10. Hugo

You know what’s weird? Aliens. I mean, seriously. One day you’re riding around on a guy’s shoulders, he’s calling you beautiful and telling you you’re safe . Then that same night he’s leaving you alone in your room—instead of banging you with his sexy tenta-fingers, like he should be—only to return so early the following morning it feels literally criminal.

I mean, seriously .

What is up with that?

Talk about mixed signals.

When he’d woken up—after only a few hours of sleep—Roark was affectionate as always. He disappeared to get ready for the day, disappeared again to wherever he came back sweaty and ripped from—and returned for breakfast.

He petted me with those massive, gentle hands. But his behavior was so bizarrely normal I couldn’t fully enjoy it. Okay, yeah. That was a lie. I definitely enjoyed it. After lying alone in bed all night I was even more starved for his affection than usual.

He left to work like always, and while he was away, I used the fork I’d fashioned into a makeshift screwdriver to try and pry apart a nanobot. It was tricky, but not impossible. And it took way less time than I’d hoped it would. Which left me with even more time to overthink.

When Roark returned for lunch—and his hands were empty—I knew the day before had not been a fluke. This time, he hesitated as I stood in front of him, head tipped back, waiting for him to clip my leash.

Huu-goh the dog now had daily walks!

Sounded fucking sad, but was truly such an improvement.

When Roark didn’t clip the lead, I frowned, confused. His hand hovered for a beat longer, but eventually he abandoned the leash entirely, re-clipping it to his leather belt though his gray spots betrayed how conflicted he felt about the motion.

Was I not going out?

I squinted at him, trying to figure out what the fuck was happening.

But then he held a hand out to me, waiting expectantly, and I knew things had just irrevocably changed. Once was an anomaly. Twice was a pattern. And the lack of leash spoke volumes.

My hand slid into his and he squeezed, little tendrils wrapping all the way around me till I was encased in a warm cocoon of pink as Roark pulled me out the door and into the hallway to go eat lunch at the canteen with him for the second day in a row.

We didn’t hold hands for long. Only because both of us had enjoyed the way we’d traveled the day before. With Roark’s broad shoulders beneath my legs, and the swoop in my belly after he’d swung me high in the air, I was on cloud nine—the lonely night forgotten.

All during lunch, Roark’s tentacles felt me up, poking, rubbing, exploring. He’d rumble and nuzzle my hair as I ate, his long slithery tongue tracing the curve of my cheek like he missed me as much as I’d missed him, audience be damned.

I hadn’t seen many of the crew since we’d been space-borne. And they kept their distance, though I caught more than a few curious, and amused looks. Sahrks were interesting people. All different shades of pastels, all seemingly friendly despite their plethora of teeth. That remained true, even with me—an outsider—attached to the man in charge of their ship.

I had no doubt they’d never seen their captain like this before.

Hell, I was surprised myself by how he was acting.

Apparently, Roark was touchy-feely when he was tired.

A fact that I found ridiculously cute—even if I was still super confused as to why he hadn’t come to bed like usual.

Dutifully, Roark cut my bark for me into itty-bitty pieces. (I didn’t complain. How could I? After he’d explained why he fed it to me.) He stroked my hair, and my fingers, his hot breath huffing against the side of my head the whole time I chewed.

When he’d dropped me off at our rooms to return to his duties, he’d paused in the doorway, staring at me for a beat longer than usual. His posture was as rigid as ever, though he didn’t cross the distance between us.

“Bye bye,” he said in my language. I perked up, chuckling as he raised one, large pink hand and waved.

“Bye bye,” I waved back, feeling fizzy and bright as Roark’s spots turned a brilliant, lovely shade of white—and then fuchsia immediately after—and he shut the door behind him with a quiet click.

Nighttime came, we shared dinner like usual, traded a few more words back and forth. I fell asleep against Roark’s chest, certain that his odd behavior the night before had been a fluke.

I was wrong.

At some point, after tossing and turning, I woke up to realize that Roark was gone.

For the second night in a row.

He’d been even more exhausted when he returned in the early hours of the morning. But something felt…wrong. It just did. Maybe because I felt neglected, I wasn’t at my best as we made our way toward the cafeteria for lunch that afternoon. But that was just an excuse I gave myself, because on the third day out of our rooms I did something truly stupid.

Something ridiculously fucking stupid.

