HE'S STILL IN bed when I come out. I expected that, though. There's no way he's cleaning all of that on his own so quickly. And I do intend to help. Even if he's being a stubborn idiot. After all, it's rather pointedly my fault that it's spilled. I can't pretend it isn't.
I sit down on the edge of the bed and look at him. He's wiping the blanket with a new towel, his face scrunched up in concentration. His hair is still messy and falling into his eyes, and his veins are glowing faintly. He looks so serious and focused that I almost don't want to interrupt him.
Almost.
There are things I want to do. To him. With him.
But it is not the time to do, or even think about, that kind of thing. Not where there is spilled ice cream that'll go sour and gross if it's not cleaned up. I'm not some unreasonable woman.
"Hey." I say, softly, finally breaking the silence that's stretched on between us since I came back out of the bathroom.
He looks up at me and blinks. His blue hair is still an uncharacteristic mess, and his veins pulse a soft blue glow as those golden eyes watch me. "What?"
"I'm here to help." I offer a small smile and hold out my hand, palm up, for the towel.
He huffs and shakes his head, turning his head back to the mess on his bad. "You don't have to. I can finish this myself. It's my bed and my ice cream, after all."
I reach over and take the towel from him. "I know. But I want to."
He stares at me for a moment, and then sighs. "Fine. But don't get any on the floor. I don't want the maids to think we're animals."
"Long past that with you." I smile and start wiping the blanket with the towel. It's not as bad as I thought. The ice cream is mostly gone, and there's just some wet spots left. The spray he was using must be some kind of cleaning agent. It smells faintly of lemon.
"Shut it. I'm the pinnacle of civilization." He mumbles, and moves to get off the bed.
"Where are you going?"
"To clean myself." He says, and looks at me with a hint of annoyance in his face. "I can't stand being sticky."
I huff. "You're gonna bathe for hours while I clean your mess?"
He flashes a far too confident smile over his shoulder. "You insisted." He says, and disappears into the bathroom.
"You're an assfish!" I shout after him.
"I've no idea what you just said, woman!" He calls back.
I grumble. Constant probably has no interest in translating novel words. Even if 'assfish' is pretty self explanatory. In my opinion. I finish cleaning the blanket and toss the towel onto the floor, before I move back to my own bed.
If he's in the bath, he might be in there for hours. He does love his baths.
So I should just... do something else while I wait for him.
I don't know what, though. I'm not in the mood to read or watch a show or play a game.
I just... want to talk to him.
Well, I want to do more than talk. But... uh. Maybe we. We should talk first.
Probably. Not that we've had the best record of talking to each other. We tend to just... argue. And insult each other. And ignore each other. And kiss each other.
Not... that I mind the kissing part.
I suppose... it's not so bad as that, though. We don't only argue. It's just... it all blends together sometimes. The fighting and the quiet times and the ridiculous. And those moments when I see a more... genuine and tender side of him.
It makes me want to kiss him—
I groan and press a hand to my face. "Get a grip." I mutter.
But I can't. I really can't. Because he's in the other room, naked and wet and...
I shake my head. I need to distract myself. I need to stop thinking about him like that. I need to...
I don't really know.
I've barely had any relationships before. And... The one before was...
I swallow and push aside the stab of guilt I feel. It's been a year now, at least. Since I saw Alistair. And I'm thinking of—more than thinking of—kissing some other man. I chose to stay here, instead of go back to him.
I shouldn't—
I should be...
I stare up at the ceiling above the bed, hands settled over my stomach. I... I don't... know why. Why I feel this way about Llywelyn. Especially Llywelyn. He's...
He's an asshole. He's annoying. He's selfish. He's lazy. He's infuriating. He's... he's...
I groan.
I don't know what I'm doing. Or what I want to do.
I certainly don't know what I should do. I just... want to be with him. To touch him. To kiss him. To...
I feel a flush rise up my neck. I squeeze my eyes shut.
I really can't control myself. This is humiliating. I'm a grown woman. He's... not a human man. But still a man. I shouldn't be acting like this. I'm not a teenager anymore.
I sit up and rub my face. Maybe I should just sleep. I'm tired anyway. And I don't want to deal with this right now.
I lie back down and pull the blanket over me. I close my eyes and try to clear my mind.
But it's hard. It's really hard. Because all I can think about is him. How he kissed me. How he said he loves me. How he wants me.
And... how much I want him too.
And what if we—
No. Stop.
I'm not going to get anywhere spiraling and thinking about this on my own. I don't know if I'd get anywhere but backward if I tried talking to him, either. It's Llywelyn, after all. But...
That stupid fish will be in there for hours.
I should sleep.
I will sleep.
I take a deep breath and relax.
I'm asleep before I even realize it.