"I was talking to you from the bathroom and you weren't saying anything. I got worried. Are you sure you're alright, Simon?" She narrowed her eyes, a mix of worry and suspicion.
What was she even supposed to suspect? Nothing. She was just being dramatic again.
"I'm fine, Jess. I just fell asleep and had a bad dream. That's it." He was trying to escape her probings. She gazed at him from hair to stomach. She tilted her head, shook it slightly, and locked her gaze onto his—her gaze this time intensified. He better come up with something fast to shake off the worried mother hen in front of him.
She was sure not buying only THAT.
"I'm sure, Jess. I'm okay, really. Just a bad dream." His voice mellowed, suddenly soft and smooth—like it hadn't just been hoarse a few seconds ago.
He looked down towards the bed. He was hiding his face or something. He dropped his hands off her shoulder and stood up from the bed and walked to the side of the bed she sat.
He was hiding the fear—unreasonable or not—of losing her again. The way she'd vanished in that dream haunted him more than he'd admit. His eyes had lost their silver glow. She noticed him avoiding her gaze—he didn't want her to see what was left in them.
He stood up, gently pulled her up from the bed and walked her to the door of her dressing room. He went before her and held the door knob.
"You're naked." He chuckled, opening the door for her.
"You'd better be quick. I don't want to miss Father Nicholas saying goodbye." He scoffs and smiles.
His voice was very much vibrant. He stood in front of her with the door open. Jessica couldn't help but observe him.
Jessica didn't miss a thing. She was observant like that.She was still confused—and definitely worried—by the turn of events. Why are you being so worried, Jess?
"You sure you're okay?" She tried to probe into his eyes once again.
"Now you're being a worrywart just like your mum. Don't be a worrywart Jess. I'm great." He paused. He turned his head away, avoiding her gaze, scratches the back of his head with his left hand.
"It's just that it felt so real." He dropped his hand and turned to Jessica.
"Go in there and get dressed to kill—" he froze. "Wait, not literally. Please don't kill anyone in church." Jessica was already laughing.
He flashed her one of his mesmerizing smiles. Jessica couldn't help but giggle as she closed the door.
With all the display and reactions she knew that he didn't want her probing. She understood he wasn't ready to talk about the dream—not yet, anyway, and she was willing to wait till he was ready to.
She didn't take more than ten minutes. She bounced out the door. She twirled and laughed, her hair flowing behind her in a breeze she stirred up herself.
"How do I look." She stood in front of the door to the dressing room smiling as she adored her dress.
She was dressed in a purple blouse and ash pants. She looked exquisite—almost exactly like she had in the dream. Her make-up wasn't an exception. The vibrant red lip stain paired perfectly with her gloss, while her green eyes matched the emerald flats on her feet.
His eyes widened, and his mouth formed a small 'O'. A flash of the dream came flying through his head but he held his resolve knowing she was on purple blouse and her hairdo was different. He smiled and sighed in relief.
It couldn't be repeating… could it?
Honestly, if his brain could chill for once, that'd be just great, thanks.
He smiled in astonishment on seeing her.
When she had seen his reaction, she took a moment to check herself out. Was she wearing the back of her dress or was her make-up done badly or was her lip stain too bold? She didn't know what to think. She didn't even notice when he'd composed himself—too lost in her own thoughts.
"Extremely mesmerizing," he said, smiling at her as he stood from the bed and went for the door. He was keeping his mind in check, but Jessica saw through the act.
"After you, Milady." He stood at the open door with a smirk tugging at the left corner of his lip. He looked... flirty. Jessica couldn't help the blush that crept across her cheeks.
There was something about the way she smiled that made him forget what he feared.
"If I remember right, we're going to church," she could only giggle as she stepped past him.
Mrs. Lyon was on her way upstairs while Simon and Jessica came downstairs. Just as Mrs. Lyon was about to take the stairs, she heard footsteps approaching. Jessica and Simon were already on the stairs. She gasped when she saw Simon's shirt, soaked and clinging to him—whatever the cause was.
She squinted slightly, scanning Simon from head to toe. Her eyes locked onto Jessica's, silently throwing a barrage of mother-level questions without saying a word. Jessica gave her the most clueless look she could muster as she gently walked down the stairs behind Simon.
"Simon, what happened with your shirt?" She stood by the stairs holding unto the rails waiting for them to approach her.
Mrs. Lyon was always a bit dramatic—it wasn't surprising to Simon.
"Daytime nightmare but I'm okay, Mrs. Lyon," he rapidly answered to avoid further questions and worrisome exhibit. He quickly went down the stairs leaving Jessica behind to face the mom interrogation alone.
"If you say so, Simon. Talk to Father Nicholas, okay?" she said softly, hiding her worry behind a crooked smile.
He nodded in response to what she had just said.
Jessica and her mother stayed locked in a silent stare-off, each trying to win the other over with unspoken intent. Mrs. Lyon was obviously worried—she couldn't even hide the fact that she was—about her only child and daughter.
Just when Mrs. Lyon was about to utter a word...
Jessica pushed her mother's words back into her mouth, "I'm okay, mum. I'm fine."
Mr. Lyon, already noticing Simon's ruined shirt, had slipped away to grab a clean one from the laundry room. He came back with a neatly folded blue T-shirt in hand.
Mrs. Lyon was overreacting about Jessica's choice of going to church after the miraculous recovery.
"Are you sure you can go? You just..."
"Don't worry, honey. She's better now—and besides, she's going to church, not war. Let her breathe a little, okay?"
Mr. Lyon interrupted her from completing her statement. He had just given Simon the blue T-shirt, took the soaked shirt and went towards his wife.
Jessica sighed in relief—saved from another emotional ambush. She quickly went down the stairs to avert anymore questions from her mother.
He'd already slipped into the shirt and was ready to go, "Thank you, Lyons."
"I'll return the shirt later," he dashed out of the door.
Jessica was already on her bike, her helmet already strapped in place. They were taking their bikes—after all, that's how Simon got here in the first place. What else would it be?