Gem picked it up and shook it, watching the glitter flit around before settling on the bottom once more. He set the globe down next to an ornately carved box. Because he was nosy and couldn’t help himself, he popped it open to peer inside.
It held a plastic bag full of soot. Ashes. Unholy fuck, Gem was looking at Rusty’s dead mom’s ashes!
“Oh, that’s not for tourists,” Gem cried as he slammed the box shut. “I’m so sorry.”
Instead of being offended, Rusty chuckled. “It’s fine.”
Horribly uncomfortable now, Gem turned his attention back to his perusing. He picked up a small picture frame with an aged photo inside, recognizing Rusty immediately, though he was so little. He was smiling shyly at the camera, face half-hidden in the female Pyclon’s neck.
His mother was a darker shade of pink than he was, and her smile was weary, like she’d lived a hard life. But her eyes were kind and full of love as she hugged Rusty tightly. They were so happy, and Gem’s eyes burned with tears as he returned the frame reverently to its spot.
“She’s beautiful,” Gem said, meeting Rusty’s gaze over his shoulder, and Rusty nodded.
“Yeah, she was.”
“Sorry again.” Gem motioned to the box of ashes. “About desecrating your mother’s remains.”
Another amused chuff. “Saves me making introductions, I suppose.”
An inappropriate laugh bubbled out his mouth, and Gem slapped a hand across his lips to smother it. Rusty smirked, tail swaying in amusement, and Gem relaxed as he finished his self-guided tour at Rusty’s desk. It was strewn with pencils and paper, half-sketched drawings of hands and eyes and—
“Is that Glyma?” Gem picked up a stack of papers, a sketch of Glyma wiping flour from her cheek on the top.
“Oh, that’s, uh… I was just doodling,” Rusty said, tail flicking anxiously.
“Aw, and Ollie.” Gem simpered at the drawing of Oliver’s profile as he laughed, hand poised like he was about to type in someone’s order at the register.
There was one of Tad on Zef’s shoulders and Quin glaring up from her desk, like she’d just been interrupted. Then Toni, arm hooked around Willow’s neck as the Dryad laughed. And finally, Gem himself. His profile, one hand tucking a curl behind his ear as his other hands worked at the espresso machine. One eye was turned toward the observer, like he was secretly peeking out of his graphite world into the real one.
It was mundane and simple, a slice of life, yet Gem had never seen himself look so beautiful.
“Is this how you see me?” he asked, voice catching as he turned the page to Rusty.
“Sometimes,” Rusty said, and Gem sniffled.
“I didn’t even know you could draw, but these are really good.” He admired them each in turn again, then scoured the desk for more. He foundnumerous pictures of hands, and they looked familiar too. “Are these my hands?”
“Hands are hard to draw,” Rusty justified, ears flattening in embarrassment. “I was practicing, and you have a lot of them, so…”
Gem laughed wetly as he admired the graceful way Rusty had captured his fingers, like just his hands were a work of art. “Rusty, you’re an incredible artist. You know that, right?”
“Just doodles,” Rusty repeated with a dismissive wave, but Gem shook his head.
“No, they’re amazing, and I’m so mad at you for not showing me sooner.” Wiping his nose on his wrist, Gem sniffed and picked up another sketch. “Um, hello. Who is this bodacious babe?”
The woman was tall and curvy, decked out in leather with a sword and a wand. Her curly hair was blowing in an invisible wind, her eyes fierce. She had ass for days, four arms, and leg warmers over heeled boots. She looked like a badass.
“That’s, uh, Jewyl. She’s the main character of my graphic novel,” Rusty said in a rush, like he feared he wouldn’t say it at all if he didn’t get all the words out at once.
“Your graphic novel?” Gem asked, and Rusty nodded. “You’re writing a graphic novel about a badass queen with a pet cow”—Gem pointed at the adorable tiny, flying cow hovering next to her—“and you didn’t tell me?”
Rusty flinched at Gem’s sudden volume. “Um… yes?”
“I’ve never been more furious with you!” Gem cried, stamping his foot like a child. “It’s like I don’t even know you. Is your name even Rusty? Are you actually twenty-four? Are you really a Pyclon, or are you lying about that too?”
With a chuckle, Rusty sank down onto his bed. “Yes, my name is Rusty, and I’m a Pyclon. I’m twenty-five, though.”
Gem’s fur vibrated furiously. “You had a birthday and didn’t say anything?”
