Chapter 46 46- Never Rearrange The Treasure Piles (He Notices. Always.)
LEXI
I wake up two minutes before my alarm, already feeling refreshed and oddly energized. No grogginess, no lingering ache from yesterday, just that quiet, rare feeling of being properly rested. I take a quick shower and get dressed in a high-waisted black skirt and a navy blue blouse with flowy sleeves. It’s not something I ever would have picked for myself, but when I look in the mirror, I have to admit it’s surprisingly flattering. I usually gravitate toward pastels and softer colours, but maybe darker tones aren’t the enemy after all. My hair is still a little damp when I’m done, but I leave it loose. It’ll dry on its own soon enough.
“Thanks.” I say cheerfully to my closet. I swear the door rattles slightly in response. I grin. Today is going to be a good day. Only a half day of classes, and then I get to spend the afternoon getting dressed up for the dance. I honestly can’t remember the last time I had a real excuse to dress up, properly dress up, and the thought sends a little spark of excitement through me. Since I’m ready early, I decide to head out and try to catch Blake first for once. Mostly because I still haven’t actually seen his room. And I am deeply curious. I head down the hall and knock on his door. A moment later I hear the soft shuffle of feet, then the door opens. Blake is already dressed, but his hair is damp and slightly disheveled, like he ran his fingers through it instead of bothering with a brush. He isn’t wearing shoes either. That… Throws me more than it should. It’s such a small thing, but it makes him feel different somehow. Less dragon everyone avoids, more person in his own space. Comfortable. Unarmored. Have I ever actually seen him without shoes before?
“Morning, Lexi.” He greets me, voice low and a little rough around the edges. He looks mildly tired, but not unusually so.
“Morning.” I reply brightly, while very obviously trying to peer around him. I am not subtle. At all. Why does Blake have to be so big? He’s blocking everything. Rude. He raises an eyebrow slowly.
“What are you doing?” He asks dryly. I roll my eyes.
“I want to see your room. You’ve seen mine multiple times now. I’m curious.” I explain. He studies me for a moment, unreadable, then shrugs like it’s no big deal.
“So… Can I come in?” I ask hopefully.
“Yes.” Blake answers. He does not move. I blink.
“…Can I come in now?” I try again. He frowns slightly.
“In a moment.” He answers. Then, before I can respond, he steps back, and closes the door directly in my face. I stare at it, stunned.
“…Blake?” I say to the wood.
“What the hell?” I demand.
There’s a pause as I stare at the door. Then the faint sound of movement. A drawer sliding. Something being shifted. I fold my arms, half offended, half amused.
“You know closing the door after saying yes is very misleading, right?” I call through the door. No answer. I huff, tapping my foot lightly against the floor. What on earth is he doing in there? Hiding something? Moving something? Or… Oh. Realisation hits and I let out a quiet snort.
“Oh my gosh… Is his room super messy?” I mutter. The door opens again. Blake stands there exactly as before, same clothes, same posture, but his expression is faintly irritated, like I’ve interrupted him mid-ritual rather than mid-clean.
“Don’t make assumptions.” He says flatly. I grin and step past him before he can react.
“Oh, I absolutely will.” I sass. And then I finally see his room. The layout is the same as mine, but the feeling of it is completely different. The walls are a darker colour, deep and muted, and everything seems arranged in shades of navy, charcoal, and black, with deliberate flashes of gold. It feels heavier somehow. More grounded. More… Him. It isn’t messy. Not exactly. It’s more like… Cluttered. On one shelf, I spot two forks and a spoon, laid out carefully as if they matter. Another shelf holds nothing but a neat pile of smooth stones, each one clearly chosen. Nearby is a small, elegant box that looks like it held jewellery, maybe the necklace he gave me, or something even older. And once I start noticing, I can’t stop. Nearly every surface has something on it. A coin. A shard of glass. A pen with an unusually shiny clip. Some objects look undeniably valuable. Others look completely worthless in any practical sense. But all of them are placed with intention. It clicks. Blake’s hoard isn’t just treasure. It’s everything. All the things that he likes or appreciates in some way. The room is immaculate in its own way, carefully ordered, but crowded with meaning. The only place that stands out is his desk, because it’s completely bare. No clutter. No objects. Nothing at all. I swallow. Whatever he didn’t want me to see… It was there.
“Woah.” I say quietly.
“You… Have a lot of stuff.” I comment. Blake stiffens, just slightly.
“Just an observation.” I add quickly.
“I’m not judging. I just… Didn’t realise how many things you like to collect.” I say diplomatically. I wander closer to one of the shelves, drawn in despite myself. One smooth stone catches my eye and I reach for it. A low, irritated growl cuts through the air. I freeze instantly, hand hovering mid-reach.
“Uh… Blake?” I ask carefully.
“Should I… Not touch anything?” I ask warily. Silence. Then, more controlled this time, he exhales.
“Sorry. Uh… Yeah. Touching is… I suppose it’s fine. Just, don’t move anything.” He says. The tension in his voice makes it clear that fine is doing a lot of work there. I immediately pull my hand back and clasp both behind my back like I’m afraid they’ll betray me.
“It’s fine. I won’t touch your things.” I assure him. Blake relaxes a fraction, the edge easing from his shoulders.
“I can be a little possessive over my things.” He admits, not defensive, just factual.
“I can see that. It’s alright. Would you prefer it if I left?” I reply gently. I did kind of pressure him into inviting me in here.
“No.” He says immediately. Firm. Absolute. The word lands heavier than I expect. I don’t know what to do with that, so I just nod.
“You should sit.” He continues, gesturing toward a large, plush chair tucked near the wall, far larger than anything in my room.
“There.” He clarifies.
“Sure.” I agree easily. I settle into the chair, sinking into the soft cushions, and before I can ask what’s happening next, Blake turns, lifts that elegant box from the shelf, and places it very deliberately in my lap. My heart jumps. Oh no. Not again!
I look up at him, eyebrows raised, my pulse suddenly loud in my ears.
“Blake…” I trail off. He crosses his arms over his chest, posture closing in on itself in that stubborn, immovable way of his. He looks like he’s bracing for impact. Or daring me to push back. Why does he look like he’s ready for a fight?
“It’s a gift. For you.” He says firmly.
“But you already gave me a gift!” I protest immediately.
“Two gifts, actually. You can’t just keep giving me things. I haven’t even given you anything!” I insist. He exhales slowly through his nose, clearly unimpressed.
“Do you really want to have this argument?” He asks, voice calm but edged with certainty.
“You know you’re going to accept it eventually. You know it will make me happy if you do, and you’re entirely too kind.” He says firmly. I open my mouth to argue. Then close it. Damn him. He watches the realisation cross my face, golden eyes sharp and amused. The corner of his mouth lifts, not a grin, but something quieter. Smug. Satisfied.
“You could save us both some time, and just accept it.” He adds mildly. I narrow my eyes at him.
“That was manipulative.” I accuse.
“Yes.” He agrees without hesitation. I huff, glaring down at the box in my lap like it might explode. My fingers curl around the edge of it despite myself, the smooth surface warm where it’s been in his hands. Blake notices. Of course he does. He uncrosses his arms and makes a small, deliberate gesture with his chin.
“Go on.” He says softly. And somehow, that’s worse than if he’d ordered me to. I hesitate for half a second longer, then slowly lift the lid.