He could still see her. The neighbor girl who had lived in the apartment above him. She’d been a kind person. Once, as a child, he’d been picked on by a group of older boys, and she had come to his defense, whisking him into her apartment for a few minutes. He’d stayed there until her boyfriend had arrived. He’d been furious with her for letting a “filthy, little boy” into his apartment.
This time she had protected him from that violent man by gently pushing Yoongi out into the hallway. A moment later, he had heard a sickening thud on the other side of that door. Then, the man’s voice raised in anger again. But Yoongi had never heard her voice again. Three weeks later, she’d been found by the police. Out by the dumpster. It still made him sick to think about it.
All of that horror was reflected in his eyes now as Stasia looked at him.
“She was a sweetheart,” he whispered. “And she was gone too soon. Way too soon. All because of some—,” he spoke a curse word. Not a nice one. He shook his head as he felt a tear sliding down his cheek. “He never got what was coming to him. He’d cleared out before the police could find him. And she kept to herself, so no one even knew his name.” He felt like sobbing again. “Please,” he whispered, “don’t lose yourself like she did. You are too precious for that.”
Her eyes were transfixed on the tear sliding down his cheek. Had she ever seen a man cry before? Not in person. She’d seen the Bangtan Boys crying in various videos. But she had never stood in front of a man and seen his actual tears. She had the strangest impulse to reach out and touch that tear.
Suddenly, she acted on it. She forgot that Suga of BTS was standing in front of her. She saw only a sweet boy named Yoongi breaking his heart over a dead woman. She saw a tender-hearted man possibly crying over her own pain and peril too. He so moved her heart that she had to touch him.
She reached out slowly and lifted her hand to his face. She moved so ploddingly that Yoongi had time to pull away. But he didn’t. Instead, he watched that hand coming for him. He had time to anticipate her soft touch. Still, when it came, its gentleness surprised him. Caught him off guard. And made his stomach flip upside down. Her fingers hovered over his jawline, just barely touching him, as her thumb brushed his tear away. He trembled under that touch.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered simultaneously. “I’m sorry you lost her.”
Then she heaved a big sigh. Her hand rested against the curve of his face as she stared into his eyes. The eyes that, in photographic form, had comforted her on more than one occasion. Here were the eyes she had drawn such strength from. Time and time again. Now she was touching him. His soft skin. She didn’t want to let go of him. But she should. She didn’t own Yoongi. She wasn’t his girlfriend. She wasn’t even his friend. Reluctantly, she began to pull away from him.
But Yoongi wasn’t having it. He reached up and covered her hand with his own, drawing her warm palm back against his skin. He felt like he was connecting with her. With another human being outside his usual circle of friends. He and she were connecting on a deeper level than normal.
Questions filled his mind. Were they drawn to one another because of some answering echo in her own soul? Or just the painful similarity of their circumstances? When the danger had been averted, would they still have anything in common beyond the problem at hand? Was he simply feeling compassion for a fellow human being in need? Or was it something more?
In this moment, perhaps the answer didn’t matter. Of paramount importance was her safety. Now and in the weeks to come.
