Ares continued eating with a smirk, as if teasing. Intrigued by his behavior, Kirine removed his plate, puzzled by his continued consumption despite his earlier complaints about the taste.
“Don’t eat it,” she demanded.
“Why not?” he retorted. “You said it would settle my stomach. But it tastes like it’s making it worse. Did you do this on purpose?”
Their eyes locked, his blue gaze filled with genuine curiosity. A surge of irritation coursed through Kirine.
“I made this with you in mind!” she exclaimed. She had gone to great lengths to be considerate, only to be met with such ungrateful complaints. The feeling of being slighted was palpable.
Undeterred, Ares snatched the plate back.
“I’m going to eat more,” he declared.
“But you said it tasted bad!” Kirine protested.
“I said it tasted bad, not that I wouldn’t eat it,” he replied with a shrug.
A moment of stunned silence followed. What a lunatic, she thought. She couldn’t comprehend his insistence on consuming something he disliked. Even as she stared at him in disbelief, Ares nonchalantly shrugged.
“Good thing I tried it first. What would we have done if Sasha had eaten it?”
Kirine couldn’t argue with the logic. How is this the same guy who was crying yesterday? she wondered.
Feeling an inexplicable surge of frustration, Kirine reclaimed the plate from Ares once more.
“So you shouldn’t eat it either,” she declared.
“No way. I’m going to—” Ares began, a smile forming on his lips as he reached for the plate. Abruptly, he froze, his hand lingering in midair. He had inadvertently brushed against Kirine’s hand while attempting to retrieve the plate. Without his gloves, Ares stiffened, his discomfort evident. That damn germophobia, Kirine thought.
Realizing the accidental contact, Kirine hastily concealed her hand behind her back.
“You grabbed it. Don’t start blaming me now,” she retorted. A moment of silence passed between them.
“Hello? Sir Arensis?” she prompted.
“I know, I know,” he replied. Ares rubbed the spot on his clothing where Kirine’s hand had touched, a habitual action whenever something he deemed unclean made contact with him. Kirine could not suppress her annoyance at his reaction.
Eventually, Ares excused himself, presumably to cleanse his hands, leaving Kirine alone. As she watched him depart, she clicked her tongue in disapproval. What a ridiculous man, she thought. He had initiated the contact, yet he was the one displaying such distress.
A sense of unease settled over her. It was as if she had committed a transgression. To distract herself, Kirine took a spoonful of the stew she had prepared.
“Ugh, it really is bitter,” she grimaced. A wave of relief washed over her for having Ares taste it first.
***
“Why?” Ares muttered to himself. He had fled the room, his mind racing. The image of his ungloved hand making contact with Kirine’s was replaying on an endless loop. It was his fault. He should have washed and donned his gloves immediately upon waking, but forgetfulness had prevailed.
Yet, something felt amiss. A profound sense of incongruity washed over him. “Why didn’t I feel disgusted?” he questioned silently, his gaze fixed on his hand. The expected revulsion was absent. Instead, the memory of her small, delicate hand lingered in his thoughts. It was smaller and paler than he had anticipated, with long, slender fingers that evoked an inexplicable desire to touch them again.
“Wow, I must be losing it,” he exclaimed aloud, startled by his own thoughts. He sprang up from the sofa, his face paling. “Want to hold it again? Am I seriously losing my mind?” he demanded of himself. A wave of disbelief and horror washed over him. How could such a thought even enter his consciousness?
Then, the sensation of her soft, warm skin against his resurfaced, and he found himself violently tugging at his hair in frustration. “Wow! I must be completely insane! There’s no doubt about it!” he declared, his voice rising in pitch. Even as he condemned himself, his mind stubbornly clung to the forbidden memory.
Overwhelmed by a sense of hopelessness, Ares erupted in laughter, a prolonged, manic cackle that echoed through the room.