That’s Gotta Be Heterophobic
Chapter six
That’s Gotta Be Heterophobic
Dex
Staring up at the sky, Dex fought to catch his breath after another hard tackle. His ears were ringing, and frustration built in his gut as he accepted the hand of the teammate who’d sacked him.
“You good, man?” Tamor asked as he hoisted Dex to his feet.
“Yeah, just got the wind knocked out of me, jackass.” He gave the Bovyn a playful shove. “Good tackle, though.”
“Sorry for letting him get through,” Doni, one of the offensive liners, said as she tugged off her helmet and rubbed a paw through her sweaty hair.
Dex shook his head immediately. “Not your fault. If I had passed the dysc when I should have, Tamor would have pulled back. It’s my bad. Sorry, everyone.”
Most of the team waved off his apology, though a few were visibly frustrated at yet another failed play. Lynd, a Nyko from Lust, jogged over with a scowl on her face, tail twitching in annoyance.
“Dude, I was open! You saw me; I know you did.”
“Yeah, but Rosco was right there—”
“Rosco’s a blundering bulgridge,” Lynd said, making Rosco turn toward her with an offended, “Hey!” She ignored him, leveling Dex with a stern stare. “I’m a big girl; trust me to deal with defense, and pass me the fucking dysc.”
With a nod, he wiped the sweat from his eyes. “You’re right. I hesitated when I should have taken the shot.”
She picked up the metal dysc and offered it to him. “Trust us, but also, trust yourself. You’re gonna make bad calls. Everyone does. But second-guessing is always worse than taking a risk.”
“I don’t think I’m cut out for this handler shit,” he admitted on a whisper, and her fierce expression softened marginally. “Wish Coach would just let me stay a receiver and train someone else for second-string.”
“She sees your potential; maybe you should too.” Lynd pushed the dysc into his hand, the weight heavy but familiar. “But if you’re gonna fail, at least fail big. Enough sacking around. Pussy the fuck up.”
“Thanks for the pep talk,” he muttered, before clapping his hands to get the team’s attention. “Okay, let’s run it again!”
An hour later, after several successful plays and a few more sacks, Dex dragged himself off the field, sliding the dysc into the holding rack. Coach pulled him aside to debrief, and while her critiques were harsh—and accurate—she still sent Dex off with an encouraging clap of his shoulder.
Freshly showered and blow-dried, Dex walked with Lynd across campus to the science building.
They were in the same anatomy class, and they always partnered up for projects.
At the beginning of the semester, he had flirted a bit, even asked her for coffee, but she’d laughed and proclaimed that she was a proud dyke and had no interest in his dick.
“Well, add pussy to our shared interests, then,” Dex had said, and she’d laughed harder.
As he followed Lynd up the steps to the front door, Dex spotted Cya a few yards away, heading in the opposite direction. He put two digits in his mouth and whistled shrilly, garnering the attention of a dozen other students. Cya’s head turned in his direction too, and he waved exuberantly.
The Sypent looked around, as if they thought he was waving at someone else. Since they were alone on that particular sidewalk, they must have realized he was actually waving at them. A hesitant hand raised to return the greeting, and his tail wagged.
Lynd held the door open for Dex to walk through first. “Who’s that?”
“Cya. I told you about them, remember? We work together at the cafe and—”
“Math class,” she finished, and he nodded. “Cya Vysov.”
“Uh-huh. You know them?”
“Not really. I’ve heard… things,” she said carefully, “but never met them myself.”
Curiosity scratched at the back of his brain. “What kind of things? Like rumors? You know rumors are hardly ever true.”
“Like I said, I don’t know them, only what I’ve heard through the kilivine.” They took their normal seats in the classroom as Lynd added, “I hear they’re kind of a bitch.”
Dex frowned down at his secondhand laptop. “I don’t think that’s true.” Memories of their past interactions flipped through his mind, and he amended his statement. “I mean, sure, they can be intense and maybe a little bitchy, but I don’t think they’re actually a bitch.”
