Morons and Monarchs

Chapter Forty-Five: Branwen🤐

I hate Bricria.

I hate everything.

I hate him, and I hate myself for doing so. I hate him, but I can't help hating him because I hate my own personality. I hate him, and I acknowledge that I hate him, for the same reasons I hate myself. Selfishness, I know, for a fact, that I am selfish, and I cant help it. But he is too.

He is struggling, and it reminds me of my own struggles and I hate him for it. I hate him for reminding me of all the bad parts of myself. And I wish I never met him, that he never met me.

I wish Bricria were nothing more than an insolent, arrogant idiot I first pegged him to be. That was before, I guess, he showed me how cunning he truly can be. Like the fact that he now has persuaded Bayou to let me sleep in his tent tonight. So here I am. In an uncomfortably small tent with Bricria. It would be large enough if it was only me- or only him, But with two of us emanating heat and cuddled into each other, the space is tiny.

I wonder what he is thinking? If he is thinking about me, or if it is just me thinking about him... or maybe we are thinking about each other? It is hard not to when you are both confined to a really small space together and are practically forged together as a steel blade is. It is almost difficult, really, to be this close to him and not pluck his eyes out.

That is all I can think about.

When you pluck somebody's eyes out, does their true lazy eye emerge? I will have to test that theory out someday... maybe on Bricira. I wonder if he has a lazy eye?

"What are you thinking about?" Bricria asks cheerfully. "You look like you are contemplating which naughty, wicked daydream you should act on first." He grins. "Please tell me it is the one about how we take these layers off where we are and do something I would consider... fun."

I chuckle. "You have no idea," A layer of mischief enter his eyes so I quickly add, "And the only way I would ever take off my clothes in front of you is if I had hypothermia, and even then, you may have to beg me to take them off."

"What if I peel them off myself?"

"Then you will have your eyeballs plucked out."

He pouts. "Meany."

I stick out my tongue again, forgetting how close we are and almost licking the bridge of his nose.

His grin broadens. "I think somebody is dreaming about horny stuff again,"

I narrow my eyes. "I think somebody is flattering themselves too much,"

He stares at me as if he is trying to figure something out. Some puzzle. "I think that too," He flicks my nose and I scrunch up my face.

"Now who's the meany."

He frowns. "Oh," He wraps his arms around me and cuddle me into his chest. "I am sorry for flicking your nose, I didn't mean to harm you." Bricira says like a child. I push against his chest and his arms fall away. I roll over on my side, well, more like flop over, technically. But don't mind that.

"Branwen..." His voice is questioning. "Can I have some of the blankets?"

"No." I grumble into my makeshift pillow.

He cuddles into my back, wrapping one of his arms around my waist and heaving my blankets on top of both of us. The movement jars me and a gust of cold air blows through the temporarily open blanket. I shiver and he presses closer to me. For body heat.

That is the only reason.

Body heat.

Body heat.