22. Sparkle
SPARKLE
I wake up with a pine needle in my hair.
I find another one stuck to my sweater when I pick it up from the floor, and there’s dirt on one knee of my jeans.
Everything smells faintly like campfire smoke even though Lucien teleported us out of the rain and into a hotel before either of us could get completely soaked. I should wash everything.
Instead, I stand in the middle of my bedroom, holding my sweater to my nose and smiling.
“Oh gods.”
I throw the sweater toward the laundry basket and miss.
It lands on the floor beside it, but there’s no one here to care.
No kittens running in and out of my room.
No Mama asking if I can help her with something.
No breakfast to make or lunches to pack.
I don’t have to walk Ferris to school or make sure anyone remembered their homework.
The apartment is completely quiet.
Before, I’d never admit it out loud, but the silence made my skin itch. I kept thinking I was forgetting something. I’d wake up and immediately start making a list in my head before remembering there wasn’t anything on it. Today, the silence feels different.
I stretch my arms over my head and let my tail sway freely behind me as I walk into the kitchen. Dirty dishes from the other day are still sitting in the sink. I stare at them, waiting for the compulsion to wash them immediately. Nothing happens. I leave them there, for now.
A laugh bubbles out of me as I open the refrigerator and stare at the completely ridiculous assortment of food I bought.
I’ve spent my entire life shopping for eight people, and apparently I have no fucking clue how to shop for one.
I have enough eggs to feed a small army and three different kinds of cheese because I forgot what I’d already put in the cart.
I grab one of the little yogurt cups I bought solely because it has strawberries on the label.
Breakfast is yogurt. Just yogurt. Mama would tell me that’s not enough.
I’d tell Ferris that’s not enough. I grab a muffin too.
There. Responsible adult. I’m halfway through the yogurt when my phone buzzes across the counter.
Lucien: I have terrible news.
My heart does a little jump.
Sparkle: Did the hotel charge you for all the mud?
Lucien: Worse.
I wait. And wait. My ears flatten.
Sparkle: Well???
The little dots appear.
Lucien: I have been informed we are not allowed to abandon our camping equipment in the woods. Apparently this is considered littering.
I snort so hard I almost inhale yogurt.
Sparkle: You didn’t know that?
Lucien: I am a demon, darling. Not a park ranger.
Sparkle: Go get your tent.
Lucien: OUR tent.
Sparkle: Absolutely not. That thing tried to kill us.
Lucien: We shared something special beneath that tent.
Heat crawls up my neck as I remember exactly what we shared beneath that tent.
Sparkle: You mean when it collapsed on us?
Lucien: I was referring to the making out, but whatever.
I laugh and set my phone down. Then pick it right back up. I stare at his name at the top of the screen. He hasn’t sent anything else yet, but I keep looking anyway. My thumb hovers over the keyboard before I lock the phone and put it facedown.
I have things to do today. Things for me. That still feels strange.
I carry my yogurt and muffin into the living room. There are boxes everywhere. Half the apartment looks like someone actually lives here, while the other half looks like I might disappear tomorrow. The bright pink armchair I bought at two in the morning because I liked it.
The second bedroom is still empty except for boxes I haven’t unpacked.
I don’t know what I want to do with it yet.
An office seems pointless. Maybe a craft room.
Maybe I’ll get a giant cat tree for when I shift.
The thought makes me laugh because Papa would absolutely hate it. That might be reason enough.
My bedroom is the real project. Thirty-two paint swatches cover one wall, because apparently there are more shades of lilac than any reasonable person could ever need. I stand in front of them with my hands on my hips, comparing colors I’m increasingly convinced are exactly the fucking same.
My phone buzzes again. I tell myself I’m not going to grab it immediately. I make it five seconds.
Lucien: Retrieved the tent.
There’s a picture attached. Lucien stands in the woods holding the mangled green tent in one hand. His dark hair is messy, his expression is deeply offended, and half the tent appears to be covered in mud. One pole sticks out at an angle behind his head.
I save the picture. Then stare at the screen. “Oh, I’m fucked.”
My empty apartment offers no opinion. I look at the picture again. Lucien has been chasing me since Halloween. Flowers. Songs. Compliments. Showing up at Wick’s every morning just because he knew I’d probably be there. A cat café that went spectacularly wrong. Camping that somehow went even worse.
