This world lies in a soothing hush and bluish hue,
a cool autumn breeze whispering through the trees beyond the balcony.
Strands of curls brush against her cheeks, her lips curving into a contented smile as she breathes in the scent of autumn leaves mingling with the rich aroma of the hot chocolate warming her hands.
Her fingers reach for the novel lying open upon the coffee table, its pages fluttering gently in the breeze.
Taking a sip of her hot chocolate, she sinks into the words, another world unfolding before her as she chases wonder and revelation between the lines.
Yet, focus eludes her, her thoughts straying once again to her mysterious man.
She'd finally learned his name two days ago.
Rhett... His surname still escapes her though.
He appears once a week, tails her around like a shadow, only to dissapear just as quickly.
Every now and then, whenever she stepped out of her apartment, her gaze would flicker toward his door.
Maybe he was just busy with work?
Well, her friend had told her he owned a car workshop.
But still...
"Tsk. Talk about pursuing me." The words slip without her knowledge, and she flicks her forehead with the edge of her book.
With a soft huff, she shuffles in her cushioned arm chair, curling deeper into her cozy little nest.
She raises the mug to her lips, her gaze gliding back to the page when the doorbell rings,
its chime echoing through the quiet apartment.
A visitor? Is it the landlord?
With a small shrug, she sets the book and her mug of hot chocolate upon the coffee table.
The warmth of her cozy little nest tugs at her the moment she leaves it, and she half-heartedly walks toward the door, before reaching for the doorknob.
She twists the knob and pulls the door open.
Her heart stutters in a beat of losing self at the sight of him. Her mysterious man. ...Rhett.
"Good evening, Angel," Rhett says, a teasing smile playing upon his lips.
Warmth blooms across her cheeks.
But wait... what does he want at this hour?
And why am I happy to see him—
No, I'm not!
Absolutely not!
"What do you want?" She crosses her arms over her chest.
He leans casually against the doorframe, the sheepish grin ever lingering upon his lips. "I want some... sugar."
Her lips part to protest, when something terrible happens, and only one word escapes her. "What?"
"I said..." He tilts his head just a little. "I want some sugar."
Heat floods her cheeks at once.
"W—why mine?" She cringes inside for stuttering even as her aunt's teasing voice echoes through her mind.
Her aunt once said, "If a man asks for some sugar, it means he wishes a kiss, from the girl he desires."
"I—I mean, go get some from the store or something." Unable to hold his gaze, she looks away, fixating on the balcony railing instead.
"It has to be yours," he says gently.
Of course... he means literal sugar.
Nothing else.
And she resents herself most for letting the memory resurface at all.
As if she has any say against her treacherous mind!
"Angel, it's cold outside." He rubs his hands together, blowing breath into them.
His gaze drifts toward the wind rustling through the trees that border the apartment compound, before looking back at her. "Won't you let me in?"
"No!" she says. "And my name's not Angel."
She needs to reach for the doorknob, and shut the door in his face. Because she can't let herself be fooled. Not by a stranger who's keeps trespassing her space, who could so easily threaten her safety.
Then... then why does she hesitate?
Her heart softens at the wisps of breath misting in the cold air as he exhales,
at the faint flush tinting the tip of his nose.
"Anyone can call you by your name." A soft smile rests upon his lips.
"But Angel... that's mine alone."
She glares at him, her composure wavering, when he turns his head aside and sneezes loudly.
He sniffles, rubbing beneath his nose with the back of his finger.
"Come in," she murmurs with a quiet sigh, stepping back inside without another glance at him.
Walking toward the kitchen, she soon senses the hushed rhythm of his footsteps trailing behind her.
She reaches up to the top cabinet and pulls it open, retrieving an empty glass jar.
She sets it on the counter with a soft clink before reaching for another jar, heavy with sugar.
She doesn't glance at the mysterious man standing somewhere behind her, keeping her attention fixed on the task at hand as she carefully scoops sugar from her jar of sugar into the empty one for him.
As her fingers twist the lid shut on his now brimming jar of sugar, she senses him draw close toward her.
