Celine checked his temperature by placing her hand on his forehead and found out his temperature was back to normal.
Lucian wanted to kiss her but he didn't brush his teeth and his breath probably smelled like death, so he didn't.
Celine squeezed a wet towel to wipe his face and hands, then poked his cheek when he kept his usually talkative mouth shut, "What are you thinking about?"
"My breath."
"..." She stared at him, unblinking. Then she threw her head back and laughed. She actually stood up and went to look for his toothbrush and tooth powder, finding them in his cupboard.
For a spoiled noble lady, she sure knew how spoiling worked, understanding his petty needs. The problem was that it made him want to be "sick" more often, just to be taken care of by her.
He sat up and took the toothbrush from her, brushing his teeth with a mixture of mint powder and salt.
"Better?" she asked.
He nodded, his eyes were still glued to her. He couldn't help but admire her, even though she was dressed as a man. She didn't panic, she didn't cry, she just took control of the situation and did what needed to be done.
His heart was pounding so hard that he thought she could hear it. Or at least see it, the way his chest was heaving. He was a goner, truly.
What worse, the more he fell for her, the more Voice would take advantage of it. It no longer wanted to take over his body through a deal, no, it wanted him to accomplish its goals through coercion.
Celine sat next to Lucian on the bed, her shoulders slumping. She played with his fingers on his left hand, while his other one held the toothbrush.
Her commanding presence was replaced by a soft one, now that the crisis was over. Her lashes suddenly looked longer, her cheeks rosier, and Lucian had to remind himself that she was the same person who could bark orders like a general.
He rinsed his mouth and placed the toothbrush on his nightstand. He stood up to grab a new shirt and Celine followed like a lost puppy, not letting go of his fingers.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Suicide is not a joke, Lucian. You cannot just...leave me behind," she whispered.
"I wasn't trying to kill myself," Lucian said, irritated by her accusation, "I was just trying to kill my feelings for you."
He regretted it the moment he said it, because she froze. His half joke came out wrong. Her grip on his fingers tightened, and her eyes grew colder, the change visible to the naked eye.
"Oh," she breathed, "So it's my fault."
"That's not what I said," Lucian covered his face. What was this tendency of his to take out his frustrations on her? "Forget what I said. I'm not myself."
"Okay," she said, "I will pretend you never said it." She continued to hold his hand, and even forced a smile. "Better get dressed, or you will catch a cold."
She released his hand and turned around to give him some privacy. She sat on the bed, her posture ramrod straight.
"..." He opened his wardrobe, giving her a side glance. He didn't know why she didn't press on the matter and pretended everything was fine. Maybe she was like him, putting on a strong front to avoid vulnerability.
"Are you not going to change my clothes?" he asked in an attempt to salvage the mood, a poor one but still an attempt.
"..."
He began to unbutton his shirt, revealing his bare chest, "I can't compare to the soldiers in the barracks, but I bet you won't find a more muscular blond man in the kingdom."
The corner of her mouth twitched upward, "What do you expect me to do? Worship your body?"
"I will definitely worship yours if you ever decide to show it to me," Lucian said, not in a flirtatious way, but in a matter-of-fact way, as if it was the most natural thing to say. "No, I take that back. I don't have to see it. I already do."
He pushed himself to cheer both of them up, even if it meant making a fool out of himself.
"Alright," she said, "Come here."
He walked over to her carefully, expecting a punch or a kick, or both. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed his stomach.
"Whaa─" He flinched at the unexpected contact, his hand automatically cradling the back of her head. He could feel her hot breath on his skin, her lips soft and gentle, and his whole body went rigid.
"You worked hard," she whispered.
His stomach had defined muscles from all the labor he'd done. She traced the lines with her nose and lips, pressing kisses along the way.
He didn't get to choose what body he would be born to, but she made it feel like a gift.
She was trying to comfort him in her own weird way and Lucian couldn't hold back his emotions any longer.
He fell to his knees and buried his face in her lap.
He didn't cry, but he did hold onto her tightly, as if she was the only thing keeping him from falling apart, "I hate it."
"I know."
"It's not fair."
"I know."
"I want to give up."
"I know."
"Then why are you still here?"
"I have nowhere else to go," she said.
"..." He stayed like that for a while, with him venting his frustrations to her.
She didn't say anything else, just stroked his hair and let him have his moment.
"I promise to be less of a burden," Lucian mumbled and got up on the bed, straddling her. He pinned her down, his hands on either side of her head.
"Are you sure you are alright?" she asked, probably still finding him unstable.
"I am now," he whispered, kissing her cheek, "As long as I have you."
He covered them with a blanket, and then started to unbutton her shirt.
"Lucian…?" she hesitated.
"It's okay," he said, his lips finding hers, "We don't have to go all the way. I just want to be close to you. I can't have you take charge all the time."