6. notebook; diary

He called for her, searched for her, asked around for her, but she could not seem to be found. The others assumed she had gone elsewhere, to the store or such, so he wandered around for a while, waiting for her to come home.

In his wandering, he seemed to find himself opening the door to her room and walking into the empty calmness of it, quiet except for the various things she always left on. Her electric fan, her pink Hello Kitty radio (playing some soothing instrumental song, he noticed), and a little water fountain.

He didn't know why he found himself here out of all places, and knew he would be scolded if she found him, but he still stayed, walking around and examining the things that made her personality. Things from all of them, things in pink, things sweet and warm and just so her. He smiled, just a little bit, when he came across her collection of pictures on the dresser. She had so many.

Goodness, where was she? It made him nervous to not know where she was. She was so small and looked so fragile… ahh, no. He sighed, running his hand through his hair. He sounded like her, worrying about nothing. She knew, and could skillfully use, the art of self-defense as well as any of them.

He sighed again and flopped down on her bed, inhaling the smell of it. It smelled exactly like she did, of course. Of flowers and pink and warmth and other happy things that she was. He laid there for a bit, inhaling, exhaling, taking in the scent. After some time, he turned over, and stared at her ceiling.

What was… that?

She had a poster up there (which wasn't abnormal, most of them had such on their ceilings as well, save for China) but the thing was, it was… kind of worn. That was certainly not her. She liked her posters nice, clean, and well-maintained. The edges looked like they had been torn at places and handled often, and the someplace towards the middle looked just plain out of place. He stood up, balancing on her bed, and reached up to touch it. What met his fingers was… well, he wasn't sure.

He found why after he released the edges of the poster slowly, raising an eyebrow when a small book slid out. It had no label or title on the front, only a white leather cover. This book must be taken out and returned quite often for the poster to be in this condition.

However, he could only flip through the first couple pages before she walked in.

She saw him, saw what he was holding, and whimpered before she ran back out. He only got a glance of her face, but he was sure it wasn't happy.

And so he dropped the small book right then and there, and ran out after her, forgetting all about it.

9. "I really hate you"

He arrived home late one night, returning after his visit to Macau. His ears rung a bit from all the sounds and bells and people, and his eyes took some time adjusting to the dim light of the house. He didn't know why he willingly went when Macau asked, all those casinos and people made him more quiet than usual. He walked into the house as silent as usual, shutting the door behind him and making his way towards his room.

He didn't notice her sitting on his bed until he had turned on a light. She sat there quiet, glaring at him. He tilted his head inquisitively and raised an eyebrow. What was she doing here this late?

She sighed heavily, crossing her arms over her chest, then spoke. Her voice sounded quiet, but he could easily tell she was annoyed.

"Do you know what time it is?"

"Yes, I am aware of the time. Are you?"

"Of course. I've been sitting here staring at the clock wondering whether or not you were going to come home, or if I was going to have to go out and find you in some drunken stupor, or if you were stranded somewhere because all your pocket money was lost to gambling or…"

"I'm fine. Macau won't let that kind of thing happen anyways, I don't drink or gamble that much."

"'That much' could easily turn into more, you know."

"It won't. You can go to bed now."

"Couldn't you have at least called and said you'd be home late?"

"You need to stop worrying so much, I'm fine, everything's fine."

He sat down beside her on the bed. She huffed and turned away.

"Shut up, this isn't nothing! You always do this!"

"Then wouldn't you learn not to wait?"

Her voice was escalating in volume rapidly.

"Then couldn't you learn to call for once?"

He seemed to have a hard time keeping his voice down as well.

"Can't you just learn to relax?" He snapped.

"THAT'S NOT THE POINT HERE!" She finally shouted.

Silence.

"Then what is?" He finally said in a cold, hard voice.

She said nothing. Neither of them said anything for a long while. When she finally spoke, it was so quiet he didn't hear her. But she repeated it anyways.

"I really hate you."

He said nothing and only stared at her, somewhat wide-eyed. Had he heard her right?

"I hate you."

"Taiwan, you can't possibly—"

"I SAID I HATE YOU!"

She stood up, and quickly made her way toward the door, but he stood up and grabbed her arm before she could leave. She turned back to look at him, and only then could he see the tears streaming down her face.

"Taiwan…"

"I hate you! I hate that I worry about you almost every single day. I hate you because never let me know when you're going to be back. I hate that you never show what you're thinking or feeling unless I ask! I hate feeling sick inside because I'm worried something could happen to you!"

She slumped to the ground, wiping her face with her other sleeve, openly sobbing. He knelt down beside her, and was still holding onto her arm, unsure what to do.

"I hate that you can make me smile like there's nothing wrong with the world, and then make me cry like this!" She sniffled and sucked in a breath.

"A-And I hate…"

His face softened. And instead of her arm, he held her hand.

"…that you are the only person who can make me feel these things."