Chapter 3

His bedroom smells like him, chilly due to his absence. Frost ran ahead of me and jumped on the bed, sniffing around and trying to absorb the lingering smell of his dad. I sighed, wishing I could do the same without looking like an obsessed creep. 

It's a big room, a platform king-sized bed occupied the place, he has window coverings here. Jju sometimes had problems sleeping, especially when he has a film project in the works. His days run into nights and into days, until his sleeping rhythm gets out of whack. He only managed to set it right again when he's writing. He told me once that he's more at ease when he's writing because he did not have to deal with other people depending on him as much as when he's involved in a film project. Writing truly was his calling, but he also has a passion for directing, which made sense because as much as Jju is generally a Zen person, he's bossy when he wanted or needed something to go his way - especially when he wants his project to fulfill the idea he's created in his head. 

The bedroom also features a walk-in closet the size of a regular bedroom, and Jju's minimalist ideology continued in there. Suits, dress shirts, shoes, all of them were arranged just the way he liked them. On a dressing table, there was a solitary bottle of perfume that he's used ever since I've known him. He's a creature of habit, my Jju. I picked it up and took a sniff. English pear & freesia; sweet, floral, with a hint of musk. I walked out of the closet, his smell was overwhelming there, and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. The ache in my chest grew until it became too much. 

I collapsed on the bed, sobbing. Everything that I was feeling was a tsunami that pulled me in the dark depths of the ocean. I couldn't breathe. It hurt. It hurt to know that I've been in his life for years, yet he felt such a disconnection to me. That he was the first person I think of in triumph and in failure. Because he knew what to say to keep me going and his assurances were the only thing I needed in the world, the food for my soul. I felt an utter despair with how stupid I must've look to everyone. All my life, I've felt I was the one in his life with whom he felt the closest. Only to find out that he couldn't even feel safe enough to confide in me. He couldn't even talk to me about his life outside of his career. 

Frost chose that time to climb on my chest, as if he sensed my anguish and wanted to comfort me. It only made me cry harder, so I sobbed quietly on his fur. Being on Jju's bed reminded me of the number of nights I drunkenly chose to stumble in to his place instead of mine. I've stayed here enough times that I've quasi-moved in to one of the bedrooms. I have clothes and toiletries of my own in the ensuite bath. But I can count on one hand the number of times I slept in that bedroom. I somehow always ended up in his bed and every time, he just grunted softly, which was his way of complaining, then went right back to sleep. 

Almost three weeks ago, after my latest album was heavily criticized, I ended up in a hotel room with a woman whose name and face I couldn't remember with a gun to my head. I felt such remorse deep down in my gut that I left like a thief in the night. Of course I went to Jju's place, especially that night when my ego was bruised, and feeling awful about the way I treated the nameless stranger. My sister would've disowned me had she known. 

It was 2 am, he was fast asleep. I stood at the foot of his bed and watched him. The moon was full, so there was a beam that shone on Jju's face. A sleeping Jju was a sight to behold, even though he snores, he always looks peaceful. And his face...nobody has the right to be that pretty while sleeping. It was unfair, yet there he was, undisturbed and dreaming of good things. Looking back, how had I not known that over the years, my feelings toward this man had transformed into something not at all brotherly but something else? I was still in denial, I suppose. 

I took my jacket off, then lay on my side of the bed. He woke up with a grunt, then tuned away from me. A few minutes later, he sniffed the air.

“Ugh, what is that smell?” He said, flopping back to look at me. “You smell awful. What is that?” He repeated.

“I had a few drinks, I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

He continued to sniff the air. “No, that’s not only alcohol and smoke,” he moved closer to me, nose in the air. His face changed to anger.

“Martin, go shower or sleep in your room.” He said with gritted teeth.

“It’s just alcohol, I’ve slept here smelling worse,” I mumbled, a little embarrassed. I sniffed my shirt, then my arms. Oh. There was a faint but distinct feminine fragrance, rosy and musky.

“I don’t care, go to your room or shower!” He said, louder than anyone should be at 2 in the freaking morning.

“Okay, sheesh.” I crawled away from him, discarding my clothes on my way to his bathroom. “Can you get me some change of clothes, please?” I heard him huffed, then the rustle of sheets as he got up.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath.

When I finished, he had a pair of pajama bottoms, a pair of underwear, and my favourite ratty sleep shirt in a neat pile by the foot of his bed. The sheets were changed, and all the dirty clothes were no longer on the floor. He couldn’t stand clutter, so he must’ve put them all in the laundry room.

“For the love of God, dry your hair.” His voice was muffled against his pillow. I have this habit of letting my hair air dry, but he didn’t like it when I sleep with wet hair, so he’d get the hair dryer and dry it for me.

“No, you do it.” I said, exhausted, bleary-eyed, drunk and a little heartbroken.

“No, not today,” he mumbled then sniffed. There was something in his voice that night. As opposed to sounding angry when he ordered me to take a shower, he sounded a little defeated. On the verge of crying even. My Jju was a sensitive person, he cries at movies, happy or sad or when he's too angry to express it into words. He doesn’t shy away from showing his emotions, unless he's facing an adversary then he'd have his poker face. 

“Please?” I begged softly. I wanted to feel him close to me, his warmth. Because I felt cold all over, on the verge of tears as well. The self-loathing was severe that night and he’s the only one who could make me feel better, like always.

