I glanced around the room, then at the door. Surely Greid wasn’t still in the shower, but maybe he wanted some time alone. Walking over to the bed, I sat down and bounced a few times to test out the mattress. It felt soft but not too soft, and the sheets were a warm, cosy fabric that I petted for a few seconds.
Spotting the TV remote on the nightstand, I grinned and lunged for it. Greid would have way more channels than we got at the compound. There, we were only allowed to watch some fancy arts channels that showed documentaries about the contributions the demiurgus had made to the arts—their paintings and sculptures and architecture. Or recordings of hours-long demiurgus operas with their strange, otherworldly music that I, quite frankly, didn’t overly enjoy.
But as I went to turn the TV on, I hesitated, glancing at the door again. I kind of… wanted to watch with Greid. Have him show me what he enjoyed. Tell me which shows were the popular ones that everyone went wild for.
And that was what I was here for, right? To hang out with him? To be his friend? Well, I was gonna damn well do it. He was letting me live here—free of charge for the time being—so I wasn’t just going to hide away in my room when all he’d wanted was to have someone around so he felt less lonely.
God, I was getting soft, because the urge to find him and give him a big hug made me squirm. I wasn’t a very touchy-feely person. At least, I didn’t think I was, but maybe that was because I’d never felt close enough to anyone except Violet. Besides, I was pretty sure Greid would stiffen up and turn into a babbling mess if I lunged at him for a hug. Just because he’d invited me here to be his roommate didn’t mean he wanted me to touch him.
Making a decision, I set down the remote and rose from the bed. After opening my door, I peeked my head out and went still, listening for any sounds in the house. I couldn’t hear anything. I was guessing Greid had his own ensuite, and maybe I was too high up to be able to hear his shower, but surely he’d come out of his room soon.
Padding over varnished hardwood and worn rugs with my bare feet, I resolutely ignored the mysterious closet door and wandered all the way down the winding staircase to the first floor. Then I stopped, listening again. Still nothing.
The living room door was open, so I headed in there, feeling a little uncomfortable, like I was a cat burglar skulking around someone’s home. But the moment I stepped into the living room, I relaxed. There was something so oddly comforting about the dark walls and crowded shelves and surfaces. It was a little dimmer in here now that the sun was dipping behind the rows of townhouses, but there was still enough light for me to see fine.
I eyed that little cubby in the corner of the room again, but decided I wouldn’t go snooping for at least a few days, mainly in case Greid suddenly appeared from his bedroom across the hall and caught me.
The giant squishy couch looked so inviting that I found myself heading that way, skirting around a coffee table cluttered with candles and books and loose sheets of paper. And an ashtray half filled with the burned-out remnants of what looked like dried leaves, crumbly and paper-thin.
Sitting down on the couch—shit, it was comfy—I immediately drew one of the blankets over my lap. Then I lifted it to my nose and sniffed. Quickly jerking it back down, I glanced at the door sheepishly. Why had I done that?
They did smell good—that same warm, sweet scent that had been clinging to Greid’s clothes. Or maybe it was just him. I suddenly pictured him curled up on the sofa under a mound of blankets, lazily smoking and watching TV through bleary eyes.
The image was surprisingly… intimate. But I supposed I’d be seeing it for real soon. I hoped I would. I hoped Greid felt comfortable with me here. Only time would tell.
Curling my legs up under the blanket, I got settled to wait for Greid, ready to truly begin my unexpected friendship with the big, awkward demiurgus.
Chapter Twelve
Greid
Still cocooned in my big bath towel from where I’d collapsed face-first on the bed after my shower, I rolled onto my back and stared up at the ceiling.
This was so fucking weird.
There was a human in my house right now. A tiny human with curly red hair and green eyes and a husky laugh that made my insides go all fucking stupid.
Had she really liked my house? Did she like her room? She kept saying she did, but did she really? Or was she up there right now trying to escape through her bedroom window?
I dragged the towel over my face and groaned into it. I’d been so awkward and lame. She was probably staring into the middle distance with a horrified look on her face, thinking, That guy? I have to hang out with that guy?
Beryl was nothing like me, and she was nothing like Agma—the only other adult I had experience living with for an extended period. Agma had been all cool and aloof confidence that bordered on distant, but initially it had made me pant after her like a dog. She’d been bossy, which I hadn’t minded, but then she’d quickly realised that I would do literally whatever she wanted.
Which had made the relationship very one-sided. When I’d asked for things, she’d flat-out refused, because she said those things weren’t normal. Ultimately, she’d liked some aspects of my submissive nature, but she’d wanted me to fight her for dominance. She’d craved the conflict, the constant push-pull of power—like most demiurgus, I supposed—and I just didn’t have it in me. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want that at all.
Even though I was still a little wounded from the harsh words she’d said before her departure and bitter about the shit she’d told her friends after we split up, I didn’t wish we were still together. I didn’t pine for her. I religiously avoided conflict, so I hadn’t ever brought up how terribly things were going between us even though I hadn’t been happy. I hadn’t really been getting anything out of the relationship.
Agma wasn’t an overly affectionate person, whereas I’d wanted to wrap myself around her and cuddle up on the sofa in the evenings. She’d been sociable and outgoing and always wanting to go for dinner or drinks or to see friends, whereas I liked staying at home. She chastised me for what she called my “terrible diet”, even though I always dutifully ate the salads she made for dinner. But then she’d get annoyed when she found me hunched over the fridge later that night stuffing leftover pizza into my mouth. It wasn’t my fault salad didn’t fill me up.
And that wasn’t even touching on our wildly different preferences in bed.
But I’d put up with it, partly because she’d made me feel like a bit of a freak for what I wanted, and I’d worried that if we split up and I met someone else, I’d be too scared to ever voice my desires, or I’d hear all the same things again if I actually did.
Agma wasn’t a bad person, we just weren’t right for each other. We hadn’t understood each other. We’d clashed, but not in the ways she wanted. She’d wanted me to push back when she got bossy, trying to goad me into heated confrontations that would turn into wild and rough sex where we were both fighting for the upper hand. Which—no. No, thank you.