In my defense, the buttons on the wall were barely perceptible. I hadn’t even truly realized that was what they were, at least until I pushed one and something actually happened. The little circle lit up beneath my finger, and I barely had a second to get excited about the new discovery before the hallway was plunged into darkness.

A lot of things happened all at once.

Roark roared, for one—this terrifying, frightened sound. The wall met my chest, chilly and hard as Roark slammed his bulk into me. A giant mass of sticky pink surrounded my body, encasing me like a rather anxious womb. It pulsed around me as the hot huff of Roark’s breath ruffled my hair.

My heart was pounding.

And for a single, terrifying second, I thought I was going to die.

But that line of thought couldn’t have been farther from the truth. Roark wheezed above me, like he couldn’t get a solid breath in. His tendrils twist-twist-twisted around my body, holding me safe and close. Like we were one giant being with three hearts beating the same panicked rhythm.

Encased inside him like this, I could hear his pulse.

Thump, thump, thump. Far too rapid to mean anything good.

Fumbling through the goo, I managed to push the button again. The lights came on, but Roark’s fear still clung heavy to my body—literally. He wouldn’t stop shaking. And his breathing was so loud I was certain someone all the way down the hallway would be able to hear it.

“It’s okay,” I urged, fighting with his body to try and turn around so I could hug him. “It’s okay, Roark.”

Seeming to understand that we were safe, Roark’s tendrils released enough to allow me to move. They didn’t let me go though, simply holding on—clinging to me like he was terrified I was about to disappear.

One look at his face and the pitch black of his spots made my stomach tangle in knots. His eyes were glassy, far away, like he wasn’t here with me at all.

“I’m so so sorry—” I had no idea why he’d freaked out like this. He had never been scared of the dark in our rooms. Though…now that I thought about it, he did leave the galaxy ceiling on every night.

Huh.

Roark didn’t know what I was saying, but he responded to my tone anyway, melting into me, his head dropping to nuzzle into my hair as he continued to quake. The puff of his breath was even more obvious like this. And I spared only a single thought for the razor-sharp teeth I hoped he had control over right now—before I was wrapping my arms around what I could of his thick middle and comforting him.

“It’s okay,” I repeated, shushing him softly. I wished I could purr like he did when I was upset. It was kinda the most soothing thing ever. But I couldn’t. So I did the next best thing—humming quietly. His reaction to the sound made it obvious that I’d made the right choice. He sighed, melting into me even more as my chest vibrated and the silliest, most basic song in the world buzzed between us.

“Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” was a little on the nose.

But it was the first thing that popped into my head.

And it seemed to be working, so I continued to hum my way through the notes. Eventually, when the song ended, I started over from the beginning.

I’m not sure how long we stood there.

I’m not sure how long it took to get Roark’s breathing under control.

I wasn’t sure what he thought was happening, either. Or why he’d reacted the way he had. But I made a vow not to push anymore fucking buttons—curiosity be damned. I’d never seen him so off-kilter. And it hurt to know I was the reason he’d been scared.

His giant body towered over mine, blocking me from view of the rest of the hallway like a giant pink shield.

Several crewmates passed by us, all sharing worried glances, but none paused. A fact I was grateful for, as every time they glanced at their captain, I could literally feel how icy his body became.

“Shhh,” I murmured, stroking my hands up and down his sides. “It’s okay.” I reassured again, and that got him to relax.

Roark trembled for a long time.

Long enough his lunch break was surely over. And when he’d finally peeled himself off me—literally—he’d herded me back into our bedroom with big gentle hands, his eyes still wide, food forgotten entirely.

The big guy still looked terrified —of what, I wasn’t sure.

“ I’m so sorry, ” I said again in my own language—even though I knew he couldn’t understand. The moment we were safe inside our room again, he stopped shaking quite so much. “I’m so sorry, Roark. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’ll be more careful. I’m sorry.” He’d hugged me close again, his tendrils tickling along my body—less invasive this time—but no less enthusiastic.

Roark’s voice was hoarse as he murmured against my hair in his strange gravelly language. The words sounded like reassurances. And that…fuck. That hurt even more. To know that I was the one that scared him, and here he was, trying to comfort me. When he’d pulled back to look me in the eye, his spots were pink again.

His eyes were soft.

They said, I’m sorry.

They said, forgive me.

They said, I’m not perfect.

