Chapter Three

Wardrobe Malfunction

Saturday arrived, just another day, but at least it was another day she’d survived, Karou thought as she tipped her head back in the shower. Immersed in the illusion of being washed in warm, summer rain, as the bright bathroom light illuminated her eyelids in sunshine orange, Karou contemplated her predicament. By some miracle, she had landed on her feet. Though, of course, initially, that made her nervous, she was determined to remain positive. Keeping everything in perspective was the only way to get to the other side of whatever this was, she reasoned, but it was easy to conclude that she’d never had it so good. Right now, her circumstances felt like a vacation.

Wrapped in the largest and fluffiest towel she’d ever encountered, Karou sat atop Warren’s queen-size bed, still processing her stroke of luck. Beneath her, the sheets smelled fresh and felt silky to the touch. In the silence, she took a moment to savour the solace - somehow, she felt safe. Sure, she had no idea who the man she found herself cohabitating with was, but so far, he hadn’t hurt her - and he’d had four days’ worth of opportunity. The truth was that Karou didn’t sense that the tall, dark, and handsome stranger was a threat. He went about his daily business so quietly that sometimes she questioned whether he was there at all – she hadn’t attuned to his near inaudible footfalls over the hardwood floors yet. From what she’d glimpsed through the door, she concluded that the room he disappeared into every morning was an office. Oh, Boy! Was this Warren person a workaholic! When he’d explained to her that his work consumed most of his time, she hadn’t understood to what extent. Some days he would be cooped up in there for more than twelve hours – she’d counted.

While he worked, Karou had free reign to do whatever she wanted and came and went as she pleased. But of course, she couldn’t leave the Compound. At the unit, Warren had insisted that she eat what she liked from the kitchen, between the two square meals he prepared for her and was left to choose what she wanted to watch on the TV every evening. Apparently, Warren didn’t mind what they watched, as long as he could relax on the massive U-shaped leather couch with a glass of scotch and smoke to ‘unwind’ before he’d pass out. All the niceties came at a price though; she had to endure his chilly demeanor and blunt way of answering her, should she dare to speak to him in the first place.

Pulling off the towel she had wrapped around her hair, it pleased her how pleasant it now smelled since her host had provided her with a luxuriously set of hair products. Quite generously, all manner of toiletries had been provided for her by the Friday after she’d arrived. Warren had made her feel strangely at home, yet seemed to go about it begrudgingly, making her feel both welcome and unwelcome at the same time. Though that wasn’t devastating to her, she’d never felt welcome in the household into which she’d been born.

Karou wasn’t one to complain, but once she was ready to get dressed, she had grumbled upon realising that she was quickly running out of clean clothes. Since it’s confiscation by the guards, Karou had gotten her backpack back, but unfortunately, its capacity was limited. So, she was cycling through her space wardrobe quickly as her stay commenced. I’ll have to ask Warren if there’s a laundry room. Karou thought to herself, ambling towards the kitchen. It’s so strange having his name in my head. Warren. Her internal monologue continued, distracting her attention. Wa-rren… Warren. Warren Howard. Mr Warren Howard. She repeated.

“Good morning, or should I say good afternoon?” The very person greeted her when she made an entrance, startling her enough to jump. Breakfast time had long passed, Karou was prone to getting up late, but Warren was an earlybird. By now, he was taking a lunch break, which he didn’t often remember to do, so Karou was surprised to find him sat at the kitchen island with a newspaper between his hands. It was a broadsheet, one with a title she’d never heard of or seen before; ‘In Guardianus’. “Don’t forget to eat.” He noted, having already picked up her custom of drinking only coffee for breakfast. It had become a habit that he reminded her to eat - if she was going to stay, she might as well be healthy. It wasn’t so much a kindness in that he thought a healthy mortal was less likely to cause him trouble.

With Karou’s back turned, Warren took the opportunity to eye over her. Coincidentally Warren had noticed Karou had been wearing the same pair of jeans for three days. There was no way he could’ve known that Karou had considered the state of her clothes only minutes before and that she planned on bringing it up to him once she’d mustered the courage, but he planned to address the issue first, without prompting.

