Debrief: After a year of dating Rus Livingston, you’re thrilled when he returns from his mission to Mars. But something’s… off. He’s sweeter, more attentive, but also strangely awkward. You laugh it off as post-space weirdness.
Case Notes: based on skits by @danielcropley on TikTok.
You’d been pacing the apartment for an hour, checking your phone, adjusting the throw pillows, trying not to cry as you stared at the clock. His flight had landed. He was on his way. After months of long distance silence, broken transmissions, and worrying every night if he’d even make it back to Earth— you were finally going to see him.
The knock on the door nearly made you trip over yourself in your rush to open it.
“Rus!” you squealed, throwing the door wide and flinging yourself at him, “Baby! How was Mars? I missed you!”
He stood there smiling big, almost too big, as you went for the hug. But instead of catching you in his arms like he always did, he stepped back. Just a tiny shuffle. Enough that you froze mid-step, awkwardly dropping your hands.
“The trip?” he said, his voice warm but… stilted. “I survived it. And I missed you too, you… hairless monkey.”
Then you laughed, half in disbelief, half because you didn’t know how else to react, “Hairless monkey? God, Mars really scrambled your brain, huh?”
His grin didn’t falter, though his eyes darted over your face like he was cataloguing every flicker of your expression, “It’s a term of endearment. Don’t humans enjoy those?”
Something about the way he said “humans” made your stomach twist. But you shook it off. He’d been on another planet. He’d been through God knows what. You weren’t going to nitpick the first thing out of his mouth.
“Well, you’re lucky you’re cute,” you teased, tugging him by the sleeve into the apartment, “Because that is not going on the list of acceptable pet names.”
“I’ll… update my list,” he said, carefully stepping over the threshold like he’d never been here before. His eyes swept the room as though it was brand new lingering on your bookshelf, the couch, the mug left on the coffee table.
You slid your arms around his waist again, determined this time not to let him slip away. He stiffened for half a second, then relaxed, his hands finding your back like he’d practiced the motion before.
“See?” you murmured into his chest, “You didn’t forget how to hug after all.”
There was a pause. Then, softly, almost wonderingly, “No. I don’t think I’ll ever forget this.”
The daycare van dropped your golden retriever, Jupiter, off right outside the building. He bounded up the stairs ahead of you, tail wagging so hard his whole back half shook. You smiled, Jupe always lost his mind when Rus came home from a trip. He’d probably knock him flat.
You unlocked the apartment door, calling out, “We’re home!”
Rus looked up from the couch, bright eyed, and for some reason stood to attention like he was greeting a guest, “Oh, I didn’t realize we had company! Hello!” he said cheerfully, giving a little wave.
You blinked, then snorted, “Babe, it’s Jupe. Our dog.”
The retriever barreled straight to him, launching forward with paws on his thighs, tongue lolling, and panting. Rus froze as the dog’s tongue dragged wetly across his hand, then up his forearm.
His smile faltered. His whole body stiffened. Slowly, he turned his head toward you, voice low and grave, “I think this creature intends to eat me.”
You broke into helpless laughter, “Eat you? He’s giving you kisses!”
Rus’s brow furrowed so deeply he looked pained,“Kisses?”
“Yeah.” You crossed the room, scratching Jupiter behind the ears, “Dog kisses. That’s what it’s called when he licks you like that.”
He stared at you like you’d just told him the sky was green. His gaze flicked from the dog, panting happily at his feet, back up to your face.
“…That is what you call kissing? But when you kiss me—” He faltered, pressing his lips together like he was replaying every kiss in his head? “That is not the same thing. Not remotely.”
You covered your mouth, trying to stifle a laugh, “Well, obviously. You really think I kiss like that?” You mimed Jupiter’s slurping tongue just to mess with him.
He didn’t laugh. If anything, he looked horrified, “You’re telling me you allow this creature to… slobber on you, and you like it?”
You gave him a puzzled smile, still petting Jupiter, “I mean… yeah? It’s just what dogs do. He loves us.”
Rus— or whoever he was these days— watched the dog, eyes narrowed, as if he was trying to reconcile an impossible truth. Finally, he said slowly, almost like it was a revelation:
“…I do not understand. But if it makes you happy, then… I will tolerate the kisses.”
You grinned and kissed his cheek, whispering, “Good. Because you’re not getting out of dog-parent duty that easily.”
He touched the spot on his cheek where your lips had been, still looking baffled, like he was filing away this kiss for comparison against the dog’s.
You came home with groceries, humming to yourself as you unlocked the door, “Babe, I’m home—”
Because there in the middle of the living room stood Rus— except he was holding Jupiter under his front legs, hoisted up at eye level. His mouth was wide open, teeth bared, like he was about to bite down on him.
“…What are you doing?” you asked, voice somewhere between horrified and exasperated.
Rus didn’t even flinch. His eyes were wide, serious, “It’s got a taste for my flesh. I must consume him first.”
You dropped your bag of groceries on the counter, staring. “I— what?”
