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destiis-wayfarers · 2 months ago

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Fratricide? Must be a Tuesday

A little piece of Kailis' backstory, written for Wayfarer's (@idrellegames) 3rd birthday

Fandom: Wayfarer - Idrelle Games

Tags/TWs: Angst, Child Abuse, Sibling Rivalry, Childhood Trauma, Heights

Read on AO3

Fratricide? Must be a Tuesday

The wind was strong up here, rushing past Kailis' back and tugging at his clothes. His long hair flew around him wildly, whipping at his face, the tips catching in his mouth. Kailis clung to the stones, fingertips seeking the gaps between rock and mortar as he hauled himself up toward the summit. His limbs shook and every time he tried to breathe in, the cold air pierced his lungs.

This was the highest he'd ever climbed, ever dared to climb. The tower stretched on above him, the courtyard below, the rooftop of the main house between. His siblings stood in the courtyard, their comments and jeers that had initially spurred him on now snatched away by the wind. His heart beat like a bird's, blood rushing through his veins and reminding him that he was really, truly alive.

He could see the city stretching out before him, the red-tiled roofs and whitewashed buildings clustered together like adults whispering in corners, the twisting spaces between them like leylines to be explored. To his right, the city gave way to mountains in the distance, snow-capped and colossal. To his left, there was nothing but ocean, stretching out forever. Only the bravest ships were dancing on the rough winter waves. His father's fleet would be out there, somewhere, but Kailis couldn't spot any of their blue sails.

Kailis reached up for the next stone that jutted out just a little farther than the rest. His fingers felt frozen and numb, barely able to catch the edge of the rough stone and dig in to haul himself up another inch.

"Master Marcello, please come down!" a panicked servant called from below him. Kailis glanced down and saw her clutching the edge of the window that he'd just broken. He'd felt the wards bend and snap as he climbed through, shattering into a thousand fractals that scattered in the wind.

He also saw how far he'd climbed, the rooftop many feet below. He pressed his forehead to the stones, closing his eyes against the distance and his head against the possible consequences of his choices. With shaking muscles and shuddering breath, he looked up again and let go of one stone to seek another. The wind screamed in his ears, whistling through the small gap between his body and the tower's wall, buffeting him against it as though it sought to rip him off and strike him down.

Accompanied by a little popping sound and whisps of golden magic, his elder brother suddenly appeared above him, sitting casually on the roof of the tower and kicking his feet out into the breeze. His blood-red hair surrounded him like an ominous halo as he sneered down at Kailis.

"Doesn't look like you're going to make it, runt!" Kriton yelled, the golden glow in his eyes slowly fading as he released his spatial magic.

"Master Marcello!" the servant cried out again, her voice raising in pitch and desperation. Kailis wasn't sure if she was addressing him or his brother, but it didn't matter; they both ignored her.

"I... Can... Do it!" Kailis called back between gasps.

He definitely couldn't do it. He was pretty certain of that now.

His body was both on fire and frozen in place. His muscles were locking up and every time he tried to reach out for the next stone or dragged his leg up to find a new foothold, he gasped in pain. He realised with a shock that his fingertips were bleeding, the blood soaking into the porous stone and leaving little stains when he let go. That same blood rushed through his head, each heartbeat felt like a pounding drum on the inside of his skull. Tol Covere wobbled to his right, the buildings becoming as fluid as the ocean.

"Give it up, brat," Kriton said, his voice not as strained now that Kailis had closed the gap between them. He leaned over the edge to look at Kailis, silken clothes rippling against the gale that beat at them. "What do you think you're going to prove?" he asked with a smirk.

Kailis stared up at him through half-closed eyes, swallowing hard against a raw throat. He wanted to prove them wrong. Prove to them that he could do it. That he didn't need magic to do anything. But he knew how stupid that was. He knew how the world worked, he'd travelled it enough. No one cared about magianis. No one cared about him .

" Please , Master Marcello!" the servant wailed up at them, her voice haunting as the winds snatched it away, "bring the child back safely!" She sounded sick with worry. But the fear wasn't for Kailis; it was for what his father would do if he found out she'd failed in her duty.

"Don't worry, I'll send him down to you," Kriton yelled back, a vicious grin on his face as he looked at Kailis.

"Wait..." Kailis gasped, scrambling against stone, and scraping his arms as he rushed to reach the roof. Kriton's grin turned into a laugh as he watched Kailis struggle. Leisurely, he lifted his leg, his eyes pooling with gold magic as he prepared to teleport safely to the ground.

"Wait wait wait!" Kailis screamed, panic gripping his chest and squeezing so tight he felt like his ribs might break. The golden mist swirled around Kriton as his foot came down and connected with Kailis' shoulder, slamming into him as only the force of a grown adult kicking a child could achieve.

Kailis felt himself shudder at the impact as he reached out in desperation, clawing at stone, at air, at Kriton's boot.

And gripping.

He tumbled backwards, the world rushing from stone wall and Kriton's sneering face to brilliant blue sky and gulls screeching overhead.

And then Kriton came with him, yanked forward by Kailis' weight suddenly clutched onto his leg like an anchor.

There was a yelp and a curse and hands in his hair and on his face yanking, pulling, shoving. Kailis crushed his eyes closed, holding onto his brother as tight as he could. Someone screamed from below, the sound sharpening and then cutting off as they plummeted passed the source.

And then they slammed into the rooftop, Kailis folding in on himself like a sack of vegetables.

Kailis' body bounced and the siblings came undone, disconnected but still a tangle of limbs and bodies smashing into one another as they tumbled down the roof. The world was a blur, flashes of red tile and stone wall and blue sky and dead trees and pink hair and purple skin and whisps of gold magic that blinked in and out of existence.

And then Kailis was in freefall again, for just a second, before his back slammed into the courtyard below and everything went dark.

Kriton stood rigid in their father's study. His hands were pinned to his sides and he stared forward like a Brightblade on parade. Unlike Kailis, he looked little more than windswept, his broken arm and minor injuries having been healed only moments ago. Kailis, in comparison, stood beside him like a war victim. He was covered in dirt and welting cuts and was swaying a little on his feet. His was face scraped and raw from hitting the roof, his head pounded each time he moved, and there was a pain deep in his spine that wouldn't shift. He'd only passed out for a few minutes, according to the servant, but he felt like he was falling forward, ever forward into darkness.

"You foolish boy," their father spat at Kriton, who stood so statuesque, "you would leave me without an appropriate heir?" he demanded, eyes glowing red with power. Kriton made some small noises, somewhere between a mewling whine and a groan, but his lips remained firmly closed. Their father wasn't interested in hearing him just yet. Kailis' head throbbed and he could feel something tickling the back of his neck, travelling down until it met his shirt.

Kriton is not a boy , Kailis thought dully. He was a man, even if full-blooded melusine grew slowly. His foot was big and it had stamped into Kailis' shoulder and if Kriton was still a boy he probably would have been okay. Kailis picked at the blood crusted under his nails.

"You might be a skilled planeswalker, but you're apparently wholly incapable of using your head!" their father exclaimed, pacing out from behind the desk to stand in front of them both. Kailis let his hands fall back to his sides. He might be immune to his father's magic, but that didn't mean he was allowed to move.

