Inside the house, a yellow light has painted a feeling of warmth and coziness that Camila is gracious for as she slowly walks in the direction a semi-drunk pointed at. He had given her a fuzzy smile, mischief hanging onto the curled ends of his lips. Camila brushed the feeling off and just nodded. She walks past the arched hole in the wall, entering the kitchen and dining room space.

The kitchen is to the far left of the room. A pristine white quartz island stood, filled with warm dishes that hailed smoke to the sky. Slate-gray cabinets with black handles that Camila could only imagine matching the cabinets close to the floor.

A heavy contrast to their color disaster kitchen. Behind the island moved Yohan, his back facing Camila as he moved back and forth from the stove to the white counters. She moves to the wall, places her back on it, and stands quietly observing Yohan.

Yohan only turns to meet her face when he places a hot green-like dish on a wooden board on the island. He looks up, their eyes meeting each other initiating a silent staring contest. Yohan’s heart elevates, frantically beating until Camila is convinced it might jump from his ribcage and land on the island. It’s exhilarating.

Camila moves from the wall, nearing him and pointing to the dishes, “Do you need any help? Figured that since you’re the only one in the kitchen you’d like some help.”

“Uhm…tomatoes. I need some tomatoes from the fridge.” He says pointing to a black fridge in front of him.

She walks to the fridge and grabs two plump red tomatoes. Camila carries them in one hand and just as she’s about to place them on the counter, Yohan reaches for her hand engulfing them in warmth. Camila has never considered her hands as small even if they were chubbier than Marie’s. Yet when Yohan held them, they were gone. The brief contact sent a shiver up her spine, and after he’d pulled away she could still feel her skin run hot.

“What are you cooking?”

“Traditional foods from our motherland”, he responds while skillfully moving a skillet of caramelized purple onions that slowly turn into light purple. “Marie had told Nico about some of your favorite dishes and I’m…recreating them.”

Camila moves away from the kitchen counter, sparing Yohan a glance then turning to the white island. Her senses had ignored the similar dishes her grandmother poured her heart over when they’d arrive from school or any outing they’d attend.

Smashed plantains turned into a paste of sweet flavors. A small dish of fried eggs, with both hard and soft yolk followed by a dish of fried salami all laid out in a circular pattern. To the corner of the island is what appears to be a casserole, but she focuses on the filling and sees ground beef, sweet plantains, and shredded cheese.

Camila stands over the dishes, feeling an unfamiliar warmth spread through her cold veins. It’s not hunger, but it makes her run hot. Her knees buckle lightly, and she places her palms on the island to hold herself. She stays still for a few moments, smelling the scent of herbs and spice mixed with Yohan’s scent. When Camila turns around, Yohan is looking at her, with the stove turned off, and an odd glint in his eyes.

She stays silent, unsure of what to say. ‘Thank you’, seems too simple for this gesture, not intimate enough. ‘It looks delicious’ is not correct. Camila has no appetite for human food, and despite it looking delicious, it’s not enough to put her feelings into words. She wants him to know her sincerity and give Yohan a small glimpse of her gratitude. She settles with an unoriginal question, giving her brain time for a better response.

“Where’d you learn to cook?” She asks.

His shoulders drop, “Korea. My grandfather dreamed of being a chef so he had many recipes and cooking advice stacked for his future grandkid.”

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Camila's mouth forms an “o”, and she nods at his words and then smiles. “Seems like you’re using those recipes and advice well.” She takes a brief pause. “My grandmother would’ve liked that.”

Camila stiffens at her own words, “I just meant that she…she would’ve enjoyed your appreciation of…”

“I know”, is all Yohan says, with a soft voice. His cheeks are slightly red and Camilla finds herself swelling with pride. She’s made him blush with a few over-said words.

“I will return the favor.”

Yohan gives her a chuckle, folding his arms on his chest making his muscles flex. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” She murmurs to him. Her tone is soft like she’s pleading, borderline begging to let her make it up to him.

