If You Think I'm Gonna Come Up With A Title For This, You're Dead Wrong

Chapter 17

"It's all good," you smile, exhaling. "But I do see your point." You rub your arm. "I agree with your reasoning, but if we continued like that, I would've kissed you, and my mouth tastes gross right now, so yeah."

His face is finally matching yours. "You— really?"

"Was that not your intention by pinning me to the counter?" You giggle, trying to relax.

"I didn't really realize I was doing it, to be honest."

Your smile widens. "Glad I'm not the only one that's freaking out about this."

"Yeah," he chuckles nervously, "I'll admit that this is my first confession."

"You did a damn good job." You sign, pushing the hair out of your face. "On a more serious note, I can't go back to my house because I'm fairly sure Karai knows where I live. Do you mind?"

"Oh, not at all." He walks over, pulling the garage door open. "It's not a bad idea, anyway. It's less likely you'll be followed the free trips you have to make."

"How convenient."

"It is, huh?" He steps into his lab properly. "Well, you can't really argue with convenience, can you?"

"I guess." You fold your arms across your chest, your jacket constricting around you. "Seriously, though," you look up at him, "we have to be really careful about this."

He nods. "Of course." He smiles. "But, hey? We've gotten this far without dying."

"Barely." You look down at your dress. "I don't suppose you have a spare set of clothes, huh?"

"I do not." He looks around a moment. "I can go back out and grab your things if you want."

You wave it off. "It's alright. It's just blood."

"What did you even do to her?"

You sit down on the countertop, leaning forward to rest your head on your hands. "I don't remember." You bring one away from your face to look at what specks of blood you could not quite reach, the blood too far under your nails. You absently look around for something to use to pick it out. "I think I must've bitten her; my mouth tastes like blood."

"You aren't bleeding or anything, right?" He gets up. "And could you sit down for a second over there? I'm going to try and run a blood test to make sure there isn't anything in your system that can cause long-term issues."

You do as asked, settling into a proper chair. "Not that I know of. My head hurts, though."

"Where?"

You gesture to the back of your head. "That's probably part of why I can't remember everything that clearly."

He pulls up a chair, grabbing a syringe from a box. "Alright," he admitted, "I'm still not amazing at this, so if you have bruising, I'm sorry." He holds his hand out. "Arm."

The process of him drawing blood from your arm is not a smooth one, but it is not unforgivably unpleasant. He puts the blood into a vial, sticks it in his centrifuge, and claims that he will be able to get proper results in approximately three hours. Until then, he suggests, it is not a terrible idea for you to have some food and drink while he goes and grabs your things; you insist that this is unnecessary, but he is already out of the door and back into the Shellraiser before you can say much.

You sign quietly as he leaves. 'I don't even think that phone is his.' You slide the lab door open, slightly— and you can take solace in slightly— limping towards the kitchen. 'On an unrelated note, holy fucking shit, I have a boyfriend.'