“Thank you,” Roark said in words I could understand.

He cradled my face in his massive hands. Comforting and warm, they covered my ears, blocking out the rest of the world so that all I knew was the fathomless baby blue of his gaze. His eyes reminded me of summer days back home, of clear skies, and the oceans I’d never visit.

When he shut them, I missed his eyes immediately. That loss, however, was easily forgotten when Roark began rubbing our noses together. Rubbery and soft, his surface tickled mine. Back and forth, back and forth.

Then he hugged me close again.

For a long.

Long.

Time.

I had never been more relieved in all my life that someone had accepted my apology.

I’d thought that would be the end of it.

But it wasn’t.

Because after we’d both settled, Roark didn’t take me out again. He didn’t take me to the control room like he had the first day he’d brought me outside. He didn’t take me to the cafeteria for lunch. And he certainly didn’t take me anywhere new.

And I didn’t ask. Because we both needed a break, I thought. And I understood that as steady as he was, even Roark needed recovery time after panicking the way he had. We didn’t go hungry, but neither of us spoke the rest of the day. Not at lunch—when Roark buzzed someone using his tablet to bring us food like they had the first days I’d been on board—and not later, when he’d returned for dinner with plates balanced on his limbs.

That night was when the nightmares started with a vengeance. Like I’d triggered something in him. He was shaky and sweaty, droplets forming on his surface in beads—his chest shuddering with fear. When I petted his head fin to soothe him, he jerked awake, and that same faraway look remained in his gaze.

Humming softly, I gathered his head in my lap, trying to undo the damage I’d done—and failing.

Roark’s eyes, when they cleared, searched for mine. It was only when our gazes met that he relaxed. Still quaking, he reached up with one hand and stroked over my cheek.

“Huu-goh safe,” he said in my language. Words I hadn’t known he recognized. Maybe he’d learned them from Ushuu when we’d gone to lunch with him? I wasn’t sure. “Roark no hurt Huu-goh,” Roark reassured, his first, real, solid sentence. “Roark sorry.”

I shook my head, because he didn’t need to be.

Later, I’d get excited about how many words he’d apparently been picking up. But for now…for now…I focused on him.

“No, Hugo is sorry,” I said right back, squeezing his head close, my fingers bumping his teeth. They pricked, and I was lucky as hell that none sliced me. “Hugo hurt Roark.”

I doubted he knew the word “scared,” so “hurt” was close enough.

Roark huffed back at me, spots shifting colors too fast to track, before they settled on solid, calming blue. “No,” he said simply. “No,” he repeated stronger, caressing my cheek. “Roark okay.”

I nodded.

Then I nodded again.

And my eyes burned as I curled into him, my own chest shuddering as a hot tear spilled down my cheek. I was so fucking glad I hadn’t frightened him too much. That he forgave me. Because that was what this was. Forgiveness.

Roark purred to soothe me, and as always it worked. My tears slowed, and we clung to one another, the difficult day drifting away as the stars above us danced.

Roark held me like I was precious.

No one had ever done that before.

I was slowly but surely going insane.

It’d been a week since the Hallway-Terror-Incident and Roark had been missing most of every night since. Nightmares plagued him during the few short hours we spent in bed together. Demons I couldn’t even ask him about. I was really, truly doing my best to be patient. Or I had been. Until Roark returned with red spots one night and I saw motherfucking red myself.

I vowed—that if the big pink softie was cheating on me I would find out. I would find out and I would chop off his balls with his own monstrously huge dental floss and my dullest, bluntest molars, so help me god.

I didn’t actually think he would do that.

I didn’t.

Roark wasn’t that kind of guy.

But I also knew I was little more than a pet to him. And my own insecurity came rearing up like a slap to the face. I’d never been loved before. Never been appreciated. And I guess…my brain wanted to come up with any possible reason not to believe that Roark would pick me, of all people.

It was easier to believe that he would choose someone else—especially after I’d scared him. I knew he’d forgiven me. But…forgiving myself was another matter entirely. I hated this part of me. I really did.

Sitting alone all day made the thoughts spin and spin.

Small worries became monumental, and without anything to distract my mind, all I could do was stew. My brain had always worked quickly. It was why I’d been considered intelligent back home. But it also meant that without stimulation, it turned on itself.

Tearing me apart piece by piece, bit by bit, the doubt creeping in with every lonely night that passed.

