How familiar.
It seemed like just last night, Atticus was, too, sitting on the bed, his hair a soaked mess and his clothes clung onto him like they were a second skin. Only this time, he was splashed right in the face instead of over his head and there was no fair damsel he had to protect for she was the one to attack.
Atticus had to squeeze his eyes shut to prevent the milk from running into his eyes. Slowly, he raised a hand and swiped the liquid away. The second he opened them, he was met with Daphne's unwavering gaze and the sight of her hand poised in the air, grasping the glass where the milk had been.
He all but groaned. "Is that really necessary, sunshine?"
"It is if you keep asking stupid questions," Daphne quipped back, her eyes still frosty. But she couldn't deny that it made her feel just a little bit better to see him looking like a soaked cat. "Now keep quiet and eat your food."
