Zioh emerged, his hair damp, the fresh smell of shampoo and soap drifting to my nose. His eyes found me and studied me. He wore a black shirt and shorts, looked devastatingly good, and was so much calmer than before.
I stiffened. Had he realized I’d been wandering around?
But then his voice softened my unease. “Come. My office is inside.”
Relief flooded me, and I followed.
« -- * -- »
Zioh sat at his desk, pencil in hand. His voice was low and calm as he explained the next step of the project.
As I set up my tripod, my hands trembled. The storm inside me wouldn’t calm. The painting, his silence, the shifting of his ‘black phase’ against his ‘white’ tenderness—his grays.
I exhaled, releasing the breath I’d been holding. I wanted to ask him about everything, but I couldn’t. I had to approach carefully, peel back his walls little by little. All I wanted was for him to know I was here,still waiting.
I bit my lip hard, and my heart pounded faster.
“Stop hurting yourself.” His voice cut through the air, sharp, commanding.
My eyes shot up, startled, finding his sharp gaze fixed on me. He watched me. “Your lip.” He snarled. “You’ll cut yourself, Tshabina.”
Then his hand caught mine, steadying the camera. “The video won’t be steady if your hands shake like this.” He steadied me and noticed my hand shaking, though I hadn’t even realized it.
Since when had I been trembling?
The grip was firm, clashing with my cold skin. Slowly, those eyes lifted to meet mine, piercing deep. Our eyes locked, and for a moment, he looked unsettled… trembling.
His gaze flickered between my eyes and down my body. When it lingered lower, his eyes… faltered, and then he shook his head hard.
His voice deepened. “What’s wrong with you?” His eyes moved, studying me. “You’ve been restless all night. Do you hate that I brought you here?”
He straightened, towering over me, as if I couldn’t reach him. “Or are you afraid that Tsabinu will find out?” His tone dropped to a chilling hiss. “You don’t want him to know, do you?”
The dislike and the anger bled into every word. He dropped the pencil in his hand, his eyes narrowing as he focused on me. His breath quickened. “What does it matter if your brother knows, Tshabina?” His voice was cold, cutting. “Do I embarrass you?” He paused. “Or are you afraid he’ll lose control like your little friend did that time?”
Staying silent, I stared at him, desperately searching his eyes.
“Why? Do I make you feel ashamed?” His demand was glacial, his eyes growing wilder.
I still didn’t answer.
“Answer me!” he barked, fury spilling out. “Are you ashamed of me—”
I have gone insane. Completely insane. Because the next second, I let my heart in my chest speak for me.
Or, the pull to calm him down.
In one swift motion, I grabbed his shirt and pulled his lips down to mine.
My eyes fell shut as I pressed my mouth to him, holding him there for several seconds, willing him to calm down. When I pulled back, his hand shot up, seizing my nape and crushing his lips to mine again.
He groaned into the kiss. “Tshabina…”
I shut my eyes and gasped as he effortlessly lifted me, hauling me over the desk. “Zioh—”
He set me down on top of the table in one swift move, scattering his sketches beneath me. My heart raced. I sat on his precious work, but he didn’t seem to care.
“Tshabina—” he growled, biting my bottom lip before forcing his tongue into my mouth.
