Still winter.

My enthusiasm is flagging by the minute.

Anyway, I intend to feed Cold Hot CEO today…so scroll below for the latest…
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    *plays intro of Winter Sonata theme on a piano sitting randomly in the snowy road*

    7
    0

    “You’ve cut yourself.”
    I look down at my hand.
    Perfect.
    It’s the exact spot where Seol hurt herself in Cheese in the Trap.

    My nose has stopped bleeding, it’s kind of numb now, maybe because I pressed it for twenty minutes straight into CH’s broad muscled shoulders.
    CH stands for Cold Hot. It’s my nickname for him.

    His shirt is all bloody now. It’s got my DNA on him. How romantic is that? I’ll bet he’s never going to wash it. He’s going to keep it in a drawer and sniff it when he misses me.

    “Babe.”
    He blinks.
    It’s a worried kind of blink.
    It warms my starved little errand boygirl’s heart.
    “Yeah?”
    Holy shit. He’s even responding now. Not that he never responded before, but it was more yearning looks, frozen gazes, tongue-tied pain, that kind of thing. He is verbalizing his love now. Omg. It took a bloody nose to break down his wall.

    “Babe, maybe you should dress my wound.”
    “Huh?”
    “Yeah, like dab it with a swab, and put a band-aid on it.” Yoojung did that so perfectly. Park haejin Oppa, I love you. Maybe I should call CH Oppa instead of Babe. Hm.

    “But it’s just a tiny cut,” he says hesitantly, and licks his lips. They’re cracked, and turning a bit blue at the edges. He’s running low on blood sugar. All that running must have drained him dry.
    “No, no.” I point to the sink. “I may get blood poisoning. You’ve got to clean it. Now.” I bark the last word.

    He stands up at once. He responds best to one-word commands.

    He sweeps me up in his arms in a fluid, graceful motion.

    I’m not being completely honest here.

    The truth?

    1. He can’t NOT sweep me up in his arms. I have my errandboy’s super-strong buffed arms and corn-hardened fingers locked around his neck in a death grip, and
    2. He’s anything but graceful or fluid; he kind of lurches to his feet like Frankinstein high on soju, and staggers and rocks for a bit.

    But he’s so gorgeous. Beads of sweat run down his smooth cheeks, flushed a little, because he’s clearly overcome having me – finally! – in his arms. I can feel his heart thumping beneath his blood-soaked tee.
    “Felt that.” I whisper in his ear, and he blinks. Aw, he’s so adorable.

    He washes my delicate little hand under running water.
    “You’ve got calluses.” Hm. Maybe it’d be better if he doesn’t talk.
    “Yeah,” I say bravely, and make my lips tremble. It’s kind of hard, and all I end up doing is to stretch a dried crack. I can taste salt on my tongue. Shit. I’m bleeding all over.
    “Hey, babe.”
    He flicks a glance at me, and yelps.
    “You’re bleeding.”
    “Yeah. I was going to tell you that. Kiss it away.”
    “What?”
    “Kiss. It. Away. My bleeding mouth. Like Twilight.”

    He slaps a wet hand over my mouth, and keeps it there for a bit. It’s like he can’t bear to hear me talk anymore, it’s breaking his heart.
    He only releases his hand after I gag and start going into cardiac arrest.
    I gulp in mouthfuls of air.
    “Geez, babe. Do you want to kill me? I’m too young to die. We still haven’t made out.”
    He sets me on my feet.
    “Babe.”
    He stares at me.

    11
    4

      “His shirt is all bloody now. It’s got my DNA on him. How romantic is that? I’ll bet he’s never going to wash it. He’s going to keep it in a drawer and sniff it when he misses me.”

      Me: ………..did I read that correctly? *rereads*
      That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever read about.
      *takes notes just in case I write a novel about hot serial killers in the future (don’t worry, I’ll remember to credit you!)*

      8
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      So much stuff happened….and he has yet to eat……

      7
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      Ah, the voice of youth! Given my age, I was thinking Fatal Attraction and *something* boiling in a pot…but you go with Twilight and a taste of blood on the lips…

      Wow! Can’t wait for our OTP to consummate that most intimate act…eating together!

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      “I need a band-aid.”
      He stares.
      He may have a hearing problem.
      “I. Neeeed. Aaaaa. Baaaannnd. Aiiiidddd.”
      He still stares.
      “Band. Aid. Now. Go. Get.”
      He’s half-way to the furthest cabinet even before I’ve barked out “Get”.
      I tiptoe to him on my cute little itsy-bitsy skinned toes.
      He fishes out a drab- looking skin-coloured band-aid, and offers it to me.
      I stare at him sourly.
      It reminds me of my missing layer of toe skin.
      “Gimme a cute one.”
      “What?”
      “It’s not cute enough. I want one with cartoon faces. Cute little kitty faces.” I roll my eyes till they show white.
      He gulps. Rummages desperately in the drawer.
      He’s so sweet. He’s worried I’m going to get blood poisoning. Beads of sweat are streaming down his tight Ingeuk tee. I lean in and take a sniff. Whoa. Powerful stuff. I’m heady already. Can I bottle up his sweat in a peanut butter jar and carry it around with me and sniff it in between errands?

