The Dramatic Spiel of Arthur and Chardonnay~ (7,132 views)

He exhaled at her response, but that still didn’t make him not want to find this guy and kick his ass. And he was confident he’d be able to do it, too. He might take a few hits but he certainly wasn’t dumb enough to get himself killed by the guy. At least, that’s what he thought she meant to imply by ‘or worse’. How ironic, that now she actually gave a shit whether he was injured or worse, whereas if this happened when they were teenagers she probably would have just expected that he’d do this for her and not given a damn about the consequences. Well if he was being honest, if she was being chased by some creep even back then he probably would have done something similar, no matter how much he hated her. But... he definitely wouldn’t be this angry, this personally involved.

She’d had way too much to drink. He should have stopped her about three or four glasses ago...

”I know I’d be fine. Trust me on that.” He said. Though that kind of went against her second statement. He knew she didn’t trust him. He’d established as much when she had the nightmare, when he’d said he trusted her so she could trust him and she just left. It still stung him to think about it and even now that he knew it, the thought still stung. He wasn’t trying to be anything to her he wasn’t. He didn’t want to be her best friend, he didn’t want to be her boyfriend, he just... thought they had to have a mutual sort of trust to sleep together. But she didn’t trust him, no matter how many times he proved he wasn’t going to use her or anything and it just... stung that even despite that he didn’t doubt her himself. He stared at the glasses on the table and exhaled. He needed to get rid of them, and get her some water. He stood up off the couch. ”I believe you. You’ll find a way to prove it. I’ll get you water.”

He didn’t know what else to say... and he didn’t doubt she’d find a way to triumph. She always did and she was new to the whole business world right now. Running your own business wasn’t easy. He didn’t run his own – sure, he helped Mr. Carmichael run his place, but ultimately, he was the one in charge. Arthur wasn’t trying to manage everything alone, but she probably was. It was stressful opening a business, especially if she had such anxieties about being compared to her father. He grabbed the glass of wine and the one she’d been using and put them in the sink – she’d crash soon, he’d wash them when she did – and he got her a glass of water from the fridge. He then went back to the seat beside her and put the glass of water on the counter in front of her. He reached out and brushed some of her hair back, seeing her hunched over. ”Drink some water. I’ll put you to bed.”

Even though she was drunk off her ass, she was just as stubborn as she usually was. She only protested weakly for her drink. When she looked over at him with eyes as big as plates he almost snorted. It was odd to see her think drunk and while he wanted to laugh at her for being so out of it he couldn’t. He still felt bad for her. He was glad he came over, though. If she’d been alone to drink this much, she might have killed herself on accident... that would have sucked.

She didn’t seem that put off by her lack of alcohol anymore and attempted to drink some water. She stood up and he did so as well, just then realizing how badly she was shaking. He immediately regret not stopping her from drinking during the story she told him. He was just distracted, enraged, and he just... didn’t stop her because he was thinking. And now she was drunk mess.

Oh, she was going to kill him in the morning, wasn’t she?

”Of course you are.” he brushed some more hair from her face, getting it away from her mouth. He wondered if he could find any hair ties around here to pull her hair back for the night. He didn’t want it getting in her mouth or, if she did so, in her vomit. He’d have to get her a can to keep by her. And he didn’t trust her to stay on her side near the bucket just in case, so... he’d probably be up pretty late. Her little giggle made him frown. God, she was acting like a little kid. It was weird to watch, but also... kind of depressing when he thought about why she’d drunk herself into this state. ”I didn’t do anything to it, it’s just water. I promise. I’ll help you walk.”

How hard was it for her to just accept she was unable to do things? She continued to insist she could walk, shower, bathe... when she really could do none of those things. The water in her hands was sloshing everywhere and when she tried to stand up she stumbled right into him. He wrapped an arm around her with one hand, letting it rest on her waist before he took her drink out of her hand with his other. He was much steadier than she was, and he didn’t need her shaking the water all over him or on the floor. The counter was dripping now and he knew he’d be cleaning that up later. But at least it wasn’t alcohol – water was much less of a pain to clean.

