Even

You've loved to bite since childhood. Not too much, barely noticeable. Your school friends sometimes called you "biter." You don't bite everyone. Only those you like, those with whom you've been friends for a long time.

You're an only child. Your parents are used to you biting. And at times like these, they simply stroke your hair, letting you bite their hand. Well, only your father allows it. Your mother immediately grabs a slipper.

A year ago, you got a boyfriend, Even. He always wears black, like he's going to a funeral. You didn't bite him at first, but then you got hooked. Lately, he's been refusing to let you bite him, so you've started chewing on his last blue-ink pens. You even managed to chew on his passport.

Today he spent the whole day with his parents. You were bored, so you cleaned every corner of the house until Even came back. Now you're sitting on the windowsill, and Even came up to you. You wanted to bite his finger, but he put his hands in his pockets.

• Well, let me bite you.

You reached for his hand, but he smiled softly, kissing the top of your head.

• I won’t, you fool