      “Got it!”
      He’s brandishing a Hello Kitty band-aid.
      “Yay!” We beam at each other. It’s like we’re having a moment.
      But then I think of something.
      “Babe.” My face has gone very still. It’s like that scene when Seol finds out Yoojung beat the crap out of that creep in the alley.
      He blinks, the beam on his face wavering…and yup, it’s gone.
      “Why would you have a Hello Kitty band-aid in your drawer?”
      He scratches his head.
      It would be so cute if I wasn’t so pissed off.
      “I asked you a question.” My nostrils are flaring. A caked dollop of dried blood flies out and lands on my arm. I flick at it coldly. I raise my serial-killer eyes to his face.

      “It’s my – my girlfriend’s.”
      And just like that my bad mood disappears.
      I beam at him.
      “That’s great.”
      Phew. I was worried he likes Hello Kitty. Cold Hot CEOS are not allowed to like Hello Kitty’s. It’s bad for their image.
      Girlfriend?
      Oh, yeah.
      Perfect. It’s just like the dramas. The mean beautiful rival. The arranged engagement. His first love. I am super excited. Girlfriend? No sweat. It’s my thing. I grew up on bitchy girlfriends. Bring it on, babe.

      “Bring it on, babe.” I say it out loud and wink at him.
      He blushes.
      Omg.
      “Um, should I – ” He looks at my cut.
      My smile sours a little. Yoojung never asked Seol. He just tookher hand and slapped on that band-aid coolly. That’s when her heart fluttered.
      I nod. I think I am glaring at him.
      He rips open the band-aid carefully.
      “Wait.”
      He pauses.
      “Hold my hand.” I thrust my hand into his face.
      Hesitantly, his hand stretches.
      Omg. Will I have to wait ten tears for him to hold my hand?
      I grip his hand. Tight.
      “Ouch,” he whimpers.
      “Hold. My. Hand. Now.” I hear the steel in my voice.
      He holds my hand.
      “Tighter.”
      He grips it until it’s numb. Bloodclots start popping up all over my dry rhinoceros skin. Damn. I need to get more of that cheap cooking oil. It has wonderful moisturising properties.

      He puts the band-aid on my cut. His fingertips are so light and feathery. He looks up into my eyes, and I look down into his.

      9
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        *grabs sheet music to play You Are My Destinyyy on the piano*

        7
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        My stomach rumbles, on cue.
        Perfect.
        There’s always something to interrupt The Moment. A door banging. The phone ringing. An explosive, earth-shattering fart. Hey, I’m real, okay. I’m an errand boygirl. I fart to relieve stress. I fart all the time, quietly, between errands. It’s liberating. A fart a day keeps the blues away.

        “Cook.” I mouth cutely.
        He nods.
        He runs to the island.
        He wants to get away from me. His heart is pounding in his absy chest. That tee is so tight I can see abs ripple like waves every time he moves.

        “Hey, babe.”
        “What?” He’s cracking eggs into a bowl. Finally.
        “Why don’t you strip?”

        He stops beating the eggs.
        He stares at me. He’s always staring. I can see myself in his eyes. I look like I’m on fire. My untamed hair is a jagged flame.

        Nah. Just kidding. I can’t see myself. His eyes are too dark. They’re black pools of lust. I read that description somewhere. I’ve always liked it

        “Why? Do you want me to strip?”
        Okay, let’s pause for a sec and analyse this.
        “Why do you want me to strip?
        “Why? Do you want me to strip?”
        See?
        It’s…different. Break it up into two questions, and it gets kind of sexy.

        “I just thought you’d be more comfortable…I mean you’ve got blood all over your shirt.” My blood. It’s. So. Romantic

        “It’s okay. I don’t mind…having your, um, blood, all over me…”
        Is that a ghost of a smile in his eyes? “I’m more comfortable wearing a shirt,” he pauses,” in front of you…”

        He’s smiling. His eyes are crinkling, his lips are twitching. I start scraping off the coating in the non-stick saucepan to stop myself from kissing him.

        He’s frying the eggs.
        He’s making an omelette.
        He’s good.
        He flips it in the air and catches it.
        I clap, and remember to jump cutely like a moron. He laughs. He looks pleased. I’m wearing him down, chipping at that wall
        Soon we’ll be making out in his bedroom.

        We sit, and eat across from each other.
        “Wait.” I lean over and squirt a smiling face over his omelette. I leave mine alone. I hate tomato. I saw this in a Japanese drama. The hot chef squirts a smiling face over the heroine’s omelette. That’s how they fall in love. He keeps on wanting to feed her. After a long time, maybe 8 episides, he realises it’s because he’s in love with her

        I stretch my foot, calluses and all, and pretend to touch his foot by accident. He doesn’t move it. He lets me tap it, nudge it, and still, he doesn’t do anything, I look at him and he’s chewing his omelette resolutely, it’s missing an eye now. My toes are doing the walking-up-a-hill thingy now. It’s painful, because I think I fractured them last year, when this 200-pound box fell on top of them, and they looked kind of weird after that, all curled up, and stiff.

        So anyway, he doesn’t bat an eyelid, and my toes start climbing higher and higher, until I’m almost at his knee, and omg, it hurts so bad, the tendons behind my kneecap are about to snap…
        And…
        He stops eating.
        He puts down his fork and knife and he looks right into my eyes.

        9
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        You know everyone …
        Can I bottle up his sweat in a peanut butter jar and carry it around with me and sniff it in between errands? – this SOUNDS insane… but this is what the fans of Roman Gladiators did. They wore vials of their favourite Gladiator’s sweat around their necks.
        So. Not that insane.

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