”No, you can do that in the morning. You’re tired, aren’t you?” Arthur said. Her anxieties about being watched made him stare out towards the patio, too, wondering if she was right. If this creeper did have some thing for her and kept watching her, observing her... God, if he did, Arthur was seriously going to kill him. ”He can’t do anything if I’m here.”

Her comment about her parents telling her how to walk wasn’t anything special until she asked him a question. He blinked. He was sure his parents were there for his first steps. By the time their funeral rolled around, he was able to stand behind his sister, ignoring the well-meaning words of sympathy from their neighbors who came simply out of curtesy. But he didn’t remember anything about them. He was too young to have memories of them that stuck out and he hated it. But instead, not wanting to get into his thoughts so much, he just said ”yeah. One foot in front of the other”, and guided her back towards her room.

It was weird to be in her room without the purpose of having sex with her, and to set her down on the bed without trailing kisses down her neck. He rolled her onto her side and knelt down beside her, brushing her hair out of her face again. ”do you have hair ties around here?” He asked her, as he tugged over the trash bin in her room and placed it by the side of her bed. ”if you feel sick, do it in here.”

Leading her to her bedroom was hard, and though he probably could have carried her if he had to, he didn’t want to jostle her too much and trigger her into vomiting. She lied down pretty easily when he got her to her room and he was glad she didn’t try to flop on her back or stomach, and that she just stayed in the position he put her in, nuzzling into her pillow.

He’d taken care of several people when they were drunk. Somehow, he always seemed to be the babysitter even when he didn’t want to be. He put the glass of water on her nightstand, in case she got dehydrated later. Right now she needed to sleep this off. She wasn’t so far gone she had alcohol poisoning, and as long as he kept her on her side, she wouldn’t drown. He still needed a hair tie, though... he finished brushing her hair back and froze at the smile she gave him. Before he could think too much, he gave her a smile in return. His words must have had some effect on her because she seemed more peaceful now. He was just glad she wasn’t like his sister, throwing a fit when he tried to get her to sleep until she finally passed out. She was still out of it, still stubbornly insisting she was fine, but she was listening at the very least.

He went to go and get a hair tie for her, to keep her hair out of her face, but before he could stand up fully he felt a hand on his arm. He turned around and saw her looking apprehensive again, as she told him not to go.

And how the fuck was he supposed to go and get the hair tie when she was looking at him like that? His heart skipped a beat as he blinked down at her. Fuck... fine. He could get the hair tie after she fell asleep. For now he’d just have to keep brushing it away, until her breathing evened out. He’d come back and tie up her hair, then he’d clean up the glasses and counter in the other room. But he couldn’t leave her alone, not when she specifically told him not to.

So he stood up and instead of going to the bathroom, he pulled all of her hair behind her head in the shape of a ponytail, so it splayed out away from her mouth. He tugged up the covers, to give her some warmth, and then before he could stop himself he leaned down and did what he normally did when he was putting his sister or his niece to bed – he kissed her forehead. He realized what he’d done after he did it and froze, but then he reasoned Chardonnay wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning, so he knelt back down and looked at her. ”All right. I’m not going anywhere.”

He waited for her to fall asleep, watching as her body moved rhythmically. She didn’t thrash and toss around like he expected her to, which was good. He stood up after he was sure she wouldn’t notice and slipped into her bathroom. He found the hair ties she’d mentioned and wrapped one around his wrist, heading back into her room. He quietly sat on the side of the bed beside her and wrapped her hair into a ponytail. He had only done this twice to Adelaide, so he wasn’t very skilled at tying ponytails. He only went around twice, keeping the ponytail there but loose, so that it wouldn’t hurt her or wake her. While she was sleeping and he was doing her hair, he could see that tattoo of hers, the one of silverware behind her ear. He wondered when she’d gotten it.

