Dalaric

Fourteen: "𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙥𝙮."

It's almost one o'clock in the afternoon. We slept for a good two hours. Well, I did. Dalaric slept for three and I just watched him for the last hour.

He's also very grumpy and didn't let go of me until I practically forced him to, especially when he entered the washroom. He only glared at me and patted my bahookie before shutting the door.

It takes a lot to wake him up. A lot.

Like fifty-five kisses all around his face- a lot.

I almost ran out of breath too.

As his glaring continues, I start humming the tune to bad liar before I kiss his forehead while forcefully stretching his lips so he smiles.

Leaving me stranded on the extremely tall counter, he walks back to the room and appears a few minutes later with clothes. I hope he doesn't expect me to change out of his turtleneck.

After Dalaric puts his cup of strawberry tea, made by his truly, in the sink, I exaggeratedly sigh when I realise I have to let my hair out of my bun. Or nest, as Dalaric calls it.

Sometimes my topknots really hurt my head but I'd prefer it over a ponytail any day, Before I'm done, I shake my head to let my hair sit naturally.

Only when I turn to Dalaric do I notice that he's in a daze. I sniff my hair when he just continues staring at me, his eyes very slightly wide.

Did he find out I used his shampoo?

Surprisingly, I don't faint when he walks towards me and grazes my cheek before he whispers.

His voice is enticing, the low baritone sending some indescribable feeling to my tummy that's filled with pancakes and peach tea.

"You are so fucking unreal."

Gulp. Why is it that I only believe that when he says it? I never really minded how I looked. I don't think it matters that much, either. My nose is a bit too big though.

I can only nod as he picks up from under my arms and sets me on the ground. Like a baby.

"Are we going to the joint?"

Did that sound really cool or did that sound really cool?

Dalaric walks over to the living room and grabs his phone and wallet from the coffee table. He turns back only to shake his head and sigh before running a hand over his face.

An unattractive frown makes its way on my face. Is he stressed? I walk over to him and hold my arms outward, a signal that I need a hug. When in reality, I know he needs it more.

He doesn't lower his head since I glare at his newly bandaged wound.

I hug his waist and rub my face on his black v-neck. This is one of the rare times that he wears short sleeved shirts so I can shamelessly ogle his very muscular arms. I also want to poke the veins but that can wait. They might burst if I keep on doing it. Stupid Maya.

His arms tighten around me and he hunches over me, like a guardian angel. He's definitely my angel.

"You're my angel, y'know that, dude?" I can feel him relax a teeny bit as he sighs, the vibrations passing through my being.

Even his sighs are attractive? Put him in jail.

He tenses again and I rub his back and make tiny smiley faces on it, hopefully soothing him.

It makes me even sadder not knowing how to help him with whatever trouble he's facing.

"I have therapy." The words are laced with a tone of- embarrassment?