Hands raised in surrender, Lynd backed down. “Again, I don’t know them. Just heard some shit. It’s probably petty Pride gossip anyway.”
His curiosity was stronger now, but friends—real friends—didn’t gossip about other friends.
And he wanted to be Cya’s friend. They were always alone when they walked through campus, and the seat beside them in math class had been empty all semester until Dex had started sitting there.
Maybe they needed a friend, even if they pretended like they didn’t.
Sure, they acted all tough and aloof, but he’d seen the surprised pleasure on their face when he’d complimented their jewelry-making, the genuine smile that had curled their thin lips.
It might have been the first time he’d actually seen them smile, fleeting as it was, and it had been nice, pretty even.
They had a dimple on their left cheek, and he wondered how many people knew about it. Since they spent most of their time frowning, he felt safe assuming not many.
They were prickly and covered in thorns, but the way he saw it, no one was ice all the way through. They just needed a bit of warmth to melt the harsh edges and get to their gooey center. Dex had a feeling Cya had the gooiest center of all.
“Dude, what’s wrong with your face?” Lynd asked through a layer of disgust.
Blinking away the krimpi trail his thoughts had tumbled down, he turned to his friend. “What?”
“Your face. It’s… gross.”
“I get you’re not into guys, but you don’t have to make it personal,” Dex said, reaching up to touch his cheek. “My face isn’t gross.”
Her nose wrinkled, whiskers twitching. “That expression was, though. It was all… dreamy or something.”
“I wasn’t dreaming. I was thinking about Cya’s gooey center.”
She shuddered and gagged. “Ew, Dex! Just because we’re both into pussy doesn’t mean I want to hear about you interacting with one.”
“First off, that’s got to be heterophobic or something,” he muttered.
“That’s not a thing,” Lynd said.
He ignored her. “Secondly, me and Cya aren’t boning, okay? I’m their math tutor, co-worker, and soon-to-be best friend because destiny has brought us together, and I will never disobey destiny.”
“Somehow, that’s the gayest thing I’ve ever heard, and I literally made my girlfriend scream, ‘Yes, mommy, get me pregnant,’ last night,” she deadpanned.
With a bark of laughter, he lifted his hand. “Alright! Lesbian sex high-five?”
“Now that actually is homophobic, but also…” With a shrug, she slapped her palm to his. “Sometimes, I wonder how I even became friends with a straight frat bro like you.”
Technically, he wasn’t in a frat, but he let it slide. “Because my gooey center is all of me, and you can’t resist, nor escape, the sticky.”
“I can’t decide whether I’m more grossed out by that mental image or impressed that you used the word nor correctly in a sentence.”
“What can I say? I got layers. Like a cake.” He sat up straighter, eyes wide. “And it works on numerous levels because cakes are gooey and sticky too! Damn, I’m suavving this conversation so hard.”
“Suavving?” Lynd echoed, and Dex nodded.
“Yeah, the present particular of suaveness.”
Cupping his cheek, she smiled fondly at him. “Aw, there’s the Dex I know and love. Never change.”
By the time Dex’s final class of the evening finished, the sun had already set, bathing Pride University in twilight. The twin moons were obscured behind heavy clouds, and he inhaled deeply, smelling the impending rain on the breeze.
As he neared the tram stop, he noticed a figure curled up on the bench, reading a book, and he instantly recognized their long hair, glimmering gold earrings, and thick tail.
Like they’d been waiting for him, Cya quickly tucked their book away in their computer bag before they stood, their tail straightening and locking to support their weight.
Their fingers tightened on the strap of their bag as they leveled Dex with what Lynd had delicately coined their ”resting bitch face.” Gone was the dimple in their left cheek and the hesitant softness they’d displayed on the train that afternoon. Instead, they were ice again, stiff and awkward.
“Hey, Cya,” he said as he came to a stop before them. “What’s up?”
“I’ve been waiting for twenty minutes,” they said, a hint of frost to their tone.
“For”—he studied their surroundings—“me?”
Their thin nostrils flared. “You asked me to study tonight.”