And I like him. I really, really fucking like him. That’s terrifying.
I drop onto my new couch and stare around my apartment. This was supposed to be the scary part. Moving out. Being alone. Figuring out who Sparkle is when nobody needs him to do anything. Instead, I’m sitting here thinking about a ridiculous demon.
My gaze catches on the flowers Lucien brought me before our first date.
I still don’t have a vase, so they’re sitting in a water pitcher on the kitchen counter.
A few are starting to droop, but I haven’t been able to throw them away.
I like seeing evidence that he was here.
The realization settles somewhere deep in my chest. I want him here again.
Not because I need help unpacking. Not because there’s something heavy I can’t move or something broken that needs magic. I don’t need Lucien to do anything. I just want him. My stomach flips.
I’ve spent so much of my life being needed that I never really stopped to consider the difference between being needed and being wanted.
I pick up my phone.
Sparkle: What are you doing tonight?
The answer comes so quickly I laugh.
Lucien: YOU TEXTED ME FIRST.
Sparkle: Never mind.
Lucien: NO.
Lucien: I apologize. I am calm.
Lucien: Extremely calm.
Lucien: What did you have in mind?
I chew my bottom lip and look around the apartment.
There are still boxes everywhere. The bedroom needs painted.
I haven’t hung anything on the walls. It’s not remotely ready for company.
But Lucien has seen me covered in mud and trapped beneath a collapsed tent.
I think he can survive some cardboard boxes.
Sparkle: Come over?
The dots appear immediately, disappear, then appear again.
Lucien: To your apartment?
Sparkle: That’s generally what come over means.
Lucien: I’ll bring food.
Of course my brain decides to panic now.
I leap off the couch and start grabbing boxes. “No. No, no, no.” I’m doing it again. I slowly put the box down. Lucien doesn’t give a shit if my apartment is messy. I don’t give a shit if my apartment is messy. I look toward the dirty dishes. Those can stay too.
Lucien knocks. I stare at the door. He actually knocks.
Again. A ridiculous little smile pulls at my mouth before I open it.
Lucien stands in the hallway holding two bags of food in one hand and a small gift bag in the other.
His hair is still slightly damp, like he showered recently, and he’s wearing black jeans with a soft-looking pink sweater that makes his purple skin stand out. My gaze gets stuck on him for a second.
His smile slowly grows. “Are you checking me out?” He comes right in and his tail brushes mine as he passes, and the contact sends a little shiver up my spine.
He pauses in the living room, looking around without saying anything. Suddenly, I’m nervous. This is the first person I’ve invited here who isn’t family or helping me move.
“That chair is aggressively pink.” Lucien points toward my favorite new purchase before his attention lands on the pitcher of flowers in the kitchen. His expression softens. “You kept them.”
“Of course I kept them.”
His tail starts wagging.
I immediately point at him. “Don’t make it weird.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your tail did.”
Lucien glances behind himself like he has no control whatsoever over the appendage.
I laugh and take the food from him. “What did you bring?”
“Thai. And before you ask, I ordered several things because I didn’t know what you liked.”
“I’ll eat almost anything.” I carry the bags into the kitchen before looking back at the gift bag still dangling from his fingers. “What’s that?”
Lucien’s expression changes.
Oh, no. “What did you do?”
He sighs and holds out the bag. “It’s small.”
I take it suspiciously and pull out the tissue paper. Purple ribbons. Dozens of them in different shades and textures. Satin. Velvet. Some glittery. Some thin. Some wide. My throat tightens.
“You said sometimes you tie purple ribbons into your tail,” Lucien says, suddenly far less confident than usual. “I saw them and thought of you.”
I run my fingers over a lilac satin ribbon. He remembered.
Lucien’s smile fades around the edges. “Too much?”
I set the bag on the counter and step into him, wrapping my arms around his waist. He freezes. I press my face against his chest, suddenly embarrassed by how much the ribbons mean to me. “Thank you.”
Lucien’s arms slowly come around me. His tail curls around my leg as he kisses between my ears. “You’re welcome, pretty kitty.”
