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It had been a very long time since I’d seen anything beyond the shelf or the back room of Pet Bonanza when Grant changed out our water. The sun outside was unbelievably bright, even through the opaque bag Ariana carefully held us in, and I had to turn my face into my tail. Sneaking a peek through the cups’ walls at Kian, I was gratified to see him doing the same: it didn’t mean I was weak, it was just a reflex.
The journey was strange, if short, my water sloshing and vibrating in strange ways I’d nearly forgotten. A vehicle called a truck had brought Kian and I to Pet Bonanza a long time ago, and I remembered this jostling from that journey, though I’d tried to sleep through most of that. This time, I’d barely had time to get my bearings before the vibrating stopped and our bag was being picked up again.
A few bumps and stomach-lurching lifts later, our bag was set onto a firm surface, the sides peeled down so we could see something other than the bag’s interior. The room we were in was much dimmer than the harsh overhead lights at Pet Bonanza, the walls a soft and elegant grey, with no other pets or tanks in sight. It was absolutely delightful - or, at least it would be if my bitter rival wasn’t also swimming around his cup, taking in our surroundings too.
No matter, I could be the bigger fish. We’d have to make the best of it, and besides, I could out-flare Kian any day of the week. Ariana would quickly prefer interacting with me and Kian would be sufficiently humbled: there, now I had something to look forward to.
A soft grating sound followed by a thump indicated that Ariana had likely left, at least temporarily. Another look around confirmed that our tanks and accessories weren’t in the room, so she’d probably gone to get them. Kian and I had spoken with fair regularity when we first arrived at Pet Bonanza, but the installation of a security camera system a few weeks after arrival had ended that. I cleared my throat, my voice rusty from disuse.
“...Kian?”
He swirled in his cup, flame-fins fluttering in a calm display as he turned to face me. There was warmth in his voice that I hadn’t remembered from our long-ago conversations, a sort of relief that puzzled me. “Great to hear your voice again, Ro. Interesting turn of events, huh?”
I snorted, sending a few gossamer bubbles wiggling to the surface. “Yes. What do you think of her?”
I’d framed the question cautiously, wanting to know if he intended to fight me for her attention. On some level, it was inevitable, but I wanted -needed- to know if his general lazy attitude would extend to wooing Ariana.
“She’s gorgeous, that’s what I think.” Kian laughed, sending up bubbles of his own.
I managed to keep my fins down through sheer force of effort, but I wanted nothing more than to launch myself against my cup lid and somehow get into his. I would fight him for Ariana, the smug piece of showy bait.
Kian
Ro was,unsurprisingly, high strung despite our luck. Even though all adult shifters were confined to their animal forms until they found their mates, some stayed in those forms so long they forgot their dual-form childhoods: something we called “going wild.” That meant forgetting they’d ever been part human at all, eventually giving in to instinct without a mate to ground them. Since Pet Bonanza’s security system curtailed even our furtive, late-night conversations, I worried that Ro had gone fish-brained.
I’d noticed he had started flaring at me over the last few months, as if I was an actual betta rival and not a shifter friend. When our cups’ positions allowed us to see one another, there’d also been less and less light in his eyes. Normally shifters went many years without going wild, but we’d hit some hard luck getting captured and sold into the pet trade. Our cups were far too small, and with no company but mindless actual fish and no ability to safely speak to each other, it was no wonder he’d declined. I was honestly surprisedIhadn’t.
We weren’t from the same family, but we’d been friends before we were stuck in our fins. We’d both unfortunately been snatched by poachers at a betta shifter gathering, just after our age of majority. The trip from the gathering to our pet store shelves had been long and brutal, but I had more hope now that we’d gotten out: Grant was great, but the other employees didn’t really care if we lived or died, and it showed. I couldn’t count the days I’d gone without clean water, or without enough food, on Grant’s days off.
