“Fine, you want to run about all day in a damp shirt, be my guest,” he said.

I sighed, but I pulled off my shirt and sat down. “This is pointless,” I said.

“Is not.”

“What’re you going to do? Shave me every day?”

He grinned. “Well, hell, Ariah, someone’s got to do it. Mark of my generosity that I’d take care of you so.”

“Mark of your vanity, more like.”

He laughed. “Lean back.” I did as he asked. He came over and set the basin on the floor. I heard him sharpen the razor on a whetstone. I sat with my head titled back, resting against the wall, with my eyes closed. I was still half-asleep. I felt his hand on my bare shoulder and thought nothing of it. The actual shave itself was relaxing in an odd way. I didn’t have to do anything. The water was pleasantly warm. Despite the fact that Sorcha himself never needed to shave, I had absolute trust that he knew what he was doing. After a few minutes, he cleared his throat. I opened my eyes. “Hey, you mind if I take a seat? Looming over you like this is a bit awkward.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” I settled back in my chair.

He laughed, and I opened one eye. “We only got the one chair, yeah? Mind if I take a seat on you?” he asked.

I blinked at him. It was such an odd request. He stood there, waiting for a response, his head cocked to the side. “Uh…all right.” One corner of his mouth hitched up. He straddled me and finished the shave with his chest pressed against mine. The physicality of our relationship was, by then, something I accepted without much question. At first it had shaken me, but it was always so innocuous and so gentle that I could never find a good reason why it should shake me. I would wake with Sorcha’s arm thrown over me. There were times when he’d decided I need to try whatever he was eating and he’d pop it into my mouth. Sorcha had no reserve, no sense of privacy, and as I lived with him, he steadily chipped away at mine. When he curled up against me that day I thought nothing of it.

He washed and dried my face when he finished the shave. He ran a hand down the right side of my jaw. “There, that’s better. Hey, Ariah.”

“Hmm?”

He poked me in the ribs until I opened my eyes and looked at him. He was smiling, but it was a rare smile: hopeful and soft and utterly without guile. “Ariah.” And the way he said my name just…it was like a lullaby. Like a private siren song. My name in his voice echoed around the emptied reaches of my mind.

“Yeah?”

He put his hands on my chest and leaned forward. “Ariah.”