A silence flowed between us. It was only for a moment, but it felt like we were trapped in an endless eternity.
My face slowly flushes. I can't seem to maintain composure. What on earth is that reaction? I'm the only one embarrassed again. I collapse, curled up in a ball, and bury my face in my knees.
“Are you crying?”
Noah crouched down next to me and gently patted my back. I raised my head, shrugging my shoulders.
“I’m not crying.”
“Yeah, you're not crying.”
“Did you want to cry?”
Noah's eyes seemed to sharpen at my resentful question, but then they relaxed. Still, his gaze left me with a chill, as if it were cutting my skin.
“Your expression looks like you’re about to cry. Are you scared?”
"No."
Soon, a soft voice, gentle yet threatening, reached my ears.
“I was worried I’d cry just looking at it. I haven’t done anything yet.”
The words whispered so close to me felt like my soul was being ripped out of me. I don't know why those words, so subdued, felt so sensual. Why was my heart pounding so wildly?
It was a bizarre provocation, a ferocious and dangerous seduction. The decadent, sultry man smiled reassuringly. The gaze of a predator watching its prey, which will eventually be devoured, and the sensuality that emanates from it. I couldn't handle the volley of sexuality.
How could a few words create such a dense atmosphere? Even with the curtains drawn, it was still daylight. I shook my head to clear my head and wiped my face as if I was washing it dry.
“I don’t cry over things like this. I’m not the type to cry easily.”
At my words, Noah's face gradually became expressionless. I couldn't understand why he seemed so disappointed. He quickly regained his gentle expression.
"Me too. I haven't cried since I was little. Do you?"
“No. I cried a lot when I was little. Mostly when I was angry.”
When I was young, I cried as I entered the empty house after my parents' funeral. Why did this have to happen to me? Why was everyone doing this to me? The resentment was greater than the sadness.
He, who was watching me reminisce, seemed to be lost in other thoughts.
“When I was little, when you were the size of a peanut. Before you were even born.”
He said, estimating the size with his fingers.
“When I was seven, I promised my mother that I would carry her on my back when I was a little older.”
"Yes."
"My mother was from a concentration camp, so she was smaller than you are now. I thought I'd be able to carry her when I was ten. But she passed away before then."
It was a lonely and sad story, but Noah seemed unfazed. He didn't even feel a hint of longing. I crouched down, staring at him as we sat across from each other.
"Since then, I've always tried to keep my word. When I can. I don't want it to become meaningless."
“So that’s why. Whatever you do, it goes smoothly.”
He was a man with a mad sense of execution. He suddenly came to his senses and found himself in the middle of an engagement ceremony. He, who rarely spoke about himself, spoke smoothly.
"Even when my parents died in an accident, I didn't cry. I was just upset that so many promises had become meaningless. My parents never taught me what it meant to grieve, so I didn't really know how to express it."
“They were kind parents.”
"Yeah. They always told me to show people a smile. I was a weird kid. I was always good at being gentlemanly, speaking in a friendly manner, and smiling sociably. But do you know what people said about me?"
“What did they say?”
Noah smiled at my question.
"They called me a devil. Because I was a nine-year-old who smiled instead of crying on the day of my parents' funeral. Because I was different from other people. Of course, no one calls me that anymore. This trait of mine was so effective in war that I was respected and even praised."
I thought his smile would be like the one a nine-year-old would wear at a funeral. He always has that consistent smile.
It was as beautiful as a delicately crafted silk flower arrangement. Noah slowly tilted his head and stared intently at me, as if observing my inner thoughts.
The corners of his mouth rose in satisfaction as I flinched as his sharp fingertips brushed against my neckline and traced it down.
There was a hint of joy in that smile.
"I've seen people cry so many times now that I know what it means. It's negative things like pain, suffering, and sadness."
“So... are you saying that it’s fortunate that I don’t cry much?”
“No. At first, I was tormenting you because I wanted to make you cry. You know that?”
“Yes, well... I don’t really care about it because it happened in the past.”
I would rather not cry over such sadness or pain.
It's not that I don't feel any emotions. Like a pebble, rounded and eroded by the waves over time, I've lived my life, carving away at my own hopes, expectations, and even my angular pride.
I've simply become numb, so most things are indifferent to me, and I try to let them slide, refusing to think about them. The fingers that had been tracing my neckline slowly trailed down the shoulder seam of my flannel gown before stopping there.
His soft voice continued.
“But I don’t think that’s what I wanted to see.”