Karou sensed his cool gaze on the back of her neck. Often the way Warren looked at her made the tiny hairs all over her body stand on end. It got her thinking, though - her cohabitee was of so few words that most of the things she’d learned about him were merely observations, so anything she knew was all speculative. Since he hadn’t verbally told Karou what kind of other, or rather, what type of mythical he was, she could only go on the small clues his appearance indicated. His eyes would periodically change colour, from a breath-taking shade of crystal blue, through shades of sapphire to onyx black, and then they would return to blue again.

Sipping her coffee, she turned to face him and thought she’d caught him staring at her. The sensation she felt on her neck suddenly made sense, but when he looked away so quickly, she couldn’t be sure her eyes hadn’t tricked her. “Good morning.” She heard herself utter in a timid tone of voice that made her cringe internally and scold herself. Oh God, Karou, why do you go so quiet around him? It’s pathetic. Pull yourself together! He’s not even scary… “Have anything interesting planned for tod-” She began to say, this time with a little more conviction, but she was interrupted.

“You’re clothes. You’ve been wearing the same ones for days.” As he spoke, his eyes bored into her from over the rim of his reading glasses; the scrutiny made her swallow hard.

Pristine seemed the only way to describe Warren’s hygienic state fittingly, but beyond that, he dressed sharp too. So it was no surprise to Karou that he’d noticed she looked scruffy and homeless in comparison. Stunned into silence by his abruptness, she felt her gusto to speak up to him vanish, and she would probably go back to walking on eggshells around him again. He’d given her no reason to other than his frigid aura.

Warren set down his newspaper, took off his spectacles, and picked up his cell phone without an explanation. “Hello, Ms Finch, I have a job that requires your attention. Miss Morgan needs new clothes. Yes, the girl. Yes, everything. Shoes, socks, and upward.” Suddenly he held out the device for Karou to take from him. Gingerly she did while Warren was mindful that their hands didn’t touch. That aside, he continued his instruction as so; “Tell Ms Finch your sizes and style preferences, and she’ll see to it that you get a delivery of new clothing.”

Karou had struggled with what to say beyond her dress and shoe size; she blinked quickly to some of Ms Finch’s questions regarding the types of clothing she liked. Karou’s silence on the matter eventually prompted the woman to state that it was OK to leave it with her. “Thank you,” Karou uttered, relieved, and she handed Warren’s phone back to him. He tucked it into his pants pocket and stated that she was welcome without looking up from his newspaper.

“I- I don’t have any money to pay for new clothes.”

“That isn’t an issue.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I haven’t asked you to pay for them.” Warren looked at Karou briefly over his reading glasses as he pushed them back on and turned the page of his broadsheet. “If it means so much to you, you don’t have to wear them. You can walk around naked.”

Karou blushed, and Warren smirked devilishly now that his eyes were fixed on the black and white print. Inevitably the moral implications of what he’d said dawned on him. Alarmed and at lightning speed, Warren retreated to his office, haunted by his own words. Oh, good, God! Why on Earth did you say that!? She’s a child! He thought, chastising himself as he crashed down into his office chair. Hmm, but you’ve already imagined her without clothes during your little blood-letting fantasy. One devious whisperer said to the other. Warren shuddered because he couldn’t deny that it was true. Disgusted, whatever remained of his human conscience retorted, You’re a sick man Warren! At least they both agreed on something.

Eight o’clock had rolled around when Warren made an appearance. Exiting his office, he saw Karou had already snuggled up on the couch and was around three-quarters of the way through a movie. He’d gotten over the shame of his earlier comment and didn’t seem fazed by that or Karou’s presence now. He just went about his usual clocking off ritual as if she weren’t there.

First, he removed his tie, then buttoned down his dress shirt a little, and finally removed his silver cuff links to roll up the shirt’s sleeves to his elbows. Once he’d poured a generous glass of scotch for himself, he lit up a cigarette and was primed to spend the rest of his evening doing as little as possible.

Warren’s idea of personal space was vaster than most, so he sat around four feet away from Karou. Once he was at a comfortable distance, he lounged back and stretched his arm down the back of the cushions.

