Protect The Crown✔ | Editing | Rewriting | NaNo22

Thirty Eight

~happy reading!

and thank you for 400 reads~

••

BROOKLYN

After a movie, more ice cream and a basic but very therapeutic life reflection up until the crack of dawn, all of which were attempts to cheer each other up, Wilhelm and I had eventually —and finally— slept off.

That's why, a couple of hours later, I couldn't help but groan when the sun's rays hit my face, doing nothing but shine and disturb my much needed sleep.

And with all the crying and fighting I'd fucking done last night, not to talk of staying up...

I deserved to sleep.

Unfortunately, the rays only intensified their brightness. I groaned and turned away, snuggling closer to the warm moving comfort that was my pillow.

Wait a damned minute. Moving?

Immediately, my eyes shot open and I immediately regretted it. Let me tell you this, never in a million years would I, Brooklyn fucking Persson, have expected to see —first thing in the morning, mind you— what I was seeing right this moment.

Wilhelm's pits.

"Christ!" I found myself yelling as I shot out of bed —Erik's bed— in a split second and onto the messy floor.

Wilhelm shot up instantly as well, fear and panic evident in his body posture as he looked around the bed, clearly in fight or flight mode.

"What?" he asked when he looked at me, his sleepiness returning as he yawned.

On a normal day, I'd have probably smiled at his cute innocence or the way his bed hair happened to fall over his eyes but today...

Today, knowing that I'd mistakenly fallen asleep in his fucking arms and woken up with my head on his arm and my face in his fucking pits, I only felt mortification.

Nothing but pure, cringing mortification.

"God," I ran a hand over my face, "I can't ever fucking unsee that ever again."

"Unsee what?" he asked confusedly, scratching his hairline.

"It's in the past," I said rather dismissively.

And hopefully, it would fucking stay there forever.

With a yawn, I shook my head and crouched to clean up the small mess of popcorn, food crumbs and melted ice cream we'd made last night. He let out yet another yawn before joining me on the floor. Pushing back the stray locks out of his vision, his manners were clearly still intact as he chirped "Good morning" in low tone that I classified as too bright.

I begrudgingly mumbled in response. "How're you feeling?" I managed to ask.

"Better, I think," he replied, his focus on stacking the dirty plates, "I mean, it still hurts but," he spared me a glance, "I don't feel the urge to strangle anyone at least."

"Same." Until I see your mother, that is.

"How's your cheek?" he asked after a while, the sincere concern laced in his voice never failing to shock me, "It looks pretty swollen."

Truth be told, I wasn't particularly interested in making conversation or anything else. I'd had a bad enough start to the day already (all thanks to Wilhelm and his inability to keep a shirt on) and I wasn't looking for another. A shudder coursed through me just thinking about it. Glancing briefly at the chain he had on, I answered curtly, "I'll live."