Zioh and I locked eyes. We were still tangled together, breathless, our bodies burning.
He exhaled, frustration tightening his features. I could feel my heart pounding like it wanted out.
“Zioh! For fuck’s sake! I’m bloody soaked and freezing out here!” Natasha’s sharp voice cut through again, her irritation obvious to anyone listening.
Zioh let out a long, heavy breath. “I’ll go out first,” he said, his gaze lingering on me, waiting for my answer, and I nodded.
“Natasha’s brought clothes for you. You can get dressed,” he murmured. When I nodded again, his eyes softened as he leaned in and kissed my forehead.
The moment he was gone, my body gave way. I stumbled, collapsing to the wet floor, my palm clutching my chest. “Ohh...hh…”
« -- * -- »
Once I’d finished dressing in the clothes Zioh had left outside the door, I stepped out. The outfit was soft and warm: a long knitted pink jumper and loose pants.
As I left the bathroom, my eyes swept his room. I glanced around, searching for him, but the luxurious space held no one. Until faintly, a low voice drifted from outside.
Drawn to it, I opened the door and slipped out.
The hallway led me to the living space at the corner of the floor. There he was, Zioh, now changed into black pajamas, his frame stretched across a long, plush sofa. He faced the wide television, and the window beside it stood open, revealing the cityscape glittering like a jewel box.
Noticing me, he turned his head, then patted the space next to him. “Come,” he called. “I’ve got hot chocolate for you.”
A small smile tugged at me. I walked closer, his calm presence so different from the fiery man I’d faced hours ago in the park or the past few weeks.
Now he seemed to be in a dominant white-gray phase.
But… still, I kept twisting my fingers until they hurt. I couldn’t stop thinking about when his dominant black phase would return. When would he strike again, hurting me all over?
My heartbeat quickened at the thought.
Yet, even with that, I met his gaze, mirroring his softness, and my breath began to steady again.
He adjusted the cushions and blanket before I sat beside him. Once I settled, he draped the blanket over my legs, then handed me the steaming mug of hot chocolate. “Thanks.” In his hands, a cup of tea still sent up curls of steam.
Silent.
We looked out through the vast window, where Jakarta’s city lights sparkled like a painted masterpiece. Towers gleamed in gold, white, and amber. I was hypnotized, curled up on the soft sofa, and wrapped in a thick blanket.
It was peaceful.
So peaceful I might have drifted off—if not for the low voice beside me pulling me back. “Thank you... and I’m sorry, Tshabina.” His husky murmur brought my head turning towards him, and my eyes found him.
“For what?” I asked.
“For coming,” he searched my gaze, “for being here, in the middle of the night.” He paused, and a flicker came in his eyes. “And I’m sorry… for all the things that weren’t pleasing you.” His tone was so soft, and I almost wished it would stay that way forever.
I turned his words over carefully.
Not pleasing?
Was he speaking about what we had just done? Or everything else—everything he had put me through before?
He had done many things thatweren’t pleasingto me. Yet earlier… Wasn’t it clear that I had wanted it too? That I’d needed it?
A thousand thoughts pressed at me, but I only gave him a small smile, nodding. I looked at the vast window again. Because right now, it was his turn to speak, not mine.
But when he stayed silent too long, I drew him out.
