Dalaric

Nineteen: "𝙏𝙬𝙤 𝙙𝙖𝙮𝙨."

"I'll take you."

My mouth opens to squeak excitedly before he interrupts me.

"But not today." I can't help but grumble.

I've been so used to having him near me and now I don't think he should be any place else. What if he gets hurt?

"What if you get hurt? Who's going-"

"Stop." He needs to accept that only I can save him in times of danger. And maybe Mr. Jones.

Dalaric pats my bahookie and tells me to get ready so he can drop me off.

I make my way into the washroom, clad in one of his turtlenecks and my penguin print sleeping shorts. Humming to a System of a Down song, I try to pop one of the pimples on my forehead.

My forehead always gets bumpy for no reason. Fatima ordered me to stop touching the cute bumps and try an alcohol-free toner but I keep forgetting to buy it.

I take off the turtle neck, ready for a hot shower under Dalaric's sprinkly shower system. It also has a little place where you can sit. I think of ways to combat the climate crisis as I wash my hair. Shower thoughts are either the craziest or most revolutionary.

Picking out a white sports bra, I put on my unmatched underwear. Just as I'm done putting on my mother- or mom, I really don't know- jeans, the door swivels open and I shriek.

Dalaric's eyes move around with a confused expression as his initial words slowly die down when he notices me, or the scars on my shoulders and arms.

"Pancakes or-"

What I expected was for his eyes to wander to my below-average boobies but instead, they zeroed in, rather darkly, on my scars that have transformed to white lines with a pink hue. I hope he doesn't notice the weird patch of hair on my stomach.

Gulp. There goes my plan to hide them from him for eternity.

Slowly, he walks forward as his eyes remain on the wounds. I don't know what to do so I just stare at his dark grey hoodie with three lines on it. Only when he stops right in front of me, do I feel the lightest touch on my shoulder.

He stands there, tracing the scar before his warm finger moves to my upper arm. Mama was angry. Dalaric clenches his eyes as if he's in pain before looking into mine.

He bends down and gives the scar a kiss with an expression of contemplation, as if he's not sure that's what you're supposed to do.

"Fine?"

He has a vulnerable look in his eyes and my heart threatens to burst. His eyes hold anxiousness as he asks me if he can continue. I wish he could kiss all of my scars away.

He kisses it again before glaring at it, cursing it for whatever reason. My heart just flatlined.

The warm pair of lips ends up on my cheek before his hands cradle my face, slightly squishing my cheeks which renders me speechless.

He takes off his hoodie and in the blink of an eye, shoves it on me without caring to fit the sleeves into my arm.

Dalaric, who's now shirtless, carries me bridal style and I yelp as he walks out of the washroom.

"W-what are you doing?" I try to speak but he interrupts me, his voice gentle.

"Shhh." He puts my face back into the crook of his neck, a protective hand over my head.

Did this caveman just shh me?

"Did you just-"

"Shut up or I'll shoot Mr. Jones."