Meanwhile, Karou said nothing. While he ignored her, she watched Warren sit himself down in the other corner but tried to at least be discreet about it. With his eyes closed, Warren brought the liquor glass to his lips, and when he tipped back his head to drink, Karou couldn’t restrain herself from gawking. The TV was no longer of interest because the angle at which Warren held back his head meant that his neck came to be on display. That in itself wasn’t interesting, but now Karou could see the texture of his skin, which was layered with scars, all tiny and circular. She remembered noticing them briefly before, but the opportunity to examine them hadn’t arisen until now. Mostly, she wanted to confirm that she hadn’t imagined them, like any of the other odd details she’d spotted about his person during that August night. Dare she ask what they were? Seeing as, mostly, he spent his evenings in silence and only broke it to bid her goodnight Karou didn’t dare broach the subject. Also, because of its highly personal nature, she thought that maybe she’d never know.

With a sigh, Karou turned her attention back to the flickering images on the TV and absentmindedly reached for the remote that sat between them on the angular glass coffee table.

Warren barely noticed Karou move being under the influence and consumed by his relaxed mood, so when he leaned forward to set down the scotch glass, he also reached for the remote - their hands touched. Their two pairs of wide eyes beheld one another the moment the contact occurred to them but no sooner had Warren’s hand grazed hers; it was gone. He retracted it as if her mortal warmth had scolded him, and at such phenomenal speed.

Though Warren was spooked, he tried to play it cool while Karou was left confused and mildly offended, but she didn’t know why. Did her curiosity about him extend to wanting Warren to be comfortable enough to touch her in these small, innocuous ways? That way, could they become casual around each other and eventually friends?

She’d just confirmed that his skin was as ice-cold as she remembered. Honestly, it hadn’t bothered her, but that was precisely what had frightened Warren away. Unpredictable as ever, Karou overlooked the obvious, and what she focused on was more curious to her than his body temperature – it was the atmosphere Karou sensed Warren held an inch from his form which created a barrier between himself and the outside world. Warren was guarded, not just emotionally but physically too. It gave the illusion that he was even more unobtainable but only inspired a more profound interest for Karou. Just as Warren wanted to puzzle out Karou, Karou also wanted to decipher the enigma that was Mr Warren Howard. Somehow, Karou had picked up on a detail about him that was just an undercurrent, his aero-kinetic armour. Despite the uncomfortable sensation it left on her skin, it was worth it to know that once his skin contacted hers, he let down his subconscious protective shield. At least enough for her mortal temperature to warm his chilly exterior a little, even if it made him jump.

Barely a moment had passed when, out of nowhere, Karou giggled. She thought that one could’ve been mistaken for thinking he was human; his reaction had been. He appeared shy, which was startling in contrast to how confidently he usually held himself. Alas, his façade did him no favours in appearing 'normal' - usually, it was enough to put the average person off, but like everything else, it only piqued Karou's interest. Afterall it was already established in her mind that he was a mythical; she just didn’t know what kind. She would continue to gather evidence to help surmount a theory. Hmm, unusually cold hands, or maybe it's all of his skin? Was that abnormal enough to add to her list of characteristics she planned to use to decipher what Warren was, she wondered. Along with the changeable shade of his eyes, there was a fragment of a memory from their first encounter that she couldn’t shake - the image of this striking stranger's smile, illuminated by her flashlight. What his friendly expression revealed to her hadn’t frightened her, but she was sure that he had fangs. The image and other clues combined to something so cliché that she didn’t dare speak it into words. Perhaps she would have to tip-toe around the topic in the hopes that Warren would simply confirm it in that blunt, semi-annoyed way of his. Karou suspected that Warren was a vampire. Of course, all manner of creatures assumed myths had come out of ‘the closet’ since 2008, but it still begged belief to encounter one, least of all in Karou’s small world. She’d been about to pluck up the courage to ask him when there came a knock at the door.

Warren pulled his gaze from her, and he moved at remarkable speed out of his seat to go and answer the door. Craning her neck to see who was calling so late, Karou recognised the woman Warren was talking to. It was the receptionist from the night of her capture. So that must be Ms Finch. Along with her was a boy who seemed to be struggling to keep the large black duffle bag he was lumbered with elevated. The exchange she watched was short, ending in Warren plucking the bag out of the boy's hands as if it were a purse and shutting the door after a brief and impersonal goodbye.

