Madder Lake

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When she awoke from her slumber, she couldn't quite place where she was. The mattress was soft and pillowy, nothing like the straw mat she was used to, the room filtering in enough sunlight to make her squint. The rays were beaming down on her, the sunlight warming her pale skin. She stretches languidly before she remembers the events of the day before, the way he rescued her from harm, the way she saved him from a perilous death. She grazes her lips once more so as to relive the memory of the night before, before sinking her teeth into the plump flesh of her bottom lip, fighting off a smile before she sits up and dresses for the day.

Her wet clothes, which were laid before the fire the night before, were now dry, and she gingerly puts them on. On the desk across the bed, she catches a small mirror and she stares at her reflection for the first time, her dark brown waves loose around her face, the shape of her doe eyes, the fullness of her pout. She traces her reflection through the mirror, as though she can't believe it's truly her, stroking her own skin every now and then, incredulous at the image in front of her.

She shakes her head, embarrassed by how captivated she was with her own reflection, the dirtied mirror she was used to distorting her true image, the hues and undertones she witnesses through the lens, magnified. She ties up her loose hair into the signature bun she wears, the small wisps of hair falling out in the front, and she makes her way downstairs.

It's still early, and she can decipher that based on the way the sun is barely peeking through certain parts of Jeong Hyeok's home, how the patches of light have only just touched the velvet sofa, and the end table, but barely reaching the intricate patterned carpet. The smell of the smoke from last night still lingers in the air faintly, though the aroma of a particular breakfast she has grown accustomed to guides her to the kitchen, her stomach already grumbling from the wafting of the scent alone.

She's greeted by the back of her painter tending to the skillet over the flame, his broad shoulders masking the view in front of him. He has forgone his usual overcoat, donning only the white button-down shirt he wore to bed last night, the sleeves of said shirt rolled up to his elbows, unveiling the sinewy muscles of his forearms, the large tributaries of veins distended against his skin. She starts to approach him, but then holds back, a blush threatening to spill upon her cheeks as she remembers last night, but she decides to forgo her chagrin and makes her way towards him, only for him to meet her gaze first.

He stills, frying pan in mid-air, as he fights to keep her gaze, his eyes darting from her to different points of the room, the tips of his ears turning a bright shade of pink, her bashful painter caught once again serving his young maiden. He places the frying pan down on the counter and clears his throat before he begins.

"Did you slee-"

"Good morn-"

They both speak discordantly simultaneously, both chuckling at how their words jumbled at the sight of the other. He motions for her to continue, ladies first, as always.

"Good morning Jeong hyeok-ssi, did you sleep well?" She asks, her voice honey laden against his ears, the way in which his name leaves her mouth causing his normally pouty lips to curl up into a smile that he cannot possibly hide, for he was waiting for his name to be coated in the syrupy intonation of her voice. It takes him a moment to register her question, the manner in which she speaks leaving him entranced, the simple question she poses going straight over his head.

Clearing his throat, he chokes out "Yes, I did, did you?" in voice holding a fondness that she may think has grown overnight, but truly the earnestness in his gaze, the depth of his smile that has peeked through his skin, tell her otherwise.

Though brushed upon his cheek is a bit of soot likely from the night before, streaked across his cheekbone like a layer of blush, and she bites back of peal of laughter, catching her lips in between her teeth.

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