It's still an unfriendly explanation.
I don't know if it's a sadistic impulse he feels when he sees something he likes, or a curious desire to explore various expressions. I'm confused about how to react to that peculiar feeling.
“I want you to cry because of me. Only in front of me.”
As I watched the cold-colored eyes turn cloudy, I felt a little afraid, wondering if they had transformed into an abnormal affection.
I've always thought that, since I'm a person who puts myself first, no matter how much I like a man, I should exclude him from my life if he hurts me and makes me regret it.
Human nature remains constant, so living together for a lifetime is tantamount to taking on a high risk. Forgiving someone who only did you good and then regretted it? Living in fear of being hurt again is a low return.
I indirectly warned him that it would soon be a moment of separation.
"You want me to get hurt and cry because of you? I could show you, but only once."
At my firm answer, his mouth, tautly drawn from side to side, twisted strangely. He slowly exhaled a warm breath, as if relaxing, then covered his mouth with one hand and let out a small laugh.
The sight was elegant yet cold. A red glow filled the corners of her eyes, giving the impression of a look of excitement and anticipation.
"You're harassing someone you like, not even a child? That's vulgar and ungentlemanly."
The moment I felt a strong arm wrapped around my waist, my eyes went dizzy.
My spinning vision finally settled on the fresco painting on the ceiling. Just as I realized Noah had lifted me by the waist and tossed me onto the bed, the bed sheets creaked against my back.
The bedside felt like it was about to sag, and the floor shook slightly like an aftershock. In an instant, he took over me, and he smiled in a way that was eerie and eerie.
Yet, he was calm and relaxed. His narrow, shining eyes, beneath his faded gray hair, looked down at me.
A sliver of sunlight filtered through the curtains, illuminating the profile of his face. The beauty of that shadowed face in this setting took my breath away.
His gaze, which had been looking down at me, leaning heavily on my arm, followed me persistently.
I closed my gown and averted my gaze like a weakling. He swept me over with a pleasing blend of tenacity and kindness, then whispered to me in a languid, quiet voice.
“I'm crying because I'm so happy. I wish you loved me enough to make you cry.”
My face slowly flushes. I can't seem to maintain composure. What on earth is that reaction? I'm the only one embarrassed again. I collapse, curled up in a ball, and bury my face in my knees.
“Are you crying?”
Noah crouched down next to me and gently patted my back. I raised my head, shrugging my shoulders.
“I’m not crying.”
“Yeah, you're not crying.”
“Did you want to cry?”
Noah's eyes seemed to sharpen at my resentful question, but then they relaxed. Still, his gaze left me with a chill, as if it were cutting my skin.
“Your expression looks like you’re about to cry. Are you scared?”
"No."
Soon, a soft voice, gentle yet threatening, reached my ears.
“I was worried I’d cry just looking at it. I haven’t done anything yet.”
The words whispered so close to me felt like my soul was being ripped out of me. I don't know why those words, so subdued, felt so sensual. Why was my heart pounding so wildly?
It was a bizarre provocation, a ferocious and dangerous seduction. The decadent, sultry man smiled reassuringly. The gaze of a predator watching its prey, which will eventually be devoured, and the sensuality that emanates from it. I couldn't handle the volley of sexuality.
How could a few words create such a dense atmosphere? Even with the curtains drawn, it was still daylight. I shook my head to clear my head and wiped my face as if I was washing it dry.
“I don’t cry over things like this. I’m not the type to cry easily.”
At my words, Noah's face gradually became expressionless. I couldn't understand why he seemed so disappointed. He quickly regained his gentle expression.
"Me too. I haven't cried since I was little. Do you?"
“No. I cried a lot when I was little. Mostly when I was angry.”
When I was young, I cried as I entered the empty house after my parents' funeral. Why did this have to happen to me? Why was everyone doing this to me? The resentment was greater than the sadness.
He, who was watching me reminisce, seemed to be lost in other thoughts.
“When I was little, when you were the size of a peanut. Before you were even born.”
He said, estimating the size with his fingers.
“When I was seven, I promised my mother that I would carry her on my back when I was a little older.”
"Yes."
"My mother was from a concentration camp, so she was smaller than you are now. I thought I'd be able to carry her when I was ten. But she passed away before then."
It was a lonely and sad story, but Noah seemed unfazed. He didn't even feel a hint of longing. I crouched down, staring at him as we sat across from each other.
"Since then, I've always tried to keep my word. When I can. I don't want it to become meaningless."