“Your new clothes are here,” Warren announced unceremoniously, marching towards the bedroom. He placed the bag down onto the ottoman at the foot of the bed and instructed her to; “Go through it and keep what you like. I’ll disperse the rest.”

Doing as she was told, Karou followed him. Initially, when she unzipped the bag to peer inside, she couldn’t believe how much she’d been given. This is all for me? It could take hours to go through all this. There’s so much to try on.

Warren left the room to allow Karou a modicum of privacy and resumed his seat on the couch. Secretly, he could still see into the bedroom from down the hall if he felt inclined to snoop, just by leaning back in his seat. For now, he watched the way her face and eyes reacted as she unpacked item after item and evaluated it - most of the things Karou quickly considered and put aside for keeps. Ordinary pieces of everyday clothing, suitable for the season, and all with her vague and ill refined fashion sense considered. Ms Finch had done an excellent job summing up Karou’s simple tastes and preferred colour pallet with minimal guidance. Knitted sweaters, baggy hoodies, jackets, cute cardigans, blue jeans, leggings, and shirts of all styles. Also, a new pair of flawlessly white tennis shoes, black leather boots and even slippers were unpacked and appreciated as she held them in her hands. A wide, toothy grin spread across Karou’s face; she’d never owned so many clothes!

So far, the experience of finding herself living at the Compound with Warren was as unbelievable as it could get. Had she stepped into some other dimension where she was no longer the Karou she’d been before?

Still, it was inevitable that she couldn’t bask in happiness for too long; she would have to run from her self-deprecating thoughts soon enough. This is too much. I don’t deserve any of this. Karou thought as she lifted the next item out of the bag. It was the kind of garment she’d always wanted to own but had never found one amongst the thrift store clothes her parents supplied her. Glancing around the room, she spied that the floor-length mirror she was searching for was just outside the bedroom, in the hallway. Stepping out of the room with the dress still hanging down her front, Karou looked to her reflection. Though Karou didn’t necessarily fall into the category of ‘girly girl’, she dared to feel pretty for a moment which was bittersweet. Now that she placed the dress against her frame to admire it, it made her eyes sting. Something this pretty wasn’t made for someone as plain as me. After years of verbal abuse and esteem destroying monologues from her Mom and Dad, she’d started to believe their words were true. It didn’t take much to trigger her, and she could still recall their insults word for word - they told her how disappointing and unremarkable she was. Karou had learned long ago that there was no use in crying; they ignored her more when she cried. Now, smiling softly at her reflection, despite the tear that rolled down her freckled cheek, she didn’t allow her past to spoil the present. Although her situation was fragile, at least she had finally escaped them; her parents, Melissa and Bryant Morgan.

Warren watched Karou’s bittersweet, personal moment from the couch but had no clue as to why she’d shed a tear. There had been no words to construct his stray thought, but it was purer than some of his others; he supposed she looked pretty. He imagined that it wasn’t unusual for teenage girls to enjoy spending hours in their closets, thumbing through outfit possibilities, and trying everything on at least twice before deciding on the very first ensemble. Truthfully that wasn’t Karou; she’d never been normal or led a life that resembled anything ordinary. What he’d gifted her was so much more than he could’ve known.

Wandering back into the bedroom, Karou moved on from that cathartic moment and set down the dress and continued to dig through the duffle bag. So far, there had been very few items she wasn’t keen on, but what she discovered amidst ‘acceptable’ nightwear astounded her.

“Oh, my God!” She exclaimed and held up the silk and lace item.

“Is there a problem?” Warren called, leaning over the back of the couch to check on Karou.

“Well, no… B-but why did M-Ms Finch get me this?” Karou was suddenly in the hallway and came face to face with Warren sooner than expected; he’d gotten up to see what the commotion was. Karou displayed the skimpy garment before Warren and waited for his reaction.

He smirked. “It’s a night-dress…” The kind that I like incidentally. A devilish internal voice appraised without a filter.

“No, it’s not!” Karou contested, the blush on her cheeks growing opaquer. “It’s an n-negligee.”

