“I didn’t tell her what we argued about or that you, you know, cried.” He whispered the last word, but they still flinched. “But she saw I was bummed when I got to practice and asked what was wrong, so I told her.”
“Why didn’t you just lie?”
“Because, unlike some people, I’m not a pathological liar.”
“I’m not a—”
“So you are sick?” he asked pointedly, and they hissed at him through clenched teeth. Instead of being intimidated, he snorted. “Listen, I told my friend the truth because she wanted to support me in my time of need, andI’m trying to take care of Dex first. Because if my cup is empty, I can’t spill onto other people.”
Sometimes, Cya wished they had a Dex-to-Hellia translation device. “What the fuck are you even saying?”
“You know what? If you just came here to yell at me some more, then have fun shouting at a wall.” He pointed to the wall beside him. “’Cause I’m officially out.”
“I didn’t come to yell at you,” they snapped as Dex brushed past them.
Walking backward, he splayed his hands. “Then why are you here?”
“I came to apologize!” they cried in frustration, and he stopped.
He stared at them in bewilderment, then he laughed. “Oh my gods, what? This is you apologizing? Yikes, you’re really bad at it.”
Rage built in their chest anew. “I haven’t even started—”
“And yet, you’ve been yelling at me for five minutes already. That has to be a new record,” he interrupted them, and they bared their fangs at him.
“Well, if you’d stop your incessant yammering for five seconds—”
“It wouldn’t make a difference,” he interrupted themagain, “because you’d still suck at this.”
With a wordless shriek, they balled up his hoodie and hurled it at his chest. “Don’t know why I fucking bothered!”
As they stormed past him, he scrambled to keep the hoodie from touching the dirty floor. “Thanks for the hoodie.”
“It’s covered in my snot because I didn’t bother to wash it,” they bit out.
“Ten bucks says that decision wasn’t even made out of spite.” He flipped the hoodie to drape over his shoulder along with his shirt. “You just don’t know how to work a washing machine.”
“I could have figured it out!”
“Ha, I’d have paid to watch that.”
Smiling sharp and sweet, they seethed, “Too bad you couldn’t afford it.”
“Have a nice life, highness,” he said with a mock salute.
“Fuck yourself in the fucking ass, Triever!”
“Well, now that I’m a little gay, maybe I will,” he said resolutely, before his brow furrowed. “Wait, that doesn’t make sense. Hold on, give me a sec to think of a better comeback. I’ve never done this well in an argument before.”
The sudden one-eighty left Cya reeling. “What?”
“Shush, I’m gonna lose it. Now that I’m a little gay, I’ll find a femme guy to… do it for me? Nope, that’s not it either.” Hands on his hips, Dex scowled down at the sidewalk before he slumped in defeat. “Aw man. It’s gone. Damn, and I was on roll too. Like, for real, I’ve never held my own so well in a verbal fight before.”
“Are you serious?” they demanded. “Is this some sort of game to you?”
That, more than anything else they’d said, seemed to upset him the most. “No, Cya, it’s not! Games are supposed to be fun, and I’ve never been having less fun than I am right now. You think I like fighting with you? I hate this”—he gestured violently between them—“but I don’t know how else to talk to you. This is the only language you seem to speak!”
Chest heaving, he scrubbed a hand through the longer hair between his ears, sounding so godsdamned exhausted as he asked, “What do you want, Cya?”
