9. LEOPOLD
nine
I took the subway to the Moonlight Diner, just like the first time I had gone there, that day I had seen tentacles do what tentacles were not supposed to do in real life. Well, what did I know about what tentacles were supposed to do, really?
I opened the door, and the tiny bell above it twinkled. “Welcome to the Moonlight Diner,” said one of the servers, a big guy, buff, but speaking barely loud enough for me to hear.
The hive was easy enough to spot, two identical heads of black hair sitting at a table to the left, two glasses of iced tea sitting in front of them.
I slid into the booth on the other side and noticed they’d been holding hands. Huh. Strange.
“Hi. Have you been waiting long?” I checked the large clock that hung on the wall behind the counter. I was five minutes early.
“Not at all,” one said. The other picked up from there. “We were just in the area and didn’t want to be late.”
Both of them smiled. They were clasping their hands so hard their knuckles stood out white.
“You guys come here often then?”
“It’s our first time, but we like it so far.” The other one slid the menu over to me. “We’re not sure what to have for breakfast. It’s quite a selection.”
“Right. Breakfast. Hey, uh, you know my name, right?”
They nodded in sync. “Leo,” they said in chorus, which shouldn’t have been creepy but kind of was, especially the way they said it, their blue eyes focused on me.
“Yeah. I mean, it’s Leopold, but no one calls me that. Not that I hang out with people other than Tate. Anyway, what’s your name? And do you—what do I call you and you?”
I pointed from the left guy to the right. They narrowed their eyes and looked at me with extreme concentration, as if I were one of those images that has a second one hidden inside it, but you have to stare and sort of let your eyes go all fuzzy.
“A name is a very human concept.” “We have used names, but we don’t really have one.”
“But what do people call you? What does your family call you?” I considered this. Arick’s instruction had not been detailed on that point. “Do you even have a family? Or do you hatch from eggs or something?”
“No, we are born. Our mother was human. She called us sweetheart or honey, but that was not meant to give us a name as if we were a singular.” “Names are difficult to keep track of, but they matter. We know this. Older ones of our kind take monickers.”
I snorted. “Like ‘Legion’? As in, ‘We are Legion’?”
“Yes!” Both of them looked excited. Or maybe relieved that I was understanding something even if I’d been trying to turn it into a joke.
The server stopped at our table. I ordered coffee with cashew milk because I’d been woken too early and was feeling fancy. I took the easy option with the pancakes with fruit and homemade compote. The hive ordered a sandwich and a veggie scramble.
“Savory breakfast for you, huh?”
“Oh. We like both. But we heard good things about the sandwiches.”
“Fair. I had their pumpkin soup served in a pumpkin, and that thing slapped. I mean, it was only soup, but I had no idea soup could be so good. So what do I call you? It’s weird not having a name for you. Or would I need a name for each of you?”
“For each…” “We are not singulars. We are one.”
“I count two. Are you aware there are two people here sitting in front of me?”
They let go of their hands as if they’d noticed only now. “Of course we are. But we are not two , we are not distinct.” “We are the same. We would have come here as a whole, but the Moonlight is for mixed company, and we were afraid it would be too much. But while we are here, we are also at home.”
I sat back. “That means you can split into two? Have breakfast and do something else?”
They shook their heads. “No. We do not split. We are the same and we are one, always. We are about to have breakfast with two, and we are also at home with three, but we are all the same.” “To be all of us here would have been our preference. To give you all of our attention.” “We want to do that, give you our attention, all the time.” “Because you gleam, and we can tell that makes you ours.” “And for a name, we aren’t sure, but we understand that you want one, that you need to have a name to make us feel more like a singular to you.” “We just don’t know what to pick.”
I had to look from one to the other, and I could tell their nervousness was growing as they spoke. I couldn’t really blame them. The only reason I was not nervous was because of the lack of sleep, that weird phone call with the headprincipal, and because this idea of being mated still seemed unreal.
“Okay. No names then. I’ll just call you hive I guess?”
They nodded, one of them letting out a breath in relief.
“Thank you, Leopold.”
“Okay, sure. Sure, sure.”
The server delivered blessed coffee and topped off their iced tea. They watched me intently as I dumped some stevia into my coffee and then added the milk.
“We thought you’d understand. Because you were a human in a place not made for humans.” “That’s why we told you about the gleaming right away yesterday.”
“That thing where you said I shine?” I asked, putting my spoon down and lifting the cup to my lips and taking a sip. The coffee here was just as good as the soup had been.
“Yes. We thought being direct would be easy. Maybe we were wrong. Maybe we should have followed you to learn everything about you first.”
I nearly snorted the good coffee all over them and myself.
“Stalking. That’s stalking.”
One of them tilted his head while the other looked out the window then back at me. “Stalking is scary and comes with violent intent. We would never hurt you or allow you to get hurt.” “Never ever.”
“Well, that’s nice. You don’t happen to want to lock me in your basement to make sure I’m safe?”
Both of them narrowed their eyes at me. “We can tell you’re making fun of us, Leo, and we’d never do that.” “We don’t even have a basement.”
It took me a moment, but I grinned at the one on the right. He returned it, and the left one joined in.
“Look, to be upfront, I don’t know shit about dating. Never have. I’m probably not good at it. Probably not a prize either. I dropped out of college because—the reason doesn’t even matter anymore now. I lacked the drive, you could say. In fact, I’m so lacking in drive that I’ve been unemployed since dropping out. I’m living off what my dad and gran left me, and I’m living in my gran’s house. That is literally everything there is to me. I’m sorry to tell you guys, but if you thought I was some sort of great catch then you’re in for one hell of a disappointment.”
Both of them opened their mouths as if to speak. Instead, they reached out, each one taking one of my hands and squeezing gently.
“You are wrong. You are special, and we want you.” “We have waited to find you like all hives wait to find the one who shines for them. We don’t know you yet, but we want to learn everything you love and hate.” “We want you to tell us what is on your mind always.” “Always,” they agreed with themselves, which was confusing.
I said, “Let me at least finish my coffee first, okay?”
Both of them let out a breath in that synchronous way they had, and the one on the right released my hand.
“You’re right-handed. May we keep holding your left?”
They’d been holding each other’s hand again, maybe a sign of anxiety for them, and it made me feel bad. From all I knew, hives never intentionally hurt anyone and went out of their way to save people. Children abandoned in the wilderness to die for example. Or teenagers who fell through the ice of a not quite frozen lake maybe. That was at least a possibility.
“Sure. That’s fine.” I opened my hand, and our fingers interwove effortlessly.