I knew the code to the door. And after scaring Roark, I truly hadn’t planned on doing anything that could bring that sort of reaction out again. But…desperate times called for desperate measures.

And I needed to know what was going on.

I needed to understand. So I could plan accordingly. So I could stop falling in love with him, if Roark didn’t want me anymore. So that my brain would shut the fuck up and leave me alone.

The next night, I feigned sleep.

Roark disturbed the warm cocoon of our blankets, murmured something against my temple with one of his rubbery nose kisses, then rose to his feet. I watched through my lashes as he pulled on what I had privately dubbed his “day pants.” His thick ass tested the seam, bare back rippling as he stretched from side to side. He glanced at me, and I shut my eyes, pretending still, careful so that my breathing wouldn’t pick up.

He was observant.

Way fucking observant.

I wasn’t even sure I’d get away with this at all.

But I did. Because when I next opened my eyes it was because I could hear the beep of Roark’s fingers tapping the password into the keypad at the door. It swung open with a quiet hiss, a beam of light from the hallway creeping into the darkened room. Golden, it spread across the floor, Roark’s shadow cutting through it.

The nanobots I’d been training while Roark had been away beeped unhappily where they rested in stasis underneath the bed, not at all pleased by the disruption to their programmed slumber.

Behind Roark, the door slid shut with finality.

My heart was pounding as I waited with what felt like an expert level of patience for all of thirty seconds. Patient, patient. But not too patient— I reminded myself, before I bolted to the keypad, tapped the password in, and slipped into the hall after my wayward owner.

It wasn’t hard to find him, the dude had elephant feet.

All I had to do was follow the thunking.

The hallway chilled my bare feet, but I barely noticed. I only had to duck behind a corner to hide a handful of times from other crew members—which was a relief. Even if every time made me feel like I was James Bond or some shit—and not a nosy bastard, who needed reassurance he couldn’t get with words.

Because Roark didn’t know the words I needed.

I wasn’t sure why I was so angry at the prospect of Roark getting some nookie on the side. I knew I wasn’t a shark-dude myself. I hadn’t seen a single cross-species pair on the ship, and it didn’t take a genius to infer that wasn’t a thing these creatures did. How would they procreate, after all? This was a question I’d asked myself about a thousand times—since I hadn’t seen a female shark-person even once.

Could male sharks get pregnant?

No. That didn’t seem likely. Roark was see-through enough I could somewhat see his organs at the right angle. And I’d never spotted a womb or ovaries.

Besides, he was made of Jell-O .

The idea of Roark making hypothetical shark babies with anyone but me made me want to scream, though. So I put that train of speculation to rest. I didn’t need another thing to angst about. Not when I was already annoyed at myself for acting out like this. Not when there was no point working myself up before I got solid answers.

I heard quiet barking when I rounded a corner in the hallway, and my hackles rose. It wasn’t Roark’s laugh. I’d recognize that sound anywhere. I seriously doubted he was off laughing in a dark corner alone, so that confirmed that he was with someone else.

Fuck.

I could see more light spilling from the open doorway I’d followed him to. Always aware of the buttons that could be there, I slipped along the surface of the cool metal wall as silently as I could, ready to catch my owner in action.

Except, when I peeked around the lip of the doorway what I saw was… yeah .

Not at all what I expected.

What the hell are they doing?

I frowned, trying to make sense of the sight in front of me.

Roark sat on a hover-chair in the back corner of the unfamiliar room. Along the walls were all sorts of tools and implements, and in the center was a row of identical tables covered in machines I had no hope of understanding. It looked like a lab.

A science lab.

Similar to the ones I’d worked tirelessly at during high school, but bigger—and brighter—with glowy objects and instruments I’d never imagined in my wildest dreams. Ushuu was beside him. Which again, had not been what I expected. He had a chair of his own, and his sleeves were rolled up, his body turned toward me, where Roark’s was tipped away.

And they were—yeah. I didn’t really get what I was seeing. I mean, I did . Obviously. I was a straight-A student, hello ! I would’ve been doing exactly what they were doing right about now if I’d never been abducted.

Except I’d be at Harvard surrounded by trust-fund brats who didn’t know what Oscar Mayer hotdogs tasted like.

Which was to say…the two sharks were…

Yeah.

They were studying .

Actually—more accurately— Roark was studying.