“Don’t girls like that sort of thing?” How quickly Karou had become flustered by a mere item of clothing was a testament to her innocence, and it amused Warren greatly. Again, the little devil that sat on his shoulder illustrated possible scenarios in which Karou might wear such a garment and how she might look in it. With ardour, he fought to ignore his seedier thoughts; he was determined to remain a gentleman in Karou’s eyes. While he was by no means an angel, the little character that sat upon his other shoulder was shaking his head in disapproval. Pervert! He cried. Indeed, Warren agreed with himself.

“Women.” Karou corrected.

“Uh, yes, of course. Some women like that sort of thing.” Feeling that he was digging a hole, Warren turned on the spot and promptly made his way back to the lounge.

“Just out of curiosity... how old do you think I am?” Karou asked as she followed him and stood where the hallway opened out into the space between the kitchen and the lounge, in an artificial corridor.

“Uh- I haven’t really thought about it.” Liar… Warren said rather too quickly to be convincing. “I… I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t a woman yet...” Lounging back onto the couch, Warren crossed his legs, ankle to knee, just in time to catch the credits of the movie Karou had been watching. Warren hoped she would turn around and leave it there, but of course, the feisty little thing she was, had more to say.

“I’m eighteen. Actually, in a few days, I’ll be nineteen. So, I’m not exactly a girl.”

“Nineteen, right.” Warren nodded, having understood. Just as he’d suspected, she was only just ‘old enough’, and it made his darker side chuckle to itself while rubbing its palms together as if speculating all the things she was now ‘allowed’ to explore.

Just as she was about to turn away and go back to the bedroom, she paused. A golden opportunity had arisen. Be casual, she told herself and asked, “So, how old are you?”

“As I said before, if you don’t like anything, you don’t have to keep it. You don’t have to wear that either if you don’t want to.”

Was he avoiding answering the questions by pretending not to have heard? Karou thought so. How sneaky. “Okay... that's fine, but you didn’t answer my question...” She wasn’t going to back down that easy!

“It’s difficult to say. I haven’t physically aged since I was twenty-eight.” Warren reluctantly answered without looking at her. He was also attempting to act casual, so he busied himself by gathering his cigarette packet from the coffee table and went about lighting one.

Karou couldn’t argue that she’d have ballparked his age at around thirty, but something about how he’d phrased his reply told her that that still wasn’t really the answer she was looking for. “How many years has it been since you stopped ageing then?” She pushed.

Warren's answer was straightforward. “Seventy-eight.” The number wasn’t buried too deep into the pit of his mind though he parted with it after a long pause, all the while his eyes remained fixated on the glass surface of his geometric coffee table as if the truth were somehow shameful to him.

Across the room, Karou’s eyes only widened for a second as her brain figured out the math. Well, that explains why you acted twice the age you look.

“You look good for someone who’s over a hundred.” She said simply. Karou appraised Warren’s handsome face one last time before returning to her task in the bedroom. There was still the matter of underwear to contend with, and now that she’d discovered the negligee’s, she was praying to find more panty options than lacy g-strings. Indeed, she did find some risqué items at the bottom of the bag but Karou put them aside to deal with later, as well as the other negligees. Once the shock had worn off, she thought she might experiment with them. What harm could it do? She’d never owned anything like that before, but why couldn’t she now?

The whole affair of picking over and marvelling at all the clothes Warren had provided had been kind of exhausting, but she wasn’t ready to sleep just yet. Instead, she shed her shabby clothes and discarded them into the trashcan. It certainly wasn’t hard to throw away any fragment of her old life; it was therapeutic. Carefully Karou picked out what she perceived as a suitable bedtime outfit - a pair of white cotton sleep shorts with a pretty broderie Anglaise edging and the camisole to match. While tying off the waistband's drawstrings, she padded down the hall and back into the lounge.

When Karou clambered back into her seat on the couch, she found Warren snoozing, sat upright with his head flopped back into the cushions. After a long day’s work, dozing while the TV played quiet background audio and the lounge lit by only the standard lamp was the perfect way to unwind. Karou pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her shins. “Can I watch another movie before bed?” she asked quietly, hoping not to disturb him too much.

