We stand in the center of his room, awkwardly glancing at each other, unsure of where to go from here. I look around and notice how clean his place is. Judging the state of the rest of the house, I did not expect for his room to be this tidy. His bed is large and pushed up against the back wall centered under the window. There's a bookshelf to the left filled with trophies and awards. His desk is on the right wall with his laptop sitting open alongside a framed picture of him, Marc, and who I assume is their parents. His walls are mostly clear besides a calendar above his desk, filled with writing and a mirror on his door's backside. 

Once I've thoroughly analyzed his space, my eyes wander back to his body. I'm reminded that he's shirtless as my eyes linger on his muscular chest and make my way down his tattooed arm. Now that he's standing so close, I can make out more of their details. They are all in black ink, which I find beautiful and straightforward. I see an oak tree that takes up most of his upper arm. It's large and sprawling. Intertwined underneath is a rose, but it's not just any rose. It looks vaguely familiar, but I can't place where I know it. Next to the rose, I see cursive handwriting. It's delicate and graceful. I think it's a name. Elizabeth, maybe. Is that a girlfriend? Or an ex? Perhaps she's the reason he doesn't sleep next to anyone? Regardless, I feel incredibly uncomfortable looking at it, and I peel my eyes away before I finish analyzing the rest of his tattoos. 

He catches this and seems to feel as uncomfortable as I do at this moment. He uses his other arm to hold onto his tattooed one, covering the rose and the name with his hand. He scratches at his brow and says, "Um... so. Go ahead and take the bed" while pointing in that direction. "Also, I have training early in the morning, so you might hear my alarm go off, but I'll be as quiet as possible." He explains while making himself a makeshift bed on the floor with only a single pillow and blanket. 

"Let me sleep on the floor." I offer. "Especially if you have to get up early. You shouldn't have to sleep on the floor. This is your room." I feel guilty for putting him in this position, knowing he's most likely not going to get much sleep on this hard floor. 

"I would never let you sleep on the floor." He tells me while shaking his head and giving me a questioning glance. I can see the sincerity in his eyes. 

His eyes start to wander my body, and I feel warm inside. It feels nothing like when Patrick was eyeing me earlier in the kitchen. This is welcome. 

"What happened to your shirt?" He asks while pointing to my soaked top.