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Otabek spends most of the day with his eyes closed, sprawled out across the thickest branch he can find. It’s almost always the same branch—the only exception being when one of the others has stunk it up—because he’s the biggest of the lot, and not all the trees can support him. Very little of that weight is fat, and sometimes he wonders just how he’s managed to retain such large muscles when all he does is eat and nap. It’s not like there’s anything else to do in his tiny exhibit. He vaguely remembers being little and darting from tree to tree, catching stray branches with his tail and dragging his whole body up by it, but that was a lifetime ago. He probably couldn’t survive in the wild now. He doesn’t have the fur pelt of an animal-binturong, but hunters would still come for him. Humans don’t respect his kind any more.
Humans mill about beyond the thin chain-link, pointing and occasionally throwing seeds at him. Sometimes the little ones complain, tugging at their elders and whining that he doesn’t do anything. But he doesn’t exist for their entertainment. He doesn’t enjoy performing for them like Georgi or Mila. So he lays still anyway, trying vainly to enjoy the warmth of the sun.
The first time he moves all day is at the faint tug of a familiar scent. Otabek’s furry ears twitch amidst his dark hair, one eye peeking open. He knows who it is before he looks. An attractive male human, tall and broad and strangely similar to Otabek all the way to his black undercut, wanders up to the barrier. He shoots Otabek a broad, toothy grin, and Otabek grunts on instinct. He tries not to respond to humans, but this one rattles it out of him. Jean-Jacques Leroy leans forward and asks, like addressing an equal, “How’s it going?”
Otabek wrinkles his nose. Not because he doesn’t want to answer, but because he has a poor one. Jean-Jacques’ wide grin flitters away, and he looks over his shoulder, checking that there’s no one listening, before muttering, “I heard the zoo’s downsizing again.” Otabek can’t help his wince.
The patrons aren’t supposed to know that. But Jean-Jacques is more than that, Otabek’s learned, or at least, could be more—he’s wealthy enough to visit Otabek frequently and bring him the rare, organic fruits of his home, not the tasteless, pesticide-ridden knockoffs his handlers give him. Jean-Jacques’ hands are empty today, but his company’s enough. As obnoxious as he can be—and all the other binturongs Otabek knows think that of him—he’s the only one that sees beyond the ears and tail. Most of the patrons don’t even seem to realize that he understands their language. Jean-Jacques even offered to bring him a jacket once last winter, but Otabek had to explain that the handlers would never let him wear anything but the plain black jumpers they all have—apparently, it would ‘confuse’ the patrons.
Jean-Jacques seems to know that Otabek’s silence is just his way, not a lack of understanding, and he clicks his tongue and mumbles quietly, “I’m sorry.” Otabek shrugs his shoulders and adjusts his grip on the branch, cheek digging into the rough wood. He doesn’t like to think about it. The place is small enough as it is. It’s hard enough to hide from prying eyes as it is. And they’re already trying to huddle him against Mila in the hopes he’ll breed her enough as it is. His tail wraps tighter around his perch, channeling his tension.
He wants Jean-Jacques to talk about more pleasant things, like what’s happening out there, but it’s not his way to pester, so instead he just stares blandly to the side.
Then Jean-Jacques asks, “Can you come a little closer?” Otabek’s eyes dart to him, narrowing, and Jean-Jacques gestures forward, checking over his shoulder again, but the area’s still clear. The closest group of people is knotted over by the tiger cage, where a young blond with a taut tail is snapping at the patrons, putting on a good show even if he doesn’t mean to. He amuses Otabek sometimes, but the rest of the tigers are too loud and stink. The monkey cage, around the back of the binturong exhibit, is even worse.
Jean-Jacques smells of oak and maple, and Otabek pushes himself up for it, meandering forward along the branch. It droops with his weight but takes it, until he’s as close to the barrier as he can get—close enough that Jean-Jacques can stick an arm through the metal diamonds and scratch behind his ears like he’s one of the cats. He’s not even close, but he likes it anyway. Only for Jean-Jacques would he come this close. Jean-Jacques grins smugly, like he knows that and is too proud of it, but Otabek doesn’t care. He relaxes again, tail firmly secured back around the base of the branch, while Jean-Jacques strokes through his hair.