She didn’t wake up from his tying her hair and he sighed of relief before he went back into the kitchen. He put away but big bottle of Crown Royal where he’d seen her taking it from. He wondered how often she broke into this but that wasn’t his business. He closed the cabinets and then started to clean. He wiped down the counter, which only took a few seconds, before he moved to the sink. He washed out and dried the glasses that had been used for both their drinks. He then put them away where he saw her get them from and went to check on Chardonnay again.

She was still sleeping, just like he’d left her. She hadn’t upchucked into the trash bin, and she looked peaceful as she slept. It was probably because she’d drunken so much that she just passed out, not able to worry about whatever was bothering her anymore. By the time he’d finished cleaning up, he didn’t want to go to sleep, especially not if she wound up throwing up in the middle of the night. So he didn’t wind up sleeping and kept himself awake by playing on his phone. At some point he did nod off beside her, but he woke up when he thought he heard the sounds of dry heaving. It was only a part of his dream and when he turned over to check on her, she was fine. And he was wide awake again.

When dawn showed up, he was thankful. He’d sleep when he got home, he knew. He’d pick up a coffee on the way home and that would hopefully keep him awake. He didn’t know how he felt about leaving, though. She’d been so worried last night... but then again, she was likely to be hungover this morning. That would be... an experience. He wasn’t looking forward to it. And he did wonder how much she’d remember. While the sun rose outside, Arthur sat in her living room, stifling yawns, nursing a cup of water. He got to examine the portraits on the walls in detail now. Her place was so much fancier than his... he sighed when he thought about that. No wonder she’d hated his apartment so much. He couldn’t afford anything she had. He made good money but certainly not six figures, and that didn’t bother him. It only bothered him when she commented about it like he wasn’t good enough. He sloshed the water in his cup and lost track of time as he almost nodded off again. Then he heard noises, groans, and figured Chardonnay must be awake.

He splashed himself with cold water from the faucet and wiped down the back of his neck, in an effort to look more awake and well-rested, before he poked his head into her room. He was still in his clothes from yesterday – he’d yet to take a shower – and saw her coming to. If he wanted to be mean he could sneer and make fun of her for drinking, he could yank the blinds open and have her eyes be assaulted by light, but he didn’t want to do any of that. Instead, he took the cold glass of water he’d gotten from the kitchen and switched the warmer cup out with it, and looked down at her with raised brows.

”Morning. Drink that.” He said, quietly, ”Is your pain medicine in your bathroom?”

He rolled his eyes when she didn’t accept the water from him. Jesus. For a spoiled brat, she sure didn’t like to take handouts, did she? Or maybe it was just handouts from him that she hated? After all she considered him so much lesser than she was. Maybe she thought his kindness was just some act, some way to keep this fuckbuddy relationship they had without leaving her completely alone. But that wasn’t his intention. He just couldn’t leave her alone, especially when she looked like such a mess. He allowed her to go off towards the bathroom, mumbling a “couldn’t really stop you,” in response to her question, though he knew he could have if he hadn’t been so distracted by her story. When she went off into the bathroom he groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. How the hell was he supposed to deal with her when she was being herself? He had half a mind to just leave then, but...

He heard the sounds of heaving and knew what to expect before he even walked into her bathroom. She was bent over her toilet, and at least her ponytail was still intact. He wanted to make fun of her. He really did. But instead he folded his arms across his chest and stared at himself in the mirror. He still looked exhausted, but so did she. Though this was all her fault, wasn’t it? If she hadn’t drank so much then they wouldn’t be in this situation! She would have gone to bed and then he could have slept, too, and they could have woken up in that weird state. She would have remembered everything he said, so that he didn’t have to repeat it sometime today before he left. But then... when he thought about this it wasn’t her fault. It was that guy’s fault. That guy who, no matter what a tough act she was putting on in the moment, scared her.

”You did this to yourself, Princess. Congrats.” He said in a monotone, waiting by the door. He didn’t care that he was seeing her at, literally, the worst he’d ever seen her. ”...do you do this often?”

