Archive of Our Own

In the days following the admission of their heart's true feelings to Wayne and the start of their new relationship, Dedusmuln was in contact with their university, asking approval (as well as funding and supplies) for an expedition to the south coast of Mocetul. They were genuinely unsure if they would receive it, considering they had basically just finished another one, not to mention that hylanthropology isn't their usual area of focus. How fortunate, then, that the department chair had taken an interest in this bold new direction their research was going in. In short order they found themself, to their giddy delight, set to depart the New Muldul archipelago in only a few weeks.

Needless to say, there was a lot going on in their life right then.

... There were two things going on. But they were two very big things.

It didn't take long for them to start fretting over how those two things were going to interact. Now, they were quite confident he wouldn't take offense to being left alone for a while. But... they would miss him, and he might miss them too. Away on this rocky little island way up north, studying a monument made in his kind's image, and they wouldn't even—

"I'll go with you."

They looked up from their breakfast burrito. Wayne stared back at them; something about his typical blank expression suggested that he was very serious.

"Um. Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

It was a silly question and they knew it. Regardless, the abruptness of it aside... maybe it wasn't the worst suggestion in the world. They had traveled with him before without any issue, and his presence would mean additional protection from Mocetul's fairly aggressive wildlife. If they didn't have a good reason to bar him from coming, then... Ah, wait a minute.

"Are you truly able to do this? It's quite the length of time to be away from home. You don't have any other, you know, obligations during that time?"

He thought it over.

And he concluded, "I better talk to Old Wayne."

The next day they came to the Waynehouse, where he was waiting. He took their hand and led them to the roof. (They felt a little awkward about so conspicuously strolling across the training grounds like that, but the others didn't so much as glance their way. They had known already that Waynefolk were naturals at minding their own business; they just hadn't expected it to this degree.) At the top, Old Wayne looked down at the star protégé(e) and the recent visitor, and if he had felt an iota of surprise, he did not betray it.

He gave his permission, in return only asking Wayne to devote more time to mentoring the others prior to his departure.

They thanked him. There was just one more thing Dedusmuln wanted to know...

"Has... has this ever happened before? I mean, a Wayne with another...?"

"It is uncommon, although not unheard of," he answered, understanding their implied question. "The limiting factor is as much the infrequency of our romantic inclinations, as it is the insularity of our community. The chance for others to develop a mutual interest in us does not often occur."

"They don't know what they're missing," they told him earnestly. And he laughed.

Since then, between their studies and his training, there was precious little time for them to spend together. Oh, they met for lunch and dinner when they were able, which was always lovely, but it never felt like enough. The Waynehouse stands just a scenic walk away from New Muldul, and still Wayne seemed so unbearably distant.

At least they could talk over the phone; it couldn't bridge the gap, but it took the edge off.

"I just wanted to hear your voice," he told Dedusmuln the first time he called.

They chuckled bashfully at that. "Well then, what would you like to hear me say?"

"I dunno. Anything's good."

"Anything at all? Um... Gosh, I don't know. All of a sudden I... just don't know what to say."

"You like talking about your research, right?"

"You're okay with listening to that?"

"Yeah, why not?"

So they did. "You know, for all the artifacts we've uncovered, there is still so much for us to learn about pre-hylic peoples. Even things as basic as, what were their values and beliefs, and what did their day-to-day lives look like? How did they handle the transition into the Hylic Age—if they had even been around for it? For that matter, could any of us possibly count among their descendant species? From the record we've constructed thus far, we can..."

As often as not, that was how these conversations went: them rambling on about archaeology, him saying very little, if anything. They never minded his silence. Just knowing he was there on the other end of the line was a comfort.

After all the longing and heartache the both of them endure in these lonely days, when divine providence grants them the whole of tonight to spend together, they take it happily.

So what if neither of them have the energy left to do anything more than hang out in Dedusmuln's apartment? They get settled in on the couch, Wayne takes their portable screen and starts playing a movie they've never heard of, and thus begins their date night.

Right after sitting down, he puts his arm around them, his bare hand resting on their shoulder. It stays there the whole time, which is not, in the slightest, lost on them. The movie itself turns out to be an over-the-top whirlwind of acrobatics and combat, trying to... not so much grab the viewer's attention as suplex it twenty feet into the air or whatever. Yet they find their thoughts drifting continually back to Wayne. Which isn't to say this is an unusual state of affairs lately, but it's different this time. He is, and this cannot be stressed enough, right there.

