Chapter 17 #2
“He tries to honor my mug system, and he vacuums the floor in the direction I prefer. He is thoughtful and patient and interesting. He enjoys philosophical conversation and healthy debate, and he never pushes my boundaries or makes fun of me when I say the wrong thing or misunderstand social interactions.” They smiled to themself, pressing a hand to their chest. “And when he laughs, I feel like my chest is full of sunshine, and when he looks at me, it is as if I am lying in a hot spring, warm and relaxed.
“And when he touches my hand, I feel tingly all over. He is wholly wonderful, Tadora, and I… I like so many things about him,” they said, the knots in their stomach returning. “Is that romantic-styles? Do I like him?”
Tad didn’t respond right away, but eventually, she said, “For the record, I hated everything you just said.”
Zef slumped against their headboard. “Oh.”
“But,” she said, and they perked back up, “it sounds like he makes you feel good, and he makes you feel happy. If that’s not romantic, then it could be if you let it.”
“And if I do not want to let it?” they asked.
“Then don’t. Tell Bryce you don’t feel the same way, and that’s that.”
“And if I do?” they asked, and Tad huffed in exasperation.
“I don’t know, Zef. Then go make out with him or something.”
“Make out? What kind of trollop do you take me for?” they said indignantly.
“Okay, don’t make out with him then. Just, like”—she audibly shuddered in disgust—“hug him or whatever.”
“But he is human, and he is leaving in October,” they said, which really was a valid argument in their mind.
“But that’s months away,” she said slowly, like she was explaining a difficult subject to a child. “A lot can change in that time, and he’s here now, right?”
“Yes,” Zef answered.
“And you like that he’s here?”
“Yes,” they repeated.
“Okay, then maybe—and I know this is hard for you—try and go with the flow on this one? You can always go tell him what you just told me. That he makes you happy, but you’re still figuring out what that means, and see what happens.”
Was it really that simple? To be fully honest and hope Bryce would accept them anyway. It was scary, because there was the chance that he would not accept it, that maybe he would leave, that maybe he would not like Zef anymore.
Their gut twisted painfully, and they nearly gasped from the force of it. Oh, that was bad. That was a bad feeling. And they could tell it was a bad feeling, which was wonderful.
“I think I like that he likes me,” Zef said before they could overthink it. “Because when I think of him not liking me, it feels bad.”
“Well, there you go. Tell him that.”
“Okay,” they sat up straighter. “Okay, I will. Thank you, Tadora, you have been a great help.”
“Of course I have. That’s why you called me.”
“Good luck with your… situation,” they said, and she blew a raspberry.
“Don’t need luck. He’s gonna break in, like, five minutes. I know the type. It will hardly be any fun,” she grumbled. “Good luck with Bryce. Let me know if you ever see his dick. I have a wager going.”
“With whom?” Zef demanded.
“With Bob, of course,” Tad said simply.
The strange bug-like creature that lived in Quin’s office and ate the food scraps from the kitchen?
Before they could ask for more explanation, Tad said, “Let me know if I gotta come over and kick Bryce’s ass, okay?”
“Violence will not be necessary,” Zef said, even as they smiled. “But thank you for the offer.”
“Anytime.”
She hung up without a goodbye, and Zef set their phone on their side table and inhaled deeply though their nostrils slits, exhaling slowly through their mouth.
Since they were anything but impulsive, they did not immediately go to Bryce.
Instead, they sat, and they thought. And thought. And thought.
When they finished thinking, they had come to several conclusions.
Conclusion number one: Bryce liked them romantic-styles, and there was nothing they could do to change or alter that. The only road to be taken there was acceptance.
Conclusion number two: They did not dislike the feeling of Bryce liking them. In fact, the idea of Bryce not liking them made them feel worse than the wariness his admiration caused. Him liking them felt warm and soft and good, and that, they reasoned, had to count for something.
Conclusion number three: They did not know if they returned his affections to the extent he felt them, but they wanted to figure it out. They did like him; they just did not know the exact nature or depth of it just yet, and they hoped he would understand.
And with those three conclusions came clarity on their next course of action.
So they stopped thinking, stood from their bed, and strode purposefully out their room and down the hall to Bryce’s bedroom.
