13. Tentative Truce #2
He stared at them in bewilderment, then he laughed. “Oh my gods, what? This is you apologizing? Yikes, you’re really bad at it.”
Rage built in their chest anew. “I haven’t even started—”
“And yet, you’ve been yelling at me for five minutes already. That has to be a new record,” he interrupted them, and they bared their fangs at him.
“Well, if you’d stop your incessant yammering for five seconds—”
“It wouldn’t make a difference,” he interrupted them again, “because you’d still suck at this.”
With a wordless shriek, they balled up his hoodie and hurled it at his chest. “Don’t know why I fucking bothered!”
As they stormed past him, he scrambled to keep the hoodie from touching the dirty floor. “Thanks for the hoodie.”
“It’s covered in my snot because I didn’t bother to wash it,” they bit out.
“Ten bucks says that decision wasn’t even made out of spite.” He flipped the hoodie to drape over his shoulder along with his shirt. “You just don’t know how to work a washing machine.”
“I could have figured it out!”
“Ha, I’d have paid to watch that.”
Smiling sharp and sweet, they seethed, “Too bad you couldn’t afford it.”
“Have a nice life, highness,” he said with a mock salute.
“Fuck yourself in the fucking ass, Triever!”
“Well, now that I’m a little gay, maybe I will,” he said resolutely, before his brow furrowed. “Wait, that doesn’t make sense. Hold on, give me a sec to think of a better comeback. I’ve never done this well in an argument before.”
The sudden one-eighty left Cya reeling. “What?”
“Shush, I’m gonna lose it. Now that I’m a little gay, I’ll find a femme guy to…
do it for me? Nope, that’s not it either.
” Hands on his hips, Dex scowled down at the sidewalk before he slumped in defeat.
“Aw man. It’s gone. Damn, and I was on roll too.
Like, for real, I’ve never held my own so well in a verbal fight before. ”
“Are you serious?” they demanded. “Is this some sort of game to you?”
That, more than anything else they’d said, seemed to upset him the most. “No, Cya, it’s not!
Games are supposed to be fun, and I’ve never been having less fun than I am right now.
You think I like fighting with you? I hate this”—he gestured violently between them—“but I don’t know how else to talk to you.
This is the only language you seem to speak! ”
Chest heaving, he scrubbed a hand through the longer hair between his ears, sounding so godsdamned exhausted as he asked, “What do you want, Cya?”
“I… I just…” Cya’s throat was cinching shut again, but they forced the words out. “I just wanted to say I was sorry. I know I’m not good at it; I’m not good at any of this.
“Apologies are weakness. They’re an admission of defeat.
At least, that’s what my father taught me.
Probably one of the only things he bothered teaching me at all.
” The breeze sent strands of hair scuttling across their face, and they brushed them away.
“I don’t know how else to do this, Dex. All I know is that I feel… I feel so…”
Their hands warped into claws in front of their stomach as they searched for the right words.
“I’m a ball of yarn, wrapped up so tightly, contorted in on itself.
Then you came along, and you plucked, and you pulled, but all it did was twist me tighter.
” They fisted their hands until they shook.
“And I’m just trying not to unravel because if I do, there won’t be anything left. ”
They could see it too, behind their clenched eyes, the gutted entrails of string, pointless and forgotten. They’d be nothing. They’d be no one. At least, this way, they’d be something. Twisted and trapped, yes, but at least, they’d be real.
Callused hands cupped Cya’s, fingers gently circling their wrists, and their eyes shot open.
Dex was right there. He was so close they could smell the drying sweat in his fur and feel the heat still radiating from his body.
His mismatched eyes studied them almost sternly, like they were a complicated mathematical equation he’d thought he understood, only to get the answer wrong.
“But yarn has to unravel, Cya, or else, it can never become anything new.” His thumbs brushed over their inner wrists, making goosebumps explode up their arms. “Or else, it remains the twisted ball forever.”
“But at least the ball is safe,” Cya whispered, and Dex frowned again, back teeth grinding.
He said, “Safe, but all tangled up and forgotten in the bottom of a drawer somewhere.”
He said, “Safe, but not free.”
“Maybe being free isn’t worth it,” they confessed. “I am a coward, you know.”
His right ear twitched in subtle amusement, but his eyes were clear and somber.
“Well, the only one who can fix that is you. It has to be your choice, Cy. I can’t do it for you.
” He inhaled deeply, exhaling in a stilted rush.
“And maybe I need to work on some shit too. I think I need to start prioritizing being wanted over being needed.”
Those callused fingers, so warm and strong, squeezed their wrists, then Dex loosened his grip and let them go.
He stepped back and tucked his hands into his gym shorts.
The world resumed its spinning, the breeze blowing kisses along Cya’s cheek and neck as laughing athletes departed the locker rooms.
“For what it’s worth, I think you can be hella brave,” he said with a subdued smile. “Cya, I think you can do any godsdamned thing you set your mind to. You’re definitely stubborn enough.”
A choked laugh scraped their throat, and his smile grew the tiniest bit. “And maybe, if you ever want to be friends, let me know. I still think we could be a dynamic duo. Like, Dextermination and”—his thumb pressed to his chest, then his finger pointed in their direction—“The Slithering Assassin.”
“Those are terrible nicknames,” they said, and he chuckled.
“Okay, I’ll keep troubleshooting.” He scuffed the pavement with his feet, claws leaving marks behind. “Do you think we could maybe start over? Just be coworkers and twice-a-week study partners who maybe don’t fight all the time? We could call a truce, you know?”
Disappointment and relief warred for dominance in Cya’s chest, but they found themself nodding. “Okay. Yes, we can—I can do that.”
“Cool,” he said as his tail swung lazily back and forth behind him, then he gestured toward the locker rooms. “Listen, I gotta get showered or else I’ll either be late to class or I’ll have to go to class like this, which I don’t think anyone will appreciate.”
“You do smell atrocious,” they said before wincing and dialing it back. “Apologies, force of habit.”
“Eh, work in progress.” He winked playfully, then stepped around them. “See you around, Cy.”
When he was shoulder-to-shoulder with them, they fisted their hands in their tunic and blurted, “I am sorry, Dex.” He stopped, the fur of his biceps tickling their skin through their thin cardigan.
“I know it isn’t much, and I know it isn’t what you want, but I know I can give you this. I am sorry. For everything.”
He didn’t look at them as he worked his jaw, staring off toward the locker rooms. But he nodded. Just once.
“Thanks, Cya. Me too.” Shaking off his melancholy, he shrugged and peered at them from the corner of his blue eye. “Sometimes, things don’t mix well, you know? We’re like… hot sauce and oral sex. Apart, both are awesome, but put them together and nobody’s gonna have a fun time.”
Absolutely horrified at that, they wrinkled their face and shook their head. “Dear gods, please tell me I’m the hot sauce in this scenario.”
With a boisterous guffaw, he knocked their shoulder gently with his and headed toward the locker rooms. “I guess you are hot enough for it.”
Speechless, they watched him go, mouth parted in surprise. Had that been a compliment? Or was he insinuating something else about their temperament? They’d never know, because without another glance their way, Dex disappeared into the corridors under the bleachers, leaving Cya gaping after him.