“Gemae,” Rusty growled out, and Gem cringed.
“The bus!” Gem cried as his middle arms hugged his own torso like he was comforting himself. “We were on the bus, remember?”
More vague, drunken memories surfaced. “Yeah, we lost everyone somehow, and we were trying to get back to Fil’s place for some reason.”
“Oh, that’s where we are!” Gem snapped two fingers. “I thought this room looked familiar. We’re at Fil’s flat.”
Annoyance flashed through Rusty, and he scowled. “How do you know what Fil’s bedroom looks like?”
“Ha, please.” Gem shrugged off the question. “Anyway, we must have crashed here after—” He cut himself off, several eyes darting to Rusty, then away.
“After what?” Rusty demanded. “What happened on the bus?”
Gem winced again. “Technically, nothing happenedonthe bus.”
“I swear on the deities, Gemae, if you don’t tell me—”
“I had an idea while we were lost on the bus, okay? And you”—Gem rose to his knees, the sheet pooling on the mattress to reveal his lacy, hipster underwear—“and I cannot stress this enough—you liked the idea. You fully and enthusiastically supported it.”
“You know what would be funny?” Gem said as they both giggled in the back of the empty bus, several of his hands petting through Rusty’s fur in ways that hadthe Pyclon both drowsy and amped up. “Listen, listen. You know what would be really funny?”
“Nooo,” Rusty whimpered—no, hepleaded.
Gem sucked air through his teeth as he hugged himself with all six arms. “Yeah.”
“No, no, no.” Rusty pawed at his back, freezing when the rough pads of his fingers found shaved hide—not fur—on his lower back, right above his tail. “Oh my gods.”
“Hey, Rusty, I have a great idea,” Gem said as he pointed to a storefront lit up in neon lights.
Carefully, Rusty slid his fingers along the smooth skin until he found rough scabs, and he hissed at the sharp burning sensation that radiated from the fresh wound.
“We should—just listen for a sec,” Gem slurred, inclining his head until all Rusty could smell was his coffee and cinnamon scent mixed with the fruity alcohol they’d been drinking. “We should totally get tattoos.”
“No!” Rusty wailed as he scrambled to his feet and ran toward the open door to what he assumed was the bathroom. It smelled like tile and cleaning supplies and soap, and he flipped on the light, flinching at the bright fluorescents.
His reflection in the large bathroom mirror was practically offensive. His fur was going in every direction, and his eyes were veiny and bloodshot. He had unknown substances on his chest, making the hairs there crusty. And had someone braided the fur around his ears?
But he didn’t care about any of that. He gave the mirror his back and craned his neck to take in the monstrosity tattooed right above his tail.
Three letters. There were three letters branded into the hide of his lower back.
“No, but it would be, like, so funny,” Gem said as they both stumbled into the tattoo shop, “if we got each other’s names tattooed on our backs.”
More horrified than he’d ever been in his life, Rusty released a high-pitched shriek he honestly didn’t know he was capable of. He hit a falsetto that his vocal chords shouldn’t have been able to emit, but somehow, he managed it. It was a scream of denial and regret, of his soul being crushed in a vise of shame and misery.
Because Gem’s name was tattooed into Rusty’s skin. Right above his ass. Like a tramp stamp. Deities below, Rusty had a fucking tramp stamp of Gem’sname.
So he screamed like he’d never screamed before.
He was dimly aware of Gem stumbling into the doorway, jumping from one leg to the other as he tugged his bedazzled shorts on to cover his lace-clad ass. Several eyes dropped to the tattoo as the other eyes met Rusty’s mortified gaze in the mirror.
“Oh my gods,” Rusty cried.
“Oh my gods,” Gem wailed.
“I have your name tattooed on my back!”
“I know, and it looks so much worse under the fluorescents,” Gem said, and Rusty leveled him with a death glare, making him backtrack immediately. “I mean, the light really highlights the calligraphy choice. Very artistic and classy.”
