THYME'S POV:
My mind is a war zone. One side, the logical one, insists I should be drafting a thank-you note to Meta, the man who saved my life. The other, more powerful side, is screaming about grand larceny. He didn't just give me CPR; he stole something. My first kiss. It was supposed to be soft, meaningful, and definitely not taste like saltwater and desperation. It was a treasure I was saving, and he plundered it like a careless pirate.
He then had the gall to tease me, his voice a low, infuriating rumble. "I'll take responsibility." The words echoed in my skull, igniting a treacherous warmth deep in my belly. My heart, the stupid traitor, hammered against my ribs, not with anger, but with something dangerously close to hope. Why wasn't I repulsed? Why did the thought of him meaning it send a jolt through me that had nothing to do with fear? And why, God, why do I hate, with every fiber of my being, the fact that it was all just a joke?
This has to be brain damage from oxygen deprivation. It's the only rational explanation for the civil war erupting inside me.
My sanity takes its final, fatal blow when he pushes open the door to the room. It's an immediate assault on the senses. The air is thick, almost suffocating, with the sweet, cloying scent of roses. Petals litter the plush carpet like crimson confetti after a wedding I never wanted to attend. They form a path, a runway of romance, leading to the absolute epicenter of my horror: a king-sized bed dominated by a massive, heart-shaped arrangement of more petals. It looks less like a romantic gesture and more like the crime scene of a very dramatic Valentine's Day murder.
And then my eyes drift to the bathroom, and the air is stolen from my lungs.
There is no wall. Just a floor-to-ceiling sheet of immaculate, unforgivingly transparent glass. Every tile, every fixture, the entire shower stall, is on full display. A stage. My mind, a vessel of pure horror, instantly supplies an image: me, under the water, completely exposed, while he sits on that monstrous bed and…
I physically recoil, a strangled noise escaping my throat. "No. Absolutely not. We have to find another hotel!" I plead, my voice barely a squeak.
Meta, a monster of calm in my sea of panic, simply ignores me. He drops a bag on a chair and saunters over to the bedside table, his fingers dancing across the surface of a tablet. "You need clothes. What's your size?" he asks, his voice casual, as if he hasn't just led me into a glass-walled torture chamber.
My mind is white noise. All I can see is that bathroom. That glass.
"Right," he sighs, his voice laced with an amusement I want to strangle. "Silent treatment it is. I'll guess." A few moments pass, filled only by the sound of my frantic heartbeat, before a soft knock echoes from the door.
"That was impressively fast," Meta comments, retrieving the delivery. He turns back to me, holding a shopping bag. "You look like you've seen a ghost, Kid. Are you going to stand there all night?"
I flinch. "It's nothing," I snap, trying to regain some semblance of control. "Just… mind your own business."
A low chuckle vibrates from his chest. It's a sound that makes my skin prickle. He heads toward the bathroom, and my eyes betray me, tracking his every move. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his soaked football uniform shirt and pulls it over his head in one smooth motion.
My breath catches. The soft, ambient light of the room kisses the planes of his body, carving shadows beneath his collarbones and defining the hard curve of his pectorals. His stomach is a landscape of taut muscle that tapers into a sharp, deep 'V', a path my eyes follow against my will. A single, dark vein snakes over the crest of his hip, disappearing beneath the low-slung fabric of his shorts. A drop of water from his wet hair escapes, tracing a glistening trail down the side of his neck, over his shoulder, and down his bicep. I watch its entire journey, mesmerized, my throat suddenly as dry as a desert.
"Enjoying the view, Thyme?"
His voice, velvety and dangerously close, rips me from my trance. I realize I've taken a step closer without even knowing it.
"Do you want me to drop the shorts so you can get a better look?" he purrs, a wicked smirk playing on his lips.
A nuclear bomb of heat detonates in my face. "NO!" I shriek, scrambling backward and tripping over a stray rose petal. I flail, catching myself before I can completely humiliate myself by falling. "Shit! Shit! Shit!" I hiss under my breath, turning my back to him. He's doing this on purpose. He has to be. No normal person is this comfortable, this… brazen.
