“Well, I can hardly keep calling youkid, after I didthatto youthere.”
“You say it like it was a bad thing.”
He looked up at the sky for inspiration. “None of it was a bad thing. I just need to focus right now. Things are escalating, they’re getting worse—of course they are, you know exactly what the deal is and are doing your damnedest to help me make it in time—and you’re better but you’re not where you need to be. You’re not enough on your own to fend off fifty creatures with five hundred mouths trying to get their way into your apartment the second I let you leave here. In fact, I almost want to force you to stay,” he said, clearly not thinking when he did. It just rushed out of him like a reflex.
But that was okay.
Because her answer rushed out of her, too.
“You really wouldn’t have to force me.”
And after that, there was silence.
A thick, strangely tense silence.
One he kept trying to break, then retreating before he could. As if he really wanted to tell herall right, then yes, please do, but couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. Like it was too much, tooneedy, too much of a confession of things he didn’t feel. Or things hedidfeel but didn’t seem right.
She couldn’t tell.
But it was enough that she didn’t mind going with it.
Or, at least, she didn’t mind giving him any excuses he needed.
“It would have a lot of benefits. Nothing could climb in and get me, and you wouldn’t have to sleep on my roof, and I can practice and practice until I can do all the things we need me to do. Be strong, save myself, and make sure that you have all the skills you need to win this thing,” she said, and she could see she’d gotten to him.
She actually heard his breath catch; his eyes briefly reached for hers.
He even took a step forward. Before he managed to drag himself back.
“You can’t possibly want to do that,” he said, sensible once more.
“I don’t see why not.”
“The house smells like burning matches.”
“If I had a problem with that we would have never become friends.”
His face scrunched up; he clicked his fingers. As if to say,shoot, foiled again.
But then he glanced away, into the darkness, until finally he had it.
“Okay, all right. What about the fact that my toilet has a face?” he asked.
He even seemed proud of himself for it. Despite how fun that sounded.
“Slightly more concerning, but still not exactly putting me off.”
“Steve hates you.”
“Who the hell is Steve?”
He clicked his fingers and pointed.
“The truck. My truck. My chariot,” he said.
As if she was being ridiculous, not getting that.
Instead of perfectly reasonable.
