But back to the main event: your house. Sir. Sweetheart. My deviant little moral compass. What the fuck was that decor? All wood and wrought iron and “I probably inherited this from my dead great-uncle who haunts the bookshelves.” You had nothing pink in the entire structure. It was like walking into a ghost’s bachelor pad. I fixed it.
Room-by-room notes:
Living room: Pink throw pillows. Sequined. One of them says LICK HERE with an arrow. I also added a framed photo of me holding a glitter bat like I’m about to commit an FCC violation. You’re welcome.
Kitchen: We now have a cursed candle. I found it at a metaphysical shop called Hex Me Daddy and it smells like smoked sugar and raw sin. Also two fake toothbrushes in a mug that says Couples Therapy Is Foreplay. Your guests will be so confused.
Bathroom: Surprise! There’s a tiny shelf with miniature ducks. I don’t know why. It felt right.
Bedroom: I didn’t go full boudoir massacre (yet) but I did replace your cold, dead comforter with a black and hot pink one that has very subtle kitten paw prints in the stitching.
Office: No glitter. Not a single speck. Because I respect your sanctum of repression. But there is a soft pink kneeling pillow under your desk now. It’s memory foam. For my comfort. Also you now have a pen holder shaped like a ball gag. Functional and thematic.
Rhys, there’s so much more. Little things, big things. I turned your whole fucking house inside out with love and madness. You handed me the address like it wasn’t a blood contract. So honestly, that’s on you.
Also, dinner is ready. And so am I. I cooked naked except for the new apron that says Therapist’s Favorite Pet. You should come eat before I burn the garlic bread. Or the house.
Welcome home. XOXO
Rhys Journal
Yeah I already told you everything in the therapy journal.
Benji Journal
I’m so excited you and Jett are having a boys night. Please don’t set anything on fire unless it’s consensual. Miss me. Ache a little. Feel my absence like a phantom tongue. Think of me every time you breathe, or blink. Love you. Like all-the-way-in, borderline-illegal, might-steal-your-soul love you. Tomorrow’s going to be disgusting and perfect and probably involve snacks and nudity and I cannot wait.
Jett Journal
Be sweet to Benji tonight or I will spank you tomorrow. Benji will hold you down and smile while I do it. I miss you. Not in acute way. In a pacing, feral, chew-the-couch kind of way. Try not to break each other before I get there. I want first crack at that tomorrow.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Delilah
Rhys held me all night. Whispering sugar and filth into my hair like he’s still deciding what kind of ruin he wants to be. Tender one breath, total damnation the next.
He left with a packed lunch in one of those bougie bento boxes I found in his kitchen cabinet like he’s not a feral man with a collar kink and god complex. I made one for Benji too, extra protein, heart-shaped carrot slices, a note that just says, eat me.
By ten, I’m at the gym pretending to stretch, watching Jett help some poor bastard with his bench press. Shirtless, of course. All scowl and sinew, sweat already slicking down the ridges of his stomach like the world’s angriest Greek statue.
My life is an Olympic sport and frankly I deserve a medal. Preferably gold. Possibly edible.
My phone dings.
Group chat: Charges smarges
Who the hell named that?
Rhys: Can everyone be at the courthouse by 2?
Me: I can
Rhys: Judge is ready to sign off on everything
Me: I’ll bring Jett
Benji: Yep, I’ll be there. Ride together, doc?