"And you!" their father's ire turned to Kailis and Kriton visibly relaxed, shoulders slumping forward and a gasp of air escaping him. "What were you doing up there? More than breaking my house's wards I hope?" his father asked, standing in front of Kailis and towering over him. Kailis didn't look up.

"He dared me," he said, focusing all his attention on staying upright. The floor seemed to undulate beneath him like a giant serpent.

"And you simply did it?" his father asked incredulously, "are you a dog?"

"No..." Kailis mumbled, gripping the bottom of his shirt and tensing his muscles against the pain that lanced down his spine, "I wanted to prove I could do it."

"And, yet, you obviously could not," his father replied with derision.

"I could!" Kailis yelled, head snapping up to look at his father who scowled down at him from a great height, face like thunder and body an immovable mountain. "If he hadn't kicked me, I would have made it!" He protested, shoving at Kriton's side weakly and doing little more than making him rock onto his heels.

"It's not my fault you're weak!" Kriton snapped back, grabbing Kailis by the hair and yanking him up onto his toes. Kailis tried not to cry out as the pain erupted at the back of his head, but his vision blurred with tears as he struggled in his brother's grasp.

"Enough," their father said calmly and Kriton released him, shoving him down to fall onto his knees. Kailis stared at the floor, fighting through nausea and pain that crashed down on him like waves. The tears fell one at a time, splattering on the hardwood and landing on the back of his hands.

"Get up," his father's voice cut in across the whoosh of blood in his ears. Kailis wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand and pushed himself up onto shaking legs, stumbling once as the world threatened to go dark again.

"I will not suffer fools," his father said, arms crossed as he glanced between them both. Kriton stared forehead, face impassive. "Kriton, you will train your brother."

"Father..." Kriton began, taking a half-step forward, panic creeping into his voice. Their father held up a hand, eyes flooding with magic, and Kriton stopped in place, frozen in the binds that held him.

"If you prove too much a fool to run my empire once I am gone, I will have contingencies. You will train your brother as I trained you." Their father said, releasing Kriton with a flick of his hand.

"I don't want to run the company..." Kailis muttered, as though anyone would care what he wanted.

The blow came fast and with force. His father's hand connected with his face and Kailis was flung sideways. He threw his hands out to catch himself but the ground caught him first, his cheek breaking his fall and his skull bouncing off the hardwood floor.

"Pathetic," his father muttered from above him as his vision sank once more to black.

#wayfarer #Kailis Kai Marcello #Wayfarer anniversary #Wayfarer fanfic #Kailis Kai Marcello fanfic

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redwayfarers · 2 years ago

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Dictionary of everyday life

Fandom: Wayfarer IF Pairing: Aeran x Risha Characters: Aeran Kellis, Risha Sero (OC) Rating: Gen Words: 1359 And folks, my part of the art trade with @just-eyris-things - a fluffy fic featuring her aeda Wayfarer, Risha Sero! I had tons of fun writing this, mostly because the theme (language and words) is my element for sure, considering what I’m getting an education in. A bit of fluff never hurt anybody, right? :> Thank you for letting me borrow your borb, Eyris <3

If there’s anything Risha Sero can thank Risha Samaras for, it’s putting in the effort to learn Coveran. It’s a good language, he thinks. It was foreign to his ears when he was younger, though, a distant thing he thought he’d never get to hear beyond his grammar books and tutors. Now, the distance is crossed; now, he’s in the midst of Coveran, its very heart, surrounded by Tol Covere’s white cliffs and compound sounds of words his aeda hearing lets him detect.

Risha Sero laughs at Risha Samaras’ limited, small thoughts.

He and Aeran are making their way through a crowded market. It smells like sea air and bodies, but that drowns in the excitement that sits snugly in Risha’s belly. Coveran hits him from all angles, merchants shouting their wares, shoppers asking for prices, hushed conversations hoping to remain hidden in the general noisiness of the crowd. A metal comb is one crown. Two lovers are exchanging soft words in a secluded, small corner. And Risha understands it all. He could even crush the lovers’ retreat and say that they’re not as smart as they thought they were, pointing at his ears and crest as he laughs.

“What’s got you all smiling, Ri?” Aeran asks. He sounds pleased by it.

“I know Coveran,” Risha says, grinning even wider.

“Look at you, flaunting your education,” Aeran responds, laughing softly.

“You could’ve learned a few words yourself, Kellis,” Risha shakes his head. Aeran’s curls dance over his ear when he moves his head.

“I know a few words,” Aeran replies. “Smartass.”

Risha almost blows him a kiss, but decides against it. “I’m using my few thousand words to get us lodging while we look for work,” he says instead. Sun beats against his eyes. “That's the conversational level.”

“Watch out for the fine print, though,” Aeran says. “There’s always fine print with us wayfarers.”

Risha frowns and clicks his tongue. “Unfortunately, I am very much aware of that fact. I’m always careful of the fine print.” In a perfect world, he wouldn’t have to. He doesn’t say it, however. Aeran knows. He knows. Every single Wayfarer that’s ever existed knows. Not that there’s many of them to know these days, but that’s something he doesn’t want to address. Not in the momentous hour of understanding Coveran.

Aeran’s hand lands on his for a moment and squeezes. Risha feels his shoulders relax. When Aeran lets go with a gentle smile, he wishes he hadn’t. It’s rough and sweaty and strong and Risha’s liked Aeran’s hands for a while now.

***

The innkeeper is a small human whose eyebrows indicate perpetual displeasure. She’s cleaning glasses and plates when Risha and Aeran approach and only raises her eyes off her task when she hears them stop at the bar.

“What can I do for you?” she asks. Her voice is surprisingly pleasant; she speaks with a lilt Risha hasn’t heard before.

“We’re looking for rooms,” Risha says, in Coveran. He doesn’t sound like her, which annoys him a little, but he can arrange this fucking thing. Accents don’t matter.

She raises an eyebrow. “Two rooms? For the two of you?”

“Not two rooms, one room. We share.” Risha frowns and crosses his arms. While he’d love his own room, he isn’t sure their budget allows that.

“You’re lucky two of our guests left this morning,” the innkeeper replies. “Otherwise, we’d be full.”

“Good for them, lady, but we only need one. And since you obviously have free rooms, you’re going to get us one. We can pay.” Risha almost senses it, how she’s sorely tempted to sell them two rooms and drain them of their hard-earned crowns before they even find jobs here. He’s now thankful he isn’t showcasing his Wayfarer status. She’d insist on it if that was the case.

“One room for two big men,” she says with a laugh. “How about a little more space?” She clicks her tongue and frowns, trying to say something but it’s a little beyond reach. Risha watches and waits, digging his nails into his arm. “You know, the—” The word she tells him is not one he’s ever heard. She’s obviously not from Tol Covere itself; it should’ve been obvious to him that the Coveran Republic, like any other country, has dialects. He just pleasantly flew over that fact with his non-existent wings, thinking he was the master of all things Coveran.

Apparently fucking not. He can hear the giggle that Aeran thinks is oh so hidden.

“We’ll take it,” Risha says, trying his hardest to keep his voice even. Far be it from him to admit he’d made a miscalculation, even if he feels it burning him up from the inside.