Arthur didn’t like that she seemed to skirt around the question at first – she fired back with a question of her own and it made him think that she was dodging it. If she was an alcoholic how could he stop her? She’d ban him from coming over here if she thought he was stealing or hiding all her liquor. He didn’t live here, he wasn’t her boyfriend, he was just her fuckbuddy. She’d probably snort at his concern and tell him to worry about himself first. Though she did actually answer him shortly after and he sighed of relief despite the venom in her words. He was used to it by now, the way she got angry at him even for things she shouldn’t get angry over. And he could rebuttal her comment with anger of his own but that wouldn’t help anything – it’d make her headache worse and her significantly less responsive to what he wanted to say.

Though when she tried to tell him to forget what happened last night, he rose his eyebrows. She didn’t remember, he wasn’t surprised. But even now while she was angry and hunched over the toilet, he remembered the way she’d looked as she held her hand to her chest and admitted that she was scared of this guy. She was scared. She wasn’t just making that shit up. She wasn’t very good at acting, he figured that out pretty easily when she tried to pretend nothing was wrong.

That she’d bring up freshman year, though, didn’t add much credibility to her case. His cheeks went only a little pink at the memory (because kissing was tame compared to what they did now) as he rubbed the back of his neck.

”Yeah. I know. And you’re more honest, too.” He said. She’d said what she was actually feeling, what she’d actually been hiding last night and that time freshman year? Well... that was her desire, right? She was honest about wanting him and he supposed the same could be said for him in that moment. It was pointless to refute since they both knew they wanted one another now given their relationship. He exhaled and looked down at Chardonnay. Now was as good a time as any to bring it up. He ignored her request for him to forget everything because like hell he’d listen to her about this. ”You mentioned a guy who creeped you out. Do... do you remember that conversation? Or anything I said?”

He expected for her to hear him remember what she’d said to him and have a moment of realization, a moment where she admitted that she remembered telling him that and that she’d listen to him again, that she’d accept his help and then they could both be on their merry way, relieved. But instead what he got from her was a denial – a denial that was acted out so painfully if he ever thought she might be good at acting the thought faded immediately – and then she picked herself up and tried to act like nothing was wrong. What the fuck? He could tell by her body language that she was lying to him. She remembered. She looked away from him, her hand gripped the toothbrush too tightly, and she was lying to him. It hurt more than he thought it would for her to lie to him so bluntly. And he didn’t believe her or even entertain her for a second – not when he saw how scared she’d been earlier! No, he knew she was full of crap, he knew she was just trying to... to... what? Push him away?

”You’re not a very good actress.” He snapped. Though her comment about nightmares made more sense than anything she’d said so far it was still too unconnected. The story she’d said when she was drunk was so real, so believable, that any excuse she made up now was just an excuse, a diversion. He wanted to snap at her but he couldn’t bring himself to, not when she was so hungover, but he just – god he wanted to yell! He wanted to pull his hair out and scream and ask her why the fuck she was so convinced that she could trick him into believing her crap?! Or that he didn’t care enough to hear it! For fuck’s sake, they were sleeping together, he didn’t talk about her to anyone he kept this a secret so why didn’t she just – just – he ran his fingers through his hair in irritation as he tried to count to ten in his head, to calm down his temper. Losing his shit would get them nowhere. ”Fine, then. I’ll tell you. You said that he’s been bothering you since you opened the restaurant. You said that he grabbed your arm, and that he was waiting for you when you took out the trash, he found you jogging, and he scared you when you were trying to close up last night and then you came here, and you were still scared he was going to come here and I told you if he did I’d beat his ass, all while drinking yourself into a fucking stupor. Because you’re concerned about him, and you’re not helping anyone by hiding that, least of all yourself!”

He exhaled and stopped talking when he felt the urge to raise his voice and shook his head. Whatever. She probably wouldn’t even care, anyway. But this, he couldn’t just... he couldn’t just brush this off. It wasn’t like the nightmare, what if this guy did follow her here, what if he tried to... or what if he was watching her, and it just... ”You don’t have to deal with shit alone is what I told you.”

