Polyamory Day 2.501
Living with Mr. Silence often feels like being back at the club. He wants me near but mostly ignores me. The other day, he scooped me off the sofa while I was doing homework and carried me upstairs to his lab. He placed me in a chair and went back to work. I sat there, confused, unsure why I was needed.
When I stood, his commanding voice stopped me: "Sit still."
So I waited, doing my homework, and caught him staring at me like he did the first night we met. I smiled dotingly at him, but he quickly looked away. "My love, why am I here? What can I help with?"
His eyes flicked to me before returning to his desk.
I sighed, trying to stand, but his stern look made me sit back down. "I have to pee."
"Come back when you're done," he replied, and I knew there'd be no real answer.
Another time, I woke from a nap to find him staring at me, laptop in hand. I've realized he needs me nearby, as if being in the same house isn't enough. His presence is distracting, but I'm learning to enjoy it.
I've learned that he didn't have a good childhood. While doing the dishes the other night, he hugged me from behind, kissing my neck as he tried to pull me away.
"My love, let me rinse the dishes—" I started, but he turned me around to face him.
"Text Mary. We could build her a house in the back. That way, all your attention could be for me."
I laughed against his demanding lips and teased, "Spoken like a true spoiled rich kid."
His expression changed. Sadness creased his eyebrows, and an unexplained agony filled his eyes. The same signs whenever I asked about his childhood. I quickly embraced him. Could he be the result of a child who lacked attention, physical touch, and love?
Wanting to comfort him, after the long hug, I cupped his face. "My love, I like seeing your clothes carelessly lying on the floor because it makes me happy to know that you're home. I like cooking the same dish for you six, seven times or more while you're away before letting you taste it. These things make me happy because I love you and I want—"
He kissed the rest of the words away.
His need for physical closeness has evolved in fascinating ways. These days, I'm his favorite furniture - perched in his lap while he works, tucked against his chest while he reads, or simply within arm's reach for those casual touches he now craves. It's like watching a new language develop between us. Where his touches once spoke purely of desire, now they whisper of something softer, more complex.
The other day, I was loading the dishwasher when his hands found my breast, his lips pressed against my shoulder - and then he was gone, leaving me buzzing like a live wire. It keeps happening - these hit-and-run moments of affection that short-circuit my brain. He'll brush against me in the kitchen, stroke my hair as he passes by, or pull me close for just a heartbeat before disappearing to his office.
My body hasn't quite caught up to this new pattern. Every touch still lights me up like a chemical reaction, leaving me to deal with the aftermath while he carries on as if he hasn't just set my nerve endings on fire. I used to think he was testing his power over me, enjoying how easily he could ignite my desire. But now I understand - touch is how he processes comfort, how he grounds himself.
As his presence solidifies in our home and in my life, his words become even scarcer. Sometimes, I miss his voice. When I told him this after we made love, he laughed. He laughs more often now, and his once stoic face seems more relaxed, more expressive than ever. His eyes grow softer and softer whenever they fall on me. These changes make me feel overwhelmed.
This has been our routine for the past two weeks. He goes to meetings, works, then comes home to me. We make love, and then he's off to the gym or his home office. We officially live together now, yet there's never enough time for real conversation.
Even the way we have sex has changed. His pace has slowed, the intensity is less overwhelming, and I'm starting to understand the mix of emotions it brings.
He left for a four-day business trip this morning. I've learned not to probe him for details. Given his frequent trips, extended hours at work, and occasional nights entertaining clients at clubs, I mostly worry about his health. I've become his nutritionist, solely in charge of feeding him. Sometimes, I'm his pillow. He likes sleeping on my lap on the sofa.
My focus is on creating a relaxing, worry-free space where he can truly rest. Instead of pushing for answers about his past or picking apart our relationship, I pour my energy into loving him. Understanding him will come with time; right now, he needs my love more than my questions.