Every so often they shift closer against him, or reach up to touch his hand. And each time, no matter how engrossed or vacant (frankly, they're not quite sure which) he seems to be, he responds, holding them closer or curling his fingers into theirs. Each time a little spark of pure bliss in their heart. All of it more than they ever dared to hope for.

Between this and the movie's breakneck pacing, the time passes easily. It doesn't feel like long until the credits roll.

"Ah, that's all, then," says Dedusmuln, snapping the lights back on.

"Yep." Wayne stirs in his seat and stretches, replacing his arm on their shoulders afterward. "I had a good time."

"Really? I think you dozed off twice."

"That doesn't mean I didn't enjoy myself."

"Mm, I suppose..."

"Didn't you?"

"Me? Well, I was certainly entertained... although I must say, the fight scenes were just outlandish."

"Yeah, that's the whole point—"

"I know that's the crux of the genre, but I mean, really. Why were they literally flying through this incredibly active volcano as they gestured at each other?"

The shadow of a smile hovers around his mouth. "Uh, because it was sick? I don't understand the question."

"Ridiculous," they scoff in mock annoyance.

No response, though he gives their shoulder a fond rub. And when they see him actually smiling, they can't even pretend to be annoyed.

Quietly they tell him, "You were my favorite part of the experience anyway."

"Mm."

He turns himself to them, his hand pressing on their back, gentle but insistent; bemused, they allow him to pull them closer, until—oh, he means to embrace them. Oh.

They settle into his arms, holding him as well, resting their face on his broad horn. He nestles his cheek against them, his breath slow and content. Despite the stillness of the moment, they can't quite seem to get their heart rate to decelerate. The contact of their bodies is so... it's so much. It's warm and immediate and real, yet at the same time, it somehow seems unimaginable.

God, they can't believe their luck, they really can't. That both of them went for years without having any romantic interest in each other, or anyone else for that matter, and—... Well, they probably shouldn't say that; they don't know that for sure about him. He could've pined after them that whole time and they would absolutely believe they had been simply none the wiser. Heck, he might well have been just as oblivious to his own feelings, which makes it all the more incredible that they're in each other's arms now...

At this point they emerge from their dreamy haze long enough to ask him, "What do you want to do now?"

Again he hums in response. Presumably, he's thinking about it... but he only remains silent, so maybe he doesn't have any ideas after all. Oh well, they certainly wouldn't mind staying like this for a while.

... Except he does open his mouth.

"Do you think we can kiss?"

Dedusmuln all but jumps out of his arms, the tips of their horns gone stiff. "I'm sorry??"

"I..." His voice falters, and he only stares at them, perhaps almost as shocked as they are. Then his speech returns to him all at once. "I mean—like—what I mean is, do you think it's like, physically possible. Just hypothetically speaking. Like, you know? What I mean?"

"Um... w-well..." For all the words he just said, hardly any have actually reached them.

"Forget it actually; I was just kidding. I don't know why I said—like, wow, did I say that?"

"I, uh..." He wants to kiss them? He wants to kiss them???

"Ha, I must be, still asleep? I guess? I hope??"

"Wayne, I—!" they exclaim, having finally gotten a clue that he might be taking their reaction the wrong way. "It's okay. I'm sorry; I was just surprised. I-it's just that you... that I..." They let out a shaky laugh. "God, I dunno. I like you so much that I kinda feel... nervous, I guess. I mean, through no fault of your own, naturally. Ugh, this is coming out all wrong..."

"No, I get it."

It dawns on them that he may be as nervous as they are. He just happens to show it a different way, if at all. "It's okay," they repeat, taking his hand. "And, um... to answer your question... Y-you know, I'm not, really sure. I mean, maybe. But I can't, uh... assess the distance, very precisely."

"Oh."

"But, in the interest of scientific inquiry, we could..." They pause to swallow around the lump in their throat. Just because they want it too... weirdly doesn't make it any easier to say. "We could always... investigate empirically."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Wayne regards them silently, and nods. He leans in, and so do they. Though their lips fail to meet by quite a bit, the mere contact of his face against their horns sends a shiver through their body.

"Mm. Didn't think that would work. But you can, like, manipulate your face-horns, right?"

"Yes. Well, as long as they cover my eyes at the very least. So, um, here..."

They shift their horns to expose more of their lower face; he tries again, to no avail.

"Hm." He looks away as he pulls back, perhaps disappointed.

"W-well, we can keep trying. Maybe if I move my horns like this..."