”It sure sounds like you are!” He immediately rebutted. He saw her press her hand to her head, probably in pain from the hangover, but the more she talked and complained the less he found he wanted to be considerate. He couldn’t believe how ridiculous she was. She was so stubborn that she wouldn’t even let him offer some kind of civilized reaction to this news! What kind of an asshole would just be able to forget about this, be able to forget about the way that she caved into herself and stumbled into him and then smiled at him when he pushed her hair back out of her face?! How the fuck could he forget about the way she told him not to go, desperately, and only fell asleep when he was there? He couldn’t. He wasn’t that asshole. And he wasn’t expecting anything from her. He knew they weren’t friends, but she could at least accept his concern, right? She had to know anyone would do this for someone else. It wasn’t because she was special to him. It was because she shouldn’t have to feel like that, so scared and alone and god damn it why did she have to have such deep issues like that?! It wasn’t like he was trying to take care of her! He just wanted to be able to do something because what if he turned on the news one day and there was a story about the new up-and-coming chef found murdered, and he had to live with that guilt?! It wasn’t only for her. She was so selfish to think he was only doing this for her!

It still stung to hear her talk so bluntly about the boundaries of their relationship. All they did was fuck, all he expected to do with her was fuck, but when she so coldly said that he felt... he felt tired, all of a sudden. Like whatever happened last night didn’t mean anything, that it was just a weight on his shoulders dragging him down, that... his eyelids felt heavier as he blinked them and opened his mouth to speak. The way she described their sex life might have made him blush, on a normal basis, but right now it just made his throat feel dry. And then when she suggested calling off this whole thing his nostrils flared in anger. He knew this didn’t matter to her, but hearing her say he was nothing more than his dick to her, that hurt. He’d never admit it, he wouldn’t even admit it to himself, but it hurt to be reduced to nothing. Especially when maybe last night, for a second, he might have thought he was worth something more. Not a lover, definitely not, but... someone who could be trusted. Even just a little bit.

”You’re so fucking selfish. This isn’t just for you! Do you know the kind of guilt I’ll feel if I turn on the news someday and hear that you were murdered and thrown into the god damn pacific?! Just because all we do is fuck, just because all we are to each other is free porn, doesn’t mean shit! This isn’t about you, Princess! Just because I actually give a shit whether you live or die, or get cornered by some pervert after you close your fucking work, doesn’t mean I’m trying to become your new best friend! Because we’re not friends, but we’re not enemies anymore, either! We fuck each other. That’s a relationship itself. Like it or not. So fine! If this bothers you so much, if me actually giving a shit whether or not you get molested by some skeeve bothers you, let’s just call this whole thing off! I’ll just leave and delete your number and never come back. Is that what you want?!”

He grit his teeth together at her continued comments. What did she know about his problems? She didn’t. Even though yes, he had them, he felt like she had no room to talk about them because it wasn’t like she cared either way. This was all just some excuse to keep him away, to try to get him to accept this was pointless but it wasn’t. For both better and worse, things had changed when Chardonnay connected their lips in a kiss after they finished their senior project. It led to them having sex for the first time, and it led to the start of their relationship. At first it had been awkward, them fumbling around with each other, but now they knew each other’s bodies. But one thing they’d never understand about each other was how their minds worked.

He could not, for the life of him, wrap his mind around what she was trying to prove. All her points were just more reason to worry. The insistence that she was fine made him growl under his breath because she was not fine. He saw her last night when she was ‘fine’ and if ‘fine’ was consuming half a bottle of Crown Royal that was some shoddy definition of the word. When she said maybe it’d be for the best if they just called this off, he bit his bottom lip, surprised she even said that. He didn’t except her to, he just thought that maybe saying that would get her to see his point or... or something. He swallowed a lump in his throat. This was seriously close to ending, wasn’t it?

