Well, they had him there.
“Sashay,” he conceded.
Their brow furrowed, then they slumped against the back of their seat and rubbed at their temple with two fingers. “Touché, Dex. It’s… touché.”
“In Pentish?”
Looking pained, they shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
“Cool. You should teach me more words in your dialect.”
Cya rolled their head around their shoulders until their neck cracked. “Stys. It meansidiot.”
“No, like, real words. Not just insults or cuss words,” he scolded, knocking their arm with his elbow. “How do you say,beautiful?”
“Cyleisi,” they answered.
He repeated it, much less poetically, but they still nodded their approval. With a chuckle, he nudged their arm again, and they looked at him this time. He made the sign forbeautiful.
“Beautiful,” he said out loud, doing the sign again. “It’s HSL. My sister’s Deaf. Oh, I forgot to—my sister. You’re gonna meet her when we get home. You’re good with kids, right?”
Chapter seven
Good Ribbons
Cya
Dexlivedonthedistrict line between Gluttony and Lust. Literally.
On one side of the street, where his building stood, was Gluttony, whereas the buildings on the opposite side of the street had Lust addresses. The buildings were tall and rather narrow, the stones weathered from time and nature. Vines of black and blue flora crept up the facades like varicose veins, embedding themselves into the mortar until they were just as much a part of the building as the bricks.
Street lamps cast dull halos of light over the uneven, cracked sidewalk Dex led Cya down, and his body rocked with his long strides, arms bouncing as his hands gripped his backpack straps. His elbow knocked their arm every now and then, regardless of how tightly they curled into themself.
He was simply too… much. For the narrow sidewalk. For public decorum. For Cya.
Growing up, they’d learned to be genteel, to be graceful, to be gifted and accomplished andperfect. But never too loud, never too big, never toomuchor else it would shatter the illusion. Confined and controlled, every movement rehearsed, every smile practiced.
But Dex? His steps were bouncing and heavy, and his arm movements were wide. He embodied the space he existed in, every expression big, every word unfiltered. Every single thing about him, audible or not, wasloud.
Cya couldn’t remember the last time they’d let themself be loud.
“So Jasmyn is voice-off,” Dex said as he climbed the steps to the entrance of what Cya assumed was his building. “She can read lips pretty well, so make sure you’re looking at her when you talk and try not to mumble.”
Slightly offended, Cya frowned. “I don’t mumble.”
Holding the door open with one hand, he gave them a thumbs-up with the other. “Cool. That’ll work out great.”
“Voice-off means she doesn’t speak, correct?” they clarified, following the Lupyn to a wall of metal mailbox slots.
“Right.” He unlocked one of the mailboxes and retrieved the mail inside. Flipping through it, he added letters to his backpack and threw magazines and advertisements into the trashcan by the entrance. “Some Deaf folks take speech training and stuff so they can navigate a hearing world better. Some are voice-on in public but voice-off at home. But Jas is…”
Dex trailed off, staring down at a letter with messy handwriting, and his tail lowered to tuck between his legs. Paper crinkled as his grip tightened, like it was taking all his self-control not to crush it. A quiet whine sounded in the back of his throat, and his normally perky ears lowered.
Hesitantly, Cya slunk closer and glanced down at the letter. It was addressed to Jasmyn. In the corner, where there was normally a return address, there were only three letters. Dad.
“Dex?” they asked softly.
As if he’d temporarily forgotten about their presence entirely, he startled, dropping the letter to the floor. “Shit. Sorry, what was I saying?”
