As I paged through the magazine, I stopped at an article about the San Diego Comic-Con. Adam looked over when, about halfway through reading it, I huffed loudly.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“Mm. An opinion piece about how hard it is to get tickets for Comic-Con and how it’s getting harder and harder every year. I’d always wanted to go…someday…” I let my voice trail off, without explaining the implication that, given my current condition, there was a chance that “someday” might never come. I glanced up at him and his dark eyes were somber.

These thoughts were constant gremlins that I mostly managed to shove to the back of my mind. Most people my age were very unaware of their own mortality unless, like me, they were forced to face the possibility their own imminent death every day. But I also knew that, given Adam’s own history, he was all too aware of it. It haunted us like a poltergeist that we tried to ignore. Simple expressions that included the word “dying” took on new meaning for us. We were no longer “dying” to see a certain movie or even “dying” of laughter.

Because when you’d been given a fifteen percent chance of actually not making it through to see your next birthday, it was no longer just a figure of speech. I cleared my throat and shoved the gremlins away again.

“I can hook you up with a pass to Comic-Con,” he said. “But I’m surprised that you never applied for a press pass given your status as a blogger.”

I laughed. “You overestimate my influence in the grand scheme of things.”

“But GameGlomerate hasn’t, apparently, because they want to buy you out.”

I shrugged. “It’s weird. I was never desperate to go, unlike Alex or my other friends. It was just on my ‘things to do before I’—‘things I really gotta do someday’ list…” I corrected myself midsentence and Adam’s lips thinned.

“Well, then, I’ll give you one of the tickets assigned to Draco. You can take the place of one of the interns. One less silly idiot I have to deal with on the trip.”

“I shouldn’t—” I sighed. I no longer worked for his company.

“What if I said I really want you to come?” He cracked a smile.

I smiled back. “In that case…why not? Life’s too short.”

He frowned and turned away. Ah, there it was—another gremlin had popped up to replace the one we’d cleverly avoided. I sighed. Instead of pretending not to notice his reaction, I moved to sit next to him, resting my head on his shoulder. “You hate it when I say that, don’t you?”

He was silent, then glanced at me and kissed the top of my head. “Yeah, I do.”

My arms slipped around his shoulders. “Then I won’t say it anymore.”

He pulled me against him, kissing me again. “Thank you.”

We stayed like that for long moments. And I wanted to kiss him so badly. We hadn’t had a good kiss in a long time. How was it that we could be with each other every day, in each other’s presence so much, and yet I’d never felt more distant from him?

I turned and kissed him on the lips. It was one of those kisses that an old married couple might give each other after fifty years together. Adam and I hadn’t been a couple for even a year. But what a year it had been. Full of so many highs and so many lows. Had it caused our love to burn out?

I looked into his dark eyes as I kissed him again, feeling that familiar lurch in my heart. My feelings hadn’t changed but I was well aware that our past actions may have irreparably damaged that fledgling love. I pressed him for more, opening my mouth, but he didn’t respond.

I pulled away, watching him. We stared into each other’s eyes and I could hardly breathe. That same uncertainty, those same questions were squeezing my heart and whirring around my mind. His eyes were mirrors…but were they reflecting what he thought I wanted to see?

I took a deep breath. “It’s my barf breath, isn’t it? I have barf breath.”

His mouth crinkled at the corners. “You don’t have barf breath.”

“You could tell me, you know. I can take it.”

His mouth curved into a full-fledged smile. “You do not have barf breath. However, your eyebrows are disturbing me today.”

I brushed my fingertips over the Sharpie-scribbled markings. “You don’t like the magic symbols today?”

“You look like a dark sorceress.”

“I’ll turn ya into a toad if you don’t kiss me.”

“That’s backwards.”