Chapter 32 32- Do Not Kiss Him Without Fireproof Lip Balm
LEXI
In the end, there really isn’t much left for me to do other than nap… And wait. I drift in and out of shallow sleep for a while, never fully comfortable. Every time I shift, some part of me feels wrong, either numb, heavy, or strangely distant. Eventually I give up on resting properly and try to distract myself instead. I scroll through my phone for a bit, but that doesn’t last long. The memory of the posts I saw earlier keeps intruding, those ugly captions, the circled jewellery, the way strangers reduced me to something shallow and transactional with a few taps of their fingers. My stomach twists just thinking about it. I lock my phone and set it face down on the bedside table, suddenly very uninterested in the internet. Reading doesn’t work either. My eyes keep skimming over the same lines without absorbing anything. So I wait. I don’t have to wait long. The infirmary door opens barely a minute after classes officially finish, and Blake strides in like he owns the place. He has two cafeteria trays stacked in his hands, balanced effortlessly, his expression focused and intent.
“How are you feeling?” He asks immediately, eyes scanning me in a way that makes it clear he’s checking for injuries, distress, anything out of place.
“I’m alright.” I answer honestly.
“How did you get here so fast?” I ask. He frowns slightly, like the question doesn’t make sense to him.
“I’ve been gone for hours.” He says. I roll my eyes.
“I mean class just finished and you somehow managed to go to the cafeteria and get back here already.” I point out.
“Oh. That. I skipped the last ten minutes of class to get food before the line and make it back here in time for lunch.” He answers dismissively. I stare at him for a second, then laugh despite myself.
“What did you do that for?” I ask.
“Because I wanted to.” He replies simply. Of course he did. I don’t know what other answer I expected. He sets one of the trays down in front of me, and I can’t help but blink in surprise. It’s piled high with food, my food. Everything I usually gravitate toward without thinking. Bread, fruit, something warm and comforting, even a small dessert tucked neatly into the corner. Maybe I shouldn’t be so shocked. Blake is nothing if not observant. Also, there’s easily four times as much as I would normally eat. Blake looks pleased. Satisfied. Like this arrangement makes perfect sense to him. I remember what he said yesterday, about wanting to make sure I was safe. Fed. Taken care of. How that is reassuring for HIM. I guess this is more of that? Before I touch anything, I glance toward Annie.
“Hey Annie, am I okay to eat?” I ask. She looks up from her notes.
“Any numbness in your face or tongue?” She asks calmly. I exaggerate a few facial movements, wiggling my lips and eyebrows in a way that probably makes me look ridiculous.
“Nope.” I say.
“Then you’re fine.” She answers, relieved. She hesitates, then continues.
“I might go have my lunch if your… Friend here is willing to stay with you for a bit?” She asks. I know for a fact she ate a sandwich earlier. This is not about lunch. Annie isn’t afraid exactly, but she’s definitely uncomfortable. Blake’s presence is putting her on edge.
“That should be fine, right Blake?” I ask, glancing at him. He gives a single, decisive nod.
“Yes.” He confirms.
“Great!” Annie says with a brightness that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“I’ll be back in half an hour.” She informs us, then she all but scurries out of the room, leaving Blake and me alone with the food, the quiet, and the faint hum of magic lingering in the air. Blake pulls up a chair without asking and sits beside the bed, close enough that I can feel the warmth of him.
“Eat.” He demands. He doesn’t have to tell me twice.
Once I’ve eaten enough to clearly satisfy Blake, and he finally stops watching every bite like it’s a personal responsibility, I end up just sitting there, picking idly at the rest of the food. My stomach is full, my body is tired, and my thoughts keep circling back to one very specific thing. What he did earlier.
“Blake?” I start, glancing up at him.
“Yes?” His attention shifts to me immediately, like I flipped a switch.
“I had a… Visit earlier. From Principal Istvan.” I say carefully. That gets a reaction. Not a big one, but something subtle tightens in his posture.
“She told me that the student who spilled the potion on me won’t be allowed to participate in practical classes for a few weeks at least.” I continue. He gives a slight shrug, expression unreadable.
“That seems… Logical.” He responds. He doesn’t look pleased. If anything, he looks mildly dissatisfied, like this wasn’t the outcome he expected, or wanted.
