36. My priority.
I have the urge to crawl up, melt into him.
Our mouths press together but I want to be even closer, leaning into him, gripping his hair.A quiet sigh escapes me and he reacts by kissing me harder.
Our movements are wild, uncontrolled, but suddenly he pulls back, growling low in frustration—like he's fighting himself.
He looks at me as our foreheads press together,and when I move in again, our kiss is softer, slower, and calm.
The franticness is gone, replaced by pure excitement and peacefulness.
I start to kiss his cheeks, his nose, his mouth again and he holds me, almost purring, relaxing into my embrace.
The train rattles suddenly and we pull back from each other. Heavy breathing, looking at each other.
I don't want to get up but it's clear we've arrived.
This time the station doesn't look as well-maintained as the other ones.
The platform is cracked concrete, weeds pushing through the gaps.
Paint peels from rusted metal beams overhead, and the light is reduced to white flickers from dying lamps that hang at odd angles.
Water stains streak down the walls where the roof has leaked, and there's a musty smell of decay in the air.
This place has been forgotten.
"Where exactly are we?"
"Close to the Reserve," he replies and pulls me behind him, obviously still able to see enough in the dim lighting to make out the exit.
"Wait—" I say and he stops so abruptly I almost stumble into him.
"How are we... I mean how is this... I... You..." I start to wave my hand, making circling motions.
"Yes?" he asks, his tone slightly amused.
I take a breath and try again. "I... you're..." I gesture at him helplessly.
"Communicate, Communicator," he says with that familiar teasing tone. "Use your words. I know you learned how."
I lower my hands with a frustrated sigh. "You will never pass for human."
"I will."
"They'd have to be standing a hundred meters away from you. In fog. At night."
He makes a low, rumbling sound. "Why the lack of faith in me?"
"I have faith in you. Just not in your ability to pass for human when you're built like..." I gesture vaguely at all of him.
"Like what?"
"Like you could bench press a car."
A soft, amused rumble escapes his throat.
"Please explain to me how you could go unnoticed, and why you're not worried."
He doesn't answer, but takes my hand again to move on. He brings me to a small room tucked behind a rusted maintenance door. The space is cramped and smells like old metal and dampness.
Exposed pipes run along the ceiling, and there's a single bare bulb casting harsh shadows. Against one wall stands an old military locker, its green paint chipped and faded.
"What is in here?"
"Military uniforms."
"What? Why would w —"
"Human military," he says simply, walking to the locker and looking through it. After a moment, he pauses, pulling one out with a quiet, satisfied hum.
Then he turns and gently places it into my arms.
"Change into that. It's of no use when they're close, but like this we don't have to worry if we pass a few from afar."
"What about you?"
"Same for me," he says, already pulling off his t-shirt, revealing a well-trained, heavily muscled, and distinctly non-human torso.
"Believe me, no one would think this"—I gesture toward his chest—"is human."
"Come here, Communicator," he says.
For a second, I'm too focused on the way the light moves over his skin. Then I step closer.
His head dips down until it's beside mine, whispering in my ear.
"You know why you can trust me that it will work?
It's because I know whatever happens to me, I can handle.
But I know what getting caught would mean for you.
I know what would happen to you. So don't worry—we're not getting caught. "
"When you say it like that, it makes me even more insecure," I admit. "You shouldn't only think of me—you should think of yourself too."
Then, I add in my head, I am thinking of you.
"I am, but right now you're my priority," he says matter-of-factly.