Cold Hard Hugs

#15_We Have a Doorbell?

Later, we did go back to my room.

Compared to Tillie's it was perhaps a touch shabby. Hers was the very model of order and tidiness when it came to what mattered and then the epitome of cosiness when it came to her corner o' blankets. Mine was just a mess. I had stuff, and that stuff tended to spread out and occupy far more space than it deserved or needed.

I also had not made my bed, so things looked even worse. This horrible pit of a duvet and mess of pillows, ugh. As Tillie and I stood in the doorway gazing over the devastation I reflected on my decision to not subtly slip ahead and maybe just tidy up even a tiny bit. Oh well, too late now.

"And this is my horrible, horrible room," I said.

"It's very...lived in," she said, with obvious care and tact.

"Hey, you're the one who wanted to see it."

"I like it! It's very you!"

"Very me, very lived in. I suppose there are worse things. Would you like to actually go inside?"

"Oh, right, sorry," she said, and then went in. I followed. We seemed to do a lot of that recently; going into places and me always following behind. Just one of those things you notice, I guess. She moved through the debris and detritus with the same remarkable grace and ease she demonstrated anytime she moved anywhere. Seriously, I struggled not to knock anything over and I have legs, how she manages with a tail is a mystery I doubt I will ever get to the bottom of.

She headed for the bed and so I did as well, though while she slithered her way onto it I paused to move some of the bottles sat beside it into the bin. Why they hadn't been there in the first place I can put down entirely to me thinking I'd get round to it later. That later was now.

"Do you drink in bed?" Tillie asked, testing the bed for quality at the same time. In my estimation the bed was okay, but I was the sort of person who'd try (and fail, but still) to sleep on a floor out of choice so I'm clearly not the sort of person fit to pass judgement.

"When I'm thirsty," I said, then sitting down on the bed next to her.

"Seems comfy," she said, her tests concluded.

"It has its moments. So is this living up to your expectations?" I asked, fully aware that the answer was probably going to be no. Then again, what on earth could she possibly have expected? She looked around again, in case anything had changed from when the door had opened to now. Nothing had.

"I think I prefer my room," she said, again full of grace and tact.

"And with good reason. Ah, I do need to tidy up I'm just...lazy," I said. Honesty is the best policy.

"But it just seems fair that I should see your room, you know?" She asked.

"Oh, definitely. Though, to be really fair, we'd have to actually get into the bed," I said.

"We would?" This did not seem something that had occurred to her. It had occurred to me immediately!

"We got into that nice little nest thing of yours. Was super cosy. I think we nodded off," I said.

"We did..."

So much 'we' happening up in here.

"We should....probably - you know, to be fair - probably get into your bed too. I guess?" She asked, running a hand across the duvet as though checking for traps. Really should have made the bed.

"For the sake of fairness, yes. It's demanded of us."

Both of us then waited for the other to make the first move. The longer we waited, the harder it was for me to keep a straight face. I could tell she was about to go as well; something in the flicker of her lights and the focus of her lenses. I wasn't going to let her beat me! I would never live it down! For a day at least. That would be unbearable.