close before I reach the port. The engine starts when I open the door and I hear him drive off when I close the port. … … What just happened? … I am leaning against the port for some time, I don’t know for how long, I just stand there spacing out. I don’t even think much. All that goes through my head is the tears Jonghyun showed and the question ‘what just happened?’ that I’m asking myself. Just what did I mean when I thought that I’m done? No, before any thoughts can come to me I shake it off and say to myself that I was done having this conversation. That’s all. It’s not like … we broke up or anything. Right? No, there is no way… Something gets up in front of me and just when I’m about to react that there is someone there, a hand touches my arm and I give out such a jump that the person takes a step back. “Hannah?” Looking up, I meet Emelia’s small blue-green eyes and pale face. I’m freezing. “Let’s go inside,” Emelia tells me and puts her arm around me to lead me inside. My limbs are frozen, it hurts just to move, and I realise that every inch of my body is freezing when we walk inside the house. For how long was I standing there? Emelia doesn’t ask anything, which is unusual for her. She doesn’t tell me to go wash up either; she just takes me to the sofa, lies me down on my side and tucks me in the same way I did for Maria. “Get some sleep,” she commands when putting Tiger on top of me and Emelia lies down on her side of the sofa. I fall asleep quickly, but I wake up just as fast to go use the bathroom. Tiger follows me, watching me space out in the bathroom. My mind is blank, I don’t remember going to the bathroom when I lie down again, but I do notice Emelia turns around to see if I’m sleeping again while all I do is lying on my back patting Tiger on my stomach. My eyes are closed, but I can’t fall asleep that fast. After some time I stretch out for my phone on the living-room table, seeing the missed calls and texts. He hasn’t sent anything since we met. Is he that angry? Did I do something wrong? Did I use the wrong words? What if my words got mixed up and the things I said was completely different in his ears than the words I thought I said? Is my brain playing tricks on me again? I sigh and close my eyes. I’m so tired. I must’ve slumbered into sleep because all of a sudden I am woken up by Milo panting next to me and I turn away from him. He panted next to me because of Tiger; she is sleeping in the sofa with me, and I hear him make a noise when I have my back towards him. “Milo, come here, boy,” Emelia lightly calls from the kitchen. Wiping my eyes from tears and sleep, I focus my hearing on what Emelia is doing. It’s morning already? I didn’t even know I had been crying. I must’ve been crying in my sleep. I have a headache too, on the left side at my temple, and when hearing Emelia put food in a bowl I know its morning since she is feeding Milo. Without a word I get out of the sofa, my new bed for this week, and I keep rubbing my face when walking through the kitchen to the bathroom, making sure Emelia can’t see that I have been crying. But if I cried in my sleep, she must’ve noticed, right? In the bathroom I wash my face before I undress and get in the shower. I didn’t shower yesterday after the concert, neither when I came home, and once I enter the shower I don’t want to get out of it. It’s the only time I can cry freely, letting my confusion out in tears. “Hannah,” Emelia knocks on the bathroom’s door when I’m eventually out from the shower. “Yes…?” “You can go back to bed. I woke up early to prepare breakfast for the others, we’re not leaving in at least an hour,” she tells me. “Okay.” I don’t even brush my hair before lying back in the sofa, hiding and pretending I’m asleep when hearing Emelia’s family wake up one by one. I hear their conversations in the kitchen, I feel sick by the smell of breakfast, and Emelia fixes her side of the sofa in case someone wants to sit there. Her father sits down in the kitchen with a cup of coffee and he is the one quietly asking if they can talk freely when I am sleeping in the sofa. “It’s okay,” Emelia says. She knows I’m not sleeping, I think, or she thinks I fell asleep deeply. Emelia’s sister asks when she wakes up if my kitten hates people and Emelia laughs when saying Tiger is only fond of one person. “Oh,” her sister says, “Because last night the kitten kept leaving the rooms when we were around, she didn’t even want the candy we tried to give her.” “Not even if we left it on the floor,” her husband comments. That’s my kitten. I can’t help but to feel a little mischievous at that. Tiger isn’t mean to people, she just prefers to play with other pets or with toys, while not being much to the liking of having people touch her or lift her up. Maybe she was upset at Emelia’s sister’s family taking our bedroom, which could be why she didn’t even stay in the same room. Even now she stays next to me, cuddling with me in the sofa. I have no energy to get out of under the quilt, not even when Maria makes her appearance and asks if we have any pizza or cake. Hangover food for Maria, and after asking that question she comes to sit in the sofa; not where Emelia has put away her things but on top of my legs. “Uh, still sleeping, baby?” she asks and lies down with her head on my hip, her hand held out to pat Tiger. “Do you want to terrorize Appa into getting pizza for breakfast? We can eat it at the saloon.” “Sure,” I mumble