“Fine, let’s go.” He left the bed again, his movements abrupt.

I followed him back to his bathroom, the lights turned on automatically as it detected our movement.

“Sit,” he ordered. I sat on a stool in front of his vanity mirror while he plugged in the hair dryer. I lay my head down on my arm, then closed my eyes. I sighed as soon as his small but capable hand touched my head.  His hand was a little cold but the gentle way he pulled my hair to dry soothed me. 

We didn’t say a word for a few minutes. His ministrations felt good, so good I wanted to let the tears come. But I held back, then raised my head up and stared at him on the mirror. He looked tired, if a little sad. His cheeks were rosy from sleep, lips full and puffy. He was wearing a pair of sunny yellow pajamas, hair mussed in a way that covered half his face. But still, the prettiest thing I’ve seen at almost 3 in the morning. The temptation to lean back on his chest was overwhelming but I didn't want to scare him. 

To my surprise, however, he pulled my head back to his chest. I closed my eyes, it was one of the greatest feelings I've felt in a long time, his even breathing was an instant panacea.  The tears fell anyway. 

When he was done, he didn’t move to leave right away. He stood there staring back at me on the mirror. Both his arms hung listlessly on his sides, his right hand held the hair dryer aloft, while his left hand closed in a fist like he was resisting the urge to touch me or punch me.  

“What did I tell you about bad reviews?” He said, voice deep and a little rough, the timbre rattled my insides like it always does.  He already knew why I was falling apart that night.

“How did you know?” I asked quietly, the back of my head still resting on his chest. 

He didn’t say anything, he just quietly set the hair dryer down on the vanity table. Then, he stroked my head with both his hands, scratching my scalp with his fingers exactly the way I like it. 

“Because there’s not a lot of things that sets you off," he murmured. "I read the review yesterday, and I predicted how you were going to react. I knew you were coming so I drove from the lake yesterday afternoon to make sure I was here.” I hung my head down, embarrassed again.

I felt him moved away, taking away my temporary warmth.

I stopped him as he was exiting the bathroom by barring the exit with my arm. 

“I told you time and again, you need to separate the message from the harsh delivery. You need to really get to the heart of the feedback even if it will hurt your feelings. It’s the only way you will insulate yourself from the constant critiques in our line of work. How do you think I’ve been managing my profession? Do you think I get positive reviews all the time?”

He ducked under my arm and left me standing there. His tone changed, from being sad and tired, to staunch resolve. I followed him to the bed where he immediately flopped down and got ready to try and sleep again.

“Do you mind sleeping somewhere else?”

And that’s when I knew something was wrong.

“Wha-what? No. I want to sleep here.” I stammered. I refused to believe he was mad at me for disturbing his sleep. Besides the fact that he never insisted before, I just know he was angry at me. 

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing…just. Whatever, stop talking,” he said then turned away from me.

“Jju, tell me.” I inched a little closer to him. He moved away.

“No, just go to sleep.” I inched a bit more, he moved away. We did that until he was on the edge, one more nudge and he’d be on the floor.

“Please?” I begged.

“Fine, back up.” He growled at me. After positioning ourselves in the middle of the bed, tucked the duvet nicely, he asked me where I went besides the bar for drinks. I didn’t want to answer, too embarrassed to say that I picked up a woman and we ended up having sex.

“Actually, it’s okay. I don’t want to know,” he said, sensing my embarrassment. “Just go to sleep.” He turned away, but I could feel his simmering anger. It was emanating from him. I knew him well enough to know that he would not be able to go to sleep until he has the answer to a question plaguing him.

I counted in my head.

1…2…

“Where did you go?” He blurted.

“No where, just walked around.” I lied through my teeth.

He stared at me for a beat. “Liar,” he said under his breath accusingly. He got up and as I move to follow, he said, “don’t. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay here.” He glared at me.

But I didn’t care. I never liked it when he’s angry at me, it made me feel like shit. He walked briskly out of the bedroom, to the hallway and to the kitchen where he grabbed a glass from the cupboards. His kitchen has one of those soft closing doors so he couldn't slam it close as much as he wanted to.

“Fine, just calm down," and that was the wrong fucking thing to say. He looked away, then softly set the glass down in the sink. Not even bothering to rinse it out and put it in the dishwasher like he how he always nagged me to do. 

Frost walked in, curious about the commotion. As soon as he saw me, he mewed at my feet, wanting to be lifted up. I grabbed him and held him to my chest, thankful for the distraction. "Your dad is mad me, Frost," I whispered, he licked my face in return. Jju left us in the kitchen. And because I was a coward, I didn't follow him. I slept on the couch that night. 

In the morning, he wasn't in the penthouse. He went back to the lake, taking Frost with him. He's been ghosting me for a couple of weeks. Dodging my calls and leaving me on read. Why didn't I go to the penthouse everyday? Why didn't I stalk him everyday until he could tell me why he was mad at me?

And now, he's missing. I'm miserable and hurt and he's not here to make me feel better. It was my fault he stopped picking up my calls. It was my fault our last words to each other were coloured with contempt, mostly on his end. And if that were the last things he said to me, I could never forgive myself. 

"They found him," James barged in, harried and looking distressed. "They said he doesn't look good, Martin. I've got ambulance on the way over there." 

I was frozen, tears still blurring my vision, my breaths came in fast. I was drowning from the inside. 

"Martin, move! We have to go!" James screamed. 

And that woke me up.