The two of them give it a few more attempts, Dedusmuln adjusting their horns and Wayne even angling his head in different ways. They have the faint nagging thought that, objectively speaking, this is incredibly awkward, plus there's probably a better way to go about this anyway. But they can't bring themself to care one bit about that. What is presently much more interesting is just how determined he is to get his mouth on theirs. What would it be like if he succeeds...? How would it feel to have their lover so close, to indulge in the softness of his lips? The thought hadn't crossed their mind before, and now it is all they can think about—to the extent that they're able to think clearly about anything at all.

Once again he falls short, his rigid horns an obstacle. He huffs in frustration before he moves away, the warmth of his breath against their mouth intoxicating them further.

"My head's getting in the way, isn't it."

"I think we almost had it..." Dimly they wonder if their voice really is as distant as it sounds to themself.

He regards them without responding (how stunning his dusk eyes! How radiant his serene countenance!) and prepares to try one more time, sitting up taller and taking their chin in his hand. After a brief moment of consideration, he tilts their head and moves in.

This time he makes it.

Instantly the sensation floods their every nerve. All they can perceive is his lips, his breath, his warmth; the rest of the world seems to fall away—and there's the oddest feeling that they're falling with it...

Consciousness trickles into them in rivulets.

They stare at their ceiling without seeing it, eyes blinking heavily behind their horns. As their senses approach their usual levels of function, their gaze happens to trail downward, onto themself lying on the couch, a blanket draped carefully over them.

It takes some time for this to register as unusual.

Once it does they blink again, this time to really wake themself up. When... when did they fall asleep to begin with? And on this blasted couch, no less: all prior data indicates quite conclusively that they just can't get a good rest on the thing. Besides that, weren't they... doing something before this...? They were with Wayne... Yes, he's here. Isn't he?

They try to look around for answers but they've barely turned their head when they start at the sight of a large, scowling figure looming over them—oh. Hold on.

A second too late, they recognize the nearby person sitting on the ottoman as Pongorma. Even with their shock rapidly fading, they're not having the easiest time believing what they're seeing. Why on earth would he have come into their home, unannounced, wearing an old sweater and lacking his helmet? That last bit is key. He is so rarely seen without the chitin helmet that is both an emblem of a valiant knight and a mask for a face set into a permanent frown by the emotive conditioning from his military days.

His gold eyes, made all the more striking by inky black sclera, bore down into them—though not for long. They're redirected up past the couch before Dedusmuln can even get an apologetic word out, and he says only, "They're awake."

"Oh, thank god," is Somsnosa's reply—she's here too?

As she comes into view (and she's also dressed down: sans headgear and poncho, instead in sweatpants, a hoodie, and a faded T-shirt depicting, as they've recently learned, some video game thing that probably dates her with embarrassing precision), Pongorma turns his attention back to Dedusmuln. "How do you feel?"

"Fine...?" they answer, which is the truth, a great deal of confusion notwithstanding. "What happened? Where... where's Wayne?"

"You had been unconscious for some time, after..." He trails off, eyes flicking uncertainly to Somsnosa, before admitting, "I'm, still not entirely sure."

Just as hesitant, she says, "I think he mentioned something about, uh... like, his venomous saliva...?"

"That's what I heard, but, frankly I didn't think it sounded right."

"Yeah, we've all shared food loads of times before."

"What?" Dedusmuln cuts in, already lost, as they sit up. "What are you talking—... Who said that?"

"Oh, Wayne did," says Somsnosa. "He called me after you passed out. He... uhhh..." She looks at Pongorma. "I dunno, should we tell them?"

"Let us spare the details."

She nods and addresses them again. "He was freaking out pretty bad. I've, uh, never seen him like that before."

"Really? Because I fainted?" they ask, though they're well aware she wouldn't lie about something like this. It's just hard to imagine. They can't imagine it, in fact.

"He was under the impression that he had killed you," Pongorma explains.

"Killed me...? But... erm, then my body would have dissolved," is the first point they think to bring up, out of the many others they could have chosen.

She shrugs. "It slipped his mind, I guess."

And he adds, "Such was the extent of his panic."

"Really...?"

"Hence also why we couldn't ascertain the circumstances of your fainting. He was unable to articulate them."

That final sentence has them frowning, the weight of the matter sank in. It sounds like they missed something quite dire indeed. ... Well, obviously; the entire reason it happened is because they were unconscious...

"Hey, so, what did happen, anyway?" Somsnosa asks them, cutting off their train of thought.

"Good question... The last thing I remember is watching a movie with Wayne."

"Then a scene from the film triggered it, perhaps," suggests Pongorma.