She whirls around, gasping as she nearly collides with him.
"Careful," he murmurs, playfully holding up his hands.
"S... sorry," she whispers, taking an abrupt step back.
He only smiles in response.
She extends the jar toward him,
and as he takes hold of it, his fingers brush against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine.
Where had he been? His fingers are so cold.
"Thank you," he says, but then pauses.
She waits for whatever he has to say, but he just holds her gaze.
A frown creases her brow as she notices the paleness of his face, as though he might be sick.
A smile curls at his lips. "See you later, Angel."
She gives a small nod, but he continues to look at her... until, finally, he turns and walks away.
She watches him cross the living room, until he
disappears through the threshold.
She places the jar back in its place before closing the cabinet.
Is he sick?
Should I have asked?
But why should I?
He's a grown man. A stranger. And an annoying one at that. He can take care of himself.
She steps out of the kitchen, her hurried footsteps carrying her across the living room faster than her thoughts can follow.
"Wait!" she calls.
He freezes before the doorway, his back to her.
Before she has a chance to hesitate, she closes the distance between them.
Then she reaches up, placing her palm against his forehead.
He's burning up.
"Come with me."
She tugs at the hem of his hoodie's sleeve before pulling him back toward the living room.
"Sit here," she says. "I'll get you some medicine."
Before he can reply, she heads straight toward her bedroom.
She opens the drawer of her nightstand and retrieves
the square first-aid kit tucked inside.
She returns to the living room to find him seated silently on the couch.
He lifts his gaze to meet hers, before she hands him a thermometer.
"Put it... under your tongue," she says.
He obeys.
During the long minute of silence as they wait for the thermometer to beep,
she sits awkwardly across from him.
And she occupies herself instead with the newly discovered shapes and shadows of her living room.
At last, a quiet beep breaks the silence between them.
She extends her hand, and he gently places the thermometer in her palm.
102°F, the thermometer reads.
"It's not so bad."
She clicks open the first-aid box and shuffles through its contents. "But not so good either," she says, putting the ones he needs on the coffee table.
She stands and makes a beeline toward the kitchen.
Fetching a glass, she pours warm water from the jug into it.
She returns to find him still seated in the same position, the glass of water cradled in his hands.
And she wonders at this quiet side of the mysterious man unfolding before her,
so unlike the person she thought she knew.
She hands him the water, before unwrapping the tablet and placing it in his hands.
She sits across from him on the couch, watching as
he sips the water before swallowing the pill.
She's amused by the way he takes the medicine, just as she does, water before the pill.
Her aunt had always called the habit unusual, since the more common ritual was pill before water.
He drinks the rest of the water before placing the glass on the coffee table.
Then she asks, "Do you have any symptoms like... coughing or a headache?
He shakes his head. "No," he says. "Thank you, Neva."
She only nods,
lowering her gaze to her hands as she wonders what message her actions might have sent him.
"I haven't told you my name, have I?" he asks.
She doesn't answer. Of course he hasn't. But she already knew.
As if she'd tell him that.
"It's Rhett," he says, before a teasing lilt colors his voice as he adds, "And I...
more genuinely than ever, want to be your lover."
She stiffens.
How can he shift from such innocence to mischief so quickly?
Is he playing her for a fool?
Otherwise, who in the world declares an interest in someone they'd only just met with such confidence?
Perhaps he flirts with every woman this way.
How is she supposed to know? He is still a stranger.
But what in the world does he want with her?
"Please, stop with that," she says,
sliding the remaining tablets she'd picked out across the coffee table toward him.
But her voice comes out sharper than she intends.
"Just take them. And stop bothering me."
Pain flickers across his eyes,
vivid for the briefest moment before he smothers it behind a practiced void.
The air between them turns cold and cutting at once, and regret twists her heart at what she'd done.
"It's fine." His voice comes too soft, too careful.
Without another word, he rises.
She can't bring herself to look up as she feels his warmth fading from the room.
A faint hum of the door opening reaches her ears before it softly clicks shut.