Archive of Our Own

Stephen strummed the ukulele gently. Finally, the chord sounded right to him. There were apparently many different meanings for instrument. Connie had shown him one from her mother’s books, where an instrument was also a tool, and everyone knew what tools were. But then there were musical instruments, and Stephen preferred those. There was that part right in the middle—strum, but the in was the most important part. Maybe it meant something. It probably didn’t.

The van slowed down and began to turn. Stephen let go of his instrument to grip the little divot in the door. The curve made his head feel as though it was continuing straight while the rest of his body was tossed to the left, a waterless current. Perhaps it was the hunger, but in the water, hunger made him more alert. Dizzily, Steven turned his eyes up to the bright red sign that glowed above them. Mr. Universe slowed the van, and turned it off with a little sigh.

“Here we are, Stephen! Dip’s Diner!”

“How do you know the name?”

“It’s the—I guess you can’t read cursive or script. Well, it’s a little loopy, don’t worry about it.”

Were those languages? Stephen slid his feet back into his sandals as he opened the door, carefully setting the ukulele down on the seat. As he stepped out and looked up, the letters that towered above him seemed vaguely familiar, with curves and lines all connected. He recognized the capitol D, but there were smaller shapes that shouldn’t have sounded like they belonged in those places. The boy closed the door carefully. The more he looked, the more the letters blurred, as if his concentration was making it hard to read. Frustrating as it was, he had to take comfort in the fact that he wasn’t able to read it anyway. Whoever wrote that sign hadn’t done a very good job keeping it neat.

“Hey. Hey, buddy, bear with me.”

Mr. Universe had come around as he was concentrating, embracing Stephen from the side. He leaned into the warmth and sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. He shouldn’t have been this tired. This was exciting, after all, a new experience, the first experience. When he had first come onto the beach, Connie had taken him to the pizza restaurant, so he knew somewhat how to act. Here, new rules applied. He had to pretend to be human with everyone, even Mr. Universe. He couldn’t talk about the sea or about songs. He couldn’t wander. Humans had strange ideas about who they did and didn’t want around them. They didn’t want to be smelled or touched. It was all uptight. But, through it, he was in Mr. Universe’s care. So that was okay.

“I know it’s a new place, but I’m right here, and I’ll help you read the menu and order some nice food,” Mr. Universe murmured. “Hot chocolate, some blueberry pancakes, maybe, ooh, hash browns? Can’t go wrong with potatoes. And a little bacon!”

“Mr. Universe? Why’re different foods… Connie was mentioning once. Different foods are…not allowed? Not supposed to be for different times?”

“Oh, like, dinner for breakfast, breakfast for dinner? I actually don’t know that! Guess it’s a cultural thing. I bet you’d want pizza for every meal?”

Stephen snorted and briefly buried his face in Mr. Universe’s torso. Maybe he would want that. Out of all the baffling human customs, three designated meals regardless of hunger seemed to be the silliest to him. He hunted when he wanted, and he ate when he could. That was the nature of things. Eating and diving helped when he was bored, too, and he could find creatures that were harder to chase like the crabs and the eels. But he could also eat them uncooked; Connie hadn’t liked that, and most humans would agree.

Connie would know. Connie knew all the things. Stephen kept his grumbles to himself, because he didn’t want Mr. Universe to think that he was unhappy with being together. He did have love for Mr. Universe, but he had love for Connie, too, and he missed her. They would have had a wonderful time here together. The man could point out what all the foods were, and Connie could tell him where they came from, what sorts of places they were grown or hunted on, if they were like some words in a language that was not the language they spoke aloud.

“Let’s get in. I think I… Yeah, I need coffee. Phew.”

As Mr. Universe guided him towards the entrance, Stephen smiled and let himself stretch his arms out. He was about to ask what Mr. Universe wanted for breakfast when the door opened. It was somewhat expected, but the selkie paused for a moment in wary surprise; he didn’t have anywhere to retreat to except the van if something happened. The humans that came out were laughing, three of them—a tall man with his shirt tucked into his pants, short yellow hair and bright, sun-white teeth; a woman without a single speckle on her pink dress; and a boy.