"No, we finished it, I'm sure. But after that, I don't..."

They trail off, shifting their focus to the scene replaying in their head. The two of them had discussed the movie briefly, and then they hugged, and then he said...

"O-Oh." Their cheeks flush from the memory. Quietly they admit, "We, uh, kissed."

"You did?" gasps Somsnosa, clapping in delight.

Even Pongorma nods and agrees, "Nice."

"Haha, yes..." What happened after that, though? They just can't remember any—

Oh, since that was when they passed out, wasn't it? And then he... oh, no.

With all the pieces put together, they're filled with alarm. They pull the blanket off of them and turn sharply to the others. "Oh, I've really made a hash of it now. Where is Wayne?"

"He's, uh, in your room," she answers, slightly confused. "It's just that..."

"After we had conveyed to him the nature of his misunderstanding, his reaction was to sequester himself away."

That doesn't sound good at all. Dedusmuln says, "I think I'd better go see what's going on," and gets off the couch to go find him. Right away they are stopped.

"Hang on though—" begins Somsnosa.

Pongorma also says, "He must be in a poor mood—"

"—he's not letting anyone in."

"Well—then again, that was some time ago. He may have improved."

"I dunno if he'd still be in there if—"

"N-nevertheless," they interrupt, "I'll check on him. If he truly needs more space, then naturally he'll have it."

Their friends exchange glances. Sensing no objection, Somsnosa shrugs and says, "All right, I guess."

They make their way briskly down the hall to their bedroom door and give it a soft knock.

"Wayne?"

There's no reply. They crack the door open and peek inside.

Wayne is lying prone on the bed, at an odd angle, his head not even resting on the pillow. In spite of that, he seems to have fallen asleep, judging from his breathing. He might have actually tired himself out, they suppose, if his reaction really was as strong as the others said it was. Poor thing.

For a moment they hover in the doorway, wondering if it would be better to let him rest. But... he'd probably want to know they're okay, right? If his reaction was that bad. And, well, they do want to try to talk to him... They decide to give it a shot; like they said, they can just leave if that's what he wants.

They come closer, closing the door softly behind themself, and sit on the edge of the bed. "Wayne?" they say again, and he starts just slightly. "I'm sorry to wake you, but I thought you'd like to know that I'm all right now."

He grunts in reply.

"How are you doing?" they ask gently.

"Pretty bad."

Well, at least he can be honest with them. "Yeah. I understand. Do you want to talk about it?" No response. "Or would you rather be alone right now? Or, um, I can stay without speaking to you. Would that help?"

He remains silent. Perhaps speech is currently beyond his ability, it occurs to them. They're about to try a different approach when at last he does speak.

"It was so... immense. Unthinkable. You were with me a second ago... then..." He pauses to gather his strength. "I knew I needed to stay calm, but the panic... took me. Could barely even call her. Or tell them what happened."

They lay a hand on his back, to comfort him as well as themself. What agony he must have experienced.

Remorse tinges his voice as he continues, "I only wanted to... I thought it would be nice."

"It was nice, Wayne," they reassure him. "Haha, I only passed out because I wasn't prepared for how nice it was going to be. You see, in the moment I forgot that the way I process certain sensory information—..." They catch themself before they go on for too long. It's not really about them right now, is it? "Well, maybe this isn't the time. What I'm trying to say is that it's not your fault. Um—I mean, a-assuming that that's one of your concerns. I probably shouldn't... um..." Oh dear, there's no saving this one. They can only hope they haven't bungled this too badly.

But all he says is, "You mean it?"

"Yes, of course." They don't exactly know what he's referring to, but they're fine with just saying that. Sincerity comes easily to them.

"So... we're still friends, and everything?"

"Yes. We are." The question strikes them as telling. "Did you fear that we wouldn't be?"

"... I don't know. I guess so. I did hurt you."

"No, not at all, in fact. I'm up and about now with no lasting effects," they tell him, with a casual shrug, not that he could see it. "It's as if I'd merely taken a nap, nothing more. Even if you had harmed me in some way, I still don't think it would be right for me to blame you. I know you didn't mean to. And you did the right thing, I think, calling for assistance."

He doesn't reply, only sighing heavily into the bed after a few moments.

"Is there something else bothering you?"

The silence continues. They should wait for him to answer, they think. He doesn't seem given to a lot of introspection, and it must take some time for him to voice his thoughts. Wordlessly they lie down next to him, folding their hands on themself, and stare up at the ceiling.

Soon enough, he says, "Why did I do that...?"

