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He’s talking too much now. Faster than usual. Performing. Throwing words into the room and trying to obscure the fact that his pulse is probably still recovering from me calling him prince.

He’s frighteningly good at pretending, but I know his tell. The more he has to hide, the more hyperactive he gets. Talking, fidgeting, bouncing from one thing to another.

“Rai, why do you let Dima cook for you so much? Don’t you worry he’s going to poison you one day? I would. I’d be constantly worried. Every meal would be a gamble. Every bite a potential death sentence.”

Rei blinks. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Because you’re acting insane,” Dimitri says flatly.

“I’m always like this.”

“Not this much.”

“Yes, this much. You just don’t pay attention.”

“I pay attention.”

“Clearly not enough.”

I watch Ilya’s hands. They’re moving too much. He can’t stay still. Dimitri is right. Something has him wound tighter than usual.

He keeps jumping from subject to subject before anyone can reply, bulldozing through every opening in the conversation.

He’s spiraling.

And I’m enjoying every second of it, because I know it’s me.

I’m what has him so fucking twitchy.

“Also, this couch is uncomfortable. How do you sit on this? It’s like sitting on a rock. A very, very uncomfortable rock. You should get a new couch. Or at least some better cushions. I’m suffering here. My back is suffering. My entire spine is going to break.”

Rei looks at the couch, then at Ilya. “You’re not even sitting on it.”

Ilya pauses. Looks down and realizes he’s still standing.

“Well, I was going to sit on it. But then I realized how uncomfortable it was and decided against it. Preemptive suffering avoidance. It’s a skill.”

“Are you on some kind of drugs?” Dimitri mutters.

“Potato, tomato. Don’t piss me off, Dima.”

I let him keep going for another minute. He cycles through complaints about the mansion’s lighting, the temperature, the fact that Dimitri’s bookshelves are organized by color instead of genre, the audacity of the driveway being gravel instead of paved, and the general offense of the forest surrounding the property.

“It’s too quiet,” he says. “Forests are creepy. Anything could be out there. Bears. Wolves. Serial killers. Dima.”

But he still hasn’t looked at me once.

Not directly, though I see the way his eyes flick toward me every few seconds and the way his body angles slightly away, like he’s trying to create distance without actually moving.

Eventually, he runs out of things to complain about. He clears his throat. “Anyway. I should—I need to use the bathroom.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. He just turns and walks out of the room, moving fast enough that it’s obvious he’s fleeing.

Rei watches the empty doorway with furrowed brows, silver hair falling into his eyes. “He’s acting weird.”

Dimitri’s gaze moves to my face. “Probably because he wants to cave your skull in and he’s running out of self-control.”