I pulled the toothbrush from my mouth, opened the tap, and attempted to wash it when he suddenly grabbed it from my hand, squeezed on some toothpaste, and proceeded to brush his teeth.
"Vergil," I sighed. "That's kinda gross."
He spat out frothy white lather on the lavatory, running water dissolving it into the depths of the drain. "You drink from my teacup all the time," he retorted. "And you always forget to wash it."
I grabbed my towel and wiped my face haphazardly. He was not in the habit of sharing the bathroom with me but he went in anyway, which meant he knew something was wrong. He always had a knack for noticing the slight changes in my demeanor, as if he had a radar that pulsed whenever there was some disquiet in my mind, no matter how trivial. Once he sensed it, he would follow me with watchful eyes, deem it almost absolutely unforgivable on his part to leave me alone.
"It's just," I started. "Problems."
"Everyone's got them."
I sneered and walked into our bedroom, sitting on the chair and leaning my head on the back of my hand in a bored fashion.
"Funny, how everyone around me's getting sick."
"Everybody goes to the doctor. Medical bills. Telephone bills..."
"Draining bank account…"
"Piling debts…"
"Not getting any younger…"
"Not getting any less beautiful."
I raised my eyebrows at the out-of-place remark, but then, I was used to it. It was his way of pulling me from my thoughts. He was smiling fondly like a child who had slipped a present in my pocket undetected. I smiled. No matter how many times he did it, I always found it disarmingly sweet.