"Hm? Do what, kiss me?" He says nothing. They hazard another guess: "Or, have a panic attack?"

That one is met with an affirmative grunt.

"Well, I shouldn't say anything for certain, but... you know, it's like you said. You were thinking you'd share a nice little moment with your partner, and then, something terrible happened."

"Nothing gets to me."

"I know... but you're allowed to... to have feelings. No matter what you have or haven't felt before in the past."

"... You think?"

"Yeah."

He falls quiet again. They hope he's feeling a little better by now. Listening to the unhurried rhythm of his breathing, they would like to think he is.

And as the minutes pass in silence, Dedusmuln comes to realize that, in spite of the subject at hand and the circumstances that brought them both to it, right now they're... actually quite content. Just to be with him, even while doing absolutely nothing of note. They could lie here for hours, in perfect stillness, and not tire of simply basking in his presence...

"Wayne..." they murmur, almost unthinkingly, so lost in bliss are they.

"Mm?"

They long to tell him of the love welling in their heart... but even if they were able to put it into words, they know it's not the right time. The pragmatic part of themself even tells them that it would be too hasty anyway. So instead they try something more measured. "Um, thank you. For taking care of me. I know that... that it was a lot, that I had put on you so suddenly. And I'm sorry for that. But you did all you could for me, and I really appreciate it."

God, that sounded so stilted. Not that they ever considered themself a brilliant poet or anything of the sort, but still. They lie there in vague embarrassment.

Without a word, Wayne pushes himself up to a half-sitting position and drags himself closer, keeping his face angled away from their view. Then he lays himself down again, this time resting his head gently on their chest. And as if the idea just occurred to him, he curls an arm around them too, as best as he can from his position—it's all quite awkward, yet terribly sweet. Surely he must be able to hear their heart racing, feel their body warming as their fondness for him floods their every vein.

And it takes a second but they do remember, oh yes, they can respond in kind. They try to hold him as well, one hand on his back but the other arm pinned, and they decide this would probably be easier for both of them if they just sit up. "You know what, here, why don't we just..." they mumble as they pull him up. He still avoids eye contact; they respect that, bringing him close without making him look at them. He is tense in their arms, and he hugs them tightly, perhaps remembering how it felt to have lost them. Bit by bit he comes to relax while they rub slow, calming circles on his back and hold him for as long as he needs.

When they part, he doesn't try to hide his face again. They don't think they've ever seen him quite so fatigued, which is saying something about someone who greets death with a transcendentally resigned expression. But he does sound a little less burdened as he says, "Thank you."

"Anytime." They reach over and stroke the side of his head; he closes his eyes at the touch. "I'm here for you. All of your friends are."

Appropriately, there's a knock at the door. It cracks open and Somsnosa calls out from behind it, "Hey, how you doin'?"

"Better, I think," says Dedusmuln.

"Cool, cool. Come out and join us whenever you're ready. Uhhh, Pongorma made tea. They really want us to try it, I think."

"Tea?" they ask doubtfully. The word does not suggest a pleasant experience to most hylic beings.

Her reply is just as uncertain; the shrug is almost audible in her voice. "Yeah... they swear it's good."

"Well, all right. We'll be out soon."

"Okay." The door closes.

They turn to Wayne. "What do you think? Would you like to join the others?"

It wouldn't surprise them if he said no. The panic attack must have drained him greatly; he still looks so tired (though... well, he always kind of looks like that). But he does nod his agreement and say, "Think I better wash up first."

"Sure," they say with a smile.

The bathroom is just outside the bedroom door. And even there, they can hear Pongorma's voice resonating over from the dining area.

"Heat is everything; a sustained high temperature is key to unlocking the depths of flavor..."

They pause to take Wayne's hand for a moment. "Take your time."

"... delay the pouring of the kettle's contents after removing it from the heat source."

He clasps their hand with both of his, giving it a fond squeeze before he lets go and clicks the door shut.

"The temperature of the recipient vessels, that they may not appreciably cool the water..."

At the table, they find Pongorma and Somsnosa already sitting, as well as four mugs, each with hot water and a packet of tea inside, set neatly in front of each seat.

"... a scant few of the factors that set this apart from the insipid swill you have been misguided to believe is real tea. Ah, perfect, have a seat," Pongorma says when they've noticed Dedusmuln's approach. "The tea is ready. You may drink."

Dedusmuln pulls out a chair and sits, glancing at Somsnosa; she regards her mug with a fair bit of skepticism. They pick up their own mug, still steaming, and blow gently on the tea's surface, while she takes a tentative sip.

