Time: the healer and the killer.

I almost weep with relief when the last stitch is expertly applied.

Archer grabs the two waterproof gauzes he found and wraps my abdomen gently. Being sure not to touch my injury.

I sag against the mirror in exhaustion, my blonde hair clinging to my neck and collarbones. I notice a few strands have been stained red with blood and I sigh, wondering how it even go there.

Archer seems to notice as well since he guides me off the counter and towards the shower. Turning it on, he pushes me closer but not too close as to get drenched.

Grabbing the ends of my hair in his hands he puts it under the spray of the water and rinses the blood from it. Grabbing my conditioner, he put the tiniest amount on the tip of his fingers and coats the wet tips of my hair with it.

Once applied he rinses it off.

He stares at the rest of my hair in thought before he glances into my eyes.

"What?" I ask astonished.

"Get in."

"What?"

"I need to wash your hair."

"Archer. It's fine. I'll wash it later."

"Get in. The shower." He sounds out, the words punctuated clearly.

"Arch—"

"Eleven."

I sigh and walk in, too tired to care at this point.

His fingers are soothing as they run through my hair. He grabs the detachable shower head and wets my hair, being careful of my stomach. I tilt my head back as the warm water runs through the length. His hand grabs my shoulder, and the shower head is placed in my hand away from my wound.

He stretches to run the conditioner through my hair, his clothes getting wet.

He looks at me with a raised brow, staring at my hands as the water continues to spray him.

I look down, twisting the shower head away from him and smiling apologetically.

"Sorry." I whisper as his fingers entangle in my hair.

He rolls his eyes, a smirk gracing his face and steps further in, taking the shower head off of me.

He places it back in the holder, letting the water hit his back as he shields me from the spray.

His hands land back in my hair, massaging the conditioner through the strands.

My head falls back slightly, my eyes meeting his.

He smiles at me, his fingers massaging the back of my neck.

Water spills through his dark hair, running over his shoulder and soaking his shirt.

The fabric clings to his skin, the ridges, and dips of his muscles on show.

I swallow, lifting my eyes back to his.

Water droplets have gathered on his lashes, his lips wet.

I look away from them and straighten.

It's only then I notice his fingers have stopped their movements.

"Elle." His voice is rough, an edge to it I've never heard from anyone before.

His hands settle on my shoulders, thumbs drawing circles on my collarbones as he draws me in.

"I want to kiss you." He hushes, the water falling over our heads now.

I search his eyes as the water rains over me, my heart slowing and quickening all at once.

I don't say anything, leaning up on my tiptoes.

My lips skim his, featherlight.

Like the first stroke of paint on a blank canvas.

Water washes over my body and his hands intertwine around my neck, pulling my face into his.

My hands fall on his arms, and I squeeze, pulling him into me.

A breath escapes my lips, and he catches them in his own. His lips flutter over mine, skimming the seam before they form to mine.

His palms run over my shoulder blades, fingertips tracing imaginary tattoos on my flesh.

A shiver runs down my spine.

My fingers dive into his dark locks as I press myself to his body, drawing him into me, ignoring the fiery twinge of my wound, the inferno building around us taking precedence.

His hands wander to my lower back, pulling my body into his, as if he cant get enough of me.

I pull back, water raining down on both of us. My feet landing back flat on the ground.

My eyes open and I stare at his face, at the contour of his jaw and the small scar above his eyebrow I've never noticed.

The bow of his lips that I just kissed and the slight five-o'clock shadow gracing his cheeks.

His eyes open, gazing into mine, eyelashes catching water droplets once more.

For the first time, I notice the gold in his hazel depths. The ring of viridescent hazel that surround the cinnamon hue. The freckle in his left eye and my own reflection in his gaze.

His cheeks lift, eyes creasing as he smiles at me.

I smile back, hand reaching up to brush a lock of wet hair from his face.

"I need to finish washing your hair."

I lift up on my toes once more, capturing his lips with mine and murmuring against them. "I don't care."

I kiss him urgently, my hands resting on his shoulders, squeezing the muscles under the pads of my fingers, his lips moving sensually over mine.

"Elle." He laughs, kissing me lazily before releasing my lips. "Please."

I sigh but roll my eyes with a nod.

He turns us so I'm predominantly under the spray. The remaining conditioner in my hair flowing down my back. Whispering over his hands that still rest on my skin.

Archer reaches around me, turning the water off before he steps out. He grabs a towel and turns to me.

I step out, letting him wrap the towel around my shoulder and grabbing a spare. Walking over and handing it to him silently.

He takes it, his hand encompassing mine as he holds it to his chest before pulling the towel slowly from my grip. Wrapping it over his shoulders.

I walk past him, lifting myself back onto the counter.

He quickly checks my wound, making sure the gauze is still intact.

He glances up and catches me staring at him. I try to force myself to look away but can't seem to follow through. He straightens up, our faces centimetres apart, breath mingling.

My eyes flicker down to his lips and my breath comes out slightly harsher, the air in the bathroom heating up.

Archer brings his face closer to mine, his eyes flicking from my lips to my eyes and neck again.

We don't say anything. Too lost in our own world to care about anything. I lean forward slightly but stop when my stomach groans in protest and I flinch, leaning back.

Archers face swoops forward, taking my lips in his. Softly, sensually.

I lean forward, muscles demanding for rest even as I bring a hand to his jaw.

He crowds me back into the mirror, the wound of my stomach beginning to soothe as I rest back, my whole being consumed by the man in front of me.

"Archer." I gasp, eyes fluttering open. "Take me to bed."

"You're injured."

"Please."

He steps back, those hazel eyes tracing over my face. "You're sure?"

"Archer. Now." I practically demand.