Amelia looked at the man in front of her with cold eyes, "Did you have gunpowder for dinner tonight?"
He glanced at her sideways, "It's because I saw 'Reluctance' written all over your face."
Amelia, "..."
She had been well-intentioned, thinking that insisting a man with a cleaning obsession to go seven days without a bath must have reached his limit, but he was not at all appreciative.
And he even had the nerve to say that her face was marked with reluctance?
She wasn't a bathhouse worker, was she supposed to be thrilled about giving him a bath?
She wanted to lash out at him, but somehow, those mournful eyes of his seemed pitiful.
Especially the way he spoke, mournfully, as if she utterly despised him.
Amelia bit her lip, feeling this man was a bit of a handful, a glass-hearted tough guy who, at times, seemed more capricious than a young girl.