"Well?" says Pongorma.

Her brow furrows. "I dunno. I'm not impressed."

"What."

"Yeah, I'm not getting any... Like, it's just kinda, hot, and bitter, and that's it. Like me eight years ago." (Dedusmuln stifles a laugh as they're cooling their tea.)

"You can't be serious."

"Yeah, you're right, I wasn't that hot back then. Smokin' now, though."

They give up on her. "Dedusmuln, my friend. Scholar and appreciator of ancient arts. What say you on these lost tea-brewing traditions?"

Dedusmuln takes a careful sip. "Hmmmm. It's all right."

"All right," Pongorma repeats faintly.

"Yes, it's quite strongly herbaceous. An interesting flavor, but probably not for me, I'm afraid."

The old knight crosses their arms and sighs through their nose, their face a defeated grimace. "We of Yiithorn have always been culinary radicals."

At this, Somsnosa glances at Dedusmuln with her eyebrows raised but remains judiciously silent.

And they'd be lying if they said they don't find this funny, but they also feel bad enough to try to lift their friend's spirits a bit. "Well, if nothing else, we can thank your city-state for the ingenious technique of preserving noodles in brick form."

"Hm." That seems to have placated Pongorma, If their tiny nod is anything to go by.

Dedusmuln goes on, "So, um, does this tea have a medicinal effect of some sort?"

"Not to my knowledge, why?"

"Ah, I was just wondering... If you were in such a hurry that you had to leave without your usual accoutrements, yet you did bother to stop and get these tea packets, then they must have been—well, I assume, that they were brought with some purpose in mind."

"... Actually, yes, it had slipped my mind, but tea does have a calming—"

Unable to keep quiet any longer, Somsnosa cuts in, "How long have you been walking around with tea stuffed in your pockets, just waiting for your chance to inflict this grass broth on all of us?"

Pongorma is silent. They look away towards the sound of the bathroom door opening. "Wayne, I'm pleased to see you well," they call, over Somsnosa snickering, to the latecomer emerging from around the corner. "Come. Partake of the forgotten alchemy."

"Sure."

She turns in her seat to greet him as well. "Hey, Wayne. You good?"

"Yeah." He sits down next to Dedusmuln, who gives his shoulder an affectionate squeeze, and he looks into his mug as he speaks. "Thanks for coming. And sorry that I..."

"Nah, don't worry about it," Somsnosa tells him.

"There's no need to apologize," Pongorma says at nearly the same time.

"Yeah, we're just glad you're both okay."

"Mm." Wayne takes a sip, and he muses, "I have good friends."

"So do we, you know," says Dedusmuln, warmth suffusing their words.

Somsnosa agrees, "Damn right."

She pats his other shoulder; Pongorma nods to him. And he smiles.

He drinks from his cup again, afterwards regarding the liquid inside with a sudden look of vague bemusement. "Hey, so, what are we drinking, again?"

Dedusmuln says, "Oh, it's just tea."

"Really? That can't be right. This is actually, like, good."

"Finally, a person of culture," Pongorma exclaims.

"Okay, let's not say anything we can't take back," Somsnosa says, though not without smiling.

"Nope, too late," says Wayne. "I'm posh now; pop your collars, plebs."

That gets everyone laughing, the mood of the room lightening considerably. At some point during the nonsensical meandering banter that follows, Somsnosa's and Dedusmuln's mugs of tea find their way into the hands of the other two, which works out for everyone. Pongorma certainly seems the happiest, already planning some kind of tea-related gathering at the Waynehouse—and they're quick to entice the tea skeptics at the table with promises of various snacks and pastries that would be present as well.

Eventually, a lull in the conversation has Dedusmuln taking the opportunity to clear the air about the events of the night. "Well then, I suppose I ought to explain to you all what it is that caused my lapse of consciousness."

"Sure, if you wanna," Somsnosa says.

"So, the gist of it is that extreme sensory stimulation, even if it's as brief as tenths of seconds, can provoke certain effects in my physiology, sometimes as severe as syncope, in order to manage the overflow sensory input." They happen to notice her muttering something¹ in Pongorma's direction. "What did you say?"

"Nothing."

Her impeccable straight face and the way Pongorma glances away with a hand covering his mouth leads them to think it was not, in fact, nothing. But they elect not to press the matter.

