The Mouse and The Monarch

11

~MOUSE~

The air in the barracks was thick with tension as her fury hung in the atmosphere like a charged storm.

Exhaustion weighed heavily on her shoulders, each step a testament to the physical toll of the day she had just had.

Aching muscles screamed with each movement, and her skin, clammy and sticky, clung to her like a layer of slime.

As she entered the dimly lit barracks, the echoes of her heavy footsteps reverberated through the space.

The room felt suffocatingly empty, void of the one person who seemed to be the catalyst for her furious emotions.

König.

His whereabouts were a mystery and she was thankful he wasn't there.

If he was, she might have killed him for real this time.

Her knuckles were fucked.

Faint hues of purple and blue adorned the tips and her fingers ached.

He'd made her punch that stupid fucking red bag for so long that her skin had split and dried blood crusted her hand.

Without hesitation, she stormed into their shared space, the anger boiling beneath her skin and demanding an outlet.

The room seemed to shrink as she glared at his unoccupied side, grabbing whatever clothes from her duffel she could get her hands on.

Getting what she needed she stormed across the room.

In a defiant gesture, she extended her middle finger towards his empty bed.

"Va te faire foutre, connard!" she seethed as she glared at his neatly made bed.

Charging away from it she threw herself at the bathroom door. The bathroom door swung open with such force, that the hinges protested with a whine.

She needed to cleanse herself of the grime, both physical and metaphorical.

She was furious.

She didn't understand him.

The water turned on with a hiss, and she stepped into the cascading warmth, letting it wash away the residue of the day.

In an act of rebellion, she reached for his shampoo and conditioner, a deliberate choice to claim a small victory over him.

The scent of his toiletries mingled with the steam, creating an intoxicating aroma that enveloped her senses.

She tried not to sigh as the mouth-watering smell of honey and sandalwood invaded her senses.

Gritting her teeth she poured more than necessary of both products into her hand, letting the rich lather drown out the noise in her mind.

Under the water's embrace, she closed her eyes, allowing the droplets to run over her hair.

She could imagine she was in the ocean. Watching the waves dance around her. Admiring how light seemed to bend and dip around her arms.

The thought calmed her down.

Emerging from the shower, she dried off vigorously, the fabric rubbing against her now sore skin.

The tops of her ribs were bruised as well as her hands.

Courtesy of him as well.

Well, she was the one who tackled him, but she blamed him anyway.