Page 87 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

“Of course I am,” I say, lifting his arm and sidling into his side. “And you’re going to let me be up to something.”

“Am I?” he asks.

“Of course,” I repeat. “Because if you do, I’m going to suck the soul right out of you when we get home.”

“Oh—” he says, brows lifting. “I think I like this Occam guy.” Then he pauses. “Wait: you do mean that in the sexual way, right? Not, like—in some—obsessive, ‘keep your boyfriend’s soul in a bottle’ thing?”

“Depends on how much of a brat you intend on being,” I tease.

And when he laughs, the sound warm and musical, I think I’d do just about anything to hear it forever.

ㅤ

“How did we manage to not actually have sex this week?” I ask, incredulous.

“What are you talking about? We’ve had copious amounts of sex.” Lillith says. “Orgasms on the other hand...” she adds as a pouty aside.

“You loved it,” I tease, nipping at the shell of her ear.

“Against my will,” she says. “I never wanted to find out I’m into edging, but here we are.”

“Also, we did a lot of sex-adjacent things. But I never actually, like—My cock has not said hello to your pussy.”

“Would you like a talking cock? I can make that happen,” she says.

“Someone wants to get edged again.”

She gives me a forlorn look that starts playful and silly... then it becomes real. She looks like Gloam when we refused to share the amazing salmon dinner Lillith made for us a few days ago. These little dips into what she calls the “boyfriend blues” have been happening more and more frequently, and it seems to be a near-constant state today. I’ve done everything I can to cheer her up and encourage her, but today it’s not working.

“Hey,” I say, finally breaking the unspoken agreement we’ve had not to acknowledge that I’ll be leaving soon. “I’m going to be back before you know it. You’re not even going to have a chance to stop being mad at me for edging you before I’m back.”

“I—I know. I’m not upset,” she says.

I quirk a knowing brow at her and her cheeks turn pink as she puts toothpaste on her toothbrush and sticks it in her mouth. “I’m shawrry,” she says around it.

“Don’t be,” I tell her. “I’m glad you want me here.”

She’s quiet while she brushes and I take the opportunity to lather up some of the shaving cream she just... whipped up for me. Yep. That’s right. I told her I needed to leave the house to grab shaving cream and she just told me not to bother and made me some. Like it’s not a big deal at all.

It smells like her. Herbaceous and faintly sweet and spicy—like incense. I love it.

I reach for the pink razor she gave me to use and start the process of cleaning up the pale stubble that can only really be seen if you get close enough to it—or if you start to give your girlfriend a rash on her thighs from how much time you spend with your head sandwiched between them.

I’m about halfway done when she abruptly spits, rinses, and leaves me alone in the bathroom. I hear a faint sniff as she rounds the corner, and I let out a quiet breath. I take a few minutes to finish shaving, careful to clean up after myself so that she doesn’t have to clean up a bunch of tiny hairs after I’m gone.

When I go back out to the living room, Lillith isn’t there. She also isn’t in the kitchen. Or in her bedroom.

What the fuck?

I check the house again in case I just missed her moving around in her semi-open floor plan. Then when I go back into her room again, I hear that little sniffle again.

From the closet.

I walk up to the shut door, straining to hear her with my thrashed ears. I consider knocking because—well, that would be polite. But also I’ve seen her gloriously, miraculously naked a lot lately, and who are we kidding? There’s no fucking way I’m just going to sit on my hands while my girlfriend is crying alone in her closet.

I open the door, slowly, and can only see her from the waist down. She’s sitting on the carpeted floor, obscured by what I think might be a velvet cloak. I can only see her pale legs jutting out from the hem of her over-sized sweater, which I’ve learned is her favorite loungewear, lucky for me.

Her breath hitches and my heart cracks.