Even so, he’d come a long way from the malnourished, half-rabid nineteen year old that had skulked into the cafe nearly six years ago. When Gem had first laid eyes on the Pyclon, he’d been dressed ear-to-paw in heavy, black clothes three sizes too big for him, like he was trying to disappear inside the fabric. He’d been so skinny then too—like, concerningly skinny—which was why his precious, little pooch was such a wonderful thing.
In the beginning, Gem and Glyma, their boss, had teamed up to sneak food into Rusty’s possession in whatever way they could. Glyma ensured that she “accidentally” made extra scones orkriltcake, which she then offered to the employees in the morning. Since Gem was not a cook by any stretch of the imagination, he kept his handbag stocked with snacks so that anytime he “got peckish” at work, he could share with Rusty. Since food was the one thing Rusty could never resist, he’d always accept, however grudgingly, the snack of the day Gem provided.
Nowadays, Rusty didn’t need Gem to feed him, but sometimes, he would do it anyway. For nostalgia’s sake. And whenever Rusty accepted the granola bar or packet of crackers from Gem’s purse, it made Gem feel hot and squishy inside for reasons he’d never been able to pinpoint.
“Gem?” Rusty said, and Gem blinked all eight eyes, refocusing on the present.
“What?” He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Sorry, did you say something?”
Rusty shook his head, eyes crinkled in amusement. “No, you’re just standing there, staring at me. Like a psycho.”
“I was not,” Gem denied, even though he realized that he hadn’t actually closed the bathroom door at all and had, in fact, been staring at Rusty while his mind had been miles away. “And I don’t appreciate the name-calling.”
“Lost inside your head again?” Rusty asked, and had his tone been mocking or sneering, Gem may have taken offense. But there was nothing unkind in Rusty’s expression or voice. Instead, he sounded almost… fond, and Gem tongued at his right fang as he shrugged.
“Maybe,” he finally admitted. “Or maybe I was trying to sneak a peek at your juicy ass. Oh wait, you don’t have a juicy ass.” He sucked his teeth. “Bummer.”
Apparently, Gem’s teasing didn’t deserve a verbal response, because Rusty snorted and flipped him off again. But he was chuckling under his breath, so Gem knew he was forgiven. When the door clicked shut between them, Rusty was still snickering, and Gem took it as a win.
Chapter three
Med School Drop-Out
Rusty
Dressed in Gem’sjuicysleep shorts, Rusty sat back on the couch and propped his throbbing foot on the coffee table. He’d decided against wearing Toni’s shirt, though he’d tried it on. It had been too long, and uncomfortably tight around his stomach. And though Gem made a show of preserving Rusty’s modesty, he wasn’t shy about his body—how could he be after working Flesh Street for years?
Sure, Gem was technically the first—and only—person to have seen him naked in the past six years, but there was also validity to the fact that he was covered in fur. It made modesty easier to come by, even if his clothes were compromised. So he relaxed into the soft couch cushions, the fur on his bare torso air-drying as he waited for Gem to return.
His cracked phone lay on the arm rest, screen black, fractures webbing across it from where he’d, apparently, landed on it during his flight across the rooftops. Buying a new phone had not been on his to-do list, but as much as he hated dipping into his sparse savings, he’d have to bite the bullet.
“Just had to be a hero, Rus,” he grumbled to himself as he traced the worst crack with the tip of his index claw. “Fucking idiot.”
Gem knocked on the bathroom door from inside. “Can I come out?”
“I don’t think you have to,” Rusty said. “I already know you’re gay.”
The door swung open, and Gem charged out, carrying a black bag with him. “Har, har. Since when have you been a motherfucking comedian?”
“Well, I figured I’d need a back-up plan if the whole cafe gig didn’t work out,” Rusty said flatly as Gem sat down on the coffee table in front of him, the wood creaking ominously under his weight.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I suggest finding a new back-up plan.” Gem patted his own knee. “Give me your foot.”
Since arguing with the Araknis was pointless—Gem tended to get his way through sheer stubbornness alone—Rusty did as directed, dropping his heel on Gem’s knee. “I could always go back to prostitution, I guess.” At the word,prostitution, Gem made a choked sound in the back of his throat, and several eyes shot up to study Rusty’s blank expression. “Come on, don’t act like you didn’t know.”
Gem focused a few of his smaller eyes on the black bag, but his two main eyes remained locked on Rusty’s. “I didn’tknow,” he said carefully. “I may have inferred, but you never talked about it, so…”
The list of things Rusty never wanted to talk about was lengthy, and discussing his stint on Flesh Street with Gem of all people ranked pretty damn high. “Do weneedto talk about it?”
Pulling out a white cloth from the bag, Gem laid it over his thigh before resting Rusty’s foot atop it. “Not unless you wantto.”
“Hard pass.”
“Okay.” He searched through his bag again, retrieving an array of medical supplies that were better fitted for an emergency clinic than a home first-aid kit. “You wanna tell me what you did to your foot?”
“Fell,” Rusty said, and Gem sent him a droll stare. “Fell on a broken bottle.”
“More like danced on one. Your paw’s mangled.”
