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ꕥꕥꕥ
As always, Paul can't keep his eyes off you.
This time, you're pacing about your shared room, picking up a stray sock here, or a discarded coat there in a feeble attempt to clean up. Paul, on the other hand, is sprawled with his hands folded lazily behind his head on your (unmade) bed with his sparkling eyes glued to you. Although you quite like his comfortable gaze crawling all over you, you can't help but feel a bit frustrated.
"Care to help?" You ask with an intentional bit of venom in your voice.
"No, I quite like watching better," he says. You roll your eyes and throw an armful of dirty clothes into the hamper. You run an exasperated hand through your hair, done in a messy, low ponytail, and scan the room for anything you missed.
"C'mon, just relax, will ye?" He whines, patting the empty, inviting space beside him. God, how you want to just lay down, forgetting all responsibilities and expectations of the outside world and just letting him wrap his arms around you. So many mornings spent like that, his body so close to yours you feel his slow, leisurely heartbeat and his fingers toying with your hair. Maybe that's the reason you had let the bedroom get like this, and if you sacrificed just one of those glorious mornings, then you would be able to spend so many more without feeling that guilt. Paul was not happy though, and he was making his displeasure blatantly obvious.
"Paul, this room is disgusting, and it's only going to get worse," you tell him over your shoulder as you dust a pile of crumbs into the garbage can. He only hums in response, with no witty comeback.
"Just a few minutes,"
"After." You promise. He whines, like a little child who has been denied a sweet snack
You tried to ignore the fact that the bed is still chaotically unmade, but with the rest of the room now looking somewhat tidier, you just can't leave it any longer. You walk purposefully towards the bed and motion for him to get up, but he just looks at you with a comically worried glint in his eyes.
"C'mon, up, I need to make the bed," you demand. He doesn't budge.
"Paul, I'm serious." Despite your concrete words, you can't control the one side of your mouth that decides to turn upwards.
"Just lay for a bit, then I'll help you make it," he bargains. As good a deal as that sounds like, you know that if you crawl back into bed with him, it'll be hours before you get up again. You shake your head. Suddenly, his gaze shifts to the floor down by your feet.
