αяє тнσѕє му ¢нυ¢к тαуℓσяѕ? *:.｡..｡.:*ℍ𝕠𝕓𝕚𝕖 𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕨𝕟 *:.｡. .｡.:*

𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖤𝖱 𝖳𝖶𝖤𝖭𝖳𝖸-𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖤: 𝖨'𝗆 𝖠𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗂𝗇' 𝗈𝖿 𝖸𝗈𝗎

~

"What was that?"

I take my hand from the doorframe, using it to help secure my towel instead.

"I was on the phone to Miguel." Hobie lets out a low whistle, bracing his hands on his hips. He dons a new ring on his left hand ring finger. Glad he actually put on the ring I got him.

Stepping into the carpeted room, I scoff. "Yeah, obviously. I meant that last part."

A hand reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck, and I shamelessly watch his bicep ripple beneath his shirt. "I dunno. He was tellin' me not to hurt you, for some reason."

"Like... Romantically?"

"Uh, yeah. I think so."

A few beats of silence hike up the tension between us. Hobie is the one to break it.

"I'm a bit confused on why he'd say 'at. It's not like we're together or anythin'. Right?"

I cross my bare arms over my chest, recalling the words Miguel had warned me with. "Right."

If he was affected by my response in any way, he didn't show it. Instead, he gestured towards the towel wrapped around my middle. "Why are ya... Unclothed?"

"Naked? Nudey? One with nature?" Hobie is seemingly unimpressed with my synonyms. "I forgot to bring clothes in with me to the bathroom, Einstein."

"Oh."

"What, were you expecting my reason to be to seduce you or something?" I let out a light laugh, moving past him to find some clothes from his partially-opened closet.

"Not expecting. Hoping." Even with my back turned to him, I can tell that he wears a proud smirk at his attempt of flattery.

"Bold, very bold, Hobart." I flick through a few shirts on hangers, looking for one that hasn't been fashionably torn in places. Don't want to pop a tit. Or do I?

I feel as his presence shifts closer, his body heat now directly behind me. "When ya call me that, I feel like an absolute geezer. Can't you torture me wit' a different name?" One arm reaches past me, pushing 2 thirds of the hangers to the side, before unhooking a hanger with a black graphic tee, donning a white 'A'; the anarchy symbol.

"Snookums? Pooh bear? My pookie sunshine nugget?" He tenses beside me at the last one. "What, you like 'my pookie sunshine nugget'?"

Hobie decides not to respond, instead handing me the hanger and a pair of trackpants I hadn't realised he had been holding.

"You're no fun." I mock-pout, taking the clothes from his outstretched arms.

"I am lots of fun. You should see me under the hood."

Under the hood? What does th-

"You dirty bastard!" I slap him playfully over the bicep with the arm that was braced against my chest.

"Woah there, Jessica! I am not Mr. Wilson!" Hobie quickly turns his back to me, hands over his eyes like a scared child.

"Oh calm down. Its not like the towel fell off, it just slipped slightly."

"Still!"

I scoff at his immature behaviour. "What are you, 12?"

"Whateva. Just go get dressed before the whole towel slips off, eh?" He says into his hands.

"Don't act like you wouldn't love it." I call over my shoulder as I make my way back into the hallway.

"I certainly would love it, but apparently Miguel would not."