He had about forty images hovering in the air surrounding him, holograms blown up in a myriad of colors. Various illustrations and photographs were splashed across each open window. I was unfortunately too far away to tell exactly what any of them were. The shapes, however, looked somewhat familiar?

Which was weird, because since I’d been abducted three years ago I hadn’t really had that thought often, about anything . Space was a strange place full of a variety of oddly shaped things. Nothing had the color you expected. Nothing tasted the way you thought it would taste. Nothing smelled the way you thought it should smell.

So, tell me why… why —if I squinted—it looked like there were images of Earth hovering in the air? The Eiffel Tower. The Statue of Liberty. The pyramids. Sushi?

“Thank yew fuhr comming,” Roark said in English, slow and annunciated. The words were clunky on his tongue, but recognizable all the same.

“Thank you,” Ushuu corrected him.

“Thank you,” Roark repeated, much more slowly, but smoother all the same.

“For.”

“For.”

“Coming.”

“Co…ming.” Roark blinked. “Thank you for coming.”

My heart thundered and I gawped, slack-jawed as Ushuu trilled happily and clapped his hands. His gaze slid over to me, a knowing look in his eyes as he turned his attention back to Roark.

“Better!”

Ushuu did not betray my presence.

They murmured back and forth in their native tongue for a few minutes. I was entranced at the sight of Roark flipping through the slides, making a few larger—large enough I could see them, even from this distance.

Reading glasses were settled over his snout—and he looked so ridiculous and gorgeous it made me ache. He squinted, said something in sharkish, and then waited.

“How are you?” Ushuu sounded out in answer to his question, far slower than any normal person would ever talk.

“How ahre yuu?” Roark repeated in butchered English.

“How are you?” Ushuu corrected.

“How…are…you?” Roark sounded unsure, but Ushuu’s applause made his spots flicker white, with what I could only assume was happiness. They murmured back and forth once again, and Roark snorted through his nose at something Ushuu said before he shook his head and gestured toward one of the images in the air with his large, clawed hands.

“I am good,” Ushuu said, just as deliberately as the first two times.

“I…um…” Roark shook his head at himself in frustration. “Am,” he corrected himself, “ good .”

Again, Ushuu clapped.

Again, I stared.

Was he learning English? For me?

Is that what he’d been doing this whole time?

Suddenly things started to make sense.

It seemed after our run-in with Ushuu and what had happened in the hallway Roark had decided he’d had enough with our limited communication. This was…a gift I never would’ve expected. The amount of effort it took was astounding. Add on the amount of sleep he’d been losing, somehow fitting English lessons into his already hectic schedule—and I just…

God.

I was floored.

My heart was racing, my eyes damp as I watched the two of them for a few more wonderful minutes before I decided I’d seen enough. I still didn’t understand why Roark’s spots had been red the other night, but it was becoming obvious that I’d made a terrible mistake thinking the worst of him.

Here I was, assuming he was a cheater-cheater pumpkin-eater, when he was actually the hugest fucking sweetheart in the entire galaxy. Pun intended. For so long I’d prided myself on my optimism, and yet…I’d given up on Roark so quickly.

What was wrong with me?

Dazed, I made my way back to our room. The door slid open with a quiet hiss but I barely noticed as I made a beeline for the bed and collapsed on the mattress. The stars on the ceiling sparkled above me. My lashes were cold and wet as I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and took a shuddering, steadying breath.

One of the nanobots beneath the bed turned on, a little buzzing sound echoing through the metal room as it spun around in an attempt to get comfortable and before going back into stasis.

On the days and nights I’d been alone, I’d been slowly but surely programming them into pets.

Assistants.

Assistant-pets.

I figured if I could prove to Roark I was useful, he’d want to keep me around, even after we reached wherever it was that we were going.

Not that I could tell him that.

But…maybe soon?

Maybe we could have a real conversation—if he kept attending lessons.

With a sigh I scrubbed my hands over my eyes as I tried to make sense of my messy feelings. One thing was certain. I was an asshole. I had jumped to conclusions, chased Roark down like an absolute dick, and worst of all—I’d shat all over his trust.

He deserved better.

He really did.

He was trying . He was trying harder than anyone in my life had ever tried for me before. And it made me feel weirdly squirmy and warm all over when I thought about how seriously adorable he’d just been. So stoic, so careful as he repeated words back to Ushuu, his blue eyes full of frustration—like he wanted to learn faster so he could talk to me, and he was angry at himself for not catching on more quickly.

