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“And if they did ever fuck, it was a very long time ago.” Bar’in nodded in agreement as he finished splitting Tar’s hair into three large sections.
Fal’ran didn’t enjoy thinking of Mal’ik and Smith fucking at all, ever, or even not-fucking, because he didn’t like to think about those two and that activity in the same sentence. It made him want to rip the tent to the ground and then rip up every tent along the way to Smith’s and shake him until the damn human agreed that they—him and Fal’ran—should be the ones fucking.
He flipped the gatlung around in his hand and ran the whetstone along the other side of the blade. “How would you even know?”
“Because they don’t look at each other like they’ve seen the other come.” Bar’in started splitting the sections of Tar’s hair into three smaller sections each.
Fal’ran winced. “I didn’t need that image, thank you.”
“Well, clearly someone has to get it through your thick skull.” Bar’in rolled his eyes, then set the two outside sections of Tar’s hair over his shoulders. “Hold these for me.” Tar lifted his huge hands to hold his hair off the back of his neck as Bar’in started braiding the middle section. “We’ve all been sitting in your jealous stench for a week.”
“I can’t even smell it and even I know it’s there.” Sazahk turned in his chair to face Fal’ran, still fiddling with the radio in his hands.
Fal’ran set aside the dulled gatlung and picked up the next staff. “Is it supposed to make me feel better that Smith would rather pine after that broken down old man, than—” Fal’ran shut his mouth and scraped the whetstone along the blade.
“Than pine after you?” Bar’in snorted.
“Well, I wouldn’t make him pine, would I?” Fal’ran puffed his chest.
“No, I’m sure you wouldn’t.” Bar’in shook his head with another snort. He tied off Tar’s middle braid and reached around for his next chunk of hair.
Tar passed it to him. “He’s being a good leader.”
The three of them looked up from their tasks when Tar spoke, and Tar flushed under their surprised gazes.
“He doesn’t want to take advantage.” Tar spoke to the bench. “You should be grateful.”
Bar’in, Fal’ran, and Sazahk all exchanged glances. Was that a hint about Tar’s past? Bar’in and Fal’ran frowned at each other. They’d agreed Tar had been in a gang in the Moon Projects, but they hadn’t agreed on which one.
“Tar’s right.” Sazahk spoke first. “Patrick is focused on getting us through the Trial and prepared to fight the Insects and he’s particularly focused on getting you–” Sazahk pointed a long, pale finger at Fal’ran “—ready because you’re his favorite and of course he won’t compromise that for a little fun. How do you think he’s survived with the Klah’Eel for so long? It certainly wasn’t by being foolish and—”
“I get it, Sazahk, thank you.” Fal’ran cut off the rambling qesh with a shaaank of the whetstone on metal.
Fal’ran would be just ‘a little fun’ to someone like Smith. Fine. But Fal’ran wanted Smith, and he was pretty sure Smith wanted him and it killed him that they couldn’t act on it. If growing up on the Moon Projects had taught Fal’ran anything, it was to never let opportunities pass him by, because chances were, they would never, ever, come around again. And Smith was letting this thing between them pass by.
“Yeah,” Bar’in drawled as he braided the second section of Tar’s hair. “You definitely smell like you get it.”
“Oh, shut up, Bar’in.” Fal’ran tossed the finished gatlung aside and grabbed his last one.
“Fine. I’m not doing your hair, though.” Bar’in braided up the third section of Tar’s hair.
Shaaank. “I don’t want you to do my hair.” Shaaank.
“It’ll blow in your face while we’re up in those trees.”
“It will not.” Shaaank.
“It will so.” Bar’in looped the three braids together into a neat knot on the nape of Tar’s neck. It looked secure, but Fal’ran wasn’t letting Bar’in mess with his hair.
“Well, that depends a lot on the weather conditions tomorrow and—Dom!” Sazahk answered the incoming call on his tablet with dark yellow swirling over his cheeks.
“Hey Sazahk, I’ve been looking at that data you sent over about the communication between the ships of the uncatalogued species.” A male human voice with a crisp, educated accent issued from the tablet speakers.
“Unfortunately, I can’t think about that right now.” Sazahk shook his head. “I’m more concerned with how to mask our communications from opposing squads tomorrow while we’re in the Yelt trees.”
The voice paused. “What?”
“My squad and I face the Klah’Eel Trial tomorrow.” Without more explanation, Sazahk spun the tablet to face the tent. A human man in a lab coat blinked his blue eyes at them, clearly caught off guard. His black hair stuck up at odd angles and he dashed a hand through it. “Dom, meet my team: Fal’ran, Bar’in, and Tar.” Sazahk pointed at each of them, then at the screen. “This is my friend, Dom. He’s a brilliant scientist and I’ve been sending him all the information I can about the uncatalogued species.”
