Cya punctuated every barbed rejection with a jab of their finger to his chest, and Dex physically stepped back with each one. Not because the Sypent was bigger or stronger than him. Not because he was in any way afraid of them. Not even because their sharp fingernail hurt all that much.
No, he stepped back because he was nine years old again, sitting in the principal’s office as the teacher told his parents that he might have to redo the school year because he just wasn’t on the same level as the other kids.
He was eleven, watching his father pick up a suitcase that held a lifetime of memories and disappear without a backward glance as his baby sister wailed in his arms.
He was fifteen, promising his mom that he’d get his GPA up, just please!Please, Mom, don’t pull me from the dyscus team. I gotta play, okay? It’s all I got; it’s the only thing I’m good at. Please, don’ttake it away.
Dex had never been overly smart. He’d never been clever or witty or particularly gifted. So he’d chosen to be strong and kind instead, hoping it would be enough. It hadn’t, at least not when it mattered most. Hell, he hadn’t even been enough to make his shitty, deadbeat father stay.
So he stepped back, heart aching from a familiar, scabbed-over wound that still cracked and bled when hit just right. This pain was an old friend, the kind that knew how to make itself at home; the kind that pulled out a chair and took a seat at the table.
“Okay,” he said, facing the pain head-on. “Okay.”
“What?” Cya asked, voice cutting through the memories.
Dex blinked, and the Sypent came back into focus, no longer shouting but still looming over him, chest heaving. Students passed by, whispering, gawking. Some stopped to blatantly watch the show. Unfamiliar embarrassment warmed him under his fur, and his tail lowered, tucking between his legs.
“Okay,” Dex repeated, and Cya cocked their head, nostril slits flaring. “Sorry for bothering you.”
Like the wind had been knocked from their sails, they withered. They lowered back to their usual height, tail coiling tightly beneath them as their cheeks splotched with shame. For some reason, their next inhale hitched, expression stricken as they stared at him with wide, glassy eyes.
And it wasn’t fair. How dare they look at him likehe’dbeen the one to evisceratethemon a public sidewalk. How daretheybe the one on the verge of tears. They’d struck first; they’d drawn blood. He’d just been the unlucky sucker standing too close.
“Dex, I—” they whispered brokenly, but he’d never know what words came next because a pixie-bright voice shattered the moment.
“Ooh, lover’s quarrel. Trouble in paradise, Vysov?”
Tearing his gaze away from Cya, Dex studied the pastel-colored Spryte who’d stopped to witness the meltdown. Her midriff was bare, her crop top tight across her perky boobs, and if she turned around, Dex was pretty sure he’d get an eyeful of her ass given how short her miniskirt was. Small, glittery wings opened and closed lazily behind her back as she blew an obnoxious bubble with her gum.
She looked like a stuck-up, sticky gumdrop, and Dex low-key hated her immediately. Cya must have agreed, because they bared their fangs at her and spat out, “Oh, choke on a bag of dicks, Niki!”
The Spryte’s jaw dropped in affront, causing her bubble topopdramatically. Behind her, her posse—a group of plastic, forgettable snobs—mirrored Niki’s outrage with hisses and gasps. A male Sypent who, in Dex’s opinion, looked like the living personification of a wet noodle placed a hand on Niki’s shoulder in support.
“Come on, Niki,” he drawled, heavy-lidded eyes scanning Cya, then Dex. “Let the garbage take itself out.”
Technically, the dig was aimed at Cya too, but Dex was the Mammylion from the lower districts, so the preppy asshole was clearly punching down at him. A growl rumbled in his chest, but it was Cya, surprisingly, who came to his defense first.
“The only garbage I see is you, Kent, you pompous piece of shit.”
“Rich coming from you,” he said as Niki took his hands and guided his arms around her until they practically melded into one person. “Exiled from this prime real estate, so you decided to take your chances in the slums?”
“Oh, so we’re being openly speciesist, now.” Dex puffed out his cheeks and nodded. “Cool, man. Real cool.”
Cya shifted until they stood in front of Dex, their rattle clattering. “How dare you, you conceited—”
“Ugh, I’m bored now,” Niki whined in a gross, baby voice, slouching back into Kent’s body. “Can we go?”
“Of course, babe,” Kent said, forked tongue flicking out to graze her ear, even as his eyes never left Cya.
A gag tickled the back of Dex’s throat. “Dude, gross.”
For a split second, Cya shot him a commiserating smirk, followed by an eye-roll, but then they seemed to remember what had transpired between them before Niki and Kent’s interruption. Their almost-smile faded, and they dropped their eyes to their hands and picked at a thumbnail.
As Niki’s entourage departed, the Spryte hesitated, dark eyes ping-ponging between Dex and Cya. Instead of following her slimy boyfriend, she came to a stop in front of Cya, gum smacking noisily. To their credit, Cya didn’t cower; they glared right back at her, straightening to enhance their height advantage.
“You want my advice?” she asked with a glance at Dex.
He scowled. “Not even a little.”
