teacher • kth

14: define

It was nearly 4 in the morning.

But I couldn't sleep.

I couldn't tell if it was because of what had happened earlier, or because I was trying to fall asleep in a bed that smelled like my teacher.

Either way, I was tireless.

I shifted this way and that, and even tried counting sheep for the first time in my life, but it was impossible to fall asleep.

The bed smelled like Mr. Kim, a mixture of lemongrass and something sweet.

But as I continued to roll around on the plush mattress, I heard a clatter come from outside my room, and I could've sworn on everything that my heart stopped beating.

Looking at the alarm clock on the beside table, it read 3:57.

There was no way Mr. Kim was still awake.

I completely forgot Mr. Kim's words to hide in the bathroom in the case of a break in, and I grabbed the lamp from his desk, holding it up over my shoulder, sporting it like a baseball bat.

Swinging my legs over the bed, I hopped off the tall bed silently.

I bit my lip when the floor creaked loudly, before tip toeing to the door.

I paused, taking a deep breath as I rested my hand on the doorknob, listening for any movement coming from outside.

I swung the door open, and lifted the lamp over my head, ready to swing on anything that moved.

But there was nothing. 

Mr. Kim wasn't on the couch, and there was no one else in the apartment.

Then there was another clatter.

From outside. 

I cautiously made my way to the balcony and moved aside the curtain, holding my breath as I waited to see what would pop out.

But instead, I found Mr. Kim sitting on a lounge chair on the balcony, smoking.

He threw his lighter to the ground after lighting another cigarette, resulting in the same clattering noise I'd heard earlier.

Just how many cigarettes had he smoked on this balcony?

I carefully set the lamp down on his coffee table, before grabbing a blanket from the couch and wrapping it around my body.

I slid open the balcony door, making him jump in his seat.

"Can't sleep?" I asked, pretending like I didn't see him stomp out his cigarette.

"You can say that." He mumbled, scratching the back of his neck.

His breath crystallized in the cold, December air, resembling the smoke that he was blowing out seconds earlier.

"Those smell terrible by the way." I hinted, looking out at the starry sky.

"Bad habit I've been trying to shake. Got started in high school, haven't been able to quit since." He sighed as he shoved the package into the pocket of his sweatpants, and I frowned.

"Why can't you quit?" I asked, and he looked up at me, his eyes glimmering in the moonlight.

"Don't know. I'm addicted I guess." He admitted, before ruffling his hair in frustration.

"They say it takes a month to break an addiction." I said, and he shook his head.

"Yeah, someone's been onto me about that before. Gave in on my 1st week." He mumbled.