It turns out the bubbly pink drink is definitely alcoholic and I definitely should not have had so many of them. It also turns out that Mira can drink anyone ever under the table and I need to keep that in my back pocket. It also turns out that a buffet for aliens is an overwhelming and fantastic experience and I will never be the same after it.
That part could be the bubbly pink talking, though.
Right now, I am relaxing in a private room with a weird bubble bath that is apparently filled with something that makes my skin very soft. I am also being fanned by some kind of floating mechanical butterfly. And I have a plate of... alien fruits? I think? Some of them are like candy, some of them are like pastries, some of them are savory and some are sweet. I don't know.
What I do know is that I am very, very full and very, very happy.
I lean back in the bubble bath and sigh contentedly. This is the life. I could get used to this. I could live like this forever.
Maybe I should have married Xilukulkas.
I snort and then giggle at the thought.
He is very pretty. But I don't imagine that he'd be interested in a human like me. He probably has some kind of... I don't know. Ethereal spouse somewhere out there.
Or maybe he's a playboy?
I purse my lips, summoning an image of him in my mind. Could he be? He's such a strange person. He's certainly playful and teasing in his own strange way, but...
I shudder.
I can't decide if it's too weird or too effective, but I don't want to imagine it either way.
Speaking of weird people I'm attracted to—
My mind goes to Llywelyn, and I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks. I think about what happened in our room earlier, and how close he was to me, and how his eyes looked at me, and how his voice sounded, and how his lips...
I bite my lip and sink deeper into the bubbles.
I have to go back to our room. After this bath. And I do not feel drunk enough to confront that, yet. Even if I desperately want to be.
I want to see him. I want to talk to him. I want to ask him what he was thinking, what he wanted, what he...
I sigh and cover my face with my hands.
I'm hopeless.
I'm hopeless and I don't know what to do.
Maybe I should just... stay here. Forever.
Yeah.
That's a good plan.
Wait, shit, baths are his natural environment. What if he comes looking for me?
I squeak and sit up, water splashing around me. The butterfly flutters away, startled by my sudden movement.
No. No, no, no. He won't come here. He hates casinos. He doesn't know I'm here.
But...
What if he finds out?
What if he gets worried?
What if he thinks I'm in trouble?
I shouldn't be gone so long. It's not fair to him. He's still recovering. He might need me.
I need to go back.
"Wah...." I moan and slump in the tub. "Stupid Llywelyn... stupid me..."
I don't know what I'm going to do when I get back, but I know I have to go.
In... A little bit.
First I lay back in the tub and close my eyes for a bit.
Just a little.
It's a nice bath. I just want. To enjoy it a little longer. So I settle back and relax. I'm not sure how long I lay there with my eyes closed, soaking in the warm water, but... it's enough.
I take a deep breath and stand up, letting the bubbles slide off my body. I feel a bit dizzy from the alcohol and the heat and the bubbles, but I manage to get out of the tub and grab a towel. I dry myself off as best as I can, and wrap the towel around myself. I grab my clothes and put them on. They feel a bit sticky and gross from the sweat and the food and the drinks, but I don't care. I just want to get back to my room.
I walk out of the private room and into the hallway. The casino is still noisy and bright, and I try to ignore it. I look for the exit, and I find it after a few minutes of wandering. I step out of the casino and into the main corridor of the ship. It's quieter here, and I feel a bit relieved.
That pink stuff.
Is good.
I don't even feel... worried right now. I know I was, but...
It's harder to hold on to than it should be. But that's a good thing. Because I'm sick of worrying. I just want to enjoy the feeling that everything is going to be okay.
I walk down the corridor, trying to remember the way back to our room. I think I'm going in the right direction. I think I can see the familiar door up ahead.
I speed up my pace, eager to get there. To see him. To talk to him.
I reach the door and press the button to open it. It slides open, and I step inside.
I'm not prepared for what I see.
Llywelyn is there, in the middle of the room.
He's not alone.
There's another person with him. A tall, slender figure, with long white hair and pale skin. He's wearing a black cloak that covers most of his body, but I can see his face.
He's handsome, in a cold, ethereal way. His features are sharp and delicate, and his eyes are a deep purple. He looks like a winter prince from a fairy tale.
And he's kissing Llywelyn.
I startle awake. In the bath. I sit up and look around the room. The butterfly flutters around me, and I realize that I fell asleep. I'm still in the private room, still in the bath.
There's no Llywelyn here.
There's no white-haired stranger.
It was a dream.
It was just a dream.
I sigh and rub my eyes. I must be more tired than I thought. Or more drunk. Or both.
I get out of the tub again, and grab my towel. I dry myself off quickly, and put on my clothes. I leave the room and the casino behind, and head back to my own room.
I feel cold and empty as I walk. The dream won't leave my mind. The image of Llywelyn kissing someone else.
I know it's not real. I know it's just my subconscious playing tricks on me. But it still hurts. It still makes me feel... jealous. And sad.
That's...
I'm too drunk to deal with that.
I just want to sleep.
I reach the door of our room and press the button. It slides open, and I step inside.
The room is dark and quiet. There's no sign of anyone.
I frown. Where is he? Did he go somewhere? Did he leave? Did he...?
I walk to his bed and find it empty. The covers are rumpled, but there's no sign of him.