“So that’s why. Whatever you do, it goes smoothly.”
He was a man with a mad sense of execution. He suddenly came to his senses and found himself in the middle of an engagement ceremony. He, who rarely spoke about himself, spoke smoothly.
"Even when my parents died in an accident, I didn't cry. I was just upset that so many promises had become meaningless. My parents never taught me what it meant to grieve, so I didn't really know how to express it."
“They were kind parents.”
"Yeah. They always told me to show people a smile. I was a weird kid. I was always good at being gentlemanly, speaking in a friendly manner, and smiling sociably. But do you know what people said about me?"
“What did they say?”
Noah smiled at my question.
"They called me a devil. Because I was a nine-year-old who smiled instead of crying on the day of my parents' funeral. Because I was different from other people. Of course, no one calls me that anymore. This trait of mine was so effective in war that I was respected and even praised."
I thought his smile would be like the one a nine-year-old would wear at a funeral. He always has that consistent smile.
It was as beautiful as a delicately crafted silk flower arrangement. Noah slowly tilted his head and stared intently at me, as if observing my inner thoughts.
The corners of his mouth rose in satisfaction as I flinched as his sharp fingertips brushed against my neckline and traced it down.
There was a hint of joy in that smile.
"I've seen people cry so many times now that I know what it means. It's negative things like pain, suffering, and sadness."
“So... are you saying that it’s fortunate that I don’t cry much?”
“No. At first, I was tormenting you because I wanted to make you cry. You know that?”
“Yes, well... I don’t really care about it because it happened in the past.”
I would rather not cry over such sadness or pain.
It's not that I don't feel any emotions. Like a pebble, rounded and eroded by the waves over time, I've lived my life, carving away at my own hopes, expectations, and even my angular pride.
I've simply become numb, so most things are indifferent to me, and I try to let them slide, refusing to think about them. The fingers that had been tracing my neckline slowly trailed down the shoulder seam of my flannel gown before stopping there.
His soft voice continued.
“But I don’t think that’s what I wanted to see.”
It's still an unfriendly explanation.
I don't know if it's a sadistic impulse he feels when he sees something he likes, or a curious desire to explore various expressions. I'm confused about how to react to that peculiar feeling.
“I want you to cry because of me. Only in front of me.”
As I watched the cold-colored eyes turn cloudy, I felt a little afraid, wondering if they had transformed into an abnormal affection.
I've always thought that, since I'm a person who puts myself first, no matter how much I like a man, I should exclude him from my life if he hurts me and makes me regret it.
Human nature remains constant, so living together for a lifetime is tantamount to taking on a high risk. Forgiving someone who only did you good and then regretted it? Living in fear of being hurt again is a low return.
I indirectly warned him that it would soon be a moment of separation.
"You want me to get hurt and cry because of you? I could show you, but only once."
At my firm answer, his mouth, tautly drawn from side to side, twisted strangely. He slowly exhaled a warm breath, as if relaxing, then covered his mouth with one hand and let out a small laugh.
The sight was elegant yet cold. A red glow filled the corners of her eyes, giving the impression of a look of excitement and anticipation.
"You're harassing someone you like, not even a child? That's vulgar and ungentlemanly."
The moment I felt a strong arm wrapped around my waist, my eyes went dizzy.
My spinning vision finally settled on the fresco painting on the ceiling. Just as I realized Noah had lifted me by the waist and tossed me onto the bed, the bed sheets creaked against my back.
The bedside felt like it was about to sag, and the floor shook slightly like an aftershock. In an instant, he took over me, and he smiled in a way that was eerie and eerie.
Yet, he was calm and relaxed. His narrow, shining eyes, beneath his faded gray hair, looked down at me.
A sliver of sunlight filtered through the curtains, illuminating the profile of his face. The beauty of that shadowed face in this setting took my breath away.
His gaze, which had been looking down at me, leaning heavily on my arm, followed me persistently.
I closed my gown and averted my gaze like a weakling. He swept me over with a pleasing blend of tenacity and kindness, then whispered to me in a languid, quiet voice.
“I'm crying because I'm so happy. I wish you loved me enough to make you cry.”
I don't know what it means to love someone so much that you'll cry. First of all, I've never cried because of a man. I've never felt anything special about anyone in the past.
I'd just met him casually, without any expectations, so I'd thought, "I knew it, tsk." "I guess I'll live and die like that." Now, as I was recalling those distant, useless, and insignificant memories, Noah added something.
