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She’s just on the verge of sleep. She can feel it, the dreams just beyond her grasp, her ever-racing head spinning with less and less sense, and soon she’ll be off in another world, weightless and painless and free to imagine anything.
But then she hears her name whispered through the darkness, and it tugs her back all at once. She peaks her eyes open to find that isn’t so pitch black anymore—her eyes grow quickly used to it, making out the shapes of her nightstand, the drawers beyond it, and the window, the dark blue curtains filtering colour into the muffled moonlight. She opens her mouth to answer, but it comes out as a yawn.
Barry goes on anyway, voice respectfully hushed, “Are you happy with me?”
If any other boyfriend asked her that, Vanessa would kick them out of bed. It’s too deep a question for the middle of the night, when they’ve already tucked in. But Barry isn’t in her bed—he’s off amidst the potted begonias atop her drawers. It’s the best of both worlds; she has the bed all to herself and the freedom of being able to stretch, kick, roll, and never fear for being touched below the covers. But she also has his company, the knowledge that she isn’t alone, the comfort and the subtle joy that comes with a beloved partner. What’s usually such a complicated question becomes very easy in the face of him, and she mumbles sleepily, “Of course.”
She can almost hear his smile, knowing him so well. She could fall back asleep, but the question of why he asked wriggles into her brain, and she mumbles, “Are you happy with me?”
“Definitely,” he chirps without hesitation. “You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met.” He says it so sincerely, and it makes her feel warm inside, not doubting it for a moment.
Smiling to herself, she sighs, “I love you too. Good night, Barry.”
She adjusts. Stretching her arms, and then tucking her hands below her pillow, face nosing into it, her legs cross over one another. The mattress groans with her movement, the memory form tailored for her, never tainted by the imprint of a lover. She shuts her eyes and prepares to dream.
Barry asks, even quieter, “Vanessa?”
Without opening her eyes, Vanessa asks, “What?” Her tone is clipped but not sharp, just groggy. It’s rare that they ever go to sleep without spending far too long in conversation, though she’d thought they were done for the night the second time she went to fetch water.
“Do you ever want a... a human boyfriend... at night? For... you know.” He pauses, adds, “To lie in bed with you, and...” but then he trails off.
He doesn’t have to finish. She understands. Her eyes squint open as though she’ll be able to see him across the distance, but in the low light, she can’t even make out his silhouette. This is a conversation that might’ve been better in the light of day, but now she knows that if she doesn’t answer, the worry will eat him up inside. And maybe they’ll wind up in amidst another hair-brained scheme that won’t give either of them what they want.
She says as quietly as him, “No.”
“Are you just saying that for my benefit? Just because I can’t—?”
She cuts him off with a sighed, “No, I never wanted that.” When she pauses, searching for the words, Barry doesn’t interject. He’s quiet, waiting for her, and she licks her lips and tries to explain, “I prefer what we have. Even if you were human... I would still prefer this.” This is soft touches, a kiss here and there, love, but nothing coarse, sexual.
Barry’s silent for a moment, then murmurs, like he doesn’t understand, “I thought all humans wanted that.”
Vanessa snorts. “That’s because most humans make it seem that way.” There’s a hint of bitterness in her voice; not wanting someone to lie with isn’t always easy. Nine times out of ten when she explains it, people act as though she’s either crazy, jaded, or just not fortunate enough to meet ‘the one’ that’ll change who she is all around.
But then, she found love in a bee, so she isn’t winning any sane arguments.
Barry confirms he’s a better choice than anyone else she’s ever met by saying, “We’re really lucky.”
She thinks so too; it’s especially hard to find boyfriends that accept her this way.
Barry adds, “I would like to snuggle with you, but I don’t want you to roll over in the middle of the night and kill me.”
Morbid as it is, Vanessa can’t stop her giggle. She knows he meant it as a joke; he’s always making her laugh. But cuddling will have to wait for the morning when she can make sure she won’t crush the man of her dreams.
When the giggles die out, she sighs again, “Good night, Barry.”
He echoes, “Good night, Vanessa.”
One last time, he asks, “Vanessa?” And before she can ask what, he says, “I love you.”