The innkeeper grins. “Great!” she says, and stands up. She then calls for a boy with pointed ears to lead them upstairs. Risha wants to throttle him. He looks like the innkeeper far too much for his liking right now.

Fortunately for him, the boy is quick to leave after he shows them their room. Aeran watches behind him for a moment and shakes his head. “Your scowl must’ve scared him off, Ri,” he says with a humorous note in his voice.

“Shut up, Kellis. And don’t you dare laugh.”

“Am I laughing? No. I just find the situation mildly amusing.” Aeran pauses. “She swindled you, Ri. We’re gonna work extra hard now to earn the rent.”

“Then we work as hard as we fucking have to, Aeran!” Risha says, icily. Annoyance courses through his bloodstream and erupts on his fist; his knuckles connect sharply with the nearest wall. He almost regrets it, because when he turns to face Aeran again, he looks at him, startled. “I’m sorry,” Risha says quietly.

Once that initial bout of anger has passed, though, Risha can now look at what he’d gotten by mistake.

The room is bigger than usual. About half a room bigger than the usual ones they stay in. It still has one bed, but they’re not man-shaped sardines at least. He wants to make it into the situation’s one saving grace, but he’s not sure if he can do it yet. He drops his gear on the ground with a sharp thud, marching towards one of the two wooden chairs.

How much would they have had to pay if the innkeeper knew they were Wayfarers?

He thinks about the word she’d said, something he can’t even hope to pronounce right. Maybe wherever she’s from it means this, a room and a half, and maybe it’s common there. But she should’ve clarified. She should’ve explained.

But no. Risha fell for her trap and now they’re here, paying more than they need to.

“Hey, Ri,” Aeran suddenly says, placing a hand on Risha’s shoulder. When did he get there? “Mistakes happen, alright? As you said, we just work hard and pay it off. We’re good at our jobs. Don’t beat yourself over it.”

Risha exhales. Aeran’s hand is warm and firm and he feels him dig his fingers into Risha’s shoulder comfortingly. “It’s not about that, Aeran,” he says roughly. “You know what this is about.”

“Then you learn whichever word confuses you and don’t get swindled like this again,” Aeran replies, strangely gentle. Risha clings to that gentleness like a tether; whenever Aeran’s voice drops, just a little, he wants to hold onto it and never let go. To his injured pride, it’s a soothing balm.

But what if he spoke like that elsewhere? What if he spoke like that in bed, in the morning, what if a kiss accompanied it, what if? Risha’s mind swirls the longer Aeran’s hand stays on his shoulder, pressing comfortingly.

“You’re… You’re right,” Risha says at last. “I’ll just learn.”

Aeran huffs softly. “Precisely. Now since we have a big room, we can finally dine with a table and chairs like everyone else. One good thing about this.” He lets go of Risha and Risha wishes he wouldn’t have. That grip left an invisible burn mark he can’t shake off.

At least they can eat like everyone else now, even if it’s just for a little while.

#wayfarer #wayfarer if #wayfarer mc #inspo birb has come to town #risha sero #aeran kellis #clown car go honk <3 #love you eyris mwah #fluff #pining #idiots in love #my writing #wayfarer fanfic #wayfarer fic #fanfic

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ao3feed-wayfarer · 1 year ago

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by fqwise

This is a little collection of fics for the Wayfarer Week! It explores my four Wayfarers and how they interact with each other, mainly. Any individual warnings will be added with the fic in question.

Words: 697, Chapters: 1/6, Language: English

Fandoms: Wayfarer - Idrelle Games

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F, F/M

Characters: Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character(s), Original Non-Binary Character, Melchior Larkspur, Lyrian Blushrose, Amali Sero, Aeran Kellis, Sirin Tovar, Wayfarer (Wayfarer - Idrelle Games)

Relationships: Melchior Larkspur/Wayfarer, Original Character/Original Character

Additional Tags: Injury Recovery, Fluff, Romance, Angst, Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Parent-Child Relationship

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #wayfarer #wayfarer if #wayfarer fanfic #wayfarer fanfiction

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sadmushroomgoblin · 2 months ago

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Corbin watches the steam rise from his mug against the backdrop of the Fishbowl. Stars outside, plants and the mess of the Wayfarer inside. He’s only just back aboard, once again a GC citizen. It’s new and yet achingly familiar. He technically had been welcome in the Fishbowl before but he’d never felt drawn to it, if he’s being honest, he hadn’t felt like he belonged.

Now… he doesn’t want to be alone in his lab.

Kizzy is gleefully showing Rosemary something on her scrib that he’s sure he doesn’t want to know about. Before he’d have complained about how loud Kizzy is being, now there’s something oddly charming about how she sprawls across the sofa (and Rosemary) and laughs loudly. He’s pretty sure he will never want that kind of friendship with this crew but they are his family. He’s learnt that now. Rosemary catches his eye and she gives him a small nod. He gives one back. She’d made sure his lab had all the right equipment and his room was comfortable for his return but when he’d thanked her, she’d simply shrugged as if it was no big deal and welcomed him home.

He almost laughs as Sissix enters the room and places a hand on his shoulder in greeting. A year ago it would have been like a star imploding but she’d saved his life. Stars, she’d saved his life again and again and he’d learnt. He was a scientist, he knew how to iterate and adapt and he’d managed to pull his head out of his ass and find common ground with Sissix. They still weren’t close friends, but they were family. He had a feather in his room now. About six months into her sponsorship of him, one of her hatch-parents had died and he’d booked the first shuttle to Hashkath and packed her bags for her. He may have been an asshole but he wasn’t cruel. She had given him family when she could have let him die. He wasn’t going to let that kindness keep her from her family when she needed them and they needed her. They’d talked a lot after that, something about it had broken the remaining ice between them and they’d come to a better understanding.

He sips at his tea and watches the stars go by, the chatter as background noise. It’s a welcome relief to hear familiar, happy voices after that brief captivity. He shivers and pulls the blue blanket up around his shoulders. Sometimes he is sure that cold had settled permanently into his bones. His thoughts are interrupted by Dr. Chef’s loud laugh from the kitchen. He was teaching Jenks and Ashby how to cook some Grum specialty noone could pronounce. Jenks didn’t smile a lot now but Corbin caught the quiet sound of his laugh too. Jenks is healing. They all are, slowly but surely.

“May we- I join you?” a low voice from behind him pulls his attention.

Ohan. Corbin almost doesn’t recognise him. He looks healthy, bright eyes and full fur. Corbin swallows. He’s still not sure how Ohan feels about him after what he did, but this is a good sign. Corbin nods and Ohan settles in a puddle of limbs into the couch beside him. They don’t touch but it’s clear Ohan derives comfort from Corbin’s presence. That is still a strange concept. Corbin offers Ohan a spare blanket and the Sianat tilts his head for a moment before nodding. Awkwardly, Corbin drapes the blanket around Ohan’s shoulders and Ohan purs in clear comfort. They don’t say anything to each other as they sit there and that’s okay. They’re not looking for conversation, simply the reassurance that they are not alone. Noone has to be alone here. Not even him.