Beth's elegant designs fill my closet, earning his approving looks, but something feels off. When I tried wearing my old clothes to school, I felt more like myself. But the moment I walked through our door, he had me pressed against it, claiming me with that wild passion we had in the beginning. The sex was incredible, but I could taste his anger, his disapproval underneath.
It's strange... I don't miss him like before. Now, it's just loneliness. The house feels empty, too vast and cold without him. It's depressing. It's enough to make me—
Mom's rapid Chinese cuts through my concentration: "A man named Jason is at the door." I stop writing in my diary, mind already racing through possible explanations that won't raise questions about who Jason is.
Jason stands in our doorway, perfectly pressed suit a stark contrast to our modest home. "Hello, Miss Chan Yoel," he says formally, reading the situation perfectly. "I'm here to pick you up for your important meeting. Are you ready?"
I catch the slight twinkle in his eye – we've gotten good at this dance. "Let me grab my things."
My parents shadow me upstairs like curious cats, their presence making the familiar space feel suddenly cramped. The air buzzes with their unspoken questions.
"Meeting with the company that bought my work," I explain vaguely, shoving my laptop into my bag.
"Why so late?" Dad asks in Korean, suspicion creeping into his voice.
"Their schedule," I reply with a shrug, keeping my tone casual despite the guilt squirming in my stomach.
Mom's eyes light up at the sight of the sleek black limousine out my window. "My daughter, riding in such a big car!" she brags to Dad in Chinese, pride radiating from her.
"I have eyes," Dad grumbles in Korean, but I catch his small smile.
The limo's interior wraps around us like a cocoon of luxury, and Jason's professional mask slips. "Ace, please come to the hospital with me."
I cross my arms, giving him my best unimpressed stare. The mention of the hospital makes my skin crawl.
"If you don't, he'll fly back from Dubai tomorrow," Jason says, his usual composure cracking. "Please, Ace. For him."
My body deflates like a punctured balloon. "I was just there."
"Six months ago. It's time for your check-up."
"I feel fine!" The whine in my voice reminds me of Min-Jun.
"I know. Quick and easy."
"They'll poke me until I'm black and blue," I protest, remembering the last time. "Don't I need to fast?"
Jason's eyes shift away from mine. Something's off.
"Jason... what aren't you telling me?"
He pulls out his phone, showing me his own medical records. "He makes me do check-ups too. He's... thorough about health."
"Yet I have to trick him into eating vegetables," I scoff. "Shot glasses of green juice hidden between his whiskey."
Jason's eyes widen, a grin breaking through his worry. "He actually drank them?"
I lift my chin proudly. "Of course."
His laughter fills the car, genuine and warm. "You're incredible, Ace. The only one who can make him do that."
"Why Dubai?" I ask, redirecting.
"M&A deal. Complicated one."
"Another stressful trip?"
Jason's nod tells me everything. "Unfortunately."
"I could—"
"Please don't," he cuts in, hesitating. "I appreciate the massage therapist but... he's very territorial when it comes to you."
The word 'territorial' catches me off guard. "What do you mean?"
"Something happened when you met, didn't it?"
I blink, puzzled. "We just sat together in silence for four hours. Nothing special."
"He booked you?"
"No, I wandered into his room by accident."
"And he let you stay?" Jason's voice carries a weight I don't quite understand.
"Well, I asked if I could." The memory of that first night flashes through my mind - the dim lights, his silent presence. "He actually stood up and offered me his seat."
Jason's eyes go wide, like I've just told him I've seen a ghost. "He... gave you his seat?"
"Yes?" I tilt my head at his reaction. "He's a gentleman. Why is that surprising?"
Jason's gaze darts around the car like he's trying to process something impossible. "He doesn't... he never lets anyone into his personal space. Ever."
I let out an exasperated laugh. "That's funny." Mr. Silence can't seem to keep his hands to himself around me.
The puzzled look on Jason's face only deepens, but before he can respond, the driver opens my door. The hospital looms ahead, promising needles and probing questions. Jason walks me to the entrance where Nurse Kelly waits, her sympathetic smile doing nothing to ease my dread of the upcoming 'torture.'