“I saw through its lies,” he declared, lowering Jupiter an inch like he was showing you evidence, “You told me these were ‘kisses.’ Lies. Clever camouflage. But I am not fooled. This beast intends to devour me piece by piece. I will outmaneuver him. I will eat him first.”
Your jaw dropped, “You’re joking.”
He blinked at you. Then, very slowly, set Jupiter down, “Of course I am joking. I will obviously cook him first. I am not a savage— UNHAND ME.”
The last words came out in a yelp as Jupiter immediately jumped back up, paws on his chest, tail wagging like he was thrilled to be part of whatever game this was.
Rus stumbled back, flailing, “It returns! The beast cannot be contained!”
You pressed both hands over your face, laughing so hard you nearly cried, “Oh my god, Rus, he’s a dog! He’s not trying to eat you, he’s trying to love you!”
“Then why does it keep attempting to smother me with its saliva?” Rus demanded, holding Jupiter’s snout at arm’s length, bewildered and a little panicked.
“Because,” you managed between giggles, “he’s happy you’re home. He loves you.”
Rus’s eyes flicked between the dog’s panting face and yours, confusion still plain, but he finally sighed in defeat. “…I remain unconvinced.”
But when Jupiter licked his chin again, Rus didn’t put him down right away.
You were folding laundry on the bed when he appeared in the doorway, towel slung over his shoulder like he’d just showered. His expression was serious, the kind of serious that usually meant there was a problem. You were sure for a few moments that Rus would be back to his normal self to complain about something. You were half right.
“I believe there is an issue with the drinking fountain in the bathroom,” he said gravely.
You paused mid-fold, “…The what?”
“The drinking fountain.” He gestured vaguely toward the hall, “The one that sits low to the ground. The water tastes disgusting.”
For a second, your brain short-circuited. Then it hit you. Your eyes went wide, “Oh my god, Rus— please tell me you didn’t—”
He blinked at you, confused, “What? I watched the beast drink from it and assumed it was for communal use. The water flow seemed… accessible.”
You dropped the shirt in your hands, half horrified, half hysterical with laughter, “That’s not a drinking fountain! That’s the toilet!”
His brow furrowed, deep lines carving across his forehead, “Impossible. Toilets are for… waste. Not hydration.”
“EXACTLY,” you said, throwing your hands in the air. “Oh my god, how do you forget what a toilet is? You had one on the Mars ship, didn’t you?”
He shifted uncomfortably, clearly scrambling, “Yes. Of course. Naturally. I was merely… testing the durability of your plumbing. With my mouth.”
You buried your face in the laundry pile, laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe, “You’re gonna kill me one of these days. First the dog, now this— what is happening to you?”
“I…” He hesitated, looking almost vulnerable for a moment, “Mars was… very disorienting.”
You groaned, still laughing as you got up to shove him back toward the bathroom, “Okay, new rule. No more drinking out of anything in the apartment unless I hand it to you in a glass.”
“Agreed,” he said solemnly, and then added under his breath, “Though I maintain the beast should not be allowed exclusive access to the better fountain.”
It had been a week since Rus came back, and you still couldn’t put your finger on it. He was… different. Not bad different, just odd. Sweeter, sure. More affectionate. But every so often, he’d say something that made you stare at him like he’d just dropped out of the sky all over again.
Tonight, you were curled up on the couch together, his arm around your shoulders. He’d been unusually quiet, eyes darting to you like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how. Finally, you broke the silence.
“You’ve been acting really weird lately.” You tilted your head up at him, half teasing, half serious, “Like… not bad weird, just… weird.”
His brows furrowed, and then he nodded slowly, as though carefully selecting the right words,
“It’s because I… missed you… sooo much…” He dragged out the syllables, watching your face intently. “…and I’m attracted to you. And your… butt.”
You blinked at him. Then burst out laughing, “My butt? That’s the big reveal?”
“Yes,” he said gravely, then added a second later, “It’s very… buoyant.”
You buried your face in his shirt, still giggling, “Oh my god, you’re ridiculous. Mars certainly made you funnier.”
He shifted a little, clearing his throat like he was working up to something. His voice came out slow, stilted again, “Why don’t you show me one of them… teats. Girl.”
You froze. Then pulled back just far enough to look at him, wide eyed,“…What?”
“Either one,” he said quickly, this time in his normal cadence, even sounding a little hopeful, “I’m not fussy.”
You stared at him for a long beat, then dissolved into uncontrollable laughter, clutching your stomach, “Rus, you cannot just ask like that! Oh my god, who even says ‘teats’?!”
His face softened into a sheepish smile, but his eyes were bright, almost eager, like he was proud of himself for trying, “So… not the right word?”
“Not unless you want me to die laughing every time we have sex,” you said, wiping at your eyes, not that he’d even tried to engage with you since he’d gotten back, “God, Mars really did a number on you.”
But when you kissed him a moment later, his lips were careful, almost reverent, and that weirdness of his, the fumbling sweetness, the awkward phrases, made your chest ache in a way that he never had before.
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