"Anyway, this sort of thing is actually common to the whole of my species, owing to our rather unusual collection of sense organs. You see, we do process sight, smell, and taste in... similar ways that you all do, with highly analogous facial structures involved in these functions as well. The issue here is that they are hellaciously sensitive, the eyes especially: using them in, you know, typical, everyday conditions results in nothing less than debilitating pain. So naturally, the solution we have been granted is not a dulling of our senses to usable levels but, instead, a pair of massive cephalic appendages with which to shield our faces." They look around the table at the baffled expressions staring back at them, and they laugh. "Isn't nature beautiful?"

"Wait, wait, wait, wait," Somsnosa starts off, holding up her hands. "So you have eyes, but your horns block your vision, but, you can see anyway...?"

"Well, by means of a hyperactive visual cortex and an array of more exotic sensory receptors that... um... I, don't quite remember the exact science behind it, but... in effect, yes."

"No offense, but what the hell?"

Dedusmuln laughs again.

Then Pongorma interjects, "But—but how can you stand to eat? Is that why you never chew your food?"

"What?? You don't chew?" says Somsnosa, in that heightened pitch of voice of someone who has learned too much in too short a span of time.

"Oh, haha, someone finally noticed. Yeah, I just don't have the right dentition for it."

"Cool," is her weak reply.

"As for eating in general, well, I've... oversimplified a bit, actually. Relatively speaking, taste is—I mean, strictly as in the perception of certain chemicals in foods—taste is somewhat more reasonably handled by our systems. What's more important is, um, temperature, sometimes texture, things like that.

"Oh, and then there are also—um, broadly speaking now—sundry other factors that can raise or lower the threshold of syncope, emotional states especially. And there's a great deal of variance between individuals as well. I'm actually more sensitive than most, though this is my first time straight up fainting in a long while." Somsnosa and Pongorma exchange meaningful glances. "Don't think I didn't see that."

"See what?"

"So, uh..." Wayne speaks up before they can point any additional fingers at her. "So that's literally what your face-horns are for?"

"Yes, that is their biological purpose."

"Hm. Weird," he remarks, casual as ever. "I like them."

"Oh, you—you do?"

"Yeah," he says as if it's obvious. He reaches over and runs a hand down one of them—

"Ah—! Um—" the tips of their horns are trembling when Dedusmuln takes his hand from them— "m-maybe when we, don't have company, yes?"

"Oh, okay."

Pongorma politely keeps his attention on his mug while Somsnosa shoots them a small but knowing grin. That Dedusmuln hasn't actually let go of their partner surely does not escape her notice.

But they don't expect what she does next. "Okay then, all's well that ends well, right everyone?" she announces, standing up. "It's probably about time for Pongorma and I to take off."

Still seated, he looks up at her. "It is?"

"Yeah, you wanted to, uh, watch some more Chopped, right?"

"Well, I suppose..."

"And I'm sure our friends already have their own plans for the evening, so."

"Oh. Right, I follow," he says, finally getting to his feet.

As much as Dedusmuln loves hanging out with all three of their closest friends, they're also quite appreciative of what she's doing for them now. "It was great to see both of you," they say as everyone makes their way to the door.

"Yeah," Wayne agrees, and then he points at her. "By the way, nice shirt."

Her response is an immediate and forceful, "Shut up."

He just snickers at her, clearly pleased with himself, while Somsnosa makes a show of sighing and rolling her eyes yet is trying not to also laugh. Must be some sort of inside joke only they're privy to. Still, it's nice to see him in such good spirits again.

And she must feel the same way: her expression softens and she says, "Aw heck, come here, ya goofus," and pulls him into a hug. In her broad arms he looks especially scrawny; Dedusmuln can't help but consider it, honestly, adorable.

Then she releases him and looks at Dedusmuln. "Hey, you too, buddy."

They're more than happy to accept, her affection a great comfort to them. And over her shoulder, they watch as Wayne, arms open, approaches Pongorma; to their mild surprise, he reciprocates, bringing him into a stiff but solemn embrace.² If he appeared slight in Somsnosa's arms, then naturally Pongorma dwarfs him. Now logically, they're well aware they themself would look even more diminutive next to Pongorma and therefore they have no business finding Wayne unbelievably cute right now, but... Well, then again, one day in the not-so-distant future they'll have grown taller than him, right? Unless he undergoes a second metamorphosis into...

Their attention returns to the present moment and they find that Pongorma has indeed come to them. He holds his arms loosely around them, but the press of his hands on their back tell volumes. "Let us meet again," is his request when they part.

"I'd love that."

"Yeah, maybe at that 'tea party' thing, huh?" Somsnosa says. "But for now we'll let you kids have your fun."

