Why Did You Put Me with Steven?

For the next few hours, they watched several episodes of a series that she found quite enjoyable, and then they started feeling the effects of their sedentariness. They both moved around and stretched, but continued talking about anime. She had become genuinely curious, and he was delighted to answer whatever question she asked.

They were both getting sleepy, so they decided to wrap it up for the night. He offered to let her use the bathroom first, but she told him to go ahead since she would probably take longer.

After he shut the bathroom door, she fell backward onto her bed, happy to be fully horizontal, and then two realizations slowly hit her.

Firstly, Katherine was right about him not being shy. He spoke openly and confidently. So much so that it was like she had been talking to a friend. She felt at ease with him... except for the second realization.

He did look into her eyes a little more often, when speaking during their conversations, but, for the most part, he still seemed to be avoiding looking at her, and she couldn't figure out why. It was bafflingly contrary to his manner, otherwise. She wanted to find out, but she wasn't sure that was something she could bring herself to ask him directly.

The sound of him flushing the toilet and washing his hands was stark. Those were two things that were not going to be happening discreetly unless one of them was elsewhere entirely. This prospect made her a little uncomfortable, but then she scolded herself for her lack of maturity; reminding herself that they were both adults.

When the bathroom door opened, he was wearing a pair of black shorts and the T-shirt he'd already had on, and he carried his socks and shoes with him to his bed.

She convinced herself to get up, then took her pair of shorts and T-shirt out of her suitcase, grabbed the handle of her makeup bag, and moved toward the door, but paused when he spoke with a slightly apprehensive tone.

"I usually sleep without a shirt. I can't sleep comfortably in one. Will it bother you if I don't wear it to bed?"

During the moment that passed, she acknowledged various probable reasons for his concern, but she couldn't think of any good reason to object.

"I grew up with two brothers," she finally said, continuing along her path. "It's no big deal." She did appreciate him asking, though.

"Heh. I grew up with two sisters," he added, off-handedly.

"Really," she asked casually and rhetorically. "Interesting." She closed and locked the door behind her.

That might explain a lot, she thought, as she pushed down her panties to pee. The information put her a little more at ease. When she was finally drained, she wiped and then flushed a bit less self-consciously.

In front of the mirror, another issue made itself known. He was going to be seeing her without her wig and makeup. Granted, given his apparent aversion to looking at her, he wouldn't be seeing much. She didn't like being seen without either, but she definitely would not be wearing either while sleeping.

She proceeded to unpin the wig and remove it, revealing the scalp net beneath. Removing that loosed a short bob cut of straight, black hair that fell messily over her ears, just to the lobes. She combed her fingers through to unmat it to something that looked at least a little presentable.

She readied a cotton ball and went about her well-practiced routine of makeup removal, slowly revealing this other person that she only briefly ever saw twice a day. This person was unimpressive to her. She glanced down at the person's cleavage and corrected herself. This person was impressive for only one reason.

She changed into her shorts and shirt, took a deep breath, and opened the bathroom door.

Steven was on his back, covered to his waist, looking at his phone, which instantly made her jealous, but she forced that aside. If he had stolen a glance, then she couldn't tell.

She tossed her dress and flats on top of her suitcase and pulled back the covers.

"Okay to turn off the light," she asked.

"Yeah," he replied, then abruptly cut himself off. "Oh, wait," he added as he set his phone aside and quickly got out of bed. He hurried over to the bathroom door, turned on the sink light, then eased the door closed until only a thin beam escaped.

'Oh, yeah', the thought. 'I forgot about that.' She took the opportunity to inspect his uncovered body, as he made his way back to bed. He was fitter than she had suspected. Not obviously muscular, but he had some noticeable size and definition.

"Okay. Now," he said, after easing back under the covers.

She cracked a little smile and flipped the switch.

Not quite able to fall asleep, she lay with her eyes closed. After some time, the light bleeding through her eyelids suddenly got a little darker, and then she heard the sound of him setting his phone on the bedside table.