The house was dark and quiet, and since their night vision was not all that strong, they turned on the hallway light to guide their way.
Then they were standing in front of the human’s bedroom door and lifting their right top hand.
They hesitated only a moment. They may have been slow to process things and accept change, but they were not a coward.
Yes, Bryce and his many feelings scared them, but they would face that fear as they faced all things in life. With poise and grace.
They knocked. It was met with silence. They knocked again, louder and in rapid succession. A bed spring squeaked, and nerves fluttered up their throat and swarmed there.
When it was clear Bryce was not going to answer the door, they knocked a third time. “Bryce, it is Zef, your roommate,” they said. “I am done thinking now.”
A lamp clicked on, the light reaching from under the door to kiss Zef’s feet, and Bryce huffed and puffed as he lumbered out of bed and across the room.
The moment before he opened the door, panic seized Zef’s chest, making them want to retreat back to their room, but they planted their feet, barbs hooking into the carpet to anchor them in place.
The door opened, revealing a frowning, sleep-rumpled Bryce. His dark hair was messy and he had a crease running the length of his cheek from his pillow. He was not wearing a shirt, and Zef was momentarily distracted by his broad chest and large, hairy belly. Their wings hummed in appreciation.
Well, the question of whether Zef found Bryce physically attractive could be put to bed. He was so very handsome, and one day, maybe he would let them run their fingers through his furry chest hair. The idea was both thrilling and terrifying all at once.
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Bryce asked, tone gravelly with sleep but hard to the touch.
The coldness of it threw Zef off kilter because he had never spoken to them like that before. “No,” they answered honestly, because they had never once checked the clock through all their thinking and pondering.
He rubbed his left eye. “It’s three in the morning, Zef.”
Genuinely shocked at that, they glanced down at their watch. 3:07 A.M. Apparently, they had been thinking for quite a while.
“Oh,” they said.
Bryce blinked at them, and they struggled to recapture their train of thought before his cool demeanor had derailed them. As if they were taking too long to do so, the human huffed in impatience. “What do you want, Zef?”
And oh, he was angry with them. They could see it in the line of his brows and the stiff set to his shoulders. And yes, the hardness of his gray eyes, like blank concrete.
“You are upset,” they said.
“Astute observation,” he said, voice clipped.
“And I am the cause?” they asked, though it sounded more like a statement of fact than an inquiry.
The human worked his jaw. “You’re a large contributing factor, yes.”
Bad feeling. Bad, bad feeling. Like their chest was being compressed in a fist. They curled in on themself, squeezing their hands together until their fingers throbbed. “Oh.”
Whatever Bryce saw on their face softened him slightly, and he sighed, sounding very tired. “What do you want, Zef?” he asked again, gentler this time.
“I… I…” They had lost their words. They had arrived with a plan, but this was not going according to it, and they were cast adrift. “I wanted to say that I am done thinking now.”
“Congratulations,” he said, and they flinched. “Can I go back to bed now?”
“I was hoping to talk with you about… You wanted to talk,” they said, and Bryce barked a mockery of a laugh, sharp and mirthless.
“I did want to talk,” he agreed. “Nine hours ago. Not at three in the morning after you abandoned me during a particularly vulnerable moment.”
Nodding, they swallowed thickly and squared their shoulders.
“I admit I did not handle the situation well. You offered your honest feelings with openness and vulnerability, and I reacted poorly. I was taken aback, and I ran away, even when you needed me to stay. I was selfish, and I hurt you.” They blinked against the burn in their eyes.
“It was—it is—never my intention to cause you harm, but I did, and I am so very sorry.”
Bryce’s eyes watered, and he dropped his gaze to the floor. “Well, as far as apologies go, that’s a pretty darn good one.”
“I mean every word,” they said, and he nodded.
“I know you do. That’s why it’s so annoying.” He cracked a crooked smile. “I wanted to stay mad a bit longer.”
They nodded, unsure whether they were forgiven yet. “That is fair and understandable. If you wish to remain angry with me, then I will continue my contrition with humility and—”
“Shut up, Zef,” Bryce interrupted them, a wider, more genuine smile breaking over his face. “I forgive you.”
“Thank you,” they whispered, brushing at the corner of their eye where moisture was welling.
“I’m sorry if what I said—”