Name of my Love | on hold

five

Name

He unlocks the door and pushes himself in, dragging me along. I stay stiff as his fingers still loosely graze the clothed skin of my waist, making sure that I walk without tumbling down.

The lights switch on automatically on our entry. And the interiors of his house comes into sight, leaving me awestruck. The whole living room seems very close to what a professional interior designer would decide to create for a graphic portfolio. The mahogany furniture matches with the doors and frames, along with creamy painted walls and an eyes-pleasing pattern of leaves printed on them. The dining table is placed at the extreme left, while the kitchen doorway invites us in front. A stairway to our right leads to the first floor. This is simply chic. It lures all the attention it deserves.

He notices the sparks in my eyes while I'm busy scanning our surroundings. He quirks his eyebrows at me, his head titling to the side. "Mind coming inside?"

He doesn't wait for my answer but pull out his white shoes, pressing his toe against the back of his other foot and repeating the same --shifting the roles of his feet. He gestures me to take off my sandals too, which I obey delightfully. He then walks towards the couch, pulling me along with him."Take a seat."

I quickly hop on the couch releasing an exasperated sigh of tiredness, ignoring his presence. He stands there, observing me for few seconds before he gets seated next to me. The comfy seat is pressed down. He quickly leans his head on the couch-back, closing his eyes. His sharp jawline comes to my view. I didn't notice he has such a prominent facial outline.

"It was a long day, " he whispers in a slight nasal tone, seemingly dog-tired, all thanks to me. I must have brought a lot of trouble for him. The wall clock shows thirty past nine already. So late.

"Sorry."

"Hey, I'm not blaming you."

He implies, hands running through his smooth hair. Eyes still closed. His lips stay glued against each with intention as he thinks about something. He then looks at me nonchalantly, gaze shifting slowly from my eyes to neck.

It is going down and down. It is getting nerve-racking to think of ---no, he isn't a pervert, right?

I gulp when his eyes stop wandering, somewhere on my tee.

"Seems like you need to wash up, my bedroom is the first door you'll come across the stairway. Bathroom is there to explore," he suggests, maintaining the delicacy in his voice, and adds, "there's one more room at the end, you can use its bathroom too, but it is not used regularly."

I guess, he was just looking at the blood stains. Nothing more or less.

"Okay," I say, slightly nodding my head. Cheeks hinting a vague blush.

His sharp senses do not fail to notice what is going on with me as he instantly adds, "um-don't hesitate to use the bathroom at all."

I'm feeling extremely stupid to be in a situation like this. It is not it, I'm stuck up in a house with a complete stranger, that too with a handsome one. What a perfect cliché?

"And yeah, about clothes, you can pull out some from my cupboard and you would find yourself a towel there, too, " He mutters, standing up. He slips his hand in his pocket and takes out his phone.