“Just do it, Kai. I’ll be right back.”
On the counter of the hotel bathroom, whichispretty small by your standards, your evening skincare and other beauty accoutrements are crammed together like it’s a teenage girl’s dorm room. With only a brief glance at the bottles of Korean creams and potions calling your name, you brush and floss your teeth, comb out your hair, and quickly wash and moisturize your face. It normally takes you at least 45 minutes to get ready for bed, but, for Kai’s comfort, you’ll sacrifice your routine tonight. You weren’t kidding him about being a creature of rituals, but you’ll have plenty of time to yourself to make up for lost self-care before the game tomorrow while Kai’s sequestered with his team.
“Go get ready for bed,” you tell him when you come back into the room.
“What? No way I’m falling asleep,” he protests. “I’ll just be up counting sheep all damn night.”
“No, you won’t,” you promise patiently. “Go. I’ll be waiting.”
“We’re not banging it out!” he calls over his shoulder as he stalks towards the bathroom and shuts the door.
You don’t dignify that with a reply.
It takes him even less time to wind down than you. When he comes back, shirtless and smelling like Crest, you pat the mattress in front of you. “Come on.”
“Why am I the little spoon?” he grouses hesitantly. “You’re, like, half my size.”
“You can be the big spoon every other night,” you say. “Shut up, Kai.”
Amazingly, he does, and lets you reach over him to turn off the last light before lying down behind him. You snuggle your hips against his ass, but leave enough room up top that you can reach his back with your hand and rub firm, slow circles on it.
Seizing the quiet moment, you begin to sing to him, soft and low.
Someday he'll come along
The man I love
And he'll be big and strong
The man I love
And when he comes my way
I'll do my best to make him stay
You’ve never asked Kai’s opinion on Billie Holiday or songs from the 1920s, but he seems to like it, judging simply from the fact that he doesn’t make any more silly comments. You spread your fingers, covering as much of his skin as you can, and swirl your touch in counterpoint to the melody.
Maybe I shall meet him Sunday
Maybe Monday, maybe not
Still I'm sure to meet him one day
Maybe Tuesday will be my good news day
He'll build a little home
That's meant for two
From which I'll never roam
Who would—would you?
And so all else above
I'm dreaming of the man I love
You didn’t think much beyond that one song—get Kai into bed, rub his back, and sing to him—so you have to scramble for a moment when, at the end of the old tune, he hums and nestles his head against the pillow.
