I'll Never Say revamped

8

When Paul woke next, he found himself practically sinking into an overly soft bed. It took him a few moments to fully wake, a thick, warm cover pulled up to his neck. It took him even longer to realize he no longer had Patryck. His eyes fluttered open, squinting against the overhead light. What…? He pushed away the cover as he sat up, rubbing away the sleep in his eyes as he observed the surrounding room. Unlike every other room he’d been in inside the base, this one resembled an actual bedroom. It scared him actually, and being

Cream paint coated the walls, with a fairly normal door opposite of him. A sturdy wooden desk rested against the right wall with a few papers scattered atop it, and a mirror next to it. A blue rug sat snugly in the middle of the room, and a large chest pushed up to the foot of the bed. Finally, the bed he sat in, full sized and frankly far too comfortable with a thick galaxy comforter and two pillows. Decided he’d find nothing else from his current position, Paul generally crawled out of bed, two new things brought to his attention. The first was his sudden change in wardrobe. Instead of the slacks, sweater, and worn hoodie he’d been wearing before, Paul found himself in only a halter dress that fell to about his mid-thigh. The second was his distinct lack of underwear. He walked towards the mirror, cringing at the cold floor against his bare soles.

The dress looked lovely on him, to say the least. The dress was sleeveless, clinging to his chest in an admittedly attractive way, and a soft pink color that complemented his skin. He didn’t quite know how to feel about his lack of underclothes, but the lack of shame that usually accompanied him seemed more concerning. He moves his attention to the desk before his thoughts could consume him. He bent over the desk, ignorant of the view anyone behind him may have had, and took a few papers in his hands. Smooth, elegant cursive ran along their surface, spelling out words in a language he couldn't comprehend. A scream tore from his throat when a loud slam sound behind him.

The papers flutter to the desk below as he twists around, coming face to face with Tyler, who stands before him, leaning unimpressed against the door frame. In his hand is a tray with some food on it, a passive look on his face. His light-colored bangs fell into his face, casting a shadow over his eyes.

“T-tyler!” He croaks, fear filling him for a second. Shame and fear grappled his brain, knees quaking and threatening to send his entire body to the hard floor below. Tyler walked over in a few quick strides and set the tray on the desk behind him.

“I don’t think going through someone else’s belongings is very nice, Paul,” Each word is weighted, face guarded so as not to let a sliver of emotions slip by. It's a complete juxtaposition to the sweet and charming boy he’d met last time. “Do you think?”

“N-no! I’m sorry!” Paul can feel the edge of the desk digging into his back, feet scraped against the rough floor not covered by carpet. Unable to look any longer, he hung his head and tensed, awaiting whatever punishment the man would offer. What he didn’t expect was for Tyler to chuckle softly, a hand moving to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear

He chanced raising his head, relief flooding him as he found no anger or disappointment. His shoulders only relaxed when a smile spread across the soldier’s face.

“No need to be scared, Paul,” Tyler huffed, ruffling his hair playfully and easily drawing a giggle from him. Grabbing the tray, the two of them moved back over to the bed. He didn’t voice the questions pounding in his head, for the tray held a steaming plate of roast, and he’d been so long without warm food. He chuckles at his starstruck look, taking a bit of meat and roasted potato onto his fork and holding it up to his mouth. Paul can’t even begin to fathom any embarrassment as he eagerly opens his mouth and takes in the fork, humming at the taste of hot food. Tyler takes another piece, eyes never straying from his as he inserts the fork, making a grand jester of cleaning it. The very one Paul had eaten off of. Heat rises to his face at the sight, red crawling up his ears and down his neck.