Adolin was lying on a couch, absorbed in a fashion magazine, when somebody ran their hand- her hand- up the side of his face. He blinked and went to look up, but his head was pushed back towards his magazine.
"Ssh," said Shallan affectionately. "It's sexy when you read." His hair was ruffled. He sighed comfortably, settling into the couch for a relaxing head massage. But something didn't seem right. It took a couple of moments to click.
"Shallan?" he asked in what he hoped was a calm, collected voice. It still came out a little strangled. He coughed to conceal it.
"Yes, dear?" she murmured, continuing the head rub, rubbing small circles just above his temples. He was too involved in convoluted thought processes to find it pleasant.
"…That would have had to be your left hand stroking my face just then, right?" He attempted to keep the tightness of his throat out of his voice but it was harder with every revolution. He was sure he could feel the skin of her hand against his skull, a thought which did not calm him at all. Oh, Stormfather.
"Yes it was. What's the matter?" she breathed, as he reached up to grab the hands- no, wrists, what if he accidentally touched her safehand- and stop their maddening progress. Again, something didn't feel right. The fabric of the right sleeve wasn't nearly fine enough for a lady of Shallan's station. The fabric of the left arm- oh merciful Nightwatcher, was she even wearing a sleeve? Before his thoughts were again scattered by this startling revelation, he took both of her hands in one of his and turned to look up at her.
The face looking gleefully down at him was not the attractive Radiant that he anticipated. Adolin yelped and recoiled, falling off the couch in a heap of cushions and the most recent fashions. His shoulder was buzzing- it was Shallan's spren, the one that looked like a glyph and an embossing tool had given birth to a voidbringer and talked in that weird buzzing voice.
"Oh Adolin, how forward!" it sighed in Shallan's voice, instead.
"Pattern?" he demanded. "What in the name of the Stormfather is going on? And you, you're the one armed Herdazian bridgeman, aren't you? Is Kaladin behind this? Do- do you have a ladies hand?" He hollered the questions in quick succession from his undignified cushion throne on the floor. Lopen beamed at him and just kept wiggling his bizarrely feminine hand.
"Oh, whoops!" said what Adolin mistrustingly assumed was Shallan's voice from behind the couch. "There goes my stormlight." What Adolin had formerly interpreted as a blank wall dissolved to reveal his favourite Radiant and the other Radiant, the one he generally wanted to punch. Shallan was bright red, but was giggling girlishly. Kaladin was not in much better condition. His face was a mask of mortification. No sound escaped from his tightly clenched lips and jaw, and the wide whites of his eyes provided a startling contrast to the flaming red of his face. He wouldn't have previously thought it possible, but Adolin felt himself blushing even more as he realised that he'd had probably the worst possible audience for such a humiliation.
Adolin groaned, flopping back onto his cushions. "I don't even want to know how much planning went into that. The only way that could have been worse would be if my father were here."
Shallan's eyes lit up dangerously, again. Kaladin looked at her warily. Lopen looked delighted.
"I know that face," said Adolin with great weariness from the floor.
"No, but hear me out," she proposed, climbing up to sit on the back of the couch. "Dalinar Kholin, the Blackthorn. The notorious prude."
"Easy there, Shallan, he is my commanding officer," Kaladin said, though he didn't disagree.
"And he's my father," Adolin reminded the room at large.
"But imagine it," Lopen said. "Close your eyes and dream."
"We'd be on latrine digging duty for the rest of our lives," Kaladin said. "Although…"
"I can claim I planned it," Shallan said. "His son's betrothed? He couldn't put me on latrine digging duty."
"Just this once," Kaladin said, holding up a cautionary finger. "And we're not doing this to King Elhokar as well."
"Of course not, he's our monarch," Shallan said.
"Wait- you really mean-" Adolin began.
"We're going to prank the Blackthorn." Lopen said with relish, clenching his fists and holding them to his chest.