“I don’t like beds.” He sits on it. “It’s not that I don’t want to sleep in one, I just can’t.” “Is it because of something that happened?” “Hmm.” He shakes his head, sending droplets of water everywhere. “Nikolai!” “What?” “Dry your hair.” “Why? It’ll dry on its own.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and point at the stool in front of the vanity. “Sit down.”