The urge to find out why he didn't look at her resurfaced and this cover of darkness made it feel a little safer to ask.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

She paused a moment to appreciate that specific wording. He didn't say 'sure' or 'go ahead'. He hadn't granted her permission. She already had permission. She was already free to ask him whatever she wanted. As with their conversations not long ago, he was happy to provide answers.

This bolstered her confidence in her decision to pull the trigger.

"Why... don't you look at me?"

Silence.

She didn't love that, but she understood that it was kind of a delicate question and so might require a careful answer, but she became more worried with every passing second.

She was about to say his name when he finally made a sound; saving her from an impending sense of regret.

"I... From an artistic point of view, I think you look great. But setting art aside, I don't like things like wigs or makeup. Painted nails."

It felt like he had more to say, but he was silent again.

"Is it so bad that you can't even look at them?" Even as the words left her mouth, she thought it was a ridiculous question, but she was still curious and wanted to reinforce that fact to him.

"No. ... I think you have amazingly beautiful eyes."

That shocked her. Even if she had wanted to fill this new moment of silence, she had no idea of what she might say.

Katherine's warning had prepared her for something bad. Not necessarily an insult, as that seemed contrary to Steven's nature, but perhaps a negative opinion or even an unpleasant truth. It never crossed her mind that a compliment might be his response.

"If I look at your eyes, I'll end up staring."

Her mind couldn't decide between feeling incredibly flattered and not wanting to stare being a good reason.

"Also...."

'There's more?!?'

"For lack of a better word, it hurts me to see you wanting to hide your true self when I can tell by your bone structure that you have a fundamentally beautiful face."

She could feel her eyes threatening to well up, but she didn't want to fill any of this silence with sniffing or blubbering, so she fought back her feelings.

She'd been called both pretty and beautiful plenty of times by both friends, colleagues, and strangers, but it had always been while she was made up and wearing the wig. In the back of her mind, she never knew for sure if they were complimenting her or her style, so, while they were ego-stroking to some extent, they were ultimately meaningless. This fact was now brought to the forefront with no pretense, whatsoever.

She never realized how much she wanted to be seen that way. She was always too wrapped up in the façade. She suddenly ached to be seen with such eyes.

And she could. Right here. Right now.

But did she dare?

She decided to stop thinking. Her hand drew back the covers, and she got out of bed. She stepped over to the main light switch and put her fingers on it, but paused.

"Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Please close your eyes and sit up," she said at a somewhat louder volume.

The light from the bathroom was enough to let her acclimated eyes make out his actions.

"Okay," he announced, with a detectable vulnerability.

She flipped the switch and took a moment to adjust to the light change before walking over to him.

Being eye level was preferable, but given her height and the height of the bed, she could either stand and look down at him a little or kneel and be ridiculously lower than him.

"Let your eyes adjust, and then look at me," she gently instructed.

He lowered his gaze to avoid looking directly at her breasts but otherwise did as he was told.

His eyes went straight to hers, and he was transfixed.

Out of her peripheral, she noticed his eyebrows relax. He took a sudden involuntary breath.

After a moment, his eyes moved all over her face. His lower lip twitched once. His hands lifted halfway to her, but then he caught himself.

An instant after he began retracting, she stopped him with her own hands.

"It's okay," she whispered. "Go ahead."

She let go after the initial guidance, then he continued on his own. As if to confirm it existed, his fingers moved across the surface of her face. Along her cheeks. Her jawline. Delicately played with the ends of her hair. And then finally held her face in his palms and returned his eyes to hers.

'What did I get myself into' was her last coherent thought as her eyelids began a gradual descent. It was as if the warmth of his hands were trying to melt her. If she hadn't been standing, she would have happily relaxed her entire body and let him hold her head as she drifted off in perfect comfort. But the moment before her eyes could fully close, he spoke.

"Why do you hide this?"

Her emotions took her completely by surprise, and she broke down. She held the back of his hands and fell, weeping, into him. She collapsed to her knees and her head came to rest between his legs.

After a moment, she was once again capable of rational thought, and she began to realize the spectacle she was making of herself and the awkwardness of the fact that her face was between his legs. She raised herself, releasing his hands, and returned to a standing position.