——————————

For the amazing @dragons-in-spaceee who requested something comforting!!! Hope you enjoyed

#wayfarer series #the wayfarer #the long way to a small angry planet #artis corbin #fanfic

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dirty-bear-rick-sanchez · 2 years ago

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Alien

Edit to the edit: Now with art from the wonderful @geetimesthree! Thank you so much for this! Please check out the rest of their art as well, it’s amazing!

Edit: copy and pasting from Google Docs fucks up the format so some lines were missing. Please excuse my shitty replacements lol.

This is a Birdrick fic I’ve been sitting on for a while because it got out of my control and I couldn’t figure out what direction I wanted to go with it. It’s set in the early Flesh Curtains days and draws a lot of inspiration from Becky Chambers’ Wayfarers series (which I would 100% recommend). It was originally intended to be a series of moments where Rick and Birdperson realise just how alien the other really is to them (with undertones of Birdrick) but it kind of mutated into something more. However, I’ve been so stuck with what do with it that I haven’t really touched it, so I’ve decided to post what I’ve got so far. There are inklings of a plot/potential future stuff developing but I can’t promise that anything more will come of it so this may end up being a oneshot. Anyway, let’s get on with it!

Summary: Birdperson looks close enough to human that Rick sometimes forgets he’s not only a member of another species, but one from an entirely different evolutionary timeline. Other times, however, the difference is undeniable. ~6.8k words

Warnings: ableism (both internalised and from others, including mentions of forced institutionalisation, mainly towards the end), both Rick and BP having derogatory inner thoughts, eating insects (why is this something that’s been a warning for multiple fics of mine lmao)

Birdperson looks close enough to human that Rick sometimes forgets he’s not only a member of another species, but one from an entirely different evolutionary timeline. Other times, however, the difference is undeniable.

One such time is when he offers to make Birdperson a coffee one morning shortly after the Flesh Curtains move in together.

“H-how do you take it? Milk, sugar?” he asks.

Birdperson looks at Rick in puzzlement. “Milk?”

“Uh, yeah, you know. It comes from mammary glands?”

“Is that not what mammals feed to their young?”

Rick blinks. “Well, I mean, yeah, originally, but most people have it in their coffee or cereal or, or whatever, even adults.”

Birdperson considers this for a minute. “Might I ask how you acquired human milk so far away from Earth?”

“What? No, this isn’t human milk. I-I don’t have breastmilk in my coffee!”

“So it’s artificial?” Birdperson asks with an air of relief.

“No, it’s real! It’s from shloopy-shlops.”

Birdperson looks vaguely sickened. “You consume the milk of other species?”

“Uh, yeah. You didn’t think it was from a human, did you?”

“Are you not disturbed by this? It must be a big change from what you’re used to on Earth.”

“Nah, this stuff is pretty similar to cows’ milk.”

“Cows?”

“Yeah, they’re-they’re a big herbivorous mammal we have on Earth. We use ‘em for their meat and milk.”

“Even on Earth you eat the mammary fluids of other animals?” Birdperson’s expression of disgust deepens.

“Uh, yeah?”

Birdperson takes a moment to steady himself. “Forgive me. I do not mean to judge your species, but this concept is sickening to me.”

Rick grins. “Now you know how I feel about eating bugs.”

Birdperson smiles, very subtly, but Rick catches it.

“So, no milk?” Rick asks.

For the first time since meeting Birdperson, Rick hears him actually laugh aloud. It’s more of a sharp exhale than anything else, but it sparks a giddy feeling in his chest all the same.

“No, I think I will go without it for now.”

———————————————————————

Rick sits at home, alone and bored. An hour or so earlier, Squanchy had retired to his room with explicit instructions not to disturb him for the next few hours and Birdperson had left to buy groceries. Birdperson had invited Rick along, but Rick had waved the offer off, not interested in braving the sensory overload of the markets on that particular day. However, he has since started to regret this choice, as Birdperson has been gone for some time, and Rick’s not making the mistake of interrupting Squanchy during his ‘me time’ again. As much as he hates to admit it, Rick struggles with being alone.

He gets up and paces restlessly over to the window. He tells himself he’s not going to sit and wait like a dog, but he can’t stop himself from looking outside anyway.

Pathetic. he scolds himself. You couldn’t bear to be alone, that’s why you moved in here. You want to tell yourself you’re still out hunting, but really you just can’t cope on your own, can you? I hope they get sick of you and leave, and then you’ll have to get back to actually looking for your daughter’s killer. Have you forgotten about that, you piece of shit?

His train of thought grinds to a halt as he catches sight of Birdperson approaching the apartment building, paper bags in his arms. Rick jumps at the opportunity to escape his thoughts and rushes out of the apartment and down the stairs.

He opens the front door to see Birdperson fumbling for his keys. The other man looks up in surprise.

“Hey, Pers.” Rick grins, leaning against the doorframe. “I saw you coming, thought you-you might want some help.” he holds his hands out and Birdperson passes him a bag. It’s heavier than he made it look and Rick struggles with it for a second. Birdperson raises an eyebrow - or rather, his equivalent of an eyebrow.

“Can you manage?” he asks.

“Yeah!” Rick insists, trying not to let on how heavy the bag actually is. His brain doesn’t help matters, distracting him with thoughts of how strong Birdperson must be and ideas of what else he could use that strength for.

“If you insist.” Birdperson replies in a tone that shows he’s not convinced. “Thank you.”

The two make their way back up to the apartment, Rick finding himself talking far too much about any inane topic he can think of. Thankfully, Birdperson doesn’t seem to mind.

“By the way, whatever you do, don’t go in Squanchy’s room until you’re sure it’s fine. Trust me.” Rick advises him. Birdperson nods seriously in response, knowing all too well what Rick means.

They tumble into the apartment and Rick dumps the bag on the kitchen table, spilling its contents everywhere. He spots a packet of cookies and tears it open, cramming one into his mouth. Among the groceries, he notices a container of bright-coloured red and orange fruit labelled with an unfamiliar script.

“Hey, Pers, what’re these?” he asks through a mouthful of food.

“It is a fruit from my homeworld. Cubba-sah.”

Rick attempts to repeat the word back to Birdperson, who nods at him and takes one.

“Would you like one? They’re sweet.” he offers.

“Lemme just check real quick.”

Rick fishes around in a drawer and pulls out a device of his own making to check if the fruit is suitable for human consumption. While more widespread species enjoy the safety of relatively common knowledge when it comes to what alien foods they can and can’t eat, humans are not so lucky. After all, very few of them have ever made it off Earth, and fewer still have met aliens, much less tried their foods. As such, Rick has to take his own measures to work out what is and isn’t safe for him.

He scans the fruit and the screen lights up green with the message ‘No known toxins’. Shrugging, he takes a fruit and pops it into his mouth.

A second later, Rick is aware of nothing except burning. A stinging sensation starts in his tongue and rises throughout his face, setting his skin ablaze as it goes. The pain is vaguely familiar to his unconscious mind and he grabs at the fridge, chugging down milk in hopes of relieving the sensation.

“Hot.” he gasps. His eyes and nose are streaming, blurring his vision. Through the tears, he can make out Birdperson’s form moving towards him.

