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“Did you two have a fight or something?” Wong’s voice cut through the icy silence of the kitchen, a hint of amusement mixing with the intrigue that rang through on his tone as his gaze flickered between you and Stephen over his cup of tea.
A scoff came from the man at the other end of the table before you even had a chance to offer one of your own, and you couldn’t help the glare you instantly threw in his direction. If anyone had a right to be mad, it was you, not him. But with his attention focused solely on his fingers as he picked at the nails, he missed the outraged look, and the way Wong was now silently sniggering behind his cup. Throwing him a quick glare that dared him to continue put a quick stop to his amusement, and with a pointed gulp, the man seemed to realise that his laughter was not welcomed this particular morning.
“Not yet,” you answered in a cold tone, your anger turning back on its intended target as you used a bit too much force to cut at your food, your knife and fork scratching harshly against the plate beneath. Perhaps it was petty, letting out your anger on anything you could get your hands on, but damn it, you were mad, and if you couldn’t let it out where it was due, well, the plate would have to suffer for now.
“Does this have something to do with the pile of clothes I found in the library this morning?” Wong questioned. You might have questioned the supposed innocence in his tone, or the way his eyes twinkled merrily at the prospect of what was bound to become some quality entertainment, but as it was your attention was far too focused on the words themselves.
“The library?!” you repeated incredulously, with perhaps a touch too much volume if the collective flinch was anything to judge by. But you hardly cared, eyes flashing dangerously towards the man who finally deigned it appropriate to look up from his damned nails to meet your fiery gaze with his own mixture of anger and daring. “You sent my clothes to the library?”
“I was a little distracted,” Stephen replied with false ease, as if you couldn’t see his own emotions in the stiff way he sat, his jaw clenching, grip tightening on his cup. However, as much as your mind desperately wanted to distract you with images of last night, of lingering touches, flesh against flesh in that heated passion that you had come to crave almost as much as the man who gave it, you wouldn’t let yourself get swayed from what had followed.
With a measured breath that you knew would do little to calm you, you rose from your seat, making your way towards the infuriating former surgeon with careful steps lest you give in and rush over to strangle the infuriating man. A touch of pride flittered across your mind as you watched him drink in the sight of you sauntering towards him, even if you hadn’t intended it, his gaze captivated by you in that addictive manner that had led to its fair share of secret rendezvous. But as soon as you stopped before him, his mask was back up, the look of disinterest mixing with a passionate anger that you still couldn’t explain pulling his attention away from your looming figure as he ground his jaw in determination. Clearly he was as likely to let go of whatever had him in a bad mood as you were.
Leaning down so that your palms were flat against the table at his side, allowing you to lower yourself until you met his gaze with your own, you steadied yourself, not quite wanting to scream directly into his face, yet. But you weren’t about to let him off the hook, not after what he had done.
“I had to sneak down the hall naked!” you spoke in a hushed yell, clearly louder than you had hoped judging by the way Wong was now choking on his drink in your peripheral vision.
“You didn’t have to do anything of the sort,” he ground out, throwing a quick glare towards Wong that seemed to finally get him to get the picture that this was not a conversation he was meant to be a part of. With the scuttling sounds of the man leaving the kitchen, that rare laughter of his filling the air as he went, you moved to the chair beside the obstinent man.
“Stephen,” you practically sighed his name, as if you were about to berate a child who didn’t understand what they had done wrong; and in many ways you were. Pinching the bridge of your nose in irritation, almost in preparation for an impending migraine “You threw my clothing through a portal while we were having sex. What exactly was I meant to do? Take the sheet from you to cover myself? And before you answer that, yes, I bloody did consider leaving you to sleep in the cold for what you did.”
With a dramatic roll of his eyes that any teenager would envy, he stood from the table in a sweeping movement, one that, had you not just sat down to discuss things, might have amused you at any other time. But as he dropped his dishes into the sink with a resounding clatter that was altogether too loud for the time of day, he was moving.
It wasn’t until he had reached the doorway that he paused for the slightest of moments, his head hanging low as a heavy sigh caused his shoulders to fall dramatically before you, drawing a hint of guilt from you before you could reign it back in. Without so much as glancing over his shoulder towards you, he kept his gaze firmly on the floor beneath him, a simple sentence falling from his lips that had you in shock.
“You could have stayed.”