“That sounds even better.”
While brushing our teeth side by side, our gazes meet in the mirrored reflection above the double sinks, and I note he squeezes his toothpaste from the bottom, too. Another checkmark.
I lay out my skincare products on the counter—cleanser, toner, hydrating serum, eye cream, and moisturizer. While I tuck my curls inside a satin bonnet, DK picks up each bottle, sniffing the contents and reading the labels.
“Is this for vitiligo?” he asks.
“Not specifically. I always use plenty of sunscreen protection, but this is just because I like the way it makes my skin feel.”
“Soft and silky,” he says, running his knuckles down my cheek. “You do this every night?”
“And morning.”
“So what, you’re up at four to get ready for work?”
I swat his hand away, laughing. “It’s not that much.” Then I take a couple of sheet masks out of my travel bag. “How about a facial? It feels nice, and it’s relaxing.”
He studies me for a moment, that analytical brain at work. “Is this because you’re worried about my insomnia?”
“In part,” I admit
“That’s why you didn’t want to watch your show?”
“I’ve seen it a dozen times.”
“That’s not the point, is it?” Agitation bleeds through his calm, pinching his brows and tightening his jaw. “You were… what? Protecting me?”
“I wouldn’t put it that way.”
“I don’t need mothering, Luna.”
“Seriously?” I toss the masks back into the pouch and walk out into the bedroom, taking a breath. Striving for control before my temper rears up and consumes us both.
“Luna?” he says behind me, a few moments later. “I’m sorry. Really.”
I turn to him, his eyes pleading with mine. “It’s a sore spot. I saw my family’s worry in you. The hyper-focus on whether I’m sleeping or not. But my reaction was uncalled for.”
“I understand,” I say, although I don’t—not entirely. “Can we talk about it?”
“We have.”
“You’ve told me you struggle with insomnia, but no details.”
“It’s noise… busyness. Sometimes it’s a replay of the day, or a situation that sticks. Other times, there’s nothing specific I can catch, just my brain running on high.”
“Is the noise there tonight?”
“Not yet. It’s the quiet when everything gets loud. But I don’t want to take meds and crash on you or be groggy in the morning.”
“Do what you need to take care of yourself.”
“I don’t want to need them.”
“There’s no shame in it.”
He makes a noise that sounds like sharp disagreement. “I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”
Just like he offered to do at the hotel. “Then what?” I ask, knowing he doesn’t do anything without a plan.