Then he realizes he’s started purring like a female ready to breed, and he makes himself stop with a heated blush. He’s been trapped with the others too long. He’s not social enough for this.
He still enjoys Jean-Jacques’ voice as it rolls over him, asking quietly: “Would you like to come home with me?”
Otabek stiffens and glances over. Jean-Jacques’ grin is noticeably forced now, but he rolls right on: “I was talking to the director, and he was worried they can’t keep all of you. So they’re considering selling off some of the... animals... to private collectors.”
The mere thought makes Otabek’s blood run cold, and he wonders which animals the staff mean—what do they consider the sentient ones? But then, Otabek wouldn’t be surprised if he was ruled as mindless as the four-legged beasts that really can’t do more than eat and sleep.
Jean-Jacques would let him do more. Jean-Jacques wouldn’t encourage him to mount Mila in front of him or let patrons poke him through the bars. But Jean-Jacques’ still human, a private one that Otabek’s never seen beyond this one bubble, so he asks suspiciously, “What’s your place like?”
Jean-Jacques grins from the mere sound of Otabek’s voice, just like he always does. He boasts, “Like a palace. But you won’t care about that. What you will care about is that there’s a small forest on my property, and I only say small because the part on my lot is nothing compared to the wilderness around it, but it’s bigger than here.” Otabek hums at the idea, while Jean-Jacques gestures above his head. “And there’s a towering oak tree that comes right up outside my bedroom window, sturdy enough to hold even your big butt.” He winks like it’s funny. Otabek doesn’t get Jean-Jacques’ sense of humour. But he isn’t offended like the others might be, and he focuses instead on the thought of actually having different trees to choose from. Jean-Jacques reaches back to scratch the nape of his neck, and Otabek leans into it, humming appreciatively.
He finally asks: “Why?”
“I like the way you smell,” Jean-Jacques says, like it’s that easy. Another wink. Otabek doesn’t show on his face that he’s flattered. He wonders idly if Jean-Jacques has trouble getting people-people to like him, and that’s why he has to turn to the animal variety.
But then, Otabek doesn’t care about that. Jean-Jacques presses on, “I researched what it would take—you know I don’t do anything small. There’s already plenty of fruit on my property, but I’d get you more, and you could hunt any of the small game there. And if you want to come back and visit any of the others, you could hop in my car and we’d come on back any time.”
Otabek’s never been in a car. Or at least, not that he remembers. He must’ve been when he was brought here. He’s never been inside anything human besides the zoo’s care center. He wonders vaguely what sort of place humans sleep in—that’s something he never gets to see.
“You could even come in when you want,” Jean-Jacques offers, like he’s read Otabek’s simple mind. “We could watch movies, play video games...” He trails off, but it’s enough. Otabek’s fighting to keep his eyes from widening. He could do human things.
Or he could just sleep in the sun without humans staring at him, and that’d be just as nice.
There’d be Jean-Jacques. But he likes the way Jean-Jacques smells, too.
He likes the ease, the confidence, the blunt honesty that Jean-Jacques has—he always knows where he stands. Jean-Jacques doesn’t sugar code debasement like the handlers do. Maybe he could wear the shiny black jacket that Jean-Jacques has on right now, and he could watch Jean-Jacques laze around for once, and maybe see what all the fuss of watching other species is about.
Rather than all of that, he grunts, “Fine.”
Jean-Jacques smiles like he’s been handed the whole damn zoo and every fruit in the place. Then he withdraws his hand to kiss his fingers, and he presses those back against Otabek’s cheek. Otabek wonders, not for the first time, what it’d be like to kiss a human, but the chain-link’s in the way of that.
Jean-Jacques tells him, “I’ll get on it right now.” And then he’s jogging off, and Otabek shuts his eyes to dream of climbing a maple tree.