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She almost laughed when it clicked for him, and watched him lean back from her perch, paying particular attention to the way the shark stretched its mouth open. Her smile turned into a grin, but it was gone before he could notice it. It felt dangerous, as did everything in that sudden, strange moment. The moment the shark yawned its mouth open, and she was not afraid.

"O but with mine compare thou thine own state and thou shalt find it merits not reproving, or, if it do, not from those lips of thine." She managed to recite, though there was no beauty to the way she said it. It was clear she was just trying her best to remember the words.

That's probably too long. But deserving."

Maebe turned her eyes down to look at her hands. On the surface, they were dainty and perfect, with perfectly manicured nails and perfect skin. She stared at her empty palms, and shrugged softly. "It's something someone told me once applies to me a lot. It's a pretentious way of saying we've got a lot in common. It's not meant to be a good thing." She hadn't even talked to Taym in forever. He'd forgotten her somewhere along the line, and she'd accepted it, because it probably meant he was happy. He only bugged her when he wasn't happy.

"But I think it can be. If you look at things the right way." Her head remained tilted down even as her eyes flickered up to look at Dawson, and she reached out to hold his nose between her fingers. "But mostly it's just the pretentious thing. It's like putting chinese characters on your body and then finding out later on that the guy wrote 'I'm a p***y' in Chinese and you never knew. Feed me a Twix."

She smiled, just a touch too sinister-like, when he mentioned villainy. But he was right, she wasn't calling herself a villain this time around. When she took the Twix bar, not only did she not bite him but she also refrained from sucking on his fingers. Look, her Twix-holding smile said. I'm not the villain tonight.

She would make no promises about the morning.

Closing her lips around the Twix bar, she slid it to the side and held it like a cigarette. "Maybe I should just get a villain tattoo. Like, hm. If I was a villain, who would I be? Can you think of one?"

She reached up and pushed the Twix bar into her mouth. She felt so comfortable, curled up like a child in his lap. Too comfortable. The kind of comfortable a band-aid felt like right before being ripped off. The Twix bar received the punishment for this thought by being crunched down on just a little too hard.

What was even happening right now. Maebe had trouble reconciling that Dawson was trying to do the voice of some sort of evil mistress villain, and it held so much dissonance with what she was looking at that she let out a quiet, tense whine before exploding into laughter. It sent her careening right off of him onto the floor, her head smacking against it with a soft thud. Her little carpet saved her from any actual injury, but her sudden position shocked her out of her laughter, and her legs flailed in the air as she tried to right herself.

She failed.

"Help." She whined out, her giggles returning in staggered and choppy spurts. She needed to flip over to right herself, but she was lodged between the bed, and Dawson - so she just stared at the side of the bed that her face was pressed against, and pondered her life choices.

When her body was being righted, she was able to laugh without the short spurts for catching her breath. She was a ragdoll in his arms, as he pulled her back up, until the giggles settled down. Then her body straightened up, and she grinned down at him, rubbing her head with one hand.

"I think I have a concussion." She teased. "I hope I don't die overnight. Wake me up every hour and make sure I'm not dead?"

She hadn't formally invited him to sleep over, but the assumption that he'd gotten the point was there when she told him to bring blankets and pillows. This was just a formality, an excuse to make sure she wasn't pushing on his boundaries by requesting a sleepover.

The moment he mentioned it, the return of her exhaustion started to tug at her consciousness. He'd kept her up so much longer than she'd meant to be, and the end result of all of that laughter was that she could feel how bone tired she was now. So she nodded, and her head lolled at the end of her nod until it pressed against his shoulder for a minute.

"Okay." She muttered, slowly pushing herself up off of him until she was standing on her own two feet. She stumbled past the mess they'd made, and flopped on her stomach onto the soft covers of her bed. Her arms reached out and knocked all of the stuffed animals off, before shimmying her way under the big fluffy comforter. She disappeared under it for a moment, and then her head popped comically out.

As did her pants.

"Don't get any wild ideas." She muttered sleepily. "I can't sleep with pants on." They were dropped on the floor, and she curled up comfortably on the bed, resting the side of her head on her folded hands so she could look at him.

"This is where I send you all those sexy, sexy DMs. Now you can imagine me here. Hot, right?"

"Only sometimes? I must be losing my touch." She whispered, watching the lump of blankets move around on the floor. He couldn't see her, which meant it was safe to get up and tiptoe over quietly. She bent down, carefully measured where she assumed his head should be, and kissed what ended up being the blankets covering his ear. Close enough.

"Goodnight, Dawson."