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AFTER DINNER, HOLLIS walked the streets with her in the growing darkness of twilight. They talked more, about whatever it was that he was watching on Netfli, because he watched quite a bit of Netfli, and they talked about mutual acquaintances in town.

He walked her to her door.

She asked if he wanted to come in.

He declined, saying they needed to slow down, as agreed.

She was disappointed, and he could tell. But she didn't insist. Instead, she lingered in the doorway, looking up at him, smiling. "Are you really dangerous, or do you just think you're dangerous?"

He chuckled. "What?"

"Oh, I don't know. Everyone has some reason for thinking that maybe they aren't worthy of love or whatever," she said. "Is that your thing? Are you just convinced that you're some awful monster, when really, deep down, you're not even remotely scary, and you just need to embrace that about yourself and trust yourself and all of that? Because if so, let's just skip to the epiphany where you realize you're not dangerous."

He rocked back, shoving his hands into his pockets. He wasn't wearing a hoodie today. He had thought that a date required something better. So, he was in a pair of corduroys and a black t-shirt. Trust her to cut right to the heart of things. "Why do you think you're not worthy of love?"

"Okay, way to dodge the question, first of all, but hello? Have you not been listening? I am aseual. I don't want any kind of conventional relationship, and finding a person who's willing to compromise with me on all of that, it seems impossible sometimes. Not to mention, I'm a bit of a burden at this point, what with my lack of a career or direction in life and my dwindling bank account."

He nodded. "Right, I guess I did know that," he said. "In regards to the unconventional thing."

"Okay, back to my question," she said. "Because, at first, you kick me out of your house, all ‘stay away from me' in this raspy, super intense voice. And? Not going to lie? I mean, whatever that was, it was sort of hot in this scary way, which I don't even know how to eplain. But then, you're like, ‘Never mind! I'm a big puppy dog.'" She raised her eyebrows. "So? Is this just something you're afraid of? Are you just afraid of hurting someone?"

He cleared his throat. "It's a nice way of looking at the world, Fifer, but it's not accurate."

"What are you saying?" she said.

"I'm just saying, everyone's dangerous."

"No, people aren't dangerous—"

"There's a set of circumstances in which you'd take a life," he said, his voice lowering. "Maybe if someone you loved was in danger, or if you were defending yourself?"

"Well, anyone would do that," she said. "I don't see what you're—"

"And there's probably a set of circumstances in which you'd kill for vengeance or for an epedient or just out of pure anger."

"No!" she said, drawing back. "No, there is not, and if you think—"

"It might not happen all at once, Fifer, and it might take a crumbling of society around you. Maybe if tomorrow, there was an apocalypse, and you were fighting for your very survival, and you went through a number of scarring eperiences and you learned that the only way to survive was to be cruel—"

"Well, anyone would do that, given those circumstances."

"Eactly," he said. "I've been alive a long time, all right? I've done things. I know what I'm capable of. Of course I'm dangerous." He reached out and touched her face. "Sleep well." He backed away from her front porch.

"And on that note, you're leaving?"

He gave her a little wave, turning his back on her.

"WAIT, A DATE ?" said Fifer's sister Madge over the phone. "Really? You are going on a date? With a person?"

"Yes, with a person," said Fifer. "So, how about if I come over for dinner and a swim and to see the kids on Friday, then, because Thursday is open mic night and I was planning on doing that?"

"Go back to the date thing," said Madge. "Tell me everything. What is going on? How could you keep this from me?"

Fifer hesitated. "It's not that big of a deal. It's probably going to end up being a temporary thing. He's… I don't even know what he is. He might be the biggest mistake I've ever made in my life."

"Well, way to be dramatic," said Madge. "Now, you really have to tell me everything."

When Fifer had first come out to her family about being aseual, it hadn't gone well. Her mother had been panicked about it, worried that Fifer would never be happy, never have anyone to take care of her, and never have a fulfilling life. She remembered her mother fretting, Oh, I spent too much time teaching you to guard your sealskin. You internalized some idea that romance was bad. Fifer had to assure her mother this wasn't true. That being aseual wasn't learned. It was innate.

Madge had been a little bit better about it. She'd asked a lot of questions and understood the terminology a little more. She knew that Fifer still wanted to have a romantic relationship, and that sort of thing. However, she wasn't particularly supportive when it came to Fifer's not having se. It's not that bad. You don't have to do that much. He does most of the work. If you want to have a husband, you're just going to have to do it, Fife.

Madge's own husband, a gruff orc who pulled Madge onto his lap all the time and called her his tiny woman, doted on Madge and Madge loved him. Sometimes, Fifer was a little jealous when she went to visit her sister.

Their father had passed away five years ago, so now it was just Madge and Fifer and their mom when the family got together. Well, and Madge's husband and two kids—a boy and a girl. Fifer thought her dad had found the prospect of her aseuality somewhat relieving but also deeply sad in a tragic way. When she'd visited him in the hospital, when he was slipping away, he'd held her hand and begged her to take good care of herself.