”You know what’ll make your parents feel even guiltier? Not knowing anything and then, when they finally find out, it’s too late and you’re dead or worse all because of your stupid pride! You’re selfish because you don’t let people worry about you! Because believe it or not, when you only have so many people, it feels nice to be relied on, to know that they’re safe, even if it might seem a little monotonous to you! You think this’ll all go away if we cut this thing off?! Too fucking late, Princess! Even if we never talk again after this I’ll still remember it. Even if I did get a girlfriend I’d still be thinking about this, and you, God damn it!” He spat. He didn’t even want a girlfriend. He couldn’t imagine what his life would be like with one. If he’d never turned Erin away, and just... told Chardonnay he was taken when she showed up at his door. But, even then, he couldn’t quell his thoughts about her and it just... pissed him off. At her last comments he threw his hands up in the air in exasperation and ran them over his head. ”Don’t tell me you’re fine. You are not fine and you aren’t helping the whole ‘I don’t want anyone to worry about me’ case by saying that.”

Finally he could see some relent in her body posture. Maybe the comment about her parents was a little low, but he couldn’t help but think it was true, even if it was low. He knew that losing someone hurt and it especially hurt if there was something you could have done to prevent it. He’d watched his sister, when he was a child, hiding herself away when she thought he couldn’t hear to mourn the loss of her parents silently. She got less depressed about it as the years went on, but maybe she felt guilt. Maybe if she’d stopped them they wouldn’t be dead. Life was about choices and one wrong one could wind up like that. Of course he had never blamed Susan for the deaths of their parents – not once – but he knew deep in her heart she had to feel a little guilt about it.

He remembered when he’d been shot – she felt guilty over that, too. And her reaction, his own thoughts... that made him guilty. He exhaled. Guilt was such an exhausting emotion to feel and now he could see traces of it in Chardonnay’s face.

When she stuttered out a question he waited for an answer. He heard her voice crack and figured maybe he was getting through to her... or maybe he was just making this worse. Whatever. Maybe she was too hungover to deal with this right now. He folded his arms across his chest.

”I don't understand you. I probably never will. But just let me help you.” He said, slowly. He knew this was how she was. He was beginning to learn more about ‘how she was’ the longer they slept together. He didn’t know if he liked getting to know her this well. ”As long as I know you get home alive, and that guy’s not pinning you against the wall at 1 AM, I won’t be concerned.”

He was surprised that she agreed so easily. It was probably the hangover that made her want to shut up this conversation and get on with both their mornings. He felt relieved when she said she’d text him when she got home and that was all he really wanted. Though he tended to go to work early, and thus went to bed later than she got back, he knew that the vibration of his phone could jostle him awake, or maybe he’d stay up waiting for the text. He felt like she’d be the type to forget about it, or not text him one night and he just... hoped she didn’t do that. Because then he’d be even more worried.

She said she wanted to lay down and he exhaled.

”And if you do see him, you can call me and act busy. Or... just act, act like there’s someone you’re on the way to see. Like someone’s waiting up for you to come home.” He said. That was one of the best ways to avoid something... right? He didn’t know if this guy knew that she lived alone. He’d suggest she could go to a friend’s place if she felt unsafe, but he didn’t think she had any friends in the area. And his place was an hour away, but he knew he wouldn’t mind if she drove all the way down even if he was trying to sleep. She had a spare key – still – and she could let herself in as long as she locked the door behind him. He wouldn’t be up for sex that late, with work in the morning, but if she didn’t feel safe here he’d let her spend the night. Still... he hated living so far away. He’d offer that, but didn’t think she’d ever be willing to drive down so late. He stared at the toilet and flushed it, getting rid of the vomit that was left in there. It was gross, and it smelt gross, but that was better than letting it settle for form a ring around the waterline.

Afterwards, he looked at her, curled up in the bed, and grabbed his bag off of the floor. He still hadn’t changed or showered, but he didn’t want to overstay his welcome, especially not when she was so... gone. He glanced out at the terrace, wondering how easy it was to see that from the ground and the surrounding buildings. He’d have to look when he got to the parking lot. ”I uh... do you want me to pick you something up before I head home? I can swing by the store.”

