My eyes blink open at the sound of loud clanging and off-key singing drifting through the open door, squinting away from the light bleeding through the curtains. It doesn’t take long for my mind to catch up with the scene before me, smiling as I stretch languidly across the bed, Lexie’s voice increasing as the chorus starts.
“Don’t blame it on the SUNSHINE! Don’t blame on it the MOONLIGHT!”, he sing-shouts, the end of each line punctuated by what I can only assume is a dance move of some sort. A laugh bubbles out of me quietly as I slip to the end of the bed, peeking around the corner to watch the show. “Don’t blame it on the GOOB TIMES! Blame it on the boo—”
Lexie spins on the last word, wooden spoon in hand as a makeshift microphone, curls all over the place. His free hand swings wildly, brushing the handle of the frying pan that sizzled quietly with…bacon, perhaps? It didn’t matter, not when Lexie doubles over in obvious pain with a loud hiss. He cusses quickly, cooing to himself in a low voice, as if remembering to control his volume, as if remember I’m sleeping.
It’s so adorable that even if he hadn’t injured himself, I’d be rushing through the doors. The poor pup jumps, head whipping to mine when I step into view.
“Goober…”, he whines, lip jutting out into a pout, round eyes watering.
My chest pangs, forcing a soft smile as I lean down to caress his cheek. “What happened?”
“I was making breakfast, and I— for you, I was making it for you since it’s your day off, and— well, obviously when you make breakfast, you need to be moving and grooving, or you won’t cook it as deliciously, right? So,” Lexie rushes, gasping between sentences. No matter how much I tell him, whenever he’s overexcited, or upset, or nervous, he forgets to breathe, like he needs it all out, all at once. “I was grooving, duh, but then I hit my wrist on the frying plate, and now it,” he sniffles, bottom lip wobbling, “it really hurts, Goober.”
Stroking a thumb under his eye, I try to soothe him, gently lifting his injured wrist. “Hey, you’re my brave prince, aren’t you?” I wait for him to nod tilting my head, raising a brow. “Don’t you want to be brave?”
“I’m so brave,” Lexie agrees, pout still clear on his face, though the threat of tears seems to disappear with my words. His eyes follow me as I turn the stove off and pull him to the sink. “Are you going to fix me up?”
“Always,” I smile, stroking over the small burn with my finger. It may be due to his bravery, but Lexie barely makes a sound at the action, doesn’t even flinch. “It’s going to sting, okay? You have to be good and let me wash it.”
“I’m good, I’ll be good,” he whispers, dropping his head to my shoulder. It’s so sweet, I nearly forget about the running water, especially when he nuzzles his unruly curls against my cheek.
Fighting my desire to twist to face him and kiss that pout off his pretty mouth, I instead focus on cleaning his wound. Laboured breathing skates over my neck, making a simple task take twice as long, but Lexie stays put, letting me wash and then pat his wrist dry.
Lifting his head, he blinks wide, caramel-brown eyes at me, chewing on his cheek. “Can I ask for something? Even if it’s silly?”
“Especially if it’s silly,” I reassure, stroking my fingers along the inner of his wrist, away from the wound. Lexie hums, looking around the room, avoiding my gaze until I step on my toes and force my way into view. “Puppy?”
“I know it’s not medicinally correct, but…can you…kiss it better?”
From the blush alone, you’d think he’d have asked for something nefarious, a glorious pink dotting his cheeks. It takes everything in me not to audibly aww at him, heart hammering in my chest. “Of course I can.”
His face only reddens further, holding his breath once more as I raise his arm. I start a few inches away, peppering kisses along his forearm slowly, keeping my eyes on his, enjoying the way he watches, attention solely on my lips. Once I’ve made my way to the wound, I gently press my lips to it, longer than the other kisses. Lexie sighs shakily, brows tilting up, staring at me as if I’d done more than a simple swipe of my mouth to his skin. I feel my own face flush, feeling endeared and enamoured all at once by this silly man and his face too honest for his own good.
“Is that better?”
“Yes, yep— I— actually,” he mumbles, stepping closer into my space. “I think maybe I hurt my lip earlier, too…could you kiss that better, too?”
I grin as I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down to meet me halfway as I kiss him. Breakfast was long forgotten, much like the burn that marked his wrist. There was nothing but my hands in his curls and his arms around my waist, and the simple fact that there wasn’t any other way I’d wish to spend my day off than chasing after this man and his antics.