At the funeral, Madge and her mother had both surveyed her, teary-eyed, and her mother had said, I wish he could have gone knowing you had someone, Fifer.

So, anyway, the family stuff, it wasn't great. But then, everyone, even totally normal people, had family stuff. Families just came with, well, stuff.

"Madge," Fifer said now, into the phone, "there's not really anything to tell. We've gone on a few dates, but he's a lot older than me, and there's no real future there, and I'll come Friday, okay?"

"How much older? What do you mean? You're nearly thirty now, sweetie, so what could make you say that? Is he in his fifties or something?"

"He's ancient," she said. "Like, ageless ancient, a fae eile, and he's—"

"Shut the front door!"

Fifer groaned.

"So, ancient, like, centuries and centuries old? Like that?"

"Tangles and briars, Madge, it's just a fling."

"I want to meet him."

"No!"

"Oh, come on, can you ask him? How about Saturday? Then Mom could come."

"No, Madge, absolutely not. It's not even that kind of thing."

"What about the, um… hold on, let me go in the other room from the kids." A pause. Then, "What about the se?"

"Madge!"

"Is he okay with that?"

"He's not eactly… flesh and blood, so yeah, he's fine with it."

"Shut the front door ." A sigh. "He's perfect for you, Fifer."

"Yeah, ecept he's not. And I'm not asking him to dinner."

"Please, please, please? When else are you ever going to have someone you're dating? You're nearly thirty, and you've never had anything like this in your life. No one to bring home."

"I had a boyfriend freshman year, and it lasted longer than this has been going on—"

"You know that does not count."

"Why not?"

"Ask him. If he's ageless and ancient, I bet he finds novelty in things like family dinners. Oh! And he doesn't have a family, right, so I bet he's really lonely. I bet he would love to come. Ask him."

"Madge, how many times do I have to say no?"

"As many times as it takes you to change your mind. I'm going to pester you until you ask him. I'm going to tet you nonstop, night and day, and I'm going to—"

"I hate you."

"Oh, you do not."

Fifer sighed heavily. "I'll ask him."

" Thank you," sang out her sister.

HOLLIS LOOKED UP from his Guinness to see Fifer coming into the Mecklenberg. She saw him and smiled, lifting her hand in a little wave. It was Thursday, and it was open mic night.

He'd been so worried that he'd get caught up and miss it that he'd come here right after work, at 4:30 p.m. He'd actually enjoyed the early happy-hour crowd, but now it was closer to 7:30, and open mic would start around 8:00.

She came over and stood net to him at the bar. The bartender—Melissa—took her order, and brought her a beer.

"What are you playing tonight?" he said.

"How about you?"

"I'm a one-show pony," he said.

"So, AC/DC?"

He chuckled at her. "It's good to see you. I actually wanted to ask you if you were busy tomorrow? There are restaurants in this town that I haven't taken you to, and I think I should remedy that."

She took a deep breath. "So. My sister wants you to come to dinner at her house and meet my entire family, and I'm so sorry, and I promised her I would ask you, but you don't have to come."

He went entirely still.

"Shit," she said, shaking her head. "I'm so sorry, and—"

"I'd love to," he said, and his voice wasn't steady. He was honestly stunned at the emotion that was coursing through him. He didn't know where it was coming from, and he didn't really know what it meant, but it was a warmth and a bittersweetness that enveloped him, making his throat feel tight. He didn't cry. He couldn't. He didn't have tear ducts. But he felt like he wanted to.

She tilted her head to one side. "Oh, it's good?"

He was embarrassed at the force of his reaction. He dropped his head down.

She covered one of his hands with her own. The jolt of her touch made him feel lightheaded. "Madge said maybe you're lonely, but I didn't even think about it."

Was that it? Loneliness? He forced himself to laugh at himself self-deprecatingly. "I'm sure your family won't really like me."

"Well, they don't like me either," she said. "Families aren't about liking you, they're just about being forced to take care of you, come what may."

He laughed, a deep and long laugh.

She scrunched up her nose. "I mean, I'm sorry. I should have said that of course they would like you."

"I'll do my best not to be terrifying," he said.

"You're not terrifying," she said. She studied his face. "You don't have anyone doing this sort of thing for you, do you?"

He let out a breath.

She gripped his hand with hers. "Did you once? Maybe over and over again, different times? And they all grew old and died and then… you just stopped bothering?"

He felt choked with emotion. He let her hold his hand like that, and he wondered if he was really worried about being dangerous to this woman, about posing a threat to her, or if he was just unsure of his ability to weather losing her, losing again.

"Oh, tangles and briars, Hollis." Her voice was soft.

"It's all right," he murmured. "It's whatever it is, you know? Given the choice, anyone would live forever."

"I don't know," she said. "I don't know about that."