Maisie
Soren hit the bed with a groan, his dark head smacking into the pillow as he blinked hard to focus.
"Hey! No shoes on the bed!" I yelled, and he sat up instantly, flinching like a child that had been rebuked as he fiddled for the laces of his shoes.
"Sorry," he slurred, missing the laces by an inch. He frowned, shaking his head as he tried again, but his fingers scraped the floorboard instead. "I have it. I jush—just..." He blew raspberries, lips puckering. "...need one second."
He missed again and yelled, "Brynn! Come take off my shoes!"
Oh, for the love of the Goddess.
I smacked off his wrist before he cool peel off his nails and he draw back his hand, affronted. "You don' hav'ta ssshmack me around. Always smacking me around." He sombered up when I began untying his laces. "You look good. At my feet. Very... very good."
