#small snippet

“You know I love the chase, dear one.” Ari can feel his green tongue trail from the base of their neck to their ear. “You’d really think I’d just leave after the tension you created on the way here?” The forks gently wrap around the bottom of their tunnel gauge, tugging.

Ari’s breath softly escapes their lips. “You’re being such a bad clown, Harlequin. I didn’t say you could come inside.”

“I seem to recall you not asking before you put my finger in that warm mouth of yours. I’m just returning the favor.~” Harley releases one of Ari’s hands to caress the front of their neck.

In a surge of anger, Ari bites Harlequin’s hand hard and flips around as he recoils from the pain. They clutched Harley’s collar and pulled his face inches from theirs, eyes searing into his. “I deserve to be desired even for a hookup! You’re only allowed to fuck me if you are actually attracted to me, NOT for some stupid game of yours!” 

Harlequin’s blood coated Ari’s lip, venom dripping off their tongue, but there was something else, too. Harley’s eyes widened slightly. He didn’t know this little human had a violent side to them. It was… amusing.

Harlequin seized Ari’s left hand and pressed it against his groin. Wrapping his other arm around their waist, making them unable to escape. “I have been throbbing since you pressed your big tits against my arm and gave me that cocky smile of yours. You said you needed relief since your hips hurt, but I could tell you wanted me to notice. How you used the friction of my arm to pull your shirt down. The way your eyes focused intently on my reaction.” Harley’s tongue darted out, tasting his drying blood on Ari’s lips before kissing them.

Alex glances at Nigel, who is covered in blood. Who did he kill this time? he thinks.

The blood on his shirt and wrists is dripping to the ground in slow drops.

And Nigel is holding a bundle in his arms, tightly pressing it toward his chest.

That’s when Alex sees the tears streaming down his face.

“What is it, Nigel?” Alex asks, afraid of what could have caused Nigel to let out such emotion.

Nigel doesn’t answer him, there is no hint of his mocking smiles nor does he try to get a rise of Alex.

“He shot him,” whispered Nigel, looking at Alex with devastated blue eyes.

The eyes are so blue. They are wide, glassy, and completely hollowed out by grief.

Alex’s gaze drops from Nigel’s face to the bundle in his arms. The dark fur is matted with thick, fresh blood. 

It’s Luther. 

The dog’s body is already growing heavy and still.

“Nigel…” Alex steps forward, his voice cracking. He looks down at the floor and notices the metal tray Nigel must have brought from his room. A sterile scalpel, surgical thread, and gauze are scattered on the floor, all soaked in crimson. 

Nigel had tried to perform surgery. He had tried to dig the bullet out, desperately trying to use his skills to save the only thing he loved, but his hands—usually so steady—must have failed him.

“I tried to fix it,” Nigel chokes out, his chest heaving as he presses the lifeless dog closer to his chest, staining his shirt further. “I could have fixed it. But he just… he just pulled the trigger. He smiled, Alex. He smiled when he did it.”

For the first time since they met, Nigel looks small. He looks like a little boy broken by his father’s cruelty.

Alex doesn't think about the blood, or the rules, or the danger. He just moves. He closes the distance between them and wraps his arms around Nigel’s shaking shoulders. Nigel doesn’t pull away.

He buries his face into Alex’s neck, letting out a sharp, ragged breath that sounds dangerously close to a sob. 

Alex holds him tightly, anchoring him to the earth, wishing he could wash the blood and the horror away.

Later that night... 

The dormitory is silent, bathed in the cold, pale moonlight filtering through the window. Alex stirs in his sleep, a restless feeling pulling him awake. He glances across the room toward Nigel’s bed.

Nigel is curled onto his side, facing the wall. He is finally washed clean of the blood, but he isn't asleep. His shoulders are rigid, completely tense in the dark. 

As Alex adjusts his eyes to the dark, he sees what Nigel is holding. It isn't a childhood toy. It is Luther.

Nigel hadn't buried him. Instead, he had spent the grueling hours of the evening using his cold, meticulous taxidermy skills to stitch his companion back together—preserving him so he would never have to leave.

In the faint, silver moonlight cutting across the bedsheets, Alex can see the neat, tight rows of black thread binding the dark fur where the bullet had torn through. It is a hauntingly perfect piece of work, completed with a frantic, desperate precision. 

Now, Nigel is curled on his side, clutching the stiff, stuffed form of the dog fiercely against his chest, right where his heart is. He holds onto the preserved body as if it’s a lifeline, keeping him from slipping completely into the dark.

Alex watches him in the quiet night, his own heart aching, realizing that Nigel’s soul isn’t cold—it’s just bleeding.

Unable to leave Nigel alone with his ghosts, Alex quietly slips out from under his own covers. The cold floor bites at his bare feet, but he ignores it, crossing the room with silent, deliberate steps.

He stops at the edge of Nigel's bed. Nigel doesn't move, but his breathing hitches, signaling he knows Alex is there.

Without a word, Alex lifts the edge of the blanket and slips into the small bed beside him. Nigel stiffens, but he doesn't push him away. Alex lies down, pressing his chest against Nigel’s back, and wraps an arm securely around Nigel’s waist. 

His hand comes to rest just over Nigel’s trembling fingers, which are still locked tight around the taxidermied dog.

Alex pulls him close, sharing his warmth, anchoring Nigel's shaking frame against his own.

"I'm here," Alex whispers into the quiet space between them, his voice barely a breath.

"I'm right here, Nigel."