My Hard Life as an Incubus

The two of them sat down in silence at first, both too focused on eating to speak.

The sound of forks scraping against plates filled the room until Becca suddenly paused, setting her utensil down with a soft clink.

"So, you said you're not selling this place," she said, glancing at him. "What are you planning to do with it, Dorian? I mean, it still needs a lot of maintenance. The electricity bills were long overdue—your father mentioned some of that. And no, I don't want the house. Too many memories…. I'm just curious here."

Dorian hurriedly swallowed the bite he was chewing and chased it with a sip of soda before clearing his throat.

"Honestly? I don't know yet," he admitted. "Everything's still kinda new. The university, this town… this house. Right now, I'm just trying to stay grounded. Cleaning the place gives me something to focus on. I figured I'd get my hair cut, maybe fix up some of the rooms before Saturday. Make it feel livable, you know?"

He scooped up another bite of food, trying not to sound like he was just drifting through it all, even if that was exactly how it felt.

"Sounds like a plan," Becca said with a nod. "I'll help, then. It's the least I can do for showing up unannounced. I'll take my old room, if you don't mind. I don't know what happened to all my old stuff… but at least they got a big bed in there now."

Dorian shrugged. "Sure thing, Aunt Becca. Stay as long as you need. Honestly, I'd rather not be alone in a house this size—it will probably just give me the creeps being here at night."

They both laughed lightly.

"And how's your father doing?" she asked as she stood to gather their empty plates. The sink was near the dining area, so her voice carried just fine. "Last we talked, he was over the moon about your university acceptance."

"You know him—always working," Dorian said with a slight grin. "But yeah, he's been more cheerful since I got accepted. Probably just happy to finally get me out of the house, haha. Either way, it doesn't matter much—I think I'll enjoy my time here."

He stood, having finished both his food and drink, and started gathering leftovers to store in the fridge.

"I really need to get the bills sorted," he muttered, pulling out his phone. "I'll call the company so we don't end up sleeping in the dark tonight."

"Sure thing," Becca replied, carrying the rest of their dishes to the sink. "I'll get started on cleaning what I can. There's still plenty of dust, and I'd rather not find out I can have asthma at this age."

As she turned her back, Dorian's gaze briefly—and involuntarily—drifted over her figure.

She really was still stunning for her age.

He shook his head quickly, clearing the thought.

"How about clothes?" he asked. "You think you'll manage, Aunt Becca? I could help—"

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. "Don't worry. There's still plenty of old stuff lying around. I'll make do until I can pick up some new things. I should have funds in my emergency account, so you don't need to worry."

Dorian nodded and returned to his phone call. After nearly an hour of back-and-forth, the electricity was finally arranged to be reconnected. With that settled, he stretched out on the living room couch and glanced at the time—just past five.

Still early enough to do something.

"Aunt Becca," he called, looking over toward the hallway, "I'm heading out to get that haircut I kept talking about. Should be back in an hour or so. You need anything while I'm out?"

She was still hard at work, wiping every pane of glass in the house clean after dusting nearly every surface.

Becca looked up and waved the cloth in her hand. "Nope, I'm good. Just make sure you don't get lost—and stop staring at your phone so much. I heard people are getting run over doing that kind of thing lately."

Dorian chuckled and grabbed his keys.

"You sound like my dad," he said, slipping on his shoes.

"Good," she shot back. "Someone has to."

Her clothes were now mostly gray with sweat, clinging to her curves even more as she wiped down another window.

"Oh, and we'll need more garbage bags," she added. "I'm just glad the old vacuum didn't explode with all this dust, but it won't hold out forever."

"Got it," Dorian nodded as he looked back. "And the lights should be back on in less than thirty minutes. No technician needed—they'll reconnect remotely."

With that, he stepped outside, already pulling up the map on his phone in search of a nearby barbershop—or more likely, a salon, given the mess his red-streaked hair had become.

To his surprise, there was one just a few blocks away. Five-star ratings, good reviews.

It was a small shop, though, one of those personal businesses.

If they were already working on someone, he might have to wait—or worse, come back another day.

Still, it was close.

In the end, his curiosity was stronger than his patience.

So he jogged, eager to stretch his legs and test what this new body could actually do.

That was when he arrived, after just a few minutes, to a small, neatly tucked corner salon nestled between a florist and a vintage bookstore.

Dorian exhaled sharply, brushing a stray strand of hair off his forehead. He wasn't tired—his body didn't even feel winded—but the heat was starting to get to him.

Still, no sweat, he could not feel a single drop.

Either it hadn't been enough to push him… or his new body had a few quirks he still didn't fully understand.

Turning back to salon he spotted the sign above the door read "Luna's Studio" in elegant gold cursive, framed by soft hanging lights and ivy vines creeping down the trim.

