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“So I’m guessing you’d sleep on the floor?” Lily’s green-eyed gaze lands on the carpet-less, bumpy caramel toffee floor. At least that’s what she guesses it is. “That ain’t an easy task, my man. Your back’s gonna be entirely fucked up in the morning.”

“I didn't mean that, sugartits. I was gonna let you camp on the floor. Then maybe we can switch tomorrow if you prove yourself to be really nice.”

Such an accursed pet name.

“Bro,” Lily-girl scoffs, “I’m not a fucking dog.”

“Then we’ll have to share it together, mate,” Every finally concludes.

The guard who accompanied them still lingers at the doorway. He shakes his head. “Stop quarreling like little bitches, kids. It’s just a fucking bed.” And he turns and leaves, still shaking his head violently like a wet dog, his thick lumberjack-like beard shaggy like said dog’s fur.

Every nods, as if he suddenly found his senses and grew the ability to think logically. “That’s right. Let’s just stay up there together. If you like, you could put up a pillow barrier like one of those prudish Regency heroines.”

He winks. “I promise I won’t bite.”

Lily gags.



When the ring of a phone wakes Lily up the next morning, her man is already groaning on the floor. Last night had been quite rough for him, and in the worst way possible.

Possible possibilities.

Possessive possessions.

Since both of them are unhygienic, lazy beings, they had gone to bed last night right away, without changing from their stupid clothes or even brushing their teeth.

Disgusting.

But since they are major characters in a romance book, they still smell heavenly, no matter what, like lilacs and gooseberries. The air of Every’s macho, manly-man, cinnamon, sandalwood, and sea-salt cologne still lingers around them.

About half an hour into her sweet dreams, Lily had proceeded to kick her man off the bed with her thin, insect-like, but ultra-powerful legs. And off the bed Every went, along with the pillow barrier that did not help protect him in any way.

And the poor man had spent the night huddled on the ground since, shaking cold and blanket-less, licking toffee tiles for comfort and missing his nice bed at home and his papa’s bedtime stories.

Sweet.

He now groans some more as he sits up, like a reckless old man who fell off the roof of his house while trying to scare off a stray cat. He somehow ended up there, the fictional old man, not realizing before it was too late, and is now dealing with the consequences of having a broken back.

High on the cloud-soft mattress, Lily yawns. “The fuck are you doing down there, my man?”

“You kicked me here last night,” Every says, his face sour.

“My bad, babe,” Lily mutters again, exhaling—her breath fresh and minty even in the morning because she is the main character—before reaching a hand into her hoodie for the buzzing phone she tucked in her red lace bra. “I can’t believe my phone is still working here.”

“Of course it is. Magic is made for convenience, not complication, unlike those artificial intelligence stuff that are everywhere lately and don’t even do the dishes for ya. But whatever.” The young man grunts, groans, and grimaces—all in succession—his back killing him.

Lily stares at him as he rambles, then finally answers the phone, putting the call on speaker mode, a character quirk she’s always had.

“Hello, sissy.” Her sister’s voice screeches through the room, and Every rolls himself away to hide under the bed for protection.

“Get to the point, Sabrinella,” Lily yawns again.

“’Kay, bitch. WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN? Mrs. Knight called me three times because you didn’t go babysitting for her little tribe. And all your stupid fucking intern places also called. That Josephine hag yelled her bad breath down my throat for three whole minutes.”

“Then suck it up, bitch, “ Lily hollers back, now fully awake. “It’s not like you ever fucking work. It’s always been me, and I’m on my damned break right now, so suck it up.”

“Bitch, even that drug dealer guy, Johnny Jim or Jimmy John or something, came asking for you.”