The boy was younger than Stephen, but not by much, not as far as Stephen could tell. He had hair just like the tall man, the same yellow, but tousled and fair. His red-and-white striped shirt had no wrinkles, and his shoes were also red, with numbers that Stephen couldn’t read because he was walking too fast. They looked at each other. Stephen couldn’t move. He felt his legs stiffen, and he couldn’t move. The other boy had a tiny spot of redness from his breakfast on the side of his lip. Stephen could pinpoint the moment in the air when the laughter stopped, exactly like when a fish in front of him would stop its carefree motions because it knew he was hunting it. This time, he was no hunter. The human boy had blue eyes, pale blue, so dull, blue like the sky on a day that was far too long. He smiled joylessly and kept looking at Stephen as the family walked. Of course they were a family. The mother, she must have been, and the father—the father put a hand on the boy’s shoulder with indifference, and they hurried down the path silently. Stephen stared at the space where they had been. The rest of the cars and the parking area and the signs and the storefronts seemed so blurry.

“Stephen? Stephen, come down to Earth with me, come on.”

Stephen forced his eyes shut before the world came into focus again. Somehow, in the five seconds it had taken for the family to pass, he had taken Mr. Universe by the hand. It felt like an hour had gone by, and they were still standing here. Stephen could start to feel something akin to embarrassment inside him, though he wasn’t sure why. Expectations, maybe, how he was supposed to be acting as a human being right now. But would he still have been judged?

“Don’t worry about anyone else inside there, Stephen,” Mr. Universe said as he pulled the boy forward. “We’ll go in, we’ll grab a seat, nobody’s gonna bother us. C’mon. It’s okay!”

The coaxing was probably for the best. Sometimes, Stephen felt like Mr. Universe was a little too gentle with him, but maybe he needed it here. There was a certain kind of gentleness that made these tired mornings just that much easier. Without the cold ocean to jump into, there wasn’t much that could hone his focus. He straightened his back.

“Maybe…I can need coffee, too,” he mumbled.

“Ha! Maybe. Let’s see if hot chocolate can get you out of your shell first.”

That must have been a metaphor. Strangely enough, Stephen hadn’t heard that one from Connie, even though in context, he understood what it meant. There weren’t too many sea turtles around the beach or the island, but he had seen them before, all fluid and austere and delicious. Hermit crabs were the ones that came to mind the most, with their little eyes darting back into their homes at the first sign of danger. The small ones weren’t good eating, but Stephen enjoyed holding them in his hand and watching their little orange bodies eventually slink out once it was safe. Stephen was safe. As they walked into the diner, he still felt safe.

The music that played over the air was more cheerful than what Mr. Universe played in the van sometimes. It was more distant as well, but it had an upbeat air, with the same guitar and percussion that Stephen had learned about. The restaurant itself was almost overwhelming, but the smells were perfect. Oh, it was lovely, the cooked fat, the flour and sweetness that came over the counter. Stephen could hear the sizzling of meats and grease over any music that played, the sounds of a hot surface, of metal, the byproduct of human industry that had created the most wonderful and awful things. They had made surfaces for cooking that could be heated by massive fires and feed dozens of people. Connie and Rosa had each shown him in turn the different methods, each on their own time, each in their own way. Rosa had shown him the waste of human consumption, how much the world was spent on making food for all of them, food that was thrown away to rot because it wouldn’t make powerful humans more powerful. Connie had shown him something she called a hibachi.

“Heya, welcome to Dip’s Diner! You guys want a booth, table, or the counter?”

Stephen had been too distracted to see the young woman coming up to them. A black apron covered her striped uniform, and she held herself upright with a smile. She had dark, friendly eyes and her hair was tied up in a ball of curls. Even if she was a stranger, Stephen felt oddly calmed, or at least he wasn’t as tense as he had been when the other family had walked out. Mr. Universe patted his back softly.

“Morning. I think we’ll take a booth today.”

“Lovely. Come on over, we got menus in the caddy—need some coffee?”

