Now, Splice stood in the hallway outside Goldie's apartment, his hand raised to knock, but he hesitated. The building hummed around him with a low, resonant frequency of quiet approval, the corridor lights dimming to a softer glow.
Finally, gathering his composure, he knocked.
The door swung open almost immediately, and the carefully constructed fortress of Splice’s composure crumbled. He had braced himself for her usual glittering onslaught of perfume, shimmering velvet, and disarming chaos.
He had not braced for this.
Goldie stood framed in the warm light of her apartment, but she looked… different. Stripped of her usual armor of sparkle and silk, she was simply, starkly,her.She wore dark leggings that hugged the curve of her hips, a soft cotton t-shirt with the words “World’s Okayest Witch,” and a zip-up black hoodie. Her feet were clad in running shoes.
"I figured if I'm going sleepwalking, I should do it in real clothes this time instead of my nightie," she said with a wry shrug, stepping aside to let him in.
The wordnightiewas a spark on dry tinder. His mind instantly conjured the image of her from when she had opened the door, her hair mussed from sleep and sex, her velvet robe falling open to reveal the slip-thin gown beneath.
"Practical," he managed, the word scraping its way out of his throat.
As he stepped inside, the familiar scent of cinnamon and bergamot washed over him, but now it was laced with the warm, buttery smell of popcorn. On the coffee table sat a large bowl of the snack. Beside it sat a small vase filled with what appeared to be a few sprigs of mint, rosemary, and, confusingly, green onions. Next to that was a tiny dish of what looked suspiciously like fertilizer.
Goldie caught his stare and flushed. "Well, I mean, you're part plant, right? I thought maybe you'd want some ambient greenery? Or maybe you get hungry for, I don't know, photosynthesis supplements?" She gestured helplessly at the dish of fertilizer, a sheepish grin on her face.
The unexpected sweetness of the situation hit him like a physical blow. He was not something that was grown to be cared for, yet this vibrant, chaotic, glittering woman wanted to feed him. Like he was worthy enough to be something she wanted to make happy.
"Goldie." His voice came out softer than he’d intended. "That's... no one has ever..."
"Oh gods, it's stupid, isn't it?" she interrupted, her words tumbling out in a rush as she moved toward the coffee table, as if clearing it away could erase her own vulnerability. "I don't know anything about plant care. My mom always said I could kill crabgrass, I have such a black thumb?—"
"It's perfect," Splice interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. He reached out, his fingers closing around her wrist to still her frantic movement.
She looked up at him, her lower lip caught between her teeth, and he felt something fiercely protective and entirelyhis ownunfurl in his chest as he gazed into her earth-brown eyes.
"So," Goldie said, clearing her throat. She gently pulled her wrist from his grasp, though the flush on her cheeks deepened. "Ready for the world's most awkward slumber party?"
Despite Mycor’s encroaching rot, the murder, and the political chaos swirling around them, Splice found himself returning her smile. "I believe I am."
The relief in her expression was palpable. "Right. Drinks. We need to stay hydrated!" She spun toward the kitchen with a renewed, almost manic purpose. "Make yourself comfortable!"
Splice settled onto the couch, the cushions sighing under his weight. He listened to Goldie bustling in the kitchen, the soft clinks and thumps of glasses and bottles drifting through the apartment.
He let his gaze wander to the window. Outside, in the dusking glow, a vine trailed lazily against the glass. For a heartbeat it seemed to lift, reaching toward him in recognition. His lips curled despite himself, even as he shook his head to dismiss it.
"How's Mycor?" Goldie asked, padding back to the couch with a glass of water for him and a generous pour of white wine for her.
"He is the same."
She leveled a finger at him, her tone mock-stern, but her eyes were soft with genuine concern. "Did you give him any more of your life force?"
Splice shook his head.
"Good," she said firmly, taking a sip of her wine. "Not that… not that I don't want him to be okay, but you gotta keep your strength up if you're going to be following me around."
"You may not sleepwalk tonight," he pointed out.
Goldie was quiet for a moment, then pressed a hand to her chest, fingers splaying over her heart. "I don't know. I feel like... it's going to happen. There's something building, right here."
Then, the sparkle returned to her eyes as if someone had flipped a switch. The brief solemnity vanished, replaced by a familiar, mischievous energy. She grabbed the television remote with a theatrical flair.
"I downloaded a movie for us to watch. Guess what it is. Come on, guess!"
Splice's mind went entirely blank. He stared at her, trying to dredge up any knowledge of human entertainment from what he’d absorbed over the eons.