I feel a panic rising in my chest.
Where is he?
I turn around in far too much of a hurry, lose my balance, and smack directly into his chest.
I gasp and stagger back, but his arms wrap around me and steady me. I look up at his face and see his golden eyes staring down at me.
Not having wandered off with another hot guy. Or girl. Or anyone.
I'm still not entirely sober and my brain is still scrambled, but I'm pretty sure he's real this time.
His veins are glowing a faint blue, and his expression is... concerned. Worried.
"Sarah?" He says, and his voice is soft. "You've been gone for hours. You smell like alcohol and sweets. Are you okay?"
I stare at him, and I can't speak. I don't know what to say. I'm just so... happy to see him. To have him here. With me.
His hand moves to my cheek, and he brushes his thumb over my skin. His touch is gentle and warm. "Sarah? What's wrong?"
I shake my head and lean into his hand. "Nothing... just... had a bit to drink. I guess. I'm. Sorry." I mumble, and I feel tears prick my eyes.
Ugh. I'm not sad. I'm not even a little upset. I'm just—
I'm just stupidly happy to see him.
He frowns and pulls me closer, wrapping his arms around me. He hugs me tight and rests his chin on my head.
"You're a menace when you're drunk..." He sighs, but his tone is fond. "My ridiculous hetchki..."
My? Oh, that's. That's new. I like it.
I wrap my arms around his waist and bury my face in his chest. I can feel his heartbeat and his breathing. I can smell his scent, a mix of salt and soap and something else. Something that makes me feel... safe. Loved.
I don't want to let go.
I don't want this moment to end.
"I said. You." He grumbles. To no one. I'm not... I'm not drunk enough to talk without realizing it. I think. "You. Ridiculous hetchki."
"You're. A liar." I slur against him. "I'm not... ridiculous. Just. You're the ridiculous one."
His chest rumbles with a low chuckle, and he strokes my hair. "Is that so? And what makes me ridiculous?"
I lift my head and look at him. His eyes are bright and soft, and his lips are curved in a smirk. His hair is damp and messy, and there are water droplets on his skin.
He must have just gotten out of the bath, too.
He's beautiful.
I feel my face heat up, and I look away. "You're just... I can't. Count the ways. Right now. Too drunk."
He hums and leans down, his lips brushing my ear. "Is that so? Well then... maybe you should lie down. And tell me in the morning."
I shiver at his touch and his voice. They send sparks of pleasure and excitement through me. I want more. I want him to touch me everywhere. I want him to kiss me. I want him to—
He scoops me up in his arms and carries me to my bed. He lays me down gently and covers me with a blanket. He tucks me in and kisses my forehead.
"Sleep well, Sarah." He says, and his voice is tender. "I'll be here when you wake up."
Wait, no. No, we were just so close. Again. And... and I want. To kiss him. I feel like I'm brave enough to kiss him. I don't want him kissing any strange hot men, either.
I reach out for him as he starts to move away.
"Mm! No, no! I'm drunk enough to make out and maybe touch! We can make out—r—right now!"
He falls off the bed.
I genuinely don't know how. I was too busy staring at his lips and not paying attention to his movement, but he crashes to the floor with a yelp.
I sit up, concerned, and see him on his back, eyes wide, veins glowing a bright bluish-pink, staring at the ceiling. "Llywelyn? You okay?"
This is not conducive to my making out plan. The one I made about two seconds ago, but which is nevertheless pretty solid. All things considered.
"I'm..." He swallows. His gaze turns to me and his eyes are wide and serious. "Sarah. Go to sleep."
"But I—"
His face hardens. "I'm too fis'ia tired to deal with a reckless... flirtatious drunk. Go flirt with the gem if you want, but leave me alone."
I gape at him, and my face burns with embarrassment and indignation. "Llywelyn! That is such a—"
"I'm tired and in pain." That gentle fondness from moments ago has completely turned into his prickly anger. "Do not push me."
I bite my lip and glare at him. He glares back at me.
For a moment, I consider arguing with him. I consider crawling over to him and kissing him anyway. I consider telling him exactly what I think of his attitude and his stubbornness and his—
But I don't.
I can see the tension in his jaw, the strain in his shoulders, the fatigue in his eyes. He's not just being an ass. He's exhausted and in pain and... I'm not drunk enough to miss when I'm not wanted.
I swallow and look away. "Fine." I say, and lay back down on the bed. I pull the blanket up to my chin and close my eyes. "Good night, Llywelyn."
I hear him sigh, and then stand up. I feel his weight leave the floor, and then the sound of his footsteps as he walks away.
I peek through my eyelashes and see him get into his own bed. He turns his back to me and pulls the covers over himself.
I turn my back to him as well, and curl up into a ball.
I don't know why I feel so hurt. It's not as if we're in any kind of a relationship. Even if he said he had feelings for me before that's...
I've been assuming things about someone whose entire species is a bizarre contradiction. He said he loved me, but that doesn't mean he wants a relationship with me. It doesn't mean he wants to sleep with me. It doesn't mean anything beyond the fact that he wants to be near me.
Maybe I've been filtering everything through a romantic human assumption ever since that... and....
I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut.
I just want to sleep.
I just want to forget.
I just want...
To not cry over him.
But I haven't gotten what I want in a long time.