Hopefully this is even remotely coherent. I wrote it in hurried snatches between chores while recovering from being ill.
He had to stop rushing over every time Cemal rang. It wasn’t the first time that Peter had had this thought. It likely wouldn’t be the last. Yet there he was, stripping away his shirt as he prowled through the main parlor.
“I think you’ve gained a good stone since I saw you last, Peter.” Cemal was leaning against the wall, his tone and posture maddeningly aloof. “And not all of it in muscle.”
Peter’s shirt fell in a grubby white streak along the vivid blue and amethyst rug. He pulled his lips back across his teeth, caught somewhere between scowl and grimace.
“It’s only been a week, you ass.”
“Well. Maybe half a stone, then.”
