Chapter 7:
Hearts at Odds
YULAN DIDN’T RETURN UNTIL late into the night, but he’d leave for work the next morning when the sun had barely begun to rise. The sky was a beautiful dark blue, with traces of night remaining, but he had no time to appreciate it.
He showered and got dressed; he’d take his breakfast in the car. Chesuit was determined to hear Yulan say “That was delicious!” after a meal, yet he’d received no feedback thus far aside from “Make me convenient food I can eat with one hand.” All Yulan cared about was having Violette’s wishes met; he didn’t care what Chesuit did in the kitchen beyond that. Still, it astounded him just how obsessed his chef was with impressing such an impossible critic. At least Chesuit was enjoying his daily recipe testing.
Yulan grabbed a random tie and put it around his neck, then he quietly pushed the bedroom door open. Even the doors of the old house glided open elegantly with little effort. When they’d first moved in, those doors had squeaked unpleasantly now and then. Now, though, the house seemed lived-in anywhere you went inside it. That was a testament to just how long they’d resided there.
The surface of the warm lump in the bed appeared to move up and down gently. Just the sight made Yulan’s whole day seem blissful before it even began. It was a peaceful, content feeling, like warm softness filling his chest. He couldn’t help but smile, reveling in the coziness. He shook his head at himself for being so simpleminded, scorning his foolishness. Then he realized he didn’t mind being a fool for the rest of his life.
She’s sound asleep…
He tiptoed carefully to the bed to see Violette’s hair trailing out from the light-pink sheet, seemingly melting into it. He traced her tresses with his eyes until he saw snow-white skin. Her downturned eyelashes vibrated faintly with every breath, but there was no sign of stress or anguish. She breathed daintily, the space between her nose and mouth hidden by her hand.
Sleeping under the soft covers like that, curled up like a little child, was a longtime quirk of Violette’s. But even when she fell asleep this way, when Yulan woke in the morning, he always found her curled in his arms. He’d asked once if that was uncomfortable for her, but she said she crawled into his arms in her sleep, so there was no need to correct it.
He sat beside her pillow, yet she didn’t wake. Yulan couldn’t remember how long it had taken her to learn to sleep through this. He’d always been a light sleeper, but Violette was extra sensitive to human presences. When they’d first started sharing a bed, they often stayed up all night reminiscing about the past, unable to sleep. Yulan still remembered well the pathetic panic he’d felt when Violette, worried about his lack of sleep, suggested separate bedrooms.
“Maybe she’s a bit pale…”
His fingertips traced her eyelids, barely touching them. He watched Violette sleep like this every morning, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her awake. Her complexion looked a bit white, and he had a feeling it wasn’t just because she was asleep.
He knew how much she worried. Not only about her friend’s upcoming delivery but about how Yulan would feel about the baby. This wasn’t because she was deeply perceptive; Violette and Yulan shared a past, so it was easy for her to imagine how he felt. She knew what it was like to suffer abuse from the people whose hopes you’d dashed; her life story was the same.
He felt incredibly guilty. For making her feel lonely, for concerning her. He thought it was a real shame. She shouldn’t need to worry about any of those things.
“You have the heart of an angel, Vio…”
His fingertips were cold, very cold, so he surely wasn’t touching her. Yulan couldn’t feel her warmth, so he would stay cold always. But he’d take her cold away everywhere, endlessly.
Whatever the baby was like, and even if it was tragically stillborn, it wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter whether it had golden eyes, whether it was a boy or girl, whether it was a joy or a disappointment, whether it hurt people. He neither loved nor hated it; he didn’t resent it; he didn’t even envy it.
He didn’t care. He had no interest. Even now, it just didn’t matter to him.