And I swear,I swear, for the briefest second, a fraction of a heartbeat, that the corner of his mouth tilts, as though he almost,almostsmiles…
But that is fucking crazy.
Samick shakes his head. “He is healing. He is not awake, and won’t be for some time.”
“Oh.”
I give no apology for my almost accusation.
“Did he get hurt in the hail?”
The faint green of his eyes gleams in the hollow light, watching me. “Yes.”
I hum a curt sound.
The corner of my mouth twitches, daring to smirk. Instead, I stalk for the bench with a bit more confidence than I should have.
I have my sights set on the toothbrush.
The clothes.
The promise of a shower.
Samick stretches his legs out and, slumping against the wall, watches me bypass him for the towels folded on the far side of the bench.
I steal quite a pile.
One for my hair.
One for my body.
One for washing.
And a couple for the floor, because I’m not about to get some nasty foot fungus from shared shower floors.
Those cold lettuce eyes follow me back to him.
I snatch the toothbrush and paste from the pile, but leave the clothes on the dry bench before I head into the shower maze.
Any ideas I have about heading out of sight are swatted as he says, “Stop.”
I’ve gone far enough.
The tut of my tongue is soft, but I’m certain he hears it as clearly as the toothbrush rattling onto the edge of the soap holder.
I prepare before stripping down.
Laying out towels on the floor, stealing the shampoo bottle from the shower over, then draping my towels over the neighbouring showerhead to keep them dry.
Finally, I brace the cold and strip in a shimmying rush, kicking away my clothes and the pad with them.
I’ll deal with that later.
The reminder brings my hand to my belly. No cramps. No pain.
I slept through the last of it.
Thank fucking god—even though I’m atheist.
