Love By Design

Chapter 48

My room is in complete darkness save for the tiny light lamp plugged in at the corner of my room, just above my worktable.

August is sleeping soundly on the bed, the lump of duvet hasn’t moved since I dressed him in much more comfortable clothing… almost 12 hours ago.

But I try not to get unnecessarily anxious as I watch over him.

August is a still-sleeper. I had to keep checking on him every half an hour, just to feel reassured that he’s actually breathing because he’s terrifyingly quiet and seemingly dead to the world.

Tiptoeing across my room to my worktable, I begin putting my knitting needles and yarn away. I’m in the middle of organising my crafting materials for the nth time out of nervous habit when I hear a rustling on the bed.

“Mahal–?” August’s voice is hoarse from misuse and I bolt up in attention.

“August,” I gasp, rushing to him immediately and turning the lamp on my bedside table.

He groans loudly, turning his head away from the light.

“Sorry, sorry!” I whisper, reaching over to cover the lamp with a plushie. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

His eyes are closed, brows furrowed as he twists towards me slowly. The damp cloth on his forehead slips off as he attempts to sit up.

“Careful,” I say. “Don’t get up, just lie down.”

“How long was I out?” He mumbles, words slurring.

“About half a day,” I reply, glancing at the clock on my wall. “It’s just after midnight.”

“Shit,” He breathes.

“Are you okay?” I repeat. “How are you feeling?”

“Warm,” He hums contentedly, burying himself backwards and sinking further into the bed.

I try not to let my embarrassment show at the immense accumulation of different soft toys currently occupying my bed.

“Not too warm?” I ask.

He shakes his head sluggishly, gaze falling at the lilac plushie beside him.

“Is that a sewing spool?” He reaches a hand towards it, his movement slow.

“Yes, sorry.” I blush as he pats the head languidly before looking around my bed.

“And a button?” He chuckles, softly. “Plus a sewing needle. You have an entire collection of… sewing supply plushies?”

“They’re gifts,” I clear my throat self-consciously. “The guest rooms are all taken. Otherwise, I would have put you in one of the other rooms instead.”

“And miss the opportunity of being introduced to your plethora of plushies?” He exhales cheerfully.

August doesn’t say anything for a while, just admires the cushioned textile materials on my bed. His eyes slowly scan my room and I watch him assess my childhood bedroom, gaze surprisingly piqued with interest as he takes everything in, despite exhaustion lining his face.

Without warning, his face contorts, nose scrunching up and eyebrows knotting as he lets out a hiss.

“Are you in pain?” My heart lurches at the injured expression on his face. “Do you need medicine? I have paracetamol. Or ibuprofen. Does your head hurt? Or is it muscle ache?”

I clamber for the piles of different medicines currently on my bedside table.

Perks of having an aunt who works as a nurse.

“I’m okay,” He winces, attempting to sit up. “Just need to stretch.”

“Are you sure? Maybe you’re hungry. You haven’t eaten all day-”

“Tinker-Talent?” He interrupts me, the nickname sending a warm tingle in my chest. “Stop fussing. I’m okay.”

August reaches out for my hand and intertwines our fingers, the tension visibly leaving his body as he slumps back down on the bed and closes his eyes.

I sit on the edge of the bed, watching his face, still so handsome despite looking weary with illness. The urge to reach out and swipe the hair that fell across his forehead makes my fingers twitch but I hold myself back.

“Alright,” I say after a prolonged silence. “I’ll leave you to it. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. My lamp isn’t adjustable but I found a night light that is and I plugged it in the corner so you can turn it down if it’s too bright. Let me know if you need anything.”

Humming quietly, August brings our interlocked hands to his chest.

“Where are you going?” He asks as he opens his eyes tiredly.

“Downstairs,” I tell him, shuffling nervously under his gaze. “We’re sardining on the floor.”

“Sardining?”

“There’s um, not enough rooms so my cousins— there’s like ten of us— we all sleep on the floor. Like sardines.”

I feel a little stupid explaining it to August, the concept probably strange to him but it had been an odd tradition when we were all younger and it just kind of… stuck.

“Is there room for one more?”

I nod. “I can probably fit somewhere.”

Although I’m pretty sure that all the good spots are taken. It’s way past midnight now and everybody in the house is asleep.

“I meant for me,” He says.

I blink, silence following.

“I’m not sleeping on your bed whilst you’re on the floor.” He looks at me pointedly.

“It’s really not that big of a deal,” I comment. “We do it all the time. It’s comfy. There are plenty of pillows and blankets and it’s actually quite fun, if you think about it. It’s like one big massive sleepover and–”

“Sounds fun,” August nods. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy it down there.”

I look at him skeptically.

“You can’t sleep on the ground.”

“I’ve passed out on piss-covered pavements in Paris,” He deadpans. “I think I’ll be fine on the carpet of your living room.”

I think of the reactions from every single member of my family when they see August in the morning.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor, August.”

“Then neither are you.” He shifts weakly on the bed, making room for me.

“Wait, I don’t-” My brain short-circuits for a moment. “I can’t sleep next to you.”

August gives me a look.

“We’ve done more than share a bed, Mahalia.”

My face flushes, heat flooding my cheeks.

“It’s not…” I shake my head, sighing. “You’re ill, August. You need to rest properly.”

“You’re here,” He says. “I’ll rest more than fine.”

I try not to overthink his words, a jittery feeling rooting itself in my ribcage.

“I’ll stay on this side of the bed.” He shuffles backwards, even rearranging the soft toys on my bed so they create some sort of barricade between us. “Better?”

Sensing there’s no swaying August, I sigh quietly before turning off the lamp and lying on my back.

The room is silent, far too quiet for my liking, and I feel strangely nervous.

My finger twitches and I gingerly reach out for a plushie, busying my hands to calm the slowly building anxiousness I feel at being in such close proximity to August.

“How many of these thimbles do you have?” He says into the quiet of the room.

“Just two,” I answer, clearing my throat. “It’s a set of twin thimbles.”

He hums.“You have a pink one at Holmes.”

Had.

I ponder for a moment then inwardly flinch as I realise I inadvertently said the thought out loud.

“Yes,” I add, twisting my hands. “I need to pick it up from the studio along with the rest of my stuff.”

The bed shifts on August’s side and I feel a gaze lingering on me, even in the dark.

“Mahalia, about what happened—”

“Rest, August.” I insist softly.

I don’t know the extent of August’s awareness about what happened between Sebastian and I regarding the regalwear collection, if he knows anything at all. And right now, I don’t think I’m in the right headspace to revisit or relive any arguments, my mind too inundated with my anxious thoughts.

“Please?” I add quietly.

A long pause settles between us before he sighs, acquiescing.

I sense the heaviness of it, my own heart feeling the weight of his emotions as I slowly reach out for his hand.

“We’ll talk about it in the morning, okay?”