A memory surfaced, uninvited.

A memory I hadn’t revisited in a long, long time.

It’d been my sixteenth birthday. I’d thrown a party for myself—because I wasn’t stupid enough to expect my parents to throw one for me. Sixteen was a big number, right? It was the one you celebrated with friends and family. The biggest birthday aside from eighteen and twenty-one.

I was still hopeful then.

Which was why I’d told my mom six months in advance about my party plans, just to make sure she cleared her schedule.

I even went as far as to ask my dad’s secretary to remind him. He liked to think he was important because he had a secretary, even though he was one of the lowest performing lawyers at his firm. Probably because he kept alcohol in his water bottle, and didn’t know what day it was most of the time. He’d inherited the job because it was his father’s company, not on any merit of his own—but that didn’t mean he wasn’t arrogant.

Every time I’d asked him to come to something when I was little his reply had been “tell my secretary” and he’d said it like he was the goddamn president. I’d never minded humoring him, not when it made him happy. Even though asking his secretary usually didn’t do any good, either.

Dad had come to my science fair once .

And he’d left before he’d even seen my project.

His work had always been more important to him than I was.

So I wasn’t sure why I was surprised when my birthday arrived, and neither of my parents were home. I spent all morning preparing the dining room to host guests, still hoping.

I’d been reminding both my parents about this for weeks .

When I thought about how much hope I’d placed in them, it seemed silly. Like any good scientist, I should’ve hypothesized based on evidence previously gathered. But at the time I was sixteen. And it was my birthday—and I just…

I let all my doubts fly out the window, one final time.

For the first few hours I’d naively figured both my parents were running late.

That this was part of an elaborate surprise.

That they’d appear with a dinosaur cake to match my “coming of age” theme—the one I’d spent weeks crafting prehistoric decorations for. That they’d yell “surprise!” And we’d laugh and laugh , and it’d be like one of the sitcoms I watched when I was alone after school. Except better. Because it was real . And they really cared. And they’d show me that?—

They’d see me—and I’d feel loved .

But when the party was supposed to start and no one showed up, not even Donald from chess club, or Ned from League For Battery Fueled Assassins, it felt like something inside me withered and died. All the other teens I’d invited had colorful excuses: the football game that night, a math test tomorrow, they forgot they had to do something, blah, blah, blah.

And I hadn’t cared.

I honestly hadn’t .

Because my parents were the guests of honor. And I knew they would come. I knew they would. Because they’d promised . And even though they weren’t the most attentive parents in the world, they weren’t cruel.

So I continued to wait, and my excitement never died.

For three hours.

Three hours.

The clock ticked and ticked and ticked.

I called my mom’s cell sixteen times. I called my dad’s work fifteen times. My dad’s secretary told me he was out when she answered on the sixteenth ring. I figured he was getting the cake. You know. To surprise me. Because I was naive, and young—and I’d wanted…well.

You can guess what I wanted.

The house was empty.

The clock kept ticking.

It was eleven-thirty when the front door finally pushed open.

When Dad entered, he wobbled on his feet. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he was drunk. He had red lipstick on the collar of his shirt. He smelled like menthols and stale beer. I followed after him, legs numb from sitting so long. With every step I hoped and hoped and hoped.

He wobbled up the stairs without acknowledging me, gripping the railing tight. When he tripped, he chuckled to himself, white-knuckled and tipsy. His briefcase spilled across the steps, and I chased after him, picking up the papers and stacking them into a neat little pile. When we reached the top of the stairs I handed them over, my heart in my throat.

He looked me in the eye for the first time since he’d come home, and his gaze was blurry. Like I wasn’t even there. Like he couldn’t see me at all.

Say it, I’d pleaded in my head.

Say it, please.

“Happy birthday, Hugo.”

That’s all I need to hear and I’ll forgive you.

Say it, say it, say it, say it ?—

“Thanks, buddy,” he said instead, slapping me on the shoulder twice before taking the papers from my grip and stumbling into his office. He returned after a few seconds, sans briefcase, and my hopes soared a second time. He squinted at me, his copper-colored hair sticking up in a sweaty mess. He smiled, and I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

“Did you need something?” he asked, leaning heavily against the doorframe.