Even without being able to talk to one another - revealing ourselves to non-shifter, non-mate humans was strictly forbidden, on pain of death by the shifter council - Ro had at least been a stabilizing influence until recently. With him on the verge of going wild, I’d been increasingly desperate to catch the eye of a patron, any patron, and showed off for everyone that walked by: I didn’t want the same fate I saw unfolding in my friend. Unfortunately, Ro had taken that effort as a challenge, and started seeing me as the enemy. I wasn’t, I was just trying to find a way out before I went wild too, or died from neglect. I wish he could see this was the best possible result: we were both out, safe, together, and in the hands of someone invested in taking care of useveryday, not just on work shifts.
And, potentially, someone that could also be our mate.
If the poachers hadn’t captured us, Ro and I would have returned to the areas where we’d initially hatched and likely found betta shifter mates of our own eventually. Our kind did intermix with humans, though it was far less often than shifter matings, and it had to be approached carefully lest we tick off the council. Essentially, we were expected to vet our potential human mates to make sure they wouldn’t startle and blab about our kind to anyone that would listen. The council wouldn’t care that Ro and I had gotten poached, because the poachers had only been taking regular fish without proper permitting, not hunting down shifters specifically. We were on our own, even though we were likely to go wild in captivity.
I wasn’t a jealous sort at all, and Ariana was a beautiful woman - if she was willing, I wouldn’t mind wooing her alongside Ro and finally gettingbothof us out of our fins. The problem was, Ro definitely didn’t seem like he was on the same page. If anything, he looked at me like he’d like to pop my swim bladder with the nearest sharp object - at least most of the time. Sometimes I thought I could see his familiar friendly softness, but it was replaced by the blank, instinctual expression of a fish-brain betta by the time I’d had a chance to look further.
Ariana
Even though I’dbeen apprehensive about my fish-tending skills at first, it only took a day or two of studying the how-to book and squinting at Grant’s receipt-scribbled notes to get the hang of it. Fish were definitely less messy than Hemmie had been, and although I missed the sweet furball, I was relieved I wouldn’t have to deal with litter anymore. Water changes were comparatively easy, and after a week with my new finned companions, I managed the first one without a hitch.
To my relief, both fish seemed healthy and active, their colors even brighter under the special tank lights I’d set up. Even though Grant had recommended I keep the tanks completely closed off from one another, I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that even “rival” fish might get lonely. I was probably projecting human feelings onto my new pets, but oh well. They weren’t head-butting the glass, so it was probably fine.
The blue fish was definitely more alert than the red one, and he always swam up to the surface for feedings. I could almost believe he recognized me, and looked forward to when I flipped the tank lid up. Again, it was probably wishful thinking, but it made me smile - a rare expression since Steve and I split up.
When my groceries dwindled about a week and a half later, I knew I’d have to leave “the boys” alone for a few hours. My therapist and I had worked on “doom thoughts” and defusing them with logic, but my brain still helpfully sent me an entire slide deck of all the things that were going to go wrong while I shopped. A stray cat breaking in and eating both my (still yet-to-be-named) fish. A fire engulfing the apartment from my little scent plug-in freshener. A meteor striking the city and evaporating their tank water.
You know, normal stuff.
I sighed as I gathered up my reusable shopping bags, a sure sign I was procrastinating; I always forgot the damn things, it was practically a ritual. I set them on the counter and crouched by the tanks, feeling a little foolish.
“Okay guys. I’m going grocery shopping and swinging by Pet Bonanza to pick up more of those bloodworms you like. Be good, no wild parties.”
I chuckled and patted the top of the blue fish’s tank like it was a puppy, grabbing my keys and marching out. The longer I lingered in my apartment, the more time my brain had to whip up disaster scenarios, and I deserved guacamole, not anxiety.
Right before I left, I pivoted and headed over to the television, flicking on a 24/7 news channel. It would at least give my fish something to watch, I reasoned. I had to force myself to head out after that, but I did, firmly shushing my mental “what if” carousel.
You deserve guacamole. You can do this.