I stay there longer than necessary.
Eventually, Lucien notices the paint supplies scattered across the floor. “Are we painting?”
“I was going to.”
“But I have magic.” He holds up his hand in snapping position.
“No magic.”
Lucien’s face falls. “Why do you hate me?”
I laugh and grab his hand. “Come on, higher demon of the second ring. Let’s eat then see if you can handle a paint roller.”
He cannot. There’s paint in Lucien’s hair. I don’t know how. I gave him one wall. One.
Somehow, there’s lilac paint on his sweater, his forearm, one horn, and the very end of his tail. I’m laughing so hard I have to lean against the wall, which turns out to be a terrible idea because the wall is wet.
“Oh, fuck.”
Lucien points at me and howls.
“Don’t laugh!” I twist around, trying to see the back of my shirt.
“You have a purple ass.”
“It’s lilac.”
“My apologies. You have a lilac ass.”
I grab the nearest paintbrush and threaten him with it. Lucien catches my wrist before I can smear paint across his face. His eyes widen.
“Sparkle.”
I swipe lilac across his cheek. Lucien gasps like I’ve stabbed him. I squeal and bolt.
I make it three steps before his tail wraps around my waist and yanks me backward. I crash into his chest laughing as he catches me, and for a moment, neither of us moves.
Then the laughter changes.
Lucien’s hand settles against my stomach. My back is pressed to his chest, and his breath warms the side of my neck. His tail is still wrapped around my waist. My heart starts beating faster. I turn in his arms.
I’m pretty sure we’ve gotten more paint on ourselves than the walls. He’s beautiful. I reach up and brush my thumb beneath the paint on his cheek. Lucien’s gaze drops to my mouth.
I kiss him, needing his mouth on mine. His arms tighten around me immediately, but he lets me lead. I slide my hands up his chest and around his neck as his mouth moves slowly against mine.
Then I pull away and glance toward the ceiling.
Lucien groans. “There will be no artillery.”
“Just checking.”
His laugh brushes against my mouth before I kiss him again. This time, I push him backward.
Lucien goes willingly until the backs of his knees hit my bed and he drops onto it. His eyebrows shoot up when I follow him down and settle across his lap.
“Oh,” he says.
My confidence wobbles.
Lucien notices immediately. His hands settle carefully on my waist. “You okay?”
I nod.
His thumbs brush over my sides. He doesn’t pull me closer. Doesn’t kiss me. He just waits.
So I kiss him again to gain my confidence back.
His mouth opens beneath mine, and my purr starts before I can stop it. I’m beginning to think Lucien considers that sound a personal victory because his hands tighten on my waist for half a second before relaxing again.
I kiss him until I’m breathless. Until my ears are hot. Until I’m very aware that I’m sitting in the lap of a demon who’s been chasing me.
When I finally pull away, Lucien looks a little dazed. Good. I like that.
I run my fingers through his hair, careful around his horns.
He grabs me around the waist and drops sideways onto the bed, making me yelp as I land against him. I’m still laughing when he kisses my cheek, then my jaw, and I shove at his shoulder without actually trying to escape.
“This is my apartment,” I remind him. “My bed. My rules.”
Lucien lifts his head. “And what are the rules?”
I think about that. I’ve never had rules that were only mine. The thought should feel heavier than it does.
Instead, I smile and settle against him, my tail curling over his legs. “Rule one, no magical explosions.”
“Reasonable.”
“Rule two, if you make a mess, you help clean it.”
Lucien glances toward the paint covering both of us. “Less reasonable.”
I poke him. He catches my finger and kisses the tip. My heart does that flippy thing again.
“Rule three?” he asks.
I look around my room. At the walls that are slowly becoming the exact shade of lilac I chose because I wanted them that way. Then I look at Lucien.
“Rule three is that you can come over whenever I invite you. You don’t have to use the door.”
Something soft passes over his face. “I like rule three.” Lucien kisses my forehead and pulls me closer. I don’t think about what needs to be done next.
The dishes are still in the sink. Half my bedroom isn’t painted. There are boxes everywhere. None of it needs me right this second.
So I stay curled against Lucien, listening to the steady beat of his heart, and let myself enjoy being exactly where I want to be.