Chapter 27
The hour grows late. I stare at the food laid out on the table, now cold.
Where is he?
Is he not coming home tonight? And if so, wouldn’t he have let me know in advance?
He would have. If there’s anything I’ve learned about Nykander in the last week, it is that he’s a man of his word.
Does that mean something happened to him?
I shouldn’t care…right? After all, just yesterday while he was at work I was out looking for a new job. But the more I think of the way he treated me—always kindly and with respect—the more guilty I feel for being so apprehensive about him.
With the incident in the washroom still fresh in my mind, I’ve tried my best to avoid him in the last week. But it’s impossible to completely do so when we live in the same house.
Yet every single interaction we’ve had has been a positive one, reinforcing my belief that he must have been delirious that time and thus not to blame for his actions.
Slowly, I started seeing him in a different light; or, rather, I started to wonder if my initial fears were misplaced and only a result of my trauma. I was so terrified and heartbroken that night that every single thing looked threatening to me.
Now that I’ve had more time to think on it, I realize that perhaps I have not only misjudged Nykander but I have also wronged him with my attitude.
I’ve been chilly and reserved with him, rarely saying more than a few sentences before ending the conversation and leaving the room. Yet he never seemed to mind.
I have no doubt he noticed my apprehension, but he never mentioned it. Instead, he doubled his efforts. He was kinder and softer to me.
Pacing around the kitchen, I can’t help but stare at the clock. It’s the middle of the night and he’s still not here.
What if he got hurt? Perhaps bandits accosted him on the way home?
He’s always walking back and it can get dangerous, especially after dark.
Although I haven’t spent much time outside the Mortal District, I’ve heard tales about how dangerous that world is.
While in the Mortal District there are the regular vagrants and addicts that can have violent outbursts, the outside districts have the immortals who can cause destruction on a massive scale.
I may not be very knowledgeable about the different levels and what not, but even I know that there are countless low levels immortals out there. Nykander said his abilities are limited, so even those people could hurt him.
The more I think of those scenarios the more I worry about him.
“He’s fine,” I whisper to myself. Perhaps he just stopped to meet someone, or maybe he went out with his colleagues after work. If it was a spontaneous decision, he couldn’t have known in advance to announce me, right? Although he’s never mentioned a friend before.
Lost in my thoughts, I jump up in surprise when the door opens. Nykander strolls inside, his long coat wrapped tightly around his body.
I quickly scan him from head to toe, noting that aside from a small scratch on his cheek he seems to be fine.
He blinks in surprise when he sees me.
“Moe, you’re still awake?”
I nod. “I was waiting for you.” I glance at the food. “Although dinner is cold now.”
His eyes widen. “You… You’ve been waiting for me all this time?”
Another nod. “I did not know when you’d arrive,” I murmur. “Are you still hungry? Let me warm up the food for you.”
I grab the plates from the table and pour the food back inside the pot to warm up.
“You didn’t eat until now either?” He asks from behind.
“I was waiting for you,” I simply state, though a moment later I frown. He’s right. I should have eaten when I realized he was going to be late—hours late. But I didn’t. Why?
“You shouldn’t have.” He sighs. “I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. I did not think it would take this long.”
The food is on the stove, the stew inside the pot slowly heating up.
I glance surreptitiously at him. The urge to ask where he’s been until now and what he’s been doing is almost unbearable.
But I don’t. It’s not my business. I clench my hands tightly and shut my mouth, silently waiting for the food to be done.
“Let me help you.” His voice is close—far too close. I almost jump out of my skin when I feel his presence behind me.
We each get one plate and fill it up with the warm food before going back to the table.
He barely sits down when he starts wolfing down the food with alarming speed.
I blink.
“Did you not eat anything until now?”
He shakes his head, his mouth full. Swallowing, he adds, “I didn’t have the time.”
No…time? What could he have done until now?
“This is wonderful as usual, Moe. Thank you. But please, next time don’t wait up for me. You can just leave the food on the stove and I’ll heat it up myself.”
My fork falters in the air as I look at him.
“Next time?”
He nods. “My schedule will be a little more chaotic from now on so please don’t wait up.”
“I see. Have your work hours changed?” I ask before I can help myself.