I stared at him for a long time, and as the clock on the wall ticked, my heart shattered in two. I shook my head, and when I smiled I closed myself off, locking away my heart where he couldn’t break it again.

“Just wanted to say goodnight,” I managed, drowning from the inside out.

“Night,” Dad replied.

“And that I love you,” I added, my hands clenching so hard into fists I could practically smell the bloody smears my fingernails left behind.

“You too, bud.”

Mom didn’t come home.

I retreated downstairs to take the decorations down. I put the board games away. The clock kept ticking. When the house was back to being the mausoleum it had been before, I retreated to my room. I lay in bed and zoned out, head tipped toward the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling. Numb. When the tears finally came I willed them away, but stubbornly, they kept coming.

I closed my eyes and slept.

I never planned a party again.

It wasn’t a pleasant memory.

And it never managed to hurt any less every time I thought of it. Like having my heart broken by both of my parents on the same night had rearranged something fundamental inside me. Here I was, a galaxy away, and their actions still affected me. My parents taught me that love meant distance. It meant effort when it was necessary for your reputation but not when it was needed.

I wasn’t sure why Roark’s earnestness had brought this memory to the surface.

Except…maybe I did know.

Because Roark wasn’t like that.

Roark was the antithesis of what my parents were. He was warm where they were cold. Serious and kind. Gentle. Attentive.

I had the feeling, if I had invited Roark to my birthday party he would’ve been the first to arrive. He would’ve brought me flowers, and pizza, and cake. He would’ve played my dumb games, even though he probably wouldn’t have understood what they were talking about, or even liked them. He would’ve told me happy birthday.

He was just that kinda guy.

An effort kinda guy, with a capital E.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and vowed to make this up to him.

I vowed to be better.

To trust him more.

To put in the effort he was, and see what could happen.

To allow the boundless optimism I’d always had to extend to him the way it should’ve all along.

My parents were shitty parents. I knew that. And it wasn’t fair to judge Roark based on their broken relationship with each other and with me. He wasn’t them, just like I wasn’t.

And maybe I was his pet, but I was quickly coming to realize I didn’t care. The way he treated me spoke volumes. And I was grateful now more than ever that he’d decided to take me in.

When Roark returned a few hours later something between us had shifted, only he didn’t know it yet. His movements were silent as he shut the door behind him—careful not to “wake” me. When he shucked off his “day pants” and donned his “night pants” (they looked the same, honestly), every movement was careful. Sneakily, he climbed into bed with me for the second time that night, careful not to jostle me too hard—though the effort was wasted because his size made that super fucking impossible.

The whole bed jiggled, but I pretended to sleep through it so he wouldn’t feel bad for waking me. Roark was warm as he settled behind me. All my earlier thoughts drifted away, his heat scaring them off as a sense of safety settled over me. He pulled the blankets over us both. And when he tucked his nose against the nape of my neck, and immediately started purring like a giant squishy panther, I felt peace.

Roark held still—probably to make sure I was still asleep—before he gave in to his own desires and began tentatively nuzzling my hair. His deliciously hot breath blew against it as he rumbled, very obviously pleased to be back in bed with me. Roark relaxed with a weighty sigh, like holding me in his arms had been what he’d been waiting for all day.

And then, because he was wonderful, he did the one thing I never would’ve expected.

But maybe I should’ve .

“Good…night,” Roark said—in perfect English—his voice heavily accented and thick with sleep, “little…beast.”

Little beast?

The words were so sweet I burned from the inside out. Throwing caution to the wind, I curled my arms around his and squeezed. Fuck pretending to sleep. Hugging Roark back was more important. Roark chuckled softly, holding me just as tight.

A few friendly tendrils wrapped around my limbs, wiggling till our bodies were smooshed so perfectly together I couldn’t tell where one of us began and the other ended. Roark’s purring eventually evolved into a quiet, sleepy snore.

His hearts thumped.

Thump, thump, thump.

When I was sure he was asleep, I gave one of his tendrils a kiss as a hot tear leaked down my cheek. I wasn’t sure how he was doing this. How he was healing my childhood, years later, with gentle words and gentle hands.

But he was.

Because the truth was, he may be an alien, but he was far more human than anyone I’d ever met before. And I may be his pet, but Roark was teaching me what it felt like to be loved.

“Goodnight,” I whispered, voice hoarse. “Sweet dreams.”