“Yeah, well.” I shifted slightly, getting comfortable against the headboard. “Too late now. You’re stuck with me.”
“Apparently.” His eyes were already starting to drift closed, the pain tonic working its way through his system. “Stubborn female.”
“Hypocritical male.”
A low, contented sound rumbled from Varyth’s chest.
I glanced over. His eyes were glazed, pupils blown wide enough to swallow the silver of his irises. The tension that usually held him rigid as a blade was melting away, his body sinking deeper into the pillows like gravity had just remembered he existed.
“That was fast,” I muttered, returning my attention to the book. Except the words wouldn’t cooperate, kept blurring into meaningless shapes because I was hyperaware of every breath Varyth took beside me.
“Mmm.” The sound was liquid, drowsy. “S’nice.”
I turned another page I hadn’t read. “What’s nice?”
“Everything.” His head lolled toward me, and when I made the mistake of looking at him, his expression was so open it felt wrong. Like watching someone naked who didn’t realise they’d forgotten their clothes. “You’re nice.”
My eyebrows climbed. “I literally just called you an idiot.”
“Still nice.”
His hand lifted—slow, uncoordinated—and his fingers found a strand of my hair that had fallen forward. He wound it around one finger with the kind of focus usually reserved for my black fire.
“Soft.” His voice carried that particular quality of someone whose brain-to-mouth filter had just taken a holiday.
Heat crawled up my neck. “Varyth?—”
“Your hair.” He tugged gently. “S’like fire. Warm. Didn’t know you could be warm.”
“You’re stoned out of your mind.”
“Little bit.” He grinned—an actual, unguarded grin that did catastrophic things to my composure. “But m’not wrong. You’re—” He gestured vaguely at all of me. “You’re very—” Another wave of his hand. “Y’know.”
“Enlightening.”
“Mhmm.” His fingers drifted from my hair to my cheek, tracing the line of my cheekbone with clumsy reverence. “Skin’s soft too. You’re so fucking soft here, but…” He pressed his palm flat against my face like he was trying to prove a point to himself. “Hard where it matters.”
My heart was doing something violent and arrhythmic. “Stop.”
“Don’t wanna.” But his eyes were already drifting closed. “Wanna look at you. M’not allowed to look usually. You get all—” He made a stabbing motion with his free hand. “Pointy.”
“Pointy.”
His hand drifted down to catch my wrist, thumb pressing against my pulse like he was counting heartbeats. “These hands. So good at stabbing things.”
A laugh tried to escape me. I swallowed it. “You need to rest.”
“Stabbing,” he continued, like I hadn’t spoken. His thumb traced circles over my pulse point, each touch sending sparks racing up my arm. “And probably other things too. Haven’t thought about them doing other things though. That would be...” He frowned, like he was working through complex philosophy instead of barely coherent thoughts. “Inappropriate.”
My pulse kicked against my throat. “Varyth.”
“Definitely haven’t thought about them—” He cut himself off, jaw working like he was trying to swallow words that wanted out. “Nope. Not thinking about it. Very appropriate thoughts only.”
“You should sleep,” I said again, but the words came out breathy. Ruined.
“Mm.” He glanced down to where his thumb was moving against my wrist, hypnotised by the motion. “You stayed.”
“You’re injured.”