“Rick, are you alright? Do you require assistance?” he asks urgently.

Rick shakes his head and takes another swig of the milk, wiping at his eyes.

“No, it’s fine, it’s just… Jesus, why didn’t you tell me it was spicy?”

Birdperson blinks. “I was not aware that you would perceive it as such. Are you entirely sure that you are not having an adverse reaction?”

Rick nods. “Yeah, because this makes it better.” he replies, raising the milk carton. “Fuck, it’s like eating my abuela’s cooking.”

Birdperson suddenly starts. “Ah.”

“What?”

“I… have just remembered something.” he seems uncharacteristically downtrodden. “On my home planet, there is a species of rodent we call sqoo rah lub. They are pests that invade supplies of grain and the like. To deter them, we use an extract of this fruit. It contains a compound that they find unpleasant, but that is harmless and undetectable to us. I believe the term for it in common is ‘capsaicin’.”

Rick chuckles. “Ah, that would explain it. So these,” he gestures to the fruit, “are basically peppers?”

“I am unfamiliar with this term.”

“Hang on.” Rick rummages through the cupboards until he finds a seasoning that’s roughly the alien equivalent of chilli powder. “Try this.”

He sprinkles some on Birdperson’s outstretched fingers. Birdperson raises them to his mouth and flicks out his tongue to lick the powder from them. Rick has to fight to keep his thoughts from wandering off into less appropriate areas. Birdperson smacks his lips.

“It is… very dry.”

“But not spicy? Or hot?”

“No, just a slightly sweet-tasting powder. You mean, to you, this causes pain?”

“Ah, pain’s a strong word. It’s kind of just like… a burn.”

Birdperson still does not look convinced.

“I have seen you use this on your own food before. Why do you own and consume something that causes a burning sensation for you?”

Rick shrugs. “It’s nice. Gives it a kick. A-and hey, like I said, I grew up on Abuela’s cooking, this is nothing in comparison.”

“I am afraid I still do not understand.”

“Oh man, if we ever visit Earth you totally have to try a ghost pepper.”

When Squanchy emerges from his solo session, Rick hounds him to try one of the cubba-sah. Squanchy sniffs it and instantly recoils with an expression that reminds Rick of a domestic cat.

“No way am I squanchin’ that! It smells like that stuff you put on your food!” he exclaims to Rick, backing away.

“I wonder if it is only mammals that experience this as spicy, or whether it is only my people who do not.” Birdperson ponders.

“See, you eating this I can understand because you don’t feel the burn, but him,” Squanchy points at Rick, “I just don’t get! How can you enjoy that pain?”

Rick grins. “It’s not painful, it’s just a nice kick.”

They continue to squabble playfully and, for the first time in a long time, Rick allows himself to relax into the happiness, rather than waiting for it to be snatched away.

———————————————————————

Living in what can only be described - in rather generous terms - as ‘a shithole’, Rick has long since become accustomed to pests. Slugs, some sort of small rodent, and, most recently, ants have all invaded their apartment and subsequently faded into just another part of the background noise. Therefore, it doesn’t come as a surprise to him to walk into the kitchen one morning to a colony of the insects on the floor.

What does catch him off guard, however, is the sight of Birdperson lying amongst them, wings spread out and lowered so that they’re touching the floor. Rick’s half-asleep brain takes a few moments to clock his bandmate at all, but once it does, it goes into overdrive, thinking his friend has passed out or worse. Before Rick can spiral too far, however, Birdperson tilts his head up to look at Rick.

“Good morning, Rick Sanchez.” he greets, using Rick’s full name in a way that never fails to make Rick melt a little inside.

“Uh… BP? What’re you doing?” Rick asks, his voice still rough with sleep.

“I am getting rid of parasites.” Birdperson responds simply, matter-of-fact as ever.

“…how?”

“It is a natural remedy used on my home planet. A compound produced by these ants helps to kill harmful microorganisms that reside in my feathers.”

“So this is… normal, in your culture?”

“In a sense, yes. Usually, I would use what my people call ‘kubba rub-oo’ - loosely translated, it would mean…” he trails off as he mentally translates the words “...‘feather-cleanse’ - but I have been unable to find anything suitable on this planet. The natural method is slightly old-fashioned, but effective.”

Rick stares blankly for a few seconds before accepting this information. “Cool. You want coffee?”

“Indeed.”

Rick brews coffee for the two of them, serving Birdperson’s with no milk - god knows they’d already been through that fiasco - and two sugars, just as he likes it. Birdperson remains on the floor as they drink their coffee in companionable silence.

Rick averts his eyes and decides not to comment when he sees Birdperson begin to pick ants from his feathers and pop them into his mouth. In a best case scenario, this could be an effective pest-control solution, but he’d rather not think about it too much. He sets the half-empty coffee mug on the table, unable to stomach the rest.

Birdperson doesn’t see Rick for the next few days, but assumes that the scientist has simply got himself wrapped up in a project. Since the Flesh Curtains are still struggling to book gigs, Rick’s absence doesn’t have a negative impact on the band, and it’s not unusual for Rick to disappear for days at a time, so Birdperson decides not to worry unless the other man doesn’t return soon.

That evening, Birdperson walks into his room to find a bottle of unidentified deep red liquid and a note on his bedside table. The handwriting is familiar to him from lyric writing sessions and blueprints scattered haphazardly around the apartment. He picks up the note and begins to read.

BP,

I looked some stuff up and the main ingredient of kubba rub-oo is formic acid, with some stabilisers and then scents added in. That’s what this is. I know you like grenaberry so that’s what the scent is. Hope it works.

-R

Birdperson sets down the note and smiles. He picks up the bottle and sees a spray lid, then tilts it to confirm the liquid’s water-like viscosity. Both of these match his expectations, and he trusts his friend’s abilities, so he extends a wing and cautiously gives it a single spritz. The smell is sweet, but with a distinct and familiar sour undercurrent. Satisfied, Birdperson sprays the rest of his wing, then the other, followed by his head-feathers. The liquid feels cool and pleasant on his feathers, and he lets it soak in for a few minutes before padding to the shower to rinse it off.

The steam amplifies the scents and Birdperson’s breath catches for a second as he’s hit with a pang of homesickness. At first, he’s confused at his own emotions - after all, the reason he left his home world in the first place was that he always felt like an outcast there - but quickly finds the feeling replaced with gratitude at Rick’s gesture. His friend has taken the time to listen to him, learn about his culture, and try to recreate part of it as a present for him.

Birdperson spends the rest of the shower bobbing between bittersweet memories and a newfound depth of affection for his bandmate. He flutters his wings to let the water flow through his feathers and wash away the oil.

Once he switches the water off, he stands with his wings outstretched for a few minutes, letting them dry. While he might use a towel for the rest of his body, feathers are always better to air dry.

As he exits the shower, he catches a glimpse of his outline in the steamed-up mirror and freezes. Something isn’t quite right about his appearance, and he can’t work out what until he shifts his weight slightly and sees a flash of dark pink at the edge of the mirror. Turning to look at his wings in disbelief, he realises Rick’s attempt at kubba rub-oo has dyed them. He wipes the condensation from the mirror to inspect his reflection more closely and finds that his head-feathers have also been discoloured. Being darker, the grenaberry hasn’t quite managed to turn them the same deep pink as his wings, but the colour difference is definitely noticeable. He even thinks his skin might be slightly pinker than usual.