I need to do something. Anything. My eyes dart to the bedside drawer. A distraction. I lunge for it, yanking it open. Inside, I saw a dog tail. It looked new, still in its sealed clear plastic wrapping. I was curious, so I opened it for a closer look. My eyes widened with dawning realization; there was a bulb-like plug at the starting end of the tail. It looked like a part of a stuffed animal, but I wasn't dumb. I knew this. I'd accidentally seen it in the Yaoi manga my little sister read. It was a plug tail – a sex toy. My body felt stiff with shock.
"What the hell is this hotel? Why do they have new, unused sex toys in here?" My eyes widened further when I checked the other things inside the drawer: condoms in different sizes and flavors, lubes, cat and dog ears. There was also a strange vibrating object with a button. I unpacked it and was shocked when it buzzed to life. I wasn't sure what its exact usage was, but I knew it was a sex toy. My cheeks started to burn from the array of toys inside the drawer. Lastly, I grabbed a long, bottle-sized object. It was a dildo, and I wanted to let it go, but I was too late.
"What are you doing, kid?" I froze in place. I couldn't face Meta. Why had he finished his shower so quickly? I was unable to respond, so Meta came near me. He was now behind me, and I knew he saw what I was holding.
"Kid, we are in this hotel so we have a place to sleep and clean ourselves, but it seems you have other parts of your body that you wanted to be clean." This guy was definitely teasing me. I was now burning red from embarrassment, but I couldn't face him.
"Do you want me to help you use it?" I wanted myself to be eaten by the ground. This guy was definitely teasing me, but if I didn't do something, I might find myself in a much more troublesome and awkward situation. So I turned around.
"Shit! Stop teasing m..." I was stunned when I faced him because he was still naked, only a towel covering his lower body. I gulped, able to clearly see his muscular body. I was stunned and couldn't help but be amazed by his physique.
"I'm not food for you to look at me like that." Shit, Thyme, what are you doing? This is so embarrassing.
"Wh...what are you saying?" I pushed him out of my way, causing him to fall onto the bed, and I threw all the sex toys I was currently holding.
"Stop pestering me, you perverted giant gorilla!" That's what I said before I immediately ran towards the bathroom. I could hear him laughing loudly while I was consumed by embarrassment from my actions.
I can still feel his eyes on me. "Can you not be a pervert for five minutes?!" I scream, my voice cracking with humiliation.
I turn my back to the glass, letting the hot water cascade over me. It's a revelation. The steam fogs the lower half of the glass, granting me a small measure of privacy. My eyes close, and then I remember. The tub.
It's even more beautiful up close. A deep, porcelain vessel filled with steaming water and floating crimson petals. It's an invitation. A siren's call. My awe is quickly followed by a pang of something sad. Even though I live with my parents, it's in a small, separate room isolated from the main house—a constant, physical reminder that I'm not truly part of the family. My tiny bathroom has a shower that only produces cold water. The main house has a beautiful bathroom, with a tub just like this one, but it feels like a world away. A luxury that was never meant for me.
But this one… this one is right here. And I have to get in, right? I'm allowed to get in, right?
"It's already filled. You might as well use it."
I yelp, spinning around and sinking into a defensive crouch, my hands failing miserably to cover anything important. "Get out! Why are you in here?!"
"I came to get the clothes I bought for you," he says, gesturing to the bag on the counter I hadn't even noticed. He raises his hands in mock surrender. "I won't look. Promise." He grabs the bag and leaves, and I'm left trembling, half from cold and half from the constant, nerve-shredding proximity to him.
Finally alone, I slide into the water. It's a blissful, silken embrace. All the tension, the fear, the bone-deep weariness from the day begins to melt away. I sink lower, the water rising to my chin, the scent of roses now soothing instead of cloying. I scoop up a handful of water and watch the petals swirl. This is a first. Another one. The beach, the fancy car, the hot shower… this glorious bathtub. All of them, because of him.
The thought sours as another memory surfaces. He also stole my first kiss. My hands clench, and I punch the water, sending a splash against the glass. The frustration is a living thing inside me.
But as the minutes tick by, the anger dissolves back into the warm water, leaving only a profound exhaustion. This tub is so comfortable. So safe. My eyelids feel heavy, each blink lasting longer than the one before. The world softens at the edges, the muffled sounds of the hotel fading into a distant hum. My head lolls back against the cool porcelain, and I let go. For the first time all day, I stop fighting, and let the darkness pull me under.