You don’t need to know this, Moe. You’re already planning to find another job as soon as possible.
The least I know about him the better it will be in the future when I’ll have to leave—the guilt won’t be as bad.
Guilt…?
This is the first time the word guilt has registered in my mind, especially in relation to me leaving. At first, I couldn’t wait to find a new place. Then, I got used to being here; to being complacent. Now I feel guilt?
I gulp down uneasily.
“No. My work is the same,” he answers casually, popping a piece of bread in his mouth.
“Oh.”
“It’s just a few meetings per week that might run a little late.”
“Meetings,” I repeat in a low voice. “For work?”
“Not…really,” he says sheepishly.
My gaze snaps to his.
“Who are you meeting then?” I blurt out.
Eyed wide with shock, I belatedly realize the nature of my tone and the inappropriate line of inquiry. He seems equally as surprised.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that. It’s none of my business.”
Mentally, I berate myself for this entire interaction. I’ve been incredibly tense ever since he missed dinner and then came home so late. Why, I cannot tell. But the more I listen to him talk so casually about coming home late in the future too, the more I get annoyed.
He said he doesn’t have friends. He said he doesn’t have family. So who the hell is he meeting with? For hours on end, too. His work ends in the afternoon. It’s been almost ten hours since he left work. Ten hours to meet with someone? And do what?
“I don’t mind it,” he replies. “It is your business, too. After all, we live together, and we are friends, are we not?” The last question is in a low, doubtful tone.
Are we?
“We are,” I mutter.
In reality, Nykander has been a better friend to me than I’ve ever had before—certainly a better one than I’ve been. All this time I’ve been scheming to leave, thinking of him as this imminent danger while he’s done nothing but be nice to me. In return, I’ve been a bitch to him.
I shamefully look away as I realize just how bad my behavior has been. He saved me and I treated him with suspicion. It’s not fair to him at all. And now I’m interrogating him as if I have a right to know everything he does in his spare time.
“I took on another job. It doesn’t have set hours, so I don’t know when I’ll be away. But it pays very well,” he adds proudly.
A feeling of relief hits me straight in the chest: it’s not another female.
Huh? Where did that come from?
But before I can examine that further, it dawns on me the reason why he had to take on another job: me. He not only has another mouth to feed, but he also needs to pay me a wage.
“Why would you need another job?” I ask him directly. He’s a public servant—already a respectable job. He should earn quite a good salary.
He bites his lip shyly. “My job at the War Department is an entry level one so my wage is not significant. I also want to save up more money for the future.”
I nod slowly. That makes sense. I did not think about the disparity between entry-level jobs and senior-level ones. He’s in his first year as a public servant, so it wouldn’t be that much.
“It’s not because of me, is it?”
“No, no, please don’t even think of that.”
“All right,” I murmur. I shouldn’t pry anymore. “Is it possible to let me know when you’ll be late? To prepare food that will be good reheated,” I lie.
Goodness, Moe, that’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard!
But how could I say that I need to know so I will not worry? That would reveal far too much.
“Some errands might be last minute, but I will do my best to let you know when I will be late,” he says with a smile.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He musters a smile, though it feels a bit forced. Just as he finishes his food, he suddenly stands up.
“I—” He bites his lip. “I’ll go to bed now. Thank you, Moe.”
Before I can reply he’s gone, only the faint rustle of clothes remaining in his wake. I blink. Perhaps he’s tired since he’s been working so late.
In his hurry, he also placed his empty plate in the sink.
My lips twitch as I clean the rest of the table and wash the dishes.
Wiping my hands clean, I get ready to turn off the light and go to bed.
But as my hand reaches for the light-rune, I falter.
My eyes are drawn to the floor, where a trail of red drops forms from the kitchen into the hallway.
I follow the trail slowly until I reach Nykander’s door. The red drops hide beneath the door, continuing on the other side.
My knuckles rap on the door, hesitant at first before growing in urgency.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Moe!” Nykander calls out from inside the room. “Good night.”
That’s entirely unlike Nykander. Whenever I’ve taken the initiative before—albeit not too many times—he’d tripped over himself to be accommodating. Hell, he did not even need to clean his own plate, but he did so. Something is wrong.