I tilt my head up and rub my face into his neck. Fuck it. If it turns out I’m dreaming, I want this to be a really good fucking dream.
He ascends the stairs, shifting his arm underneath my knees. The door opens. I lift my head and look around his loft as he carries me to the bed.
It looks how it always looks. Tidy. I’m not sure you can see the floor of my bedroom anymore. I’ve stopped caring about neatness and organization. I’m barely sleeping in there anyway.
One thing seems out of place and catches my attention as he sits me on the edge of the mattress.
I stare at the tent in the corner of the room. It takes up the majority of the floor space near the window and bends awkwardly against the ceiling.
“Have you been sleeping in that?” I ask, wincing when I push my palms against the mattress, forgetting about my injuries. “Ow.”
“Yeah. I might get rid of my bed. I rather like it in there.” Mason grabs my wrists, turning my hands over to examine me. “Let me grab my kit. Don’t move.”
I watch him pad into the bathroom, his running shorts hanging low on his hips. He returns seconds later with his kit and a bottle of disinfectant.
“Would you really get rid of your bed?”
He kneels in front of me, pouring some of the liquid onto a square piece of gauze. “Depends.”
“On?” I hiss through my teeth when he presses the cold gauze against my knee. My leg jerks. “Shit. That stings.”
“Sorry. I need to clean it out. You might have dirt in it.” He lifts the gauze and blows over my knee again. Our eyes lock. “Better?”
Christ, it just got a thousand degrees hotter in here.
Swallowing thickly, I nod. “Mm. A little.”
“I’ll be quick.”
He presses the pad against my skin again, lifting and moving it over my knee. I pinch my eyes shut and grit my teeth.
“You said it depends. What does it depend on?” I ask again, blowing out quick breaths and distracting my mind from the pain.
I am curious. Maybe it depends on him needing a new mattress and he doesn’t feel like purchasing another one. Maybe he’s debating on going rogue and drifting away from all uses of modern civilization.
Why would someone give up a bed for a tent?
“Depends on you,” he answers casually.
The sound of something tearing opens my eyes, or maybe it’s his response. He applies a bandage over my knee and looks up.
“Why would it depend on me?” I ask.
I watch his neck roll with a heavy swallow. He grabs another piece of gauze and pours some disinfectant on it, then holds onto the back of my hand as he presses the gauze against my palm.
It doesn’t sting nearly as bad as my knee did. I barely react to it, or maybe I’m just too engrossed in the vague man in front of me.
“Mason,” I press him.
He clears his throat. “If you want us to have a bed, or if you’re happier in the tent,” he explains as he cleans out my cut and moves to my other hand. His eyes focused on his task. “I’m not sure we can have both in here and be able to move around easily. It’s a bit tight in that corner. And I was thinking, if we got rid of the bed and set the tent up over here, we can fit your dresser and anything else you want to have. Whatever you want.”
I blink several times, trying to absorb and understand what he’s just said, but there’s no way . . . is he really suggesting what I think he’s suggesting?
He looks up at me after he’s finished and discarded the gauze. “Do you want bandages on your hands too? I wasn’t sure.”
“Did you just ask me to move in with you?”
Mason stares at me, his expression indecipherable. He doesn’t respond.
I swallow and blush instantly. My gaze lowers to my lap.
Oh, my God. It’s official. I’m crazy. I’m imagining conversations now.
“I did,” Mason finally says after what feels like an eternity of silence.