Through the glass, he could see a single chair, a wall-mounted mirror, and a woman inside working on a customer's hair with practiced ease, which gave him confidence; the only detail now was whether she would have time for him.

As he entered by pressing on the glass door, a faint scent of lavender mixed with something sweet and floral slipped into his nose, calming him almost instantly.

Well… it looks cozy. And quiet, at least.

Inside, Dorian was greeted by a woman who appeared to be in her mid-to-late twenties.

She stood confidently behind the single styling chair in the room, working on a woman in her forties who appeared completely relaxed, reclined with her eyes closed.

"Take a seat—I'm almost done with Mrs. Helen. Won't be long," the stylist said warmly, throwing him a playful wink before returning to her work.

The older woman glanced up at Dorian briefly with a sleepy smile, then let her eyes drift shut again.

"Sounds good," Dorian replied, returning her smile. "I'll just sit and check my phone while I wait."

He made his way to a sleek steel bench tucked into the corner of the small salon and sat down.

From where he was, he had a clear view of the two women. Mrs. Helen was getting a full curling treatment, and she looked so at ease that Dorian swore he might hear her snore if he listened hard enough.

The stylist, on the other hand, moved with graceful precision.

She wore light grey jeans and a soft beige blouse, her figure effortless and stylish. Her shoulder-length hair was a soft golden brown, styled in gentle waves that accentuated her facial features.

Even while working, she exuded a calm, confident energy.

Not wanting to seem like he was staring, Dorian turned his attention back to his phone. He scrolled through a few style references online, trying to figure out what exactly he wanted done with the mess of red-streaked black hair tied behind him.

That's when a message popped up.

Emma!

From this afternoon.

Dorian tapped the notification, and her message expanded across the screen:

Emma Blake:

"Hey, just checking in—hope the food wasn't too much.

Also… let me know if the bunny emoji was too much, lol."

A second bubble appeared just a moment later:

"You seemed cool, and I guess it's nice knowing someone else is going to Rothaven.

Anyway… if you ever get bored or lost, feel free to text. I know the area pretty well."

Then, as if she debated it for a few seconds, a final message popped up:

"Oh—and you looked really good, by the way. Like, the hair suits you. Just saying."

Dorian blinked at the screen, feeling a small grin tug at the corner of his mouth.

Was she trying to flirt? Or just being nice?

That's when a familiar voice echoed inside his head.

[What do you expect? My charm magic is potent!]

[Now ask her out! She's practically begging! You've got one day before it wears off. You only have today to get her, if my magic runs out before you get something solid from her, I swear—I'll—I'll take over and have my way with your aunt, damn it!]

Dorian nearly choked on his own breath, a cold shiver running down his spine.

"Absolutely not," he muttered under his breath, quickly bringing his fingers to life over the screen. No way was he letting that scenario happen.

Dorian:

"Haha, the food was great. Still not sure if the bunny emoji was too much or not, but I'll let it slide this time. "

He paused for a few seconds, tapping on his screen, debating how to phrase the next part. It needed to lead somewhere—somewhere together, and fast.

"And yeah, it's definitely nice having someone nearby. I might take you up on that 'getting lost' thing soon—I could use a local guide. You game this week? I need to know where the best shops are for basic needs, you know… food and stuff before uni."

He then looked around and decided to hint that he was in a salon—maybe she could help him choose a style.

"Also, thanks! I'm actually at a salon right now, wondering what they can do with this hair. It might not be the one you liked anymore. "

Emma:

"Oof, don't go too short! I kinda liked the wild look…"

"But if you're going cleaner, keep the top a bit longer. Trust me—you have a good vibe going with the messy look! "

She paused for a few seconds as if thinking, Dorian could see she was typing slow by the dots on the screen:

"Also, don't forget to ask for someone good… not everyone can handle those red streaks. "

"Anyways, let me know how it turns out. I'll even rate a pic after if you need an honest opinion!"

Dorian smiled before typing out a reply, only to be interrupted by a voice calling to him.

"It seems you're really invested in that girl, handsome. You didn't even hear Mrs. Helen leave. Now come sit before I close the shop—you're my last customer today."

Startled, Dorian tucked his phone away and scratched the back of his head with a sheepish grin.

"It's not like that. She's just someone I met today. Nothing serious or anything… ha…"

He stood and walked over to the chair, now freshly cleaned and ready. The stylist—Luna—stood in front of him, arms loosely crossed, head tilted as she studied his hair with a spark of curiosity.

"That's good to hear, then," she said with a teasing glint in her eye. "I hope she doesn't mind if I'm the one running my hands through your hair today. Now—what can I do for you?"

Dorian shrugged slightly, sitting down and meeting her gaze in the mirror.

"Honestly? I was hoping for a cleaner look, but… I'm open to suggestions. You seem like someone who knows what she's doing, so… surprise me?"