Yohan’s eyes darken at Camila’s voice, jaws clenching until he lets his arms drop and takes a step forward. There’s still a large gap between them yet Camila feels as though he’s right in front of her, nose touching nose. Camila's heart pumps at an inhumane pace, almost mirroring Yohan’s who despite his calm exterior demeanor, is panicking inside. “When?”

Yohan’s voice is soft, gruff but soft. The jazz music playing in the living room is soft enough that she hears him but she’s sure the others do not. “Anytime you’d like.”

He smiles, the ends of his lips curled, and he takes another step until Camila’s lower back is cutting into the edge of the white island. He takes another one, and Camila slowly leans back, head elevated to meet and keep eye contact with him. The room is suddenly warmer than before, heat lingering at the base of Camila's spine. When she tries to take a step to the left, close to the refrigerator, Yohan places his hand on the island, cutting off her movement.

“Yohan.”

His arms suddenly drop exactly when Jin’s footsteps near the kitchen, and he quickly turns to the opening on the wall, “The food is ready.”

Yohan moves away from her, quickly grabbing different dishes and disappearing from her line of sight. Camila stays unmoving, unsure of what just happened and how to normally react to having Yohan invade her personal space like some kind of vicious predator taunting its prey. She’s supposed to be the hunter, the killer not some puny rabbit that freezes and shakes at the sight of a wolf. She hears footsteps again, nearing her vicinity, and the pungent smell of alcohol.

“Camila?” a voice slurs close to her ears. She turns and a red-faced Sun is smiling foolishly at her. “Let’s go eat.” He says pulling her towards the wall opening.

She lets him maneuver her five steps to the dining table and sits her towards one of the chairs that faces the closed window. Marie, Nico, and Jin start swarming the island, placing dishes on the dining table, and then sitting down.

Marie is next to Camila, while Yohan and Nico are at the end of the dining table. Jin and Sun are in front of them, and the amount of alcohol Camila smells in their breath makes her concerned. While everyone talks, mostly Jin and Sun’s mumbling about the Red Soul, she turns to Marie who is looking at them in awe. “How much did they drink?” She whispers to Marie.

Marie shrugs still smiling at them, “They started drinking out of a green bottle, and just kept…drinking. Pretty sure they were betting on something.”

“Let's thank…our dear Yohan for this delicious meal.” Begins Sun, his words are slurred but clear enough that Camila can make out every word. “Kimchi fried rice, spicy stir-fried rice cakes, seaweed wrapped rolls and my personal favorite…white rice.”

Sun had pointed at every dish, while rapidly clapping at Yohan who just rolled his eyes. We say “Thank you” to Yohan and start eating. While the dishes that Sun mentioned had no familiarity with Camila’s human palate, she still placed them on her plate and ate.

She tastes ash with each bite, even the home dishes that Yohan recreated. It’s as if her taste buds were permanently shut off, and though she ingests the food and can smell it, she does not taste the variety of spices or condiments.

“This is…really good.” She babbles, covering her mouth while she finishes chewing a seaweed roll. Yohan hums and she can see a subtle pink tint on his cheeks when he hears her praise.

When she determines how much she normally ate as a human, she stops and takes a sip of water, excusing herself to use the bathroom. She brushes past Yohan, who points her to the top of the stairs. She lets her body float to the bathroom, wincing at the slight jolts of pain in her ribs.

She makes it to the bathroom, stepping on the polished floor and when she flips the sink on, she throws up everything she’s consumed. Vile surges from deep inside her guts, flowing through her throat and out of her mouth until she’s bent at an odd angle hovering over the toilet. “Fuck.”

She stops just as she feels a string of drool on her lips, and downstairs alcohol is being opened. She hears Sun and Jin’s incoherent babbling and Marie’s laugh. Rinse and wash, then she’s out of the bathroom with her normal pudgy stomach and feet on the floor. She pauses at the front of the bathroom door, looking directly at the ajar door to her right. She takes a step towards it, and sniffs.

Yohan’s Room.