“She also said you’re the reason why.” I add. He nods once. No hesitation.
“That is very likely true.” He agrees. I stare at him. Seriously, he is terrible at volunteering information.
“Care to elaborate?” I prompt.
“I spoke to your professor. I made it clear that it is in everyone’s best interest that you are safe in that class.” He says. That’s it. That’s the explanation. I wait. Nothing.
“And… How exactly did you make that clear?” I ask. He shrugs again, casual. Almost bored.
“Well. I didn’t say it outright. But I DID imply that if things weren’t handled properly, I might burn the lab down.” He tells me. I choke slightly.
“Blake! You can’t just say things like that!” I object. He frowns at me, genuinely confused.
“Why not? I didn’t ACTUALLY burn it down. Though, if they don’t sort their shit out, I still might.” He adds thoughtfully, He says it like he’s discussing the weather. Or the cafeteria menu.
“I’m barely even hurt! This is not worth committing arson over!” I protest. He raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.
“Of course it is. Besides, I made my point.” He argues. I groan and scrub my face with my good hand.
“It is sweet of you to speak up for me. I really appreciate it. But please don’t threaten, or actually commit, property damage on my behalf.” I say, trying to stay calm. His frown deepens, this time edged with something like offense.
“That seems unreasonable. I was ensuring your safety. This was simply the most efficient method. I barely did anything.” He insists. Oh. He is absolutely offended. I sigh and carefully reach out with my good arm, resting my hand over his. His fingers still instantly, then curl around mine without hesitation, warm and solid.
“Blake, I really mean it. Thank you. Truly. But if you burn things down because of me, I’ll feel guilty about it.” I say quietly. He goes still. Not tense, just aware. Like he is carefully taking in every bit of our situation. And then he breathes out slowly, the heat of it brushing my cheek, and I realise how close we’re sitting. Close enough for my pulse to stumble.
“I won’t compromise on safety, and I don’t fully understand why this bothers you so much. I only motivated them to do what they should have done already.” He says at last. Then he pauses again, and when he continues, his voice is even softer.
“But… I will try to keep your preferences in mind when my actions involve you.” He concedes. He means it. I can feel it in the loosened weight of his hand around mine. He isn’t backing down from who he is, but he’s… Adjusting for me. Choosing to.
“Thanks, Blake.” I say, my voice quieter than I meant it to be. He’s close. Closer than he needs to be. His golden eyes hold mine, steady and molten, and before I even fully register the movement, I lean toward him. He doesn’t chase the space. He just… Waits. Holding still. Letting me decide how close is close enough. My heart hammers. The air between us feels warm, heavy, filled with something that makes my breath come shallow. I can feel the heat of him, the faint scent of smoke and something sharper, like metal warmed in sunlight. My nose almost brushes his. Are we about to kiss? Do I want that? …Maybe. Probably. But not like this. Not right now while I’m a mess, exhausted and probably unreasonably emotional. So at the last moment, I tilt slightly and press a soft kiss to his cheek instead. His skin is warm, almost hot, and I linger there for a heartbeat longer than necessary, feeling the heat bloom through me. When I pull back, the world feels a little quieter.
“Thanks.” I whisper again, because the word means more now. His eyes are darker when they meet mine, molten gold gone almost amber. But he doesn’t move in or take more or turn the moment into something else. He just lifts his free hand and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear with deliberate care, his fingers brushing my cheek as though he’s tracing the path my lips just travelled, reverent and restrained.
“I won’t take what you don’t offer.” He says softly. It doesn’t sound like a promise. And it definitely doesn’t sound like restraint forced on him. It feels more like a decision, one he’s already made and doesn’t feel the need to justify. It doesn’t even feel like he’s actually talking to me. It’s more like he is reminding himself. The words are quiet enough that I’m not even sure they were meant to be heard at all. But they aren’t the words of someone backing down. And they aren’t disappointed, either. No, there’s confidence in them. The kind that says he knows he doesn’t need to rush. That he’s perfectly content to wait, to let me come to him on my own terms. And then, with that slow, dangerous smile that makes my stomach drop, he addresses me again.
“You’re welcome, Precious.”