|Tom's farm| 24.03.1178|
Naomi:
The same uncomfortable silence pervaded the room after those creepy words left his lips.
> > Was he seriously trying to charm me with that strangely subdued voice—Yuck, << I think to myself while he looks at me, probably startled by the way my gaze hardens.
Or is he?
No—he seems more like he's about to shrug, say "Well, it was worth a shot," and slap his thigh before continuing this one-sided conversation.
And he did—well, at least the last part.
"You aren't the chatty one, huh," he says, looking me up and down, his amused expression still there.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
"You're welcome," I say, my voice laced with sarcasm, to which he responds with a soft laugh—his voice sounding like a chime.
He holds up his hands in an admitting gesture, nodding. "Of course, where are my manners. Thank you very much for saving me..." He looks at me with an expectant glint in his eyes.
"Naomi," I continue, to which he shows signs of excitement.
It's as if he'd praise me with his gaze for simply interacting with him—what a cocky bastard.
"Well, thank you very much, Naomi," he says, though it sounds more like a chore to him. "My name is Yuki. It's nice to meet you."
Silence... for some reason, my brain turns off for a second. >> Yuki, << I repeat in my mind before regaining my composure.
"Nice to meet you too," I answer with a slight smile, hoping it'll make him stop looking at me so intensely.
To my surprise, he does—setting the book aside. My gaze follows him, wondering what he was reading. A flicker of recognition meets my eyes as I see the title:
'The Grand Malistian Civil War: A Cultural Retrospective'
It's a book that Tom has owned ever since he found and raised me. However, neither he, Misha, nor I have ever touched it.
Yuki clears his throat to get my attention, which I automatically give him.
"The medicine you provided me is truly outstanding," he says, running a hand through his obsidian-black strands.
"I would've been content if you'd just stopped the bleeding—but now the scars are gone too. Truly excellent," he continues, fingers brushing over his arms and legs where the bite marks and bruises used to be.
I watch him with a neutral gaze. Too tired—and especially too tired of him—to actually listen.
"Well, it's good that you're fine," I say, trying to stifle a yawn.
"Before you go," he says—despite the fact I hadn't made any move to leave—"I have a question for you."
I nod with a faint, inaudible sigh.
Actually, not even a sigh. I just imagine myself sighing.
"Why did you save me?"
My eyes widen for a split second. I hadn't exactly hidden my indifference toward him, but the question still catches me off guard.
"I mean, your expression was as clear as water when I rushed to you: you clearly weren't too fond of the idea of being heroic today. And judging by the way the man who healed me talked to you when he brought me to the table, I'm guessing you weren't even supposed to be out there," he says—not with curiosity or intensity, but like he's reading off a script only he can see.
"That means, in your position, from a logical perspective, there were already three major reasons why saving me wasn't an option:
1. Because you didn't really intend to do it out of self-interest.
2. Because no one would have noticed if you didn't do it, so there would be no consequences for you.
3. It could—and did—have negative consequences for you. As I said, it's pretty obvious that you shouldn't have been out there. Saving me and knocking on the door would've revealed that you were outside, leading to all sorts of consequences. Of course, from the current perspective, it's completely rational that the ultimate fact you saved a life would outweigh the disappointment of your escape. But in a situation like that, someone doesn't think that far ahead—especially not if, in your case, they're overwhelmed and stressed out. No, in such a situation, someone would always think of the direct consequences: If I save him, the person I live with will punish me."
I blink a few times. This wall of words is definitely overwhelming at first. I take a few seconds to reconsider everything he said, only to come to two major questions:
1. How did he notice all of this while his life was in danger?
2. What is his agenda behind this analysis?
Yuki raises his eyebrow, looking at me.
"So, why did you save me?" he asks again, with no provocation or intended malice behind his words. Just pure curiosity, it seems.
I, however, am sick of it already.
I've been confronted with too many issues today to actually think about my own reasoning behind it.
At first—why the hell is this brat so ungrateful? Why does he question my motives?
I let out a shrug.
"I don't know. Next time, I'll consider it logically then," I say, heading to the stairs.
I agree with my past self.
It was a mistake to save this guy.
Once I'm upstairs again, I let out an annoyed hiss. At this point, the fact that this guy irritated me so much has made the question of whether I'm going to sleep tonight completely redundant.
> > Or did it? <<
My gaze shifts to the blue glowing liquid in the glass bottle I usually store next to my drawer.
In it is extracted Marburake leaf oil. Marburake is a plant that grows on the plantations of our farms. The fruit, as well as the leaves, have an intoxicating effect on Eldorima—except angels, of course—and cause waves of relaxation.
I take a little more than 2 seconds until I nudge myself.
> > Yes, this will definitely help me sleep. <<
I take a sip of the blue glowing liquid, close the bottle again, and let it sink onto the desk before letting myself fall on the bed again.
Since I've consumed Marburake since I was little, I kinda need a little bit of time before it starts to work on me. In fact, I counted it: seven seconds.
6...
5...
4...
3...
2...
1...
My vision, usually clear and sharp, gets hazed as a slowly burning sensation spreads across my retina. My throat dries out, an effect that—though I don't find comfortable—I'm all too used to.
A soft smile spreads on my face, my tail wagging softly as I stretch my arms out.
This is the relaxation I've been waiting for.
I close my eyes, my mind empty and free. I can feel how my heart rate slows down and my breathing does as well.
Finally, I feel myself getting more and more tired.
But then something crosses my mind—one simple word:
Yuki.