They huff and grumble at her, "I'm older than you and you know it."

She just smiles pleasantly.

Everyone says their farewells, and soon enough the door is closed, leaving them alone with Wayne once again.

He is first to break the silence. "You had plans tonight? Sorry, I wasn't aware."

They laugh fondly, "No, no, my only plan is to be with you."

"Oh, okay then," he replies, the relief noticeable in his voice. "Um, can I ask you a question?"

"Certainly."

"If your eyes are too good to use in the light, what about when it's dark?"

"Ah, indeed. My night vision is powerful, but it does have to be nearly pitch black for the sensation to be comfortable."

"You think turning off the lights would be sufficient?"

"Hmm, the curtains would need to be drawn as well... Even the street lights outside are too bright for me."

He doesn't respond right away but looks around the room, as if searching for something. They watch him curiously, wondering what he means to do, and only when he finds the switch behind him and turns off the kitchen lights do they catch on.

"Oh, I-I wasn't saying you have to do it!"

"I want you to be comfortable."

"I am! Believe me, I'm well adapted to this life. You don't need to worry." Suddenly they get an idea—and perhaps he is already on the same page... "But, I mean, if you really want to, you can go ahead. I don't mind either way."

"All right."

He switches off the lamp in the living room, filling the apartment with a darkness that is only complete once he draws the curtains.

Dedusmuln unfurls their horns, exposing their face fully to the open air. There's Wayne by the window, and to view him so directly is strangely thrilling. Through their eyes a soft light bathes the room, in which he and everything about him seem to glow, the celestial yellow of his head, the sublime arc of his crescent horns, the soft shine of the pleather that hugs tight the figure they so adore.

He hovers uncertainly by the window, shifting his weight from one foot to the other (and they'll absolutely not admit to checking out his backside as he did). "Uh, I can't see a damn thing now."

"Don't worry, I'll come to you."

At the sound of their voice, he turns in their direction and starts at the sight of them. "Whoa, is that you?"

"Um, yes. Can you still see me...?"

"Yeah, your... eyes, I guess. They glow."

"Oh!" They laugh in realization. "Yes, that's right. I'm sorry, I'd forgotten about that too."

"It's cool. I like 'em. They're like stars."

And indeed, he keeps his eyes fixed on theirs as they approach him. It is the first time in a long while that they have made eye contact with another person, and they almost can't believe how natural it feels. They would squirm if it were pretty much anyone else, so intimate is the gesture to them. But here, with him, it's not only painless but... actually nice, to see his gentle yet inviting eyes staring back.

When they're close enough they take his hand. He holds it tightly and glances down in that direction. "So you can see me right now?"

"Yes, quite clearly. And might I say, you're looking beautiful tonight."

He looks away, blinking as he mumbles, "I look the same as always."

Something about it strikes them as bashful, as similar occasions have before. Perhaps he is unused to being complimented in such a manner. Softly they tell him, "I know. I meant what I said."

In response he reaches for their other hand. Once they give it to him, he takes a careful step forward, narrowing what little distance had remained between them. Only now, looking up at his face, do they notice his flushed cheeks—and also catch how the tip of his tongue passes over his lower lip.

"Um, Dedusmuln..." he begins.

"Yes?"

"Are you, like... feeling better?"

They laugh again. "I'm feeling just fine, Wayne." They let go of him to lay their hands on his narrow shoulders. "So maybe we could... try again...?"

His own hands rest against their sides, and it seems there is little else on his mind by the distant way he murmurs, "Sounds good."

They can hardly blame him. As soon as he has spoken they grip his collar and pull him close, pressing their lips to his. His reaction is instantaneous: he readily molds against them, arms wrapping around their waist, kissing back with just as much fervor. The sensation washes over them, each infinitesimal point of contact electrifying, and this time they hang on, savoring his warm familiar scent, the closeness of their bodies, the caress of his soft mouth on theirs. Even the faint lingering taste of tea is somehow much more palatable when it's on his lips. Their hands release his collar to travel behind his head, urge him closer, feel how his horns curve under their palms.

And it feels like they're floating, all earthly forces trivial in the arms of the old moon. Their mind fogs up in the most wonderful way as they lose themself, the euphoria of this connection with their beloved so intense that they might just melt...

Their hold on the back of his head slackens but slightly; it's enough for Wayne to separate from the kiss yet tighten his hold on their waist. His words are breathless. "Hey... stay with me, yeah?"

They bring a hand to his cheek, and he exhales and closes his eyes. And they promise: "I am. I will."