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“Maybe you should. It might help dislodge that stick up your asshole.”

“I do not have an asshole⁠—”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Literal.” He’s always like this, and I can’t tell if he does it to piss me off or if that’s really just the way his brain works.

He blinks slowly at me but says nothing, which is another sign that something’s not quite right.

I walk over to him and stare into his inhuman eyes before lifting my hand and pressing my wrist to his forehead. “Do your kind get fevers?”

He freezes, then flinches away, taking several steps back. He does that a lot too. It’s almost like he finds my presence revolting, which isn’t exactly an ego boost. But after all this time, I’ve gotten used to it.

I’m not the hottest guy. Don’t really have dates or…friends, really.

It’s why I like bugs. Bugs don’t give a fuck, and they don’t judge.

“We do not get fevers the way humans do. And I am not ill.”

“I still think maybe you need a break. You seem off.”

His jaw clenches, and then he parts his lips, and I catch a glimpse of his fangs. I’ve often wondered how sharp they actually are. I’ve wondered a lot about him. More than I probably should, considering he hates me.

But that’s also been a thing of mine. Every single crush I had in school was on some jackass jock who hated me for being a weirdo little queer. And the meaner they were, the more I fantasized about them.

It’s a problem, I know. I can’t help it.

And it’s been the same for Hepyn. Not that Zinni hasn’t been on my radar, of course. But he’s so kind. I’ve dreamt of him wrapping his long arms and legs around me when I’ve had a bad day and making me feel like nothing in the world can touch me.

But Hepyn…I’ve dreamt of him winding the tip of his long tail around my throat, shoving me against the wall, then dropping to his knees and sucking me dry.

And I hope to fuck he never finds out about my fantasies. He’d probably fire me and find a way to blacklist me from the entire town. And I need this job.

“Are you two fighting again?” comes a voice from the kitchen doorway.

Hepyn’s ears flick toward the sound of Zinni’s voice before he looks over. He seems to soften, and it leaves me with a deep ache in the pit of my stomach because god, I want one of them to look at me like that.

Hell, I want anyone to look at me like that.

I’ll, of course, end up being the crazy cat man when I get old, but instead of cats it’ll be sphinx moths and titan beetles. There will be webs in each corner of my house and insect poop on my floors.

I’m a real winner.

“I was just saying Hepyn seems a little tired and he might benefit from a trip to the clinic,” I answer before any more bullshit can fall from Hepyn’s mouth.

The monster in question flicks his tail, slapping the tip against the floor and saying something in Eretharian. I’ve gotten good at understanding some of it, but the language is so fast and relies heavily on tones that I don’t think most humans can hear.

Zinni stares at Hepyn for a moment, then says something back. And before I can demand to know what they’re talking about, Hepyn turns and pushes past Zinni, letting the door swing shut behind him.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

Zinni walks over and lays a comforting hand on my shoulder. His claws barely graze my skin, and I fight the urge to push against them and feel the sting. “He doesn’t partake in human cum as they do in the clinic.”

“Why not?” I’m curious to see if he’ll give me more information this time.

Now that I’ve gotten good at reading Zinni’s body language, I can tell the way his ears flick and his skin sort of…ruffles when he’s trying to answer without answering. “It’s complicated.”

“Because he’s not a Vyastil, right?” Fuck it, I think as I say it.

Zinni’s eyes widen. “Syl…”