Birdperson wraps a towel around his waist and exits the bathroom in pursuit of the living room, where he can hear Squanchy laughing as Rick protests.

“Oh, man, Rick, didn’t anyone ever tell you ‘don’t squanch too much or it’ll turn your palms red’?” Squanchy guffaws. “What were you even doing?”

“Sh-shut up! It was an experiment!”

As Birdperson rounds the corner, both Rick and Squanchy’s gazes turn to him simultaneously. The three stare at each other in silence for a moment before Squanchy cracks up. He chokes out what Birdperson assumes to be some sort of joke at his expense, but his laughter is so strong it renders his speech unintelligible.

Birdperson looks at Rick, expecting him to also be cackling, only to find the man staring at him intently, his cheeks pink in a way Birdperson doesn’t think has anything to do with the kubba rub-oo.

“Rick Sanchez?” he asks, and this seems to snap Rick out of his reverie.

“O-oh, hey, Pers.” Rick chuckles guiltily. “I see you found my… present.”

Birdperson nods. “Indeed.”

Rick raises his hands up as if in surrender, showing their red staining. “Sorry. I, uh, I guess I didn’t realise grenaberry would stain.”

“Rick Sanchez, you went out of your way to learn about and recreate something from my homeworld on my behalf. This was extremely kind of you.” he ignores Rick pretending to vomit at this and places a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

Rick freezes and looks away, his cheeks once again pink. “I-it was nothing. I couldn’t let you roll around on the floor with the ants, could I? A-anyway, I fucked it up.”

“I am very grateful.”

Rick mumbles something inaudible in response, still not making eye contact.

The three sit in each other’s company for a while, Squanchy chiming in regularly with yet another joke until eventually all of them are laughing about it.

After a while, Birdperson realises he should probably get dressed and excuses himself to his room. As he walks away, he hears Squanchy make a final comment to Rick that he doesn’t understand.

“Dude, you’ve got it bad.”

As it turns out, the staining on Birdperson’s wings lasts for quite a while. So long, in fact, that the Flesh Curtains have somehow managed to get themselves a gig before it starts to show any sign of fading.

“Man, Pers, at this rate you’re gonna be like that on the stage.” Rick teases him a few days before the show, lightly hitting Birdperson’s arm with the back of his hand. Birdperson has noticed a marked increase in Rick’s physical affection towards him lately.

“Don’t worry, I hear some people find it really hot!” Squanchy bursts out and Rick scowls at him. Birdperson is mildly confused by the interaction but brushes it off as Squanchy teasing him.

“Perhaps we should match.” Birdperson suggests, only half-joking.

“What, you think I should dye my hair?” Rick asks.

“I think it would suit you.”

Birdperson reaches out and fingers a lock of Rick’s hair, attempting to return the physical affection. Rick’s face turns red, as he’s seen it do before. Although blushing is a behaviour that’s present in his own species, he doesn’t want to assume that it means the same thing in humans, or indeed that it’s the same phenomenon at all. However, he can tell that Rick is embarrassed by it, so he enjoys trying to fluster him. Birdperson wouldn’t want to genuinely upset Rick, but he takes pleasure in teasing his friends, just as they do to each other. This sort of behaviour is not present in his culture, at least not as a means of expressing affection, but Birdperson finds that he likes it. Even though his homesickness seems to be returning more and more often these days, he finds himself continuously discovering new things that make him decide leaving was worth it.

Rick agrees to dye his hair surprisingly readily, although no amount of cajoling can convince Squanchy to colour even a small part of his fur, insisting that it’s the key to attracting partners. He pops an unidentified pill and situates himself on the sofa in front of some sort of porn while Rick and Birdperson retire to the bathroom.

Since his initial attempt at kubba rub-oo, Rick has made another sample, this time using a flower he claims to be remarkably similar to the vanilla orchid of Earth for scent instead. Although Birdperson has begun using this one, he has kept hold of the original as well, and he brings it out now in lieu of hair dye.

“Rick Sanchez, before we begin, are you certain that this is not harmful to your species?”

“Yeah, BP, it’s fine, trust me.”

Rick pulls his shirt off over his head and Birdperson finds himself regarding his friend’s bare chest with interest. He’s used to the hair on Rick’s head, since it’s similar to his own feathers, and used to the fur covering the whole of Squanchy’s body, but he always forgets that humans have hair on other parts of their bodies as well. Similarly, he finds nipples extremely intriguing - while he appears to have them, they’re actually little more than markings on his chest, some sort of evolutionary leftover, giving him an illusion of humanity. The idea of these markings being something more - something with a function, something that’s an erogenous zone - excites him in a way he’s not sure he wants to admit to, even to himself.

Rick leans his head forward over the sink and Birdperson sprays the liquid into his hair, admiring the way the deep red drops of liquid stand out against light blue strands.

“How long d’you think I should leave this in for?” Rick asks, his voice slightly reverberating as he speaks into the sink.

“I only left it for a few minutes. I am not sure if that will be sufficient for you or not.”

The floor of the shower is still stained red, and Birdperson wonders if they should’ve done this in there instead of giving the landlord something else to charge them for when they move out, but the sink is easier, and it’s too late to change their plans now.

After a few minutes, the two decide they’ve waited long enough and Birdperson switches on the tap, cupping his hands and pouring the water over Rick’s head to help him rinse the oil from his hair.

“Shampoo.” he hears Rick mumble from underneath his mass of wet hair, and passes the bottle into Rick’s outstretched hand. Mammals, he’s found, can generally all use the same sort of product to clean their hair, although when he tried it on a small area of his own feathers, it didn’t wash out properly, leaving clumps.

Rick lathers his head and Birdperson waits for him to finish before helping him wash it out. They repeat the process until the water running from Rick’s hair is clear.

Rick straightens up and flicks his hair back out of his face, before shaking his head and getting water everywhere, including on Birdperson. He grins at Birdperson cheekily, and Birdperson can’t help but find it charming. He passes Rick the towel quickly, hoping that the human won’t see his smile. He’s found that, although most species seem to struggle to read his emotions, Rick is unnervingly good at it, which Birdperson finds relieving and irritating in equal measure.

Rick roughly towels his hair dry, then flicks it out of his eyes so he can look at it in the mirror. It’s turned out more purple than pink, with some darker reddish streaks in places, but Rick grins anyway and Birdperson feels warmth rise in his stomach.

“I was right.” Birdperson murmurs.

“About what?” Rick asks.

“It does suit you.”

Rick’s face reddens once again and he fumbles with the towel, bringing it back up to his face in order to dry his hair. Birdperson frowns.

“Forgive me, Rick Sanchez, have I made you uncomfortable? I did not intend to.”

Rick freezes with the towel in front of his face for a few seconds before slowly lowering it.

“No, Pers, i-it’s fine. D-don’t worry about it.” Rick doesn’t seem to be telling the truth, but Birdperson doesn’t want to pry and risk making things worse. He stretches a wing out and holds it next to Rick’s head to compare the shades.