"But if you leave me again or we break up, then it'll really bother me. Then it won't matter since we're not related."
It had a rather cute feel to it, so I raised the corners of my mouth and smiled.
“How are you going to harass me?”
“I won’t let you eat pudding until you say you’ll see me again.”
“I'm scared.”
“Lock you in the room.”
“No, that’s really scary.”
The words that followed the cute tantrum felt ominous and made me shrug my shoulders.
It's okay to confine me, given my obedient nature, but I think it must be a very poor environment to not even give me pudding.
He said it as a joke, but it seemed a bit sincere, and he smiled awkwardly. Was my previous departure really that shocking?
He stepped aside and lay down, resting his arm on one of his arms. He turned toward me and pressed his body against mine. We stood facing each other, just enough that our breaths could touch.
“I’m going to give you that lemonade you hate every day, with no sugar. You don’t like it, do you?”
Oh, just thinking about it makes me sick.
When I briefly kissed Noah while he was drinking mulled wine, it felt fragrant and sweet, so I took a sip, but it was too sour for my taste.
Anyway, I don't want to break up with him either. No! We absolutely can't break up. It's my fault. Trapped in a world I don't know, alone, with no one to turn to and no one I know, it's only natural.
I hate being bothered, and I'm completely passive. No matter what anyone says, I'm going to selfishly and shamelessly cling to him and live off him. That's why I'm like that.
“On the other hand, Noah, what should I do if you break up with me?”
“I’ll give you a .32 caliber pistol, so kill me. You deserve to kill me.”
He's a very extreme man. It's incomparable to locking me up and not giving me pudding in the first place.
“I like you that much.”
He let out a deep sigh, his voice a bit like a sigh. There was a hint of resentment. His sharp, sometimes fiercely gleaming eyes were flushed with pity.
"Diana. I have my own preferences. Perhaps they're akin to greed, but I also know they're precious."
Perhaps Noah felt a kindred spirit in me. He wasn't completely devoid of emotions. Perhaps it was a necessary process, like discovering previously unknown emotions and giving them a proper name.
This man's need for affection might be due to my lack of expression and lack of facial expression. He observes people and reads their thoughts.
I tried to speak kindly and soothingly.
"Uh... I like you that much, too. If you break up with me, I can lock you in solitary confinement until you come to your senses. I don't like mulled wine, though."
"I'm thinking of being locked up with you and eating pudding. Since we've agreed to always be together, I'll suffer with you."
Noah's eyes widened. My words sounded like a joke, but my expression was serious. "We're going through this together," he said, and a chuckle escaped his lips.
“Is that bullying? Aren’t we bullying each other?”
"You said we needed time to get to know each other before getting married. I'll suffer with you when you're in pain, and I'll try to enjoy what you like. I think that way, I'll be able to understand you a little better."
A strange man, after a strange conversation, offered to try something strange. So, despite his dislike of sweets and frowning, he took a bite of my favorite pudding.
Lacking empathy, he has been trying to understand me in his own way.
I suddenly became curious about Noah's intentions and thoughts. I'd always thought it was strange, but I'd never bothered to ask.
He just noticed the scar on my back and didn't tell me what it was. He didn't even tell me in detail that we'd met before.
Noah was hiding a lot from me. I felt like it was all because he didn't trust me.
“Noah. You still don’t believe me?”
At my words, he smiled like an innocent boy.
“I don’t know. Thoughts aren’t visible on the outside.”
"I believe even when I can't see it. Your actions so far have made it so. So even if you're hiding something from me, I believe there's a reason."
This is a way of speaking I've learned over the years. Usually, speaking at this level would move me and make me open up, but that wasn't the case for him.
“Yeah. Keep thinking that way.”
Well... I've never done anything to earn his trust. I glanced at him with a sheepish look. Noah was staring at me with a relaxed expression. His cheek, pushed up as he rested his arm on his head, looked a little cute.
“Want to go for a walk? You wanted to see this place.”
He smiled languidly as I tilted my head at Noah's unexpected suggestion.
“If I stay any longer, I think something big will happen.”
Quickly grasping the big deal he was talking about, I pulled my gown up tightly, looking embarrassed. Perhaps the next step with this man is to build trust. While excessive trust can be detrimental to a romantic relationship, it's right to establish a foundation of trust.
But that promise was meaningless, and our relationship of trust regressed several steps due to Princess Erita, whom we met in the garden.
Comments
Post a Comment