Dr. Memnus Lagbane Soultooth the Mad

Somewhere nearby, a fan coughed noisily and whirred to life. The cool draft raised goosebumps on her arm, jolting her out of her blissful daze. "I've got work," she sighed, leaning forward again and reaching for some protection against the chill. She could feel his eyes on her back as she did, and slung his shirt at him without looking.

She was rewarded with a startled splutter and rustle of fabric as he clawed the offending articl from his face and shuffled into it. Stretching his legs into the now-vacant seat, he fixed her with another pointed gaze. "Why do you keep going back?"

"I do need to eat sometimes."

"That's not what I asked."

She paused, but didn't look back at him. She knew what she would see if she did, and there was nothing in those eyes she'd ever resisted before. "You know that's not fair."

"If you say so."

"Goddammit," she whispered. A few months ago she could have slugged him for that; very nearly had, in fact. But despite having had the same conversation a dozen times, she knew that through it all, he was listening. "I'll call you," she told him, as she kicked her shoes upright and stepped into them. Before he had a chance to respond, she was gone.

click

They sprawled on opposite ends of the couch, lost for a time in their own thoughts. The afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, painting brilliant streamers in the aftermath of his disastrous attempt at baking, before drawing even lines on the carpet. As the wall clock unobtrusively chirped a reminder, she stirred and opened her eyes to look at him.

"I suppose I should find my way out," she sighed, though she made no attempt to move. His only response was to curl his toes against the back of her knee.

click