“We match now.” he says simply, and Rick grins at him. Birdperson feels his body relax as most of the tension rushes out, although a lingering worry remains. He never fit in on his home planet, didn’t understand social norms or have any friends there. While befriending aliens gives him a fair amount of leeway when it comes to social mishaps, he still feels the familiar fear of rejection sitting uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. Rick and Squanchy are the closest friends he’s ever had, and while Squanchy is fairly straightforward and easygoing, he’s all too aware of Rick’s mercurial nature, as well as the suffering that comes with being his enemy.

Besides, Birdperson feels an unusual attachment to Rick, in a way that’s markedly different to his friendship with Squanchy. Part of him knows exactly what it is, but he’s not quite ready to put a name to the feeling. His culture regards naming as a form of cage and, while he might agree with Rick’s perspective on that particular idea for the most part, he’s all too aware of the tendency labelling things has to make them far too real. Names are powerful things, and giving one to this feeling will tie him down in a way that he’s not prepared to commit to yet.

On the morning of the gig, Birdperson walks into the kitchen and is hit by an overwhelming chemical smell. His first thought is that there’s some sort of gas leak, either in their building or nearby. When he sees Rick sitting calmly at the table, he tries to still his panicked thoughts. Rick turns around to face him with a grin.

“Hey Pers! What do you think?” Rick stretches out a hand for Birdperson to inspect. His claws - nails, Birdperson corrects himself - are black and shiny, and he can see a bottle containing a liquid of similar appearance on the table.

“What is this?” Birdperson asks.

“Nail polish. You-you never heard of it?”

“My species does not have nails.”

Rick rolls his eyes in mock exasperation. “You don’t paint your claws? Or-or talons, or whatever?”

Birdperson shakes his head. “No. What is the purpose?”

“It’s like makeup. Or like dyeing your hair.” he gestures to his hair and Birdperson’s wings.

“A form of self-expression?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

Birdperson sits at the table and picks up the bottle, inspecting it.

“You wanna do the other hand?” Rick holds out his left hand, and Birdperson sees that the nails there are still plain.

“I… do not know how.”

“It’s easy! Just grab the brush and smear some on.” Rick pulls the cap off to reveal a brush, then hands it to Birdperson and stretches his hand out again. Hesitantly, Birdperson takes Rick’s hand in his own. He’s not sure if this is acceptable and glances up at Rick’s face to check. The other man is blushing faintly, but looks expectant. Birdperson adjusts his grip so that he’s only holding one of Rick’s fingers and begins daubing nail polish onto the nail. He’s not sure how much is required, so he puts on one coat and then looks over at Rick’s other hand to see if the two are close enough.

“Is… this acceptable?” he asks.

“Yeah! It’s great!”

Birdperson feels reassured and paints the remaining nails, starting to relax into the simple domesticity of the moment and the exciting yet grounding feeling of touch. Once he’s done, he pulls back uncertainly.

“What now?” he asks.

“Now, we wait for it to dry.”

Birdperson gets up and washes his hands, just to be safe. After all, this is an unfamiliar substance, and he doesn’t want to take any unnecessary risks. Once they’re dry, he opens the fridge and pulls out a tub of grenaberries, holding them up to Rick and finding himself rewarded with a laugh.

As he sits down and begins eating, Rick leans back his head and opens his mouth. Birdperson stares for a second and then smirks.

“Are you a youngling?” he teases.

“Come on, Pers, I can’t eat when my nails are still wet. Feed me!”

“My people feed our young by regurgitating partially-digested food into their mouths. Is that what you wish for me to do?”

Rick kicks him playfully under the table. Birdperson takes a berry and holds it out just in front of Rick’s mouth in jest. Rick responds by leaning forwards and wrapping his lips around Birdperson’s fingers to eat the berry, pulling back with a shit-eating grin on his face as he chews. For once, Birdperson is the one who’s flustered. Now he understands how he must make Rick feel with his teasing.

“You are a cub rah bah, Rick Sanchez.” he admonishes. He’s fairly sure Rick doesn’t know what that means, but the other man cackles anyway, making Birdperson’s heart flutter in his chest.

Once again, Rick holds his mouth open expectantly and Birdperson feeds him another berry, then eats one himself. They continue in this manner for a while, until Birdperson is sure that the substance on Rick’s nails must have dried by now, but he finds himself putting another berry into Rick’s mouth regardless.

The gig goes reasonably well - for them, anyway - and they’re in high spirits as they walk backstage. Squanchy almost immediately makes off in search of a woman he claims to have been ‘giving him the look’ for the duration of the show, leaving Rick and Birdperson alone together.

Rick begins his typical excited post-gig breakdown, listing their successes and complimenting Birdperson’s performance while his hands bounce in front of his chest and his fingers dance. Birdperson suspects that this might not be a behaviour that’s typical for humans based on the way he’s seen Rick react when he catches himself doing it, with the kind of shame that only comes from having an intrinsic part of yourself suppressed. Birdperson, always an outcast on his home planet, understands this feeling intensely, and so tries not to draw attention to Rick’s behaviour, even though he finds it adorable.

“A-and, you know, we looked great while we were doing it!” Rick concludes in that half-joking, half-cocky way of his, indicating their dyed hair and feathers.

High on post-performance euphoria, Birdperson is filled with an uncharacteristic boldness and steps forward into Rick’s personal space, gently taking a lock of hair between his fingers.

“Yes, you did.”

Rick’s face turns redder than Birdperson has ever seen. Birdperson revels in the feeling of soft hair and their closeness to each other. He can see Rick staring at his lips and, without even meaning to, finds himself leaning in.

Apparently Rick feels the same way because the next minute they’re kissing, Rick’s lips surprisingly soft against his. Birdperson can taste the bitterness of the beer Rick had drunk before the show, smell the lingering hint of grenaberry on his hair.

When they pull back, both of them are breathing heavily. Birdperson is overwhelmed by a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Judging by Rick’s face, he appears to be experiencing a similar set of emotions.

“Rick.” Birdperson begins, but before he can put his thoughts into words, he’s interrupted by the sudden appearance of a stranger.

They both jolt backwards from each other, caught in the act. Fortunately, the stranger doesn’t seem to notice. Xe’s a member of the predominant species on this planet, a scaly six-legged reptile, with a hard grey shell-like structure on xyr back, coming up to just below Birdperson’s waist.

“Hey, I’m Taub, best agent this side of Messier 31. I’ve got clients touring across all six major systems in this quadrant, and I think you guys showed some real promise tonight. If you sign with me, I’ll get you gigs all across the galaxy. So, how about it? You boys looking for an agent?”

Rick and Birdperson glance at each other conspiratorially, their kiss forgotten.

With Taub, the Flesh Curtains finally have a steady set of gigs for the first time in their existence. More than that, they have an actual tour. Taub has just sent across the list of locations and all three band members are sitting around the table, poring over it with interest.

“Oh, man, just listen to some of these places. Alpha-Betrium, Venzenulon-9, not to mention all of our home planets!” Rick exclaims.

“You know, I wasn’t too sure about Taub at first, but xe’s really out-squanched xyrself with this.” Squanchy comments.

