"Aggravating," says Thoma, dragging a hand through his hair.
Kamisato Ayato, as if there's another man he'd ever say such a thing about. Eternally, so, both because Thoma reveres the man, happily groveling before him. He'd do his bidding for an eon and more because Thoma is a loyal pup, good to his masters.
Ayaka watches him from where she leans against the kitchen table, amused. "If you keep that up you'll wear a hole in the rug."
Thoma pauses. He can't be doing that because then he'll have to fix that too—he's a fixer, he's always fixing things, like his damned, twisting heart and the way that it clenches at the mere thought of his Lord.
"I can't keep this up, I can't—"
"Thoma," she says, but he speaks over her in a rare moment of impropriety.
"I can't stop thinking about him! It's like he's a little worm, digging into my ear, worming into my brain. He whispers dirty things—"
Ayaka cringes. "Gods, I don't need to hear that—"
"That isn't what I meant," says Thoma with a grimace. "Sorry, milady, I just—" He groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Shit, I called him a worm. I said that my Lord was a worm."
"That's wormed his way into your heart?"
"I said brain."
"But you meant heart."
There are times when Thoma curses Ayaka's perceptiveness. Her keen words, sharp intellect, and the way that she rebuts with razor-edged words that bite. This is one of those times. "You know, you're just as bad," says Thoma, slowly, his gaze narrowing.
"So you love me too?"
"I don't—" Thoma hates that knowing smirk that spreads across Ayaka's face. "Okay, okay, so I love him, but that's—" Thoma pauses. "What's with that look?"
Ayaka looks caught, her head tilted to the side, skin white as a sheet. "Ah, I…"
"Thoma," greets a smooth, elegant voice.
Thoma is going to die, he is going to shrivel up in horror, dry up into a husk, and Ayato will bury him behind the main building to never be found again.
Ayaka stifles a laugh behind her hand and says, pushing away from the table, "And this is where I remember that I had other plans." Then she's gone before Thoma can drag her back, leaving him behind with his foot in his mouth.
He turns to Ayato, rubbing the back of his head nervously. "Waka—"
"A worm? Really? Of all the things you could liken me to, that's what you pick?"
"Milord—"
"To love me, though." Ayato quiets, his gaze softening. "I am not surprised, of course, nor am I dumb, but it comes as a relief."
Thoma finds himself strangely tongue-tied, awkwardness tugging at his being as he tries to unpack his words. "Um—"
"Come Thoma. I do think that Komore Teahouse has a specialty brew on the menu. What is it that they say? We should make it a date?"
"No! I mean—Yes. If that's…an order?"
Ayato's face curls in amusement. "Now, now, I won't give any orders at least until a few dates in. Preferably at night, in the sanctity of a room. We can't be indulging in such carnal things in public."
Thoma can feel his face burn red as he chokes.