Page 160 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

“Uhhh, what else. I got in an argument with Oren cause he doesn’t want to use a click for this next show. He says he wants some push and pull, and when I told him that I thought that was ass, he told me to stop being an artless loser and to suck it up.”

“Oof,” I say. “What was the conclusion?”

“The conclusion was that he out diva’d me, so we’re ditching the click for tomorrow’s show. And I might be sloppy in the name of art.”

“How do you feel about it?” I ask.

“Not the best, but it’s whatever. It’s one show out of about... mmm... What? Twenty we added?”

He sighs and I can almost hear him smear his hand down his face. “I wish you were here with me,” he says.

“Need a good lay to take the edge off?” I ask.

“I really just want to feel you tangled up in my arms,” he says, not offended by my joke. “I want to go get food with you and watch a stupid movie on the TV and complain about how awful the towels provided by the hotel are.”

I smile, imagining facing him on a strange bed in a new town, imagining running my fingers through his hair and feeling the prickle of his blonde stubble on his face. “I want that too,” I say quietly. And all the sudden, the defeatist dismay I felt earlier evaporates. Something buoyant and full takes its place and its shaped faintly like hope. “Someday soon,” I say. “Soon you’ll be at the point where you hate my guts because I leave hair in your hairbrush and can’t seem to keep track of my underwear between tour stops.”

“Who needs underwear anyway?”

“You want me to go commando everywhere?”

“I would certainly enjoy it,” he says.

I laugh and when I quiet, I hear the steady gust of his slow breathing in the receiver. My heart squeezes a little and my mind rebels even as I say, “You should get some sleep.”

“I’m not tired,” he lies.

“Yes, you are,” I say.

“Fine. I am. But I miss you more than I miss sleep,” he says.

I close my eyes, hearing the puff of a slow exhale. “Go to sleep, Damien,” I say softly. This time, it’s not just a directive. It’s a spell. A bit of a hypnotic pull that I place on him from all the way over here in Del Lune.

“That’s not fair,” he slurs into the phone. “I know you’re doing something witchy over there.”

I smile sadly. “I’m not going anywhere, Damien. You can call me when you wake up.”

“There’so much to do tomorrow,” he slurs. “Fuck, I just miss you.”

“We’ll find time. We’ll always find time,” I say.

“Mnh.” I can’t tell if it’s agreement or petulance.

Whatever it is, he doesn’t speak any more after that. And I focus on the steady gusts of his sleepy breaths while I rest my eyes for a little longer, imagining I’m next to him, tangled up in his arms and legs like he wished for.

After a little while, I hang up the call, trying not to feel too dejected by not being able to say goodbye properly. I remind myself of what I told him. We will find time. We’ll always find time.

When I arrive back in Bastion’s study, there’s some energy coursing through the trio I left there. A sort of sharpened focus to their words, a tightness in the way they hold their bodies over a table, staring down at a particular book.

“What’s going on?” I ask as I come up behind them.

Aemon looks over his shoulder at me, as if he forgot I was here. Wren beams at me and Bastion has his hand cupped over his mouth in that way he does when he’s just put something together he hadn’t considered before.

He tucks his hands in his pockets and meets eyes with me.

“We have an idea,” he says. “A pretty fucking good one, too.”

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