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Tom didn't have the patience for her late night antics. But he didn't have the heart to call her out for them either.
He shoved a pill in her face alongside a glass of chilled water, snatching the beer off the countertop and tossing it in the bin. The kitchen was cold around the pair of them, the cold flooring only bearable due to the pink fluffy slippers — which belonged to her — that he had graced his feet with. They were too small, of course, but they provided him a fraction of refuge from the tiles.
"If you must die, die quietly." He huffed as she sneezed. He was exaggerating, of course; how else was he supposed to conceal his internal alarms that seemed to be going off than by being a bitch? His eyes darted back and forth, and he began doing the dishes; even if they were so clean, they only required a quick rinse. Call him a neat freak, but this was his immediate response to stress. Busying himself.
Tom shot a guilty glance over his shoulder, "You need anything, mon amour?" He asked, more furtively.
She laid her head on the cold marble of their kitchen island after she took the medicine he provided. She moaned in response to his question as her eyes shut, enjoying the chill the counter provided.
Tom's eyes narrowed when her head touched the counter. Was he insane? Or did he find her habit of falling asleep absolutely everywhere endearing? He didn't know anymore, all of the feelings he had kept pent up had him going crazy.
He sighed under his breath, his hands gripping the edge of the countertop. "I didn't say go to sleep. I asked if you needed anything, damn it." Was he actually irritated?
"Shh, you're being too loud." She mumbled out.
"I'm not being loud, you're being-" His words got stuck when she shushed him again. He rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, now you're just doing it on purpose to annoy me." He said, his voice hushed.
She tried to laugh but got interrupted into a coughing fit. After a minute of coughing her lungs out, she smiled. "You know me too well, my love." Her voice was weak, strained.
He made a sound that was sort of like a snort-laugh. "I think I have grown used to the way you try to antagonize me." He said, leaning against the counter top opposite of her.
The term 'my love' caught him off guard. Not because he didn't like it, but because he was always the one saying it, and rarely would you say it without it being a backhanded insult.
She shot her gaze to him, eyeing his figure. "I may be dying, but I wouldn't mind getting some of that so I can pass peacefully." She smirked.
Her blatant comment almost broke him. He could feel all sort of emotions rise up inside him. Fear... Shock... Desire... Rage. He didn't know which was stronger, so he chose the most neutral. "You are sick." He spoke, his voice low. "It would be wrong of me."
"That's a shame." She said before sitting up, taking another drink of her water.
"It most definitely is not." He hissed. All the emotions he was suppressing began to flow out like mad. His eyes narrowed more than they did before, his shoulders tensing up as if they were bound to burst.
His voice grew harsher. "You are sick."
What was this? Was he yelling over something so minuscule? Something in the way that her lips parted as she sipped her water irked him.
"And you're a mood killer." She mumbled out, setting the glass back down. "Are you saying I get no affection like this?"
"Well, it's not like you're in your most attractive state at the moment." He bit out sarcastically. His gaze scanned her up and down, not bothering to hide the fact that he was checking her out, all while his eyes narrowed in concentration. "Do not tempt me. It would be terribly indecent."
She gasped dramatically. "You did not just say that."
"Oh I did." He replied, raising an eyebrow. "Would you prefer I sugar coat it?" Her reaction seemed to imply that she liked being coddled, and he refused to let that happen. As her lover, he had a duty to make sure she realized her flaws. "You look like rubbish, my darling."
"At least I look better than you do with all your stress lines." She shot back. "In my worth state, after all."
"Now you're just delusional." He snapped. "You're a mess. Unkempt hair... smeared makeup... and that smell, you radiate sickness." He shuddered.
She stood up quickly, making her way over to him. "Is that so?" She tilted her head in amusement. "I think you love it."
He could feel all the pent up emotions flare up within. He felt as though he was losing control over his temper, something that hadn't happened in a very long time, but he managed to keep a somewhat civil tone and his eyes narrowed further.
"I don't love anything about this." He said, his voice rough. "I can't stand it." His lips curled into a sarcastic smile. "But I can't say I'm not enjoying this spectacle. It's nice to know that you're at your weakest."
She smacked his arm playfully. "You're so mean."
"I'm just being honest." He teased back, smirking. "There's nothing that makes me feel more at ease than putting you in your place from time to time." To show he wasn't lying, he wrapped his fingers around her wrist gently and tugged on it, gesturing for her to come closer to him.
She moved closer to him, but her face held a pout. "Remind me again, how did I even fall in love with you?"
The pout was somewhat endearing, as usual, but he didn't show it. If he did, he would lose his dignity. "Because you're a fool." He pointed out dryly, shrugging. "You fell for my dark, brooding exterior that makes you want to 'fix' me, when in reality, I would be the one to fix you."
She scrunched up her nose before speaking, "You're such a prick."
"I know I am." He replied, and his tone wasn't even the slightest bit apologetic. His face maintained a mocking smirk that she had become use to over time. "But I'm your prick."
He leaned in closer. His tone turned quiet, his eyes narrowing further as he spoke. "And you're lucky to have me."