“I don't see why not,” Warren mumbled. When he finally opened his eyes, there was no way he could escape noticing how much of her skin he could see because the ripped and grimy-looking jeans and moth-bitten long-sleeved t-shirt were gone. You’ve got to be kidding! Alarmed, Warren eyed over Karou’s profile - her neck and how her supple, pale skin fell off her shoulder and down her slender and delicate-looking arms. Once his gaze had panned down her legs, he swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat.

Oh, quit being so perverse. She hasn’t dressed like that for you! She’s just gotten into something more comfortable. His better side reasoned as he rose from the couch to set his empty scotch glass into the kitchen sink. Don’t be uncouth.

While the opening minutes of another movie rolled, Warren figured he might as well get out of his work attire and settle down for the evening too. Getting up from the couch, he disappeared into the bedroom momentarily. Because he hadn’t explained where he was going, Karou peered over her shoulder in the direction Warren had gone.

Watching Warren was her first expedition into the territories of her sexuality. Perhaps it was her naive curiosity about the opposite sex, of which she still had so much to discover, or the darker urge she’d often deny she had that kept her focused on Warren. Whatever it was, her patience paid off, and eventually, she glimpsed Warren, unbuttoning his shirt. Is he perfect looking everywhere? She wondered while still watching him tug the bottom of his shirt from the waistband of his pants and subsequently peel it away from his broad shoulders.

Even if she hadn’t been allowed access to the TV at home, Karou had seen shirtless men before. She knew the internet had a buffet of depravity on offer. Media existed everywhere public, and nudity had gotten impossible to escape in the twenty-first century’s social scene. But seeing a chiselled, touched-up, and plastic-looking person on the front of a magazine was quite different from seeing someone attractive and unfiltered in the flesh.

Karou’s high-school experience hadn’t been what it had for most girls. She hadn’t juggled her education alongside sports practise and shopping trips to the mall with friends. Deciding which boy to date and fooling around in the back seat of some guy's car or under the bleachers wasn’t a feature of her adolescent years. Instead, Karou had kept her head down and flitted between keeping a select few friends and intensive solitary study sessions in the school library. Nobody noticed her enough to bully her, and for that, she was grateful. She had no obvious high school enemies, but getting overly involved with her classmates and their drama hadn’t been her aim either. Getting good grades so that she could escape her awful home life was! Harvard was a dream she’d had within her grasp only months ago, but she'd also wished to go to California, somewhere warm, somewhere near the sea. Those dreams were impossible and out of reach now because the world had turned the table on her. At least she was safe; she often thought to reassure herself that all wasn’t lost. At least she’d gotten away from that life one way or another.

Caught up in her daydreaming, Karou hadn’t looked away, and Warren was heading back towards the couch, redressed for bed in a plain white t-shirt and blue pinstriped pyjama pants. Even without his expensive wristwatches and perfectly combed hair, he still managed to look put together and modelesque. How Warren presented himself and dressed seemed effortlessly suave. Karou expected that he attracted all manner of people, regardless of gender.

The movie was coming to its conclusion, and Karou figured she’d probably go to bed soon. She glanced over her shoulder to the room that was clearly Warren’s bedroom. He had insisted she sleep there on the night of her arrival, and for now, although she had questioned it once, she hadn’t since simply because Warren didn’t seem like the kind of person you argued with willingly. His aura oozed authority and demanded obedience. So, dismissing herself from the couch, Karou bid Warren goodnight. Once alone, behind the closed door, Karou stood, silent and unmoving in the centre of the room, contemplating. It wasn’t that she was a nosy person but seeing as she still didn’t know much about Warren, while he worked, she’d spent some time looking through his things. She never lingered too long looking at anything personal but had found the regimental organisation of his belongings amusing. The rest of his house had a systematic order too. The only odd thing was the defining feature of his bedroom; it wasn’t his bed but the baby grand piano that sat by the floor-length windows. It made her wonder about the otherwise clockwork man she had come to share a living space with; was his secret passion music? Would she ever hear him play? Staring at the bare ivories, she climbed into bed and hummed herself to sleep; it was a lullaby she knew, but from where or when she couldn’t remember.

Tuesday 30th November 2010

It would’ve been a special day to most, but Karou woke up and found herself in the kitchen without a second thought about her being one year older.

