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“Roy.” Thyrn straightened and gestured for Roy to come in. “Close the door, please.”

Slumping onto the chair, Roy struggled to find any words. “Why—why would you do that? Cal’s deaf; he can’t fight. Did that not occur to your tiny lizard brain?”

Thyrn narrowed his eyes. The third eyelids covered them with a translucent membrane—such a weird way of blinking. “We’re not here to discuss other recruits. You are over draft age, Roy. You didn’t need to come.”

“I want to volunteer,” Roy blurted out, dread climbing his body like a parasitic vine.

“Hm.” Thyrn flipped his book, pen tapping against the table. He leafed through the pages until his claw found Roy’s name. “Here. First Lieutenant Roy Toggio. Decommissioned due to severe PTSD.”

“Is that all I am to you? An inventory item with a defective label?”

“For the last time, I’m not the one making these rules!”

“No, you’re just following them without rubbing your two brain cells together,” Roy seethed, flinging his residence card across the table. “Fine. Give me the stamp. Let me at least say goodbye to the only person that made this fucking world worth living in.”

The ink pad squelched as Thyrn rolled the stamp in it, his movements excruciatingly slow. He opened his mouth, his forked tongue lashing onto his snout. “There’s something we could do. You could register for spousal benefits.”

Roy rubbed his face hard enough to see stars blooming behind his eyelids. “We’re not married.”

“You could be,” Thyrn said quietly.

“There’s a poster literally in front of your office that says marriages are paused during drafting. Besides, I don’t care about the few extra tokens the army would give me, do you understand that? I want my Cal!”

The lizard’s jaw twitched. “I know. Don’t look at me like that; I really do understand. But spousal benefits are not just about the money. You’d have extra call time, you could send proviant more often, and you would be the first to be notified⁠—”

“Don’t say it,” Roy gritted.

“—when he was coming home.” Rising from his desk, Thyrn moved to the door, dragging his thick tail behind. He stuck his head out and called, “Private Toggio! Can you please come back for a second?”

The lock clicked behind Roy. He turned his head and saw Thyrn twirling the key between his fingers as he ushered Cal to his desk.

The blue stamp on Roy’s card shone bright, attracting Cal’s gaze. A satisfied, relieved smile brightened Cal’s face. “You got it,” he whispered and kissed Roy’s cheek.

Roy nodded, his throat clenched, unwilling to let words through.

“I was talking to your, um, partner,” Thyrn said, searching frantically through a drawer stuffed with documents. “That you could apply for spousal rights. Just need to find your⁠—”

“Can we do that? That would be amazing.” Cal’s eyes widened, his gaze sweeping through Roy’s face. “Unless you don’t want that, love?”

“No—I do. Of course I do,” Roy whispered, clasping Cal’s palm between his hands. “But, Thyrn, at the risk of repeating myself, we’re not married.”

“Yes, yes. I know.” Thyrn waved him off. “Just need to find the documents—ah, here we go.” He pulled out a thin folder and flipped it open with his claw. “To my knowledge, you registered seven months ago, already sharing Roy’s last name.”

Cal blinked. “I didn’t⁠—”

“Nuh-uh.” Thyrn clicked his tongue and pressed a forefinger to his snout. “I’m just telling you what’s on paper. Paper never lies, especially if it’s laminated. It seems like some lousy office forgot to issue your marriage certificate, or perhaps it got lost on the way here.”

“That must be it,” Cal whispered.

“I would normally file a formal complaint, but in these challenging times, it’s in the Empire’s best interest to sort this out as quickly as possible. Let me just fix that.” Thyrn’s head bobbed to a slow rhythm as he typed on the projected keyboard on his desk.

A printer’s entrails in the far corner of the room whirred to life. The needles stabbed the paper, injecting ink that bore witness to a marriage that had never happened.

Cal leaned against Roy’s shoulder, closing his eyes. Hiding a kiss in his hair, Roy tightened an arm around his shoulders. The canvas backpack sat on the floor, tilted to the side, threatening to tumble over. Roy wondered if the starter pack was still the same—laser-proof uniform, alloy helmet that served as a food bowl in times of need, and a pair of boots that sometimes showed signs of previous use.

Roy’s boots slipped on the algae-coated rocks near his pier. He caught himself at the last moment, launching himself onto a flat stone. He fished the seashell from his breast pocket and inhaled the salty sea breeze. The suns had already set, last rays of light colouring the sky in dark shades of purple. He blew into the shell and waited for Neri to surface.

Her scales glittered under the water’s surface. She launched herself onto the stones, and Roy helped her pull up. Her wife followed, concern written across both their faces.