Chapter 5: Acquaintance

Instantly she felt him stir against her, his arm suddenly tensed. Then he made an audible swallowing making his Adam's apple more prominent. After a sharp intake of breath, he shifted a meter away from her like he was caught in the scene. She could almost smell his raging hormones brewing inside his very core, scorching heat rapidly emanating all around his body like a wildfire. "No, I won't do that," he said firmly, as calm as possible. "I told you to go away to keep you from it, or much worse than it, and then you want me to do it myself to you?" He shook his head. "No fucking way."

"I'm offering myself," she assured. Therefore, it was consented.

"Still."

"You don't want it?" she asked.

Mutual consent was necessary, of course! But her eyes couldn't even catch up to his evasive stares for a genuine expression of agreement, clearly avoiding to make an eye contact with her, seemingly frightened as to what he might find around her persistent eyes.

"I won't do it just because I want it," he said with gritted teeth, still looking away.

"I don't understand..."

"I don't love you yet."

She didn't know what to think, even feel by then, not even another laughter nor surprise. That was true anyway, but if that was his sacred precondition before actually doing it, then might as well ask him about it further: "Have you ever been in love?"

"Never," he said right away, almost like it was an absolute truth of his being. It was so naturally-sounded, even almost dismissive and a matter of factly tone, like it was the most certain thing he knew all his life yet very inconsequential to even talk about aloud and this intimate.

Really? Now, she was a bit surprised. It might be a lie, possibly, but how could she know otherwise? So she just went along, truth or a lie didn't matter to her anymore. "Then you are..."

"Virgin? Oh yes, sure." To admit such thing, supplemented by the mere impossibility of such instances to a man like him, outrightly and stately like a command or a final verdict, was enough for her to admire him more.

"Well, I am too. Then maybe... we can work this out—"

"No." It seemed like he was blushing, and looked like he didn't like it very much to express, to feel, embarrassed to be seen him that way.

"Fine!"

He flinched.

It was originally supposed to be just a mere proclamation of defeat and wasn't intentionally a shout, but there you go. She'd just realized presently, in the first place, who was she to demand such sacred thing to someone, right? She was mad at herself for being such a selfish brat, insensitive, only taking into account her own selfish desires, when he was in fact really just concerned with her welfare and nothing else, nothing more, not even for his own selfish interests. How she became like someone who she despised the most? She should've been more thankful, careful with her words. And he didn't love her, yet, and she felt the same way anyway. She couldn't even think of such possibility, even how remote. So why would they do it in the first place? Was it simply to satisfy their carnal desire? What does it bring but merely a momentary bliss? Then what? Just no way! For sure, this wasn't what she really needed or wanted the most at this particular time and place anyway.

"Sorry," he said.

"Sorry," she replied.

Silence.

There was nothing to apologize for, she almost said it, but she choked, seeing how he was looking at her now, defeated and genuinely scared of her. His eyes were shaking with hesitation. His moistened lips licked by the pinkish tongue, must unmistakably be on the verge of saying something. This time, she was the one who looked away and looked down at their distance from each other. She was thinking of leaving now. Only that he said it first.

"Let's get out of here."

"Okay." She nodded slightly, didn't want to speak further.

"You can walk?" he asked.

She was resisting to smile. "I can still kick you in the ass, you know."

He laughed slightly. "That's nice to hear."

She dared not to speak further.

"But you should change your clothes first." He first carefully put the cat aside on where it was still fairly comfortable on a dry newspaper and then slid his bag out of his shoulders, unzipped it, rummaged the inside instinctively and shoved to her a folded white t-shirt and a navy blue short. His spare clothes, probably supposed to be worn after his PE class or some sort, was so casual that it actually didn't look like something he owned, devoid of superior elegance, unlike his physique that was always waging for combat. For a moment she just stared at it so he asked her to ascertain. "You don't like it?"

She was still adapting to his kindness but anyway she took it eventually. "No, I like it. Thanks..." It was warm, cotton, so comfortable just in her hand alone, oozing musky, dizzying fragrance of him.

He cheaply smiled. "Alright." Then he turned around, guarding her against darkness. "Once you're done let's go first to the nearest convenience store. Then we'll proceed to the hospital."

She turned around the same, to not see his admirable rear physique. Hearing it, she immediately  stopped her undressing. "You don't have to do that," she said to the nearest wall.

"I want to do that."

"I am not your problem," she reasoned out.

He just sighed, a long diminishing sigh, an impatient one, and so she just continued dressing, despite shaking from coldness, from embarrassment, from guilt, pity even, for herself. Certainly his clothes were so comfortable. Her damped dress, sticky against her skin, was dumped helplessly on the wet floor, and what she was wearing now became resistant, dry and soft, the well-embroidered silk mildly stroking her skin in every movement, exuding his scent. It felt like she was inside him, an extension of him, softer. The short was hanging above her knees, the rubbery string was enough, in spite of her being so slim, to hold itself around her. She was finally relieved, relived. She piqued and redeemed his interest back towards her with a cautious nudge on his shoulder with an index finger. An electrified flinch. Then his bright face was shown.

"How's it?" she asked, arms wide open. A bit of smile lingering on her lips.

"Fine," he said after turning, eyes already darted on her feet, his blush finally subsiding. Another sigh of realization. "Well, I'll still carry you after all."

"I can manage," she assured.

"No way with that high heels."

"Nah." Was he underestimating her? She'd been comfortable wearing even higher than this. This would not be a problem at all. To tell the truth, there was even a greater chance of her tripping by her feet than while wearing this.

"Wear this, then." He removed lazily his shiny black shoes.

She shook her head, affirming her hotheadedness. She was really fine wearing her high heels once more. She almost rolled her eyes for his unrelenting concern. Not that she didn't care or anything about his feeling, he was just reminding her of someone. She remembered her dad.

There was immediate anger hovering over his forehead. But he conceded anyway with another sigh and didn't insist further. "Fine." She thought that was forbidden for him to express, but well, it seemed not quite, as all humans do.

It fed her ego, of course. Only to find herself later on against his huge back, her arms wrapped on his neck, her chin on his left shoulder, and her legs secured around his hips supported by his muscular arms. Fucking gaps on the floor! She had sprained her ankle on their way to retrieve the cats and carry them with him. His bag loosely open now on his chest for them to breathe. The suddenness of the incident, its unpredictability, his instant aid towards her: she had almost cried. Not for her own recklessness, but his own. Not in the recklessness of his action, which was always measured and graceful, but the recklessness of his expression. Guilt, anger, concern, even slight astonishment, disappointment, and delight. How could his face hold not so much, but so many emotions all at once? She was so mad at everything she had almost punched him. But she had just cried. And in the end let him do whatever he had wanted, one of which was piggybacking her. She had imagined the bridal carry as better options but she wasn't that courageous enough to opt with that. She felt weightless in his arms, effortless to carry on his back. Gravity who? She promised all of this wasn't intentional at all. Seriously her feet hurt and was still throbbing.