Except for someone, an unlikely person had remembered her passing comment about her personal anniversary being soon. So, when she wandered towards the coffee maker that morning, she would’ve found a brown envelope on the kitchen island, along with a slender box wrapped in similar brown paper. While she waited for the bread to pop up out of the toaster, she ripped open the envelope inscribed with her name. Inside, a simple white card with a watercolour of a pretty bunch of lilacs on the front, read;

‘Dear Karou, Happy Birthday. From Warren’.

A smile beamed across her face upon reading the card's message. The slender box housed fifty drawing pencils, a simple and thoughtful gift that she would put to good use. Later, she thanked Warren.

Three weeks of sleeping on the couch were all he could bear! So, on that Tuesday morning, he’d woken up around six am, searching for a solution. In truth, some nights, he’d chosen not to sleep at all because he hated his sleeping arrangements so much. Being gentlemanly to his detriment, he had allowed his guest, a term which he used loosely, to commandeer his bed, but it depressed him to have found himself sleeping on a couch at this time of his life and because of a woman too.

Karou wouldn’t be awake for hours yet; she regularly slept until noon, only to stay awake until gone midnight. Her sleeping pattern was juxtaposing to Warren's, but he knew that her routine of ‘late to rise, late to rest’ was a habit kept by many teenagers. On the other hand, Karou wasn’t lazy once she was up and about; she was always eagerly searching for something, anything to do. Drawing and reading seemed to be her favourite pass-times, but he thought he wouldn’t ever get used to her late-night movie marathons while he tried to sleep. She was polite enough not to have the volume high, but it was her presence that he hadn’t adjusted to. He’d become addicted to being alone once he’d come to appreciate how peaceful it was.

All fifteen minutes he spent showering, Warren thought over how to fix their sleeping arrangements. He had considered letting Karou keep his room and setting up another bed for himself in his office - but he’d be damned if he spent any more time in there. He quickly went off that idea because the fact he could close the door on his work during the evening was the only way he could tear himself away. Being prone to overworking himself in his quest for perfection was one of his flaws.

Rubbing a towel over his hair, he exited the steamy wet room to find the answer staring him in the face. An epiphany! The door directly across the hall from the bathroom presented a possibility. In opening the door, he assessed the closet behind it was a generous one and currently only housed a few boxes of his less favoured books, a vacuum cleaner, a bucket, and a few other cleaning supplies. It could easily be emptied and made more comfortable. Sure, it lacked windows, but the unit as a whole wasn’t blessed with a great deal of natural light; it was halfway underground. Feeling inspired to enact his solution Warren dressed quickly and started making calls to the appropriate Compound staff concerning the furniture he’d need to make over the small closet into Karou’s new sleeping quarters. The bare bones of the small room were bleak, with the wire shelf that ran the left-hand wall being its only distinguishing feature. Warren had a lot of work to do to make the space feel remotely welcoming. By eleven o’clock, Warren had introduced a small desk, bookcase, and iron sprung bed frame into the room. She will have to add her own personal touches. He thought whilst laying out the last decorative pieces - a rug and a desk lamp.

Resigning to the couch to check some work emails, Karou found Warren there when she got up to start her day. The bathroom door closing roused him from the screen, but he only caught a quick glimpse of Karou disappearing behind it. When should I mention that I’m taking my room back? So far, he had found her difficult to converse with, and seeing as he wasn’t expecting her to be thrilled that he planned to house her in a closet, he excused himself from being reluctant to raise the subject. She will have to sleep on the couch if she can’t sleep in there; at least, that’s what he figured he would tell her if there were any arguments. God forbid she had a teenage tantrum. With his laptop still open, he focused back on the screen and waited to hear her exit the bathroom. Warren centred himself, ready to do battle if necessary.

To say that she’d been over the moon about her new room was to overstate how pleased she was, only slightly. Warren was dumbfounded. Would he ever find her reactions anything other than baffling? He thought not.

Karou had quickly gotten herself situated; by that afternoon, her desk was littered with sketching equipment. Some of her favourite drawings were tacked to the walls, which made the room a little homier. The small dresser held all her new clothes, and the bookcase slowly became populated by the books she borrowed from the Compounds library and Warren.