He quickly pulled a tissue from the box and held it out to her. She accepted it.

"Thank you," she said as she dried her tears. "Sorry about that."

"It's okay," he reassured.

She stepped back and sat on the edge of her bed, continuing to collect herself and her thoughts. What the hell could she say that wouldn't be pathetic or contrived? She suddenly found herself unable to look him in the eyes. How ironic.

She stood, stepped toward him, and leaned over to hug him. That was the only reasonable statement she could come up with. His hands on her back felt wonderful.

No. No. She forced herself to pull away before losing control again, but it was rather abrupt, and she didn't want to give him the wrong idea that something negative about him was the cause. Her hand instinctively moved to the top of his head and down the side of his face. Her fingertips brushed against the faint bristle of whiskers as she turned to go into the bathroom to wash up.

She shut the bathroom door and turned on the faucet to splash some cold water on her face.

"Oh, my god," she muttered to herself, feeling spent.

Faucet off, she dried her face and stared at herself in the mirror. No makeup. No wig. This person doesn't see much. This person she was afraid to let others see. Someone finds this person beautiful. Someone finds this person amazingly beautiful.

She needed time to process that.

After exiting, she left the door open a crack. Steven was laying on his side, in a sleeping position, but his concerned eyes were on her as she moved to the light switch and returned the room to its cloak of darkness, before slipping into her bed.

"You okay," Steven asked.

"Yeah. ... Thanks," she offered. That was a very weighted thanks.

~ DAY TWO ~

An obnoxiously loud and grating electronic buzzing pattern jolted them out of their slumber.

"What the fuck," Rebecca demanded of no one in particular.

"Shit," Steven quietly exclaimed, realizing that it was the hotel room's alarm clock.

They both slept on the left side of their respective beds, so that put him the closest to it; therefore making him unofficially responsible for making the agony stop.

Not being familiar with the clock, it took him a few tries to get the damned thing to shut up.

"Did you set that," she asked in disbelief?

"God, no. Must have been the previous guest."

"Fuckin' hell."

She pressed her palms into her eyes and yawned. He got out of bed to pee and wash his face.

She raised up and across the bed to see the face of the clock.

"Seven fucking A.M.," she muttered, still in disbelief, then flopped back down onto her pillow to wait for the bathroom to be free.

It didn't take Steven long, and by the time she had shut and locked the door, she was over the psychological trauma of that morning's auditory carnage.

She peed, and then met that person in the mirror again. It was routine for her to wash her face and start applying her makeup. It had not even been a question for many years, but this morning, she washed her face and just stared at the makeup case next to her.

She felt a faint tug of habit but found herself without desire or motivation. A quick shower would help clear her thoughts and buy a little more private time.

It was refreshing, but she still had not sufficiently processed what happened last night, and exiting the bathroom, she hoped Steven would not want to bring it up.

"I'm gonna shower," he informed her, on his way back in.

"I'm gonna go eat breakfast," she returned. 'Why am I telling him that', she questioned herself. 'I don't need to check in with him.'

When she heard the shower start, and the curtain rings running along the rod, she changed into a pair of denim shorts and a different T-shirt, slipped into her low-cut Converse, and left for the free Continental Breakfast room.

She didn't think about it until she was already halfway to the elevator, but a wave of self-consciousness washed over her, upon realizing that she was in public without her wig or makeup.

How would her fellow employees react if they saw her? Actually, would they even recognize that it was her if she didn't acknowledge them? That would be nice.

She inconspicuously eyeballed everyone who passed through her field of vision. Only strangers all the way. A few glances. A casual greeting from a gentleman in the elevator. For the most part, nobody gave a crap. And she was relieved by that. Which was weird, since she spent the majority of her time trying to passively attract attention.

She sat quietly at a table, alone, eating a bowl of cereal and drinking orange juice. Not her usual breakfast, but why not indulge a little while on vacation? She people-watched and felt surprisingly relaxed. Not that she was typically anxious, but she didn't feel like she had to be... on. She didn't feel her usual self-imposed obligation to be interesting.

Back upstairs, she continued to Katherine's door and listened closely for any signs that she had awakened, but she heard nothing for a good thirty seconds, so she went back to her room.