“And that’s not all! Check it out, boys!” Rick tears open a package to reveal black fabric. “T-shirts, motherfuckers!”

“Ooh yeah, gimme!” Squanchy reaches for it excitedly, checking out the illustration of the three of them on the front, then the list of tour locations on the back.

While their drummer is preoccupied, Rick turns to Birdperson.

“Whaddya think, Pers. P-pretty cool, right?” he asks, and Birdperson can detect a hint of nervousness in his smile. Things have been slightly awkward between the two of them since their kiss, but they’ve been busy with the band now that things are moving forward, meaning that neither of them have brought it up. Birdperson wants to, but he keeps worrying that he’s reading too much into things or misinterpreting yet another cultural difference.

“Extremely cool.” he replies, placing his hand on Rick’s in what he hopes is a reassuring way. The other man blushes and pulls his hand back, and Birdperson is more confused than ever. He opens his mouth to apologise but Rick catches his eye and gives a subtle shake of his head.

“Don’t.” he mouths, his eyes flicking to Squanchy, who’s still distracted by the shirt, rubbing it against his face with an orgasmic expression. Birdperson doesn’t understand the situation, but the instructions are clear enough, so he drops it, not wanting to make things worse.

Rick paces up and down the floor of their rented tour ship, trying and failing to avoid thinking about a number of things.

Firstly, things have been awkward between him and Birdperson ever since they kissed backstage, and while he knows he’s not helping matters, he can’t bring himself to say anything to Birdperson and risk having his heart broken or making things even more awkward, especially not while they’re on their way to their first gig of the tour, on his own home planet no less.

That brings him to the second issue. He hasn’t been back to Earth since before he met Birdperson and Squanchy, and he can’t deny the anxiety that sparks in the pit of his stomach at the thought of returning, despite knowing that their performance won’t bring them anywhere near his house. Rick’s hands alternately flap and curl into fists at his sides in response, and right there is his third issue.

He’s known his entire life that he’s not like most other people, and not just in the sense that he’s smarter than them. More specifically, he’s not like other humans, a fact that neither his parents nor his classmates had ever let him forget growing up. In response, he had used his incredible intellect and pattern-recognition skills to learn how to fit in around others. It had worked so well that he had adopted the mask almost full-time, only dropping it around a very select few people, all of whom are now dead.

However, since most aliens have never met a human, let alone have any idea of how they’re supposed to behave, he’s fallen out of the habit of hiding his oddities lately. He’s had enough interspecies culture shock just with the other members of the Flesh Curtains, let alone aliens who are gobsmacked by behaviours such as blinking and laughing, that he’s long since decided to just do whatever the fuck he wants. However, it turns out that, like a too-tight shoe, once you take the mask off, it’s very hard to put back on. Although he’s not planning on spending too much time around other humans, he’s still nervous at the thought of being very openly weird in front of them.

“Rick?” a voice from behind him breaks his spiral of anxiety and he snaps his hands guiltily to his sides as he turns to face Birdperson. Birdperson only recently seems to have realised he doesn’t need to use Rick’s full name every time, and Rick finds it almost unbearably intimate.

“Are you alright?” Birdperson asks.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine!” Rick knows instantly that Birdperson doesn’t believe him. While with anyone else he would double down on the lie, something about this man in particular manages to break through his defences. “Pers? C-can I… tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“I, um… I’m not like other humans. There’s, there’s something… wrong with me. I don’t know what it is, but I could get by, especially once I left Earth and nobody knew if I was acting normal for a human or not, but you’re about to meet other humans for the first time and…” Rick trails off, not sure if he’s trying to hold back from admitting too much or building himself up to say it. Either way, the truth slips out. “I’m worried about what you’ll think of me once you realise how weird I am.”

Rick keeps his eyes fixed on the ground, fighting tears he wasn’t expecting. This is something he’s never told another person except Diane, and he wasn’t prepared for the emotions it’s stirring up.

“Rick.” Birdperson places a hand on his shoulder. “On my planet, I am also, as you might say, a weirdo. Until I met Squanchy, I had never had a friend. He told me there is a word for it in common, ‘autistic’.”

At first, Rick had found himself feeling relieved and connected to Birdperson, but hearing that final word makes something in him snap.

“I’m not fucking autistic.” he hears himself growl, his heart pounding in fear as he thinks of a cousin he had been told his whole life had died as a baby until one fateful argument with his dad had revealed that she had been sent away to an asylum for ‘the severely disturbed’, the place his dad had told Rick he should’ve been sent to. Rick feels a hot, sick rage bubbling up his throat, his body trembling with adrenaline.

“Rick.” Birdperson’s calm and concerned voice snaps him back to reality.

“I’m not autistic.” Rick repeats, his voice shaking.

“Forgive me. I do not know what this means on Earth. I had not heard of this word until I left my planet. I merely wished to reassure you that I will not think you weird, no matter how different you are to other humans.”

A sob forces its way from Rick’s mouth, and he can’t believe he’s crying in front of Birdperson, but he can’t help himself. He feels Birdperson wrap his arms around him and clings to him tightly, sobbing against the other man’s bare chest.

“It is OK, Rick. I am here. I will not leave.” Birdperson reassures him.

Rick fights to calm himself and steady his breathing. Eventually, he manages to stop crying, quickly wiping tears and snot from his face. He can’t bring himself to look at Birdperson.

“Come.” Birdperson instructs, gently but firmly, guiding Rick with an arm around his shoulders. Rick allows himself to be led to a bed, wrapping the blankets around his entire body like a cocoon.

“Rick… I am sorry that I have upset you. It was not my intention.”

Rick sniffles and shakes his head. “I-it’s not your fault, Pers.” he mumbles. “It just… that word brought up some bad memories for me, that’s all.”

He feels Birdperson rest a hand on his arm and continues. “On Earth, people like me - like us - if people find out that’s what we are, they… they get sent away.”

“Sent away… from Earth?”

“No, just to another place on Earth. A… a bad place. If I hadn’t been smart, that’s where they would’ve sent me, too.”

“Are you in danger of this if we return to Earth?” Birdperson asks in concern.

Rick shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. They wouldn’t do that to me now. They couldn’t, even if they tried. But it happened to… to my cousin. I didn’t find out until I was older. My dad told me about it. He said it’s what should’ve happened to me.”

Rick feels Birdperson squeeze his arm.

“My father was not supportive of me being different, either. I always felt as if I had to prove myself to him, but he was never happy with me, no matter what I did. I knew I was a source of shame to him.”

Rick lets out a humourless laugh and leans to rest his head against Birdperson’s shoulder. “Sounds like we both had shitty dads.”

“Indeed.”

Birdperson wraps both an arm and a wing around Rick and rests his chin on Rick’s head. Even through his distress, Rick feels a rush of warmth in his abdomen at the gesture.

“Do not worry, Rick. Even if anybody tried to harm you, I would not let them.”

Rick’s never felt so protected, and that’s the moment when he knows that his feelings for Birdperson are far beyond just a simple crush. He swears to himself that he won’t lose Birdperson, even if it means they’ll never be more than friends. Now, more so than ever, he resolves not to bring up the kiss in fear that it might jeopardise their relationship.

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