”Oh, uhm, uh, thanks. Sure. I’ll take one and then... go.” He didn’t expect for her to let him use her shower this morning and, now that he thought about it, he... he really could use one. His clothes were stale and the same ones he’d come here in. If he went down into the lobby he’d stand out, and sure he could make the drive home and then shower, but he’d be fermenting in his vehicle for over an hour... and it was supposed to be warm. And it was peak traffic time. He glanced down at his bag, which contained the change of clothes and body wash that he’d need for a morning shower. He glanced at Chardonnay once, watching her lump shift as she breathed, before he turned away and headed towards her bathroom.

Once he was in her bathroom he really realized how tired he was. He pulled the shirt he was going to change into out of his bag, and hung it over the side of the counter with the slacks and boxers on top of it. It was weird to be in her bathroom when they hadn’t had sex the night previous. Usually when he was in here he was in that euphoric high still, and then as he stood in the warm water, he came down from that high and got ready to face the day. But now he was aware of everything.

When he got into the shower and started to wash himself, he began to feel the warmth of the water lulling him to sleep. He was comfortable, despite the odd shape of her shower and the various knobs that he still didn’t know which did what. He didn’t bother with those, though, and just ran his own soap over his body and his own shampoo in his hair. Normally when he was in her shower he hummed to himself to amuse himself, and he started doing that. The acoustics in her bathroom were nicer than his. But now especially, surrounded by warm water and stream, his humming turned to singing. He didn’t stick to one song in particular, he just sang whatever came to his mind. The first one that stuck was Iris, because he knew the lyrics to that by heart, and the tune was very easy to carry. He sung softly but articulately, pretty certain no one could hear him, because this was a fancy rich person’s bathroom! Who the hell would be able to hear singing coming from it? Besides, he was too tired to think about that very much, anyway.

He finished the song and decided he’d had enough of her shower, and now he was more awake. He turned off the water, gathered his soap and things, and then dropped it all on the counter. He used a towel to dry himself – only sticking to one this time – and then quickly clothed himself.

He combed his hair, making sure it looked nice enough for when he went through the lobby to get to his car. He was in slacks and a navy button down. It was darker than the people who usually wandered downstairs but it didn’t matter. As long as he didn’t look broke, it was... fine. He gathered all of his soaps and shit into his bag and swung it over his shoulder, before he peeked his head back into the toilet. The smell seemed to have dissipated, at least to him. He exited the bathroom and wandered into her kitchen, deciding to help himself to one cup of water before he left. He’d wash it before he left, he assured himself, this was fine.

He stayed in the kitchen and wiped his mouth when he was finished drinking. He then ran the cup underneath the faucet and started to dry it off. He didn’t expect for Chardonnay to come out to the kitchen and, if she did, he only expected for her to get a drink and leave. So when she spoke up and asked him a question in a deadpan he was shocked, he whipped around to look at her disinterested face. And then the context of her question registered, and his mouth opened and his ears and cheeks started to flush.

What. No. She heard? He thought these walls were soundproof! Or at least, more soundproof than his! And he hadn’t been loud, he sang soft, just enough to keep himself occupied, amused, while the water washed over him and made him stink no longer. He didn’t like it when other people heard him sing because he was shy about his voice and she, the one person who didn’t like him much at all, had just heard him sing. Oh God, she was going to tell him he sounded like a dying cat. He could hear it now. He groaned and wanted to run his fingers through his hair, but he just combed it. Damn it. He wished he’d brought his glasses to hide behind.

”Leave me alone. I didn’t think you could hear, I was just bored in the shower and I, I just,” He grumbled, and her second question made him flush harder as his heart started to pound. ”I just – I didn’t learn I just sing. Okay?! I like to sing. I didn’t learn it, it just kind of happened.”

He glared over at her, though it was halfhearted. He just hoped she snorted this off and then told him to keep his day job so that he could wallow in shame when he got home and on the car ride back. He knew that he wasn’t that bad, his niece liked hearing him sing to her, but he had a feeling anything he did (with the exception of sex) was bad in Chardonnay’s eyes.