Steven was dressed in his usual black pants and T-shirt. She thought back but couldn't recall seeing him wearing anything but black. Another thing about him that was a stark contrast with her, which further called into question Katherine's insistence that they had more in common than Rebecca thought.

"Are we watching more," he inquired.

Still, no plans, and Katherine was unavailable.

"Yeah. Let's watch."

He picked his laptop up from the chest of drawers and carried it over to his bed. A long chord spanned the distance between the TV and his computer. He sat on the left side of his bed and used a remote to turn on the larger screen, which was already an equal distance from both beds.

She could now watch from her bed.

She was on some automatic pilot that carried her around as she contemplated this new option, then stopped near the edge of the TV, where she realized that she didn't want to sit on her her bed.

She shuffled over to Steven.

"Scootch," she said, poking him twice in the shoulder. He obliged and she settled in beside him. Watching his fingers at work, something else dawned on her. "Did you eat breakfast?"

"I don't eat breakfast."

"Hm." Interesting...ish. "Wanna eat lunch later?"

"Sure."

A thought occurred to her. "Mind if I invite Katherine?"

There was a moment of pause, then "Not at all."

Rebecca found it a curious pause. Was it due to focusing on his task at hand, or did he have to think about whether or not he minded?

If the latter, then did he want to be alone with her, or was there some general objection to Katherine, herself?

Of those two options, she certainly hoped it wasn't the latter, but couldn't quite bring herself to consciously hope that it was the former.

Several more episodes into the series, they began intermittently conversing. Mostly her asking him questions about the show specifically or anime in general. One thing that struck her as odd was a female character with a normal-size chest being called flat-chested, and during that inquiry, it was eventually revealed, perhaps unintentionally, that Steven had a preference for smaller breasts.

Rebecca felt her heart sink a bit with this news, which she also noted as odd.

"What would you call the perfect size," she asked, wanting to satisfy her curiosity, but also knowing that she would be torturing herself further.

There was another pause, and his apprehension was palpable. She was probably torturing him, as well.

"I don't know sizes with certainty, but I think maybe a B... or a large A, depending on the girl's stature."

"Why?" She was leaning into sadomasochism, wasn't she?

Another uncomfortable pause.

"Proportion is important," he said with a bit less confidence, "but, generally, anything more than can fit in your hand is excessive."

Double oof. It was beginning to take some effort to not take any of this personally.

"Do you think big breasts have any redeeming qualities?"

'Oh, my god! Shut the fuck up,' she internally screamed at herself. 'You're not only torturing this man, and yourself, but you're also sounding pathetic doing it.'

"I mean," she continued, as if her filter had malfunctioned, "if you had a girlfriend with perfect breasts, would you feel like you'd be missing out on anything good?"

'Tell him he doesn't have to answer. Tell him he doesn't have to answer. Tell him he doesn't have to answer.'

'Why aren't you telling him he doesn't have to answer?'

She saw his head tilt slightly to one side, and even from her angle, she could tell his eyes glazed over.

"Titty fuck."

'Oh', she thought. Not what she had anticipated, but asked and answered, nonetheless.

She was finally done asking questions for the time being. They both sat quietly and continued watching the show.

When she started feeling a bit more comfortable, again, she found herself suddenly imagining Steven's dick sliding back and forth between her breasts, but then quickly blinked the image away.

'Stop that. What are you doing? Pay attention to the show.'

An effort was made, but there it was again. This time he was sitting on the edge of the bed, naked. He spread his legs and laid back. The tip of his arrow-straight, rock-hard cock rose high, then she moved in to envelop it with her cleavage, and pushing her breasts together around it, she began hefting herself up and down.

'Stop', she thought, squeezing her eyes shut.

She returned her focus to the screen, but her eyes eventually drifted to his crotch, and she lost visual focus as she imagine herself laying on his bed. Him straddling her torso, on his knees, leaning over her. His hands pressed into the mattress on either side of her head. Looking her straight in the eye as his hips thrust. His firmness was in contrast to her plump, pliable breasts that she pushed together for him.