Sybyla
My fingers played with his hair. We just sat there listening to music for a while. Finally he shifted, and groaned, immediately taking fault for the pain I bolted to the other side of the couch.
"What was that for?" he pouted.
"You're in pain," I said.
"You were helping."
"I'm parinoid."
He chuckled, "I can tell."
AFter a few more moments argument on that, I finally gave up. But before I was comfortable I decided it was time to make dinner.