“You said you were busy,” he countered.
“Well, I might have exaggerated the abundance of activity in my schedule.”
Dex blinked. “Huh?”
With a huff, Cya crossed their arms over their torso and jutted their chin. “I lied.”
“Oh.” His mouth spread into a grin, and their neutral expression soured, lips thinning into a hard line. “So lying is, like, a thing with you, huh?”
“No,” they denied far too quickly.
“Sounds like something a liar would say,” he teased.
Raking a hand through their hair, they released a whistling exhale through their nostril slits. “If studying tonight isn’t an option, I can—”
“Nah, it’s fine.” The headlights of the approaching tram appeared over Cya’s shoulder, and he pointed to it. “You riding the tram with me or is your driver coming?”
“I told Hemersyn I would travel with you.”
“Cool.”
He hiked his bags higher as Cya wrapped their coat tighter around themself, the breeze sending strands of their green hair dancing over their angular face.
Standing this close, he smelled the warm, herby perfume of their shampoo mixed with incense, and he breathed in the calming scent, letting it fill his lungs.
The tram screeched to a stop, and the doors creaked open. Since he was a gentleman, Dex stepped to the side, motioning for them to board first. Except, Cya wasn’t a girl. Oh shit, him acting chivalrously was probably invalidating their gender.
“Wait, no!” he barked, making Cya jump at his sudden outburst. “You can’t go first. I have to go first or else it’s a hate crime.”
“A hate crime?”
He nodded vigorously. “Yeah, or at the very least, a micro-aggression.”
Expression twisting in confusion, they cocked their head at him. “What’s a micro-aggression?”
“My chivalry,” he confessed miserably. “I was trying to be polite, but I don’t want you to feel like I’m treating you like a girl, because you’re not one.
But pushing you out of the way to go first also feels like the wrong thing to do.
And I know it’s problematic to make it a big deal and draw attention to it, so I’m freaking out about that too! ”
He turned to the tram driver in hopes they could impart some wisdom, but the Septopod simply tapped the clock with one tentacle. “I got a schedule to keep. You kids boarding or not?”
“Definitely boarding,” Dex said, eyes swiveling between Cya and the open door. “Do you want—like, should I or should you—uh, what would feel the most validating—”
Cya’s right eye twitched. “Just get on the godsdamned tram, Dex.”
“Yup, okay. Roger that… cap-ee-tan.” For some reason, he saluted them, and they rolled their eyes with a long-suffering sigh.
After storing his gym bag and backpack in the racks above the seats, Dex sat beside the window while Cya gracefully lowered themself beside him.
The hem of their tunic rode up slightly, revealing more iridescent green scales, and he was, once again, tempted to touch them to see what they felt like. He fisted his hands in his lap instead.
“Sorry about…” He gestured toward the tram door.
With a tilt of their head, they adopted an over-the-top oblivious expression. “Whatever for?”
He winced, and they softened slightly.
“Would you have done the same for Gem? Or Rusty? Or one of your friends?”
He shrugged, then nodded because he probably would have done the same for other friends, regardless of gender.
Cya dipped their chin. “Then why would I be any different?”
Well, they had him there.
“Sashay,” he conceded.
Their brow furrowed, then they slumped against the back of their seat and rubbed at their temple with two fingers. “Touché, Dex. It’s… touché.”
“In Pentish?”
Looking pained, they shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
“Cool. You should teach me more words in your dialect.”
Cya rolled their head around their shoulders until their neck cracked. “Stys. It means idiot.”
“No, like, real words. Not just insults or cuss words,” he scolded, knocking their arm with his elbow. “How do you say, beautiful?”
“Cyleisi,” they answered.
He repeated it, much less poetically, but they still nodded their approval. With a chuckle, he nudged their arm again, and they looked at him this time. He made the sign for beautiful.
“Beautiful,” he said out loud, doing the sign again. “It’s HSL. My sister’s Deaf. Oh, I forgot to—my sister. You’re gonna meet her when we get home. You’re good with kids, right?”