Annie eats every bite of her food, savoring the rich flavors despite the ridiculous amount of smug energy radiating off Malvor. He watches her like a man thoroughly pleased with himself, stretching back against the pillows, arms crossed behind his head.
Then, with a playful lilt in his voice, he decides to test his luck.
"Oh, Annie, my good girl. Great job eating all that food."
Her fork freezes mid-air. Slowly, slowly, she sets it down, turns to face him, and narrows her eyes.
"…Did you just good girl me?"
Malvor smirks, entirely unrepentant. "Yes. Did you like it?"
Silence.
Her lips press together, her entire body suddenly still. No sharp retort, no snappy comeback, just silence.
And that? That was an answer.
Malvor's grin spreads wider, wicked and absolutely delighted. He tilts his head, his voice dropping to a near purr. "I read that in one of your books."
The groan that rips out of her is pure, unfiltered regret. She throws herself back against the pillows, covering her face with both hands.
"Oh, Annie," he drawls, leaning in, absolutely reveling in this moment. "You did like it. Oh my gods. Oh me." He lets out an exaggerated gasp, placing a hand over his chest. "That is hilarious."
She mutters something incomprehensible into her hands. It just comes out as a drawn-out groan.
Malvor does not let up, leaning even closer, his breath brushing against her ear. "You can be my good girl any time."
A pillow immediately collides with his face.
He falls back, laughing, dodging a second attack as Annie groans into the mattress. "I hate you."
"Oh no, my sweet Annie," he coos, grinning as he shields himself from further assault. "You love me."
Another pillow whizzes past his head.
But oh, she had not denied it.
Malvor freezes.
Wait. Wait.
She had not denied it.
His mind screeches to a halt, replaying the last five seconds with the kind of hyper-focus usually reserved for trickery, elaborate schemes, and pranking Aerion into public humiliation.
Did she just… not deny it?
Oh, this was monumental.
His eyes snap to her, searching for any sign that she realizes what she has just done. Annie is still buried in the pillows, probably contemplating every life decision that led her to this moment.
His grin spreads slow and dangerous.
"Annie."
A muffled groan.
"Annie, darling."
Nothing.
"Oh Annie Peach Pie, you didn't deny it."
A sharp inhale. A deathly stillness.
"I knew you loved me!" he crows, throwing his arms out in pure, unfiltered victory. "Oh, this is the best day of my life. Arbor, did you hear that? She loves me."
The lights in the room flicker in an almost celebratory pattern.
Annie shoots up, eyes wide, face flushed. "I never said that!"
"Oh no, no, no, my love," Malvor drawls, wagging a finger. "You had every opportunity to correct me, and yet, here we are." He gasps dramatically. "Do you think you love me, Annie? Because I think you do."
Annie stares at him, mouth open, glaring.
Then, with a level of calculated murder that should be studied, she picks up his plate.
Malvor barely has time to react before she shoves the last bite of his breakfast into his smug, open mouth.
He chokes, coughing through a mouthful of eggs and toast.
Annie leans in, eyes blazing, voice low and taunting.
"Oh Malvor, my good boy, great job eating all your food."
Malvor stops mid-chew.
Oh.
Oh, she was evil.
He swallows hard, staring at her, all the smugness wiped clean off his face.
Annie roughly pats his cheek with a devilish smirk, then casually gets up and struts out of the room.
Malvor remains frozen. Processing.
Arbor flickers the lights in something suspiciously close to laughter.
Finally, he exhales, wiping his mouth, then grins.
"Oh, she wants to play? Fine."
This was not over. Not by a long shot.
Malvor runs a hand through his hair, pacing the room, his grin shifting between smug delight and outright frustration.
"Arbor, I know I am right."
The house flickers once, remaining suspiciously neutral.
"Do not act like you did not see that. She called me good boy, Arbor! That was an attack—a strategic, well-aimed attack on my person." He stops mid-step, pointing accusingly at the ceiling. "And worse? I liked it."
"Bloody hell, do I have a praise kink?"
Silence.
Arbor, the traitorous bastard, does not respond.
Malvor groans, dragging a hand down his face before turning toward the door.
"She wants me to lose my mind," he mutters, shaking his head. "And I will, Annie. Oh, I will."
He stalks toward the hallway, hungry for revenge.
He wants her flustered. He wants her embarrassed. He wants her to say it.
He wants her to shout it.
But more than that?
He just wants her.
He tries to follow her. Stalking toward her room with all the confidence of a man who refuses to be ignored. But the moment he reaches for the door—
It vanishes.
Malvor stares at the empty wall, blinks, then turns sharply to his left as another door appears just a few feet away.
He strides toward it.
It vanishes again.
A third door appears down the hall.
Oh, absolutely not.
"Damn it, Arbor! You let me see her this instant!"
A soft, rhythmic flickering of the lights. Unbothered. Smug.
Malvor places his hands on his hips, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean she doesn't want to see me? She can not shut me out of my own house!"
Arbor flashes once. A single, decisive blink.
Yes. Yes, she can.
Malvor gapes. "Excuse me?!"
More flickering.
"What do you mean yes she can?!" He gestures wildly at the ceiling. "Arbor! I thought we were friends! Are you siding with her?"
Another flicker.
"Yes?! Yes?! You absolute turncoat! After everything I've done for you?"
Arbor flashes twice.
"Oh, you do not get to blink at me like that," Malvor growls, turning in a slow circle, looking for something to throw. His own house, betraying him. Unbelievable.
Another flicker. Three rapid, unapologetic blinks.
"Oh, she asked you to keep me out?" Malvor places a hand over his chest, feigning deep emotional distress. "Arbor. Arbor. You wound me. You wound me more than she does!"
Silence.
Then—
A slow, measured flicker.
Malvor stiffens. Eyes narrowing. "That was an 'Oh, you like it' blink, wasn't it?"
Silence.
A single, mocking blink.
Malvor gasps, pointing at the nearest light. "YES, I KNOW SHE WOUNDS ME ON PURPOSE! THAT IS NOT THE POINT!"
More flashing.
"Of course I like it! That is also not the point!"
The lights dim in a slow, deliberate you are embarrassing yourself kind of way.
Malvor scowls. Arbor would pay for this.
He crosses his arms, tapping his fingers against his bicep. "Fine. But I will get in eventually. You think you can keep me out forever?" He tilts his head, smirking. "You can not. And when you do let me in, Arbor, I am going to be so obnoxious about it."
Silence.
Then, a single, long flicker.
A slow, deliberate, taunting no.
Malvor gasps, stumbling back as if struck. He flings an arm over his forehead, the very picture of devastation.
"Et tu, Arbor? Et tu?!"
Arbor flickers once.
Unbothered. Unmoved.
Malvor groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Fine. Fine. Have it your way, you traitorous heap of wood and magic. But know this when I do get back in, I am going to be insufferable."
Silence.
Then—
A single, almost imperceptible blink.
A slow, lazy, entirely unimpressed okay.
Malvor glares at the ceiling.
Arbor had better watch its walls.