“I suppose, though labels only matter if you want them to. You can be whatever you want and feel however you feel, and it doesn’t have to change a thing.” Their almost-kind tone took on some sass as they added, “Or you can be like Gem and make it your whole personality. To each their own.”
Dex snorted, and the corner of Cya’s mouth tilted in the ghost of a smile. Warmth trickled through his chest, and he relaxed back into his seat, refitting his ballcap on his head between his ears.
“Thanks, Cy. That makes me feel better.”
They rolled their eyes. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel better.”
“You still did.” He knocked their elbow with his, making them click their forked tongue at him. “I knew you were secretly nice.”
“Shut up, Dex,” they mumbled, and he swore the words held ten percent less venom than they usually did.
Slumping lower in his seat until his shoulder was level with Cya’s, Dex grinned at them, tail trying to wag from its position trapped behind and somewhat under him. They scowled at him. He grinned wider.
With another click of their tongue, they turned away to gaze out the window as the train pulled into Gluttony station. But when Dex shifted his arm enough to brush against theirs, they didn’t immediately pull away. In fact, they didn’t pull away at all until the train came to a stop, and they had to stand to disembark.
Dex’s forearm tingled where they’d touched, and he decided he didn’t mind it. Not one bit.
Chapter nine
Pinpricks of Light
Cya
Cya’sfirstplebeiancinematicexperience had been interesting. The tween heartthrob on screenhadpossessed a patchy goatee and swoopy hair, but his singing voice had been decent enough. Jasmyn and her friends had talked throughout the whole film, hands flying as they giggled a touch too loud for Hearing standards. Dex shushed them with a tap to their heads every now and then, but he mostly let them be.
They’d shared puffeddokaseeds covered in salt and a giant icy drink from the human dimension called a slushie. Under normal circumstances, it would have been far too sweet, but the doka puffs had left their mouth so dry and oversalted they’d welcomed the sugar rush.
After the film, the girls had pointed at Cya and Dex’s lips, stained blue from the slushie, and laughed hysterically. Dex had made a show of sticking out his large, dyed tongue and roaring like a monster as he chased the girls down the sidewalk. He beat his chest like a pro-wrestler, hoisted them into his arms, and threw them all over his shoulders while they squealed and pummeled his back.
The noise had garnered attention, and Cya’s cheeks had warmed in embarrassment at the immature display. When they’d criticized Dex for it, he’d cocked his head at them, thick brows furrowing in confusion.
“It’s called having fun, highness. You should try it sometime; you just might like it.”
When it was all said and done, Cya decided that they liked the cinema and resolved to convince Hemersyn to take them again in June for the release ofKiller of Fire Lake VII—the next installment to a kitschy slasher franchise they’d spent their teen years sneaking watches of when their parents weren’t home. Hemersyn would make popcorn, and they’d watch it together, laughing at the over-the-top fake gore.
“Killer of Fire Lakesucks,” Rusty said on a Thursday in April. “The first one is only good because it’s a cult classic, but the sequels are terrible.”
“They most certainly are not!” Cya crossed their arms over their chest in indignation. “I’ll concede that the fourth one was a bit dodgy, but the others—”
“They killed him, like, three times, and he still comes back every movie with no good explanation other than that the plot demands it,” the Pyclon argued as Dex’s head swung back and forth between him and Cya, heterochromatic eyes wide.
“Technically, he didn’t actually die the first two times. They just made it look like he did,” they said defensively. “And the third time, they did a ritual—”
“Yeah, which was stupid because up until movie six, there had never been a supernatural angle to the franchise. And then suddenly, we get a ghost zombie killer? Come on!”
Fists on his hips, Rusty arched a judgmental, mauve brow at them, and Cya bristled. “He wasn’t a ghost or a zombie. He’d been resurrected.”
“That doesn’t make it better!”
“You know,” Dex interrupted, placing one hand on Cya’s shoulder and another on Rusty’s chest, “it’s just a movie. And while I am fully reeling from the plot twist of you”—he looked at Cya—“liking slasher flicks, I think we can all agree that whether a movie is good or not is entirely subjunctive.”
“You mean subjective,” Cya and Rusty corrected him simultaneously, and Dex’s ears lowered, his tail tucking halfway between his legs at their intensity as they both continued, “And no, it’s not!”
“I don’t like horror movies,” Toni said from his spot perched on the back counter between the sink and the blenders. “They’re gross or sad. I like rom-coms or buddy-cop movies!”
Dex’s expression brightened as he turned toward the Elas. “Bro, please tell me you’ve watched the humanFast and Furiousfranchise?”
“What do you take me for? A sucker? Of course, I’ve seenFast and Furious. It fucking slaps!” Toni said, and Dex bounded over to him, tail wagging.