“You read my mind,” Mr. Universe chuckled.

And then they were moving. How would he have fared on his own? Stephen looked around at the gray photographs of smiling men and women in odd outfits. They had faces that looked painted on, and some of them weren’t the kind of photos that Connie could take on her phone, no, they were drawings. How could they look so real, but not? Stephen wished he could stay and wander through, just soaking it all in. But, being humans meant that everything was timed, everything had a set period, everything had to be done in a hurried fashion. He had to get back to the beach in a couple days, and then that was that. The selkie had asked for a calendar, but Connie hadn’t been able to procure one for him. Maybe soon they could get that done, so that he could learn how time was supposed to work. The numbers told him things that the seasons apparently couldn’t.

“So, do you also want some crayons for the table, a coloring page?” the young woman said. Her voice was slightly hushed, as if Stephen had human hearing, or as if it was insulting to ask. “The cutoff is twelve, but—I’m not checking I.D or anything.”

“Heh, we’ve still got a couple months to go, don’t worry. Ah…” Mr. Universe scratched his beard. “We don’t need a kid’s menu or anything, but you know what, sure, let’s go for it.”

“Okay, sure thing!”

When she looked down, Stephen attempted a smile, even when his body reflexively reached out and his hand firmly gripped the man’s shirt. The young woman smiled right back. She had lipstick, Stephen recognized, a dark ruby red. The scattered sunlight lit up the window at the end of the cushioned bench. Mr. Universe ushered Stephen in. He slid down the bench, studying the objects on the tables, as Mr. Universe put himself between Stephen and the rest of the restaurant.

“That’s one bottomless coffee, all set, all set,” the woman murmured, pulling out a small pad of paper. “And what can I get you to drink, sweetie?”

Oh, she was talking to him! Stephen opened his mouth to answer, and felt the ridges of his teeth press against the side of his lips. Once on the beach, Connie had mentioned how they were so different than hers, and Mr. Universe had touched his mouth once, pulling back his lips gently. His teeth were for hunting and for his close humans, not strangers. The boy glanced up at Mr. Universe and felt the words lodge in his throat, but there was that hand again, rubbing at his shoulder. With a swallow, Stephen looked up, jumbling the item he didn’t know. Chocolate had been shared, but…

“May I b…have a hot chocolate, please?” he said.

“You most certainly can. Are we taking whipped cream on that today?”

That was one that Stephen couldn’t place. He looked up at Mr. Universe, who nodded up at the young woman and gave her a thumbs-up. She looked as if she was a half-second away from giggling as she scribbled down something onto the paper.

“Give me a minute and I’ll be right back with everything y’all need!”

Mr. Universe murmured something in thanks as she walked away. When she had gone, he ruffled Stephen’s hair. The pressure shook him more than usual, and the little glass column in front of them on the table turned into two, into four, swimming in his vision before he could grin and nudge the man right back.

“There, see, your very first real order!” Mr. Universe laughed. “I think our waitress likes you, too, lil’ scamp. What’d I tell you? Nothing to worry about, you’re a natural charmer.”

“Why is she a waitress?”

“Everyone needs a job, I guess. That’s the simple answer.”

“No, I—the waiting. What is she having to wait for?”

“You’re full of hard questions today, aren’t you. I can’t say I have an answer for you there. My gut says that it’s something that has to do with the fact that she’s waiting for us to choose. Or that she’s waiting to see what we need, maybe. Kinda like a tiger, except she’s waiting to jump out and give us some tater tots.”

“Hm.”

The gut said a lot of things. More than usual, Stephen’s gut was telling him that he needed to eat something. He resisted the urge to reach over and touch Mr. Universe’s gut, even for the joke. There were eyes here, other humans, eyes that didn’t want to see contact. That was the worst thing he had learned from Connie and Rosa in different measures. Humans didn’t show affection to each other, and the ones that did were ridiculed and hated for it. But that wasn’t entirely true, because small children and families could share hands and hugs and kisses. Stephen wanted to wrap himself around Mr. Universe’s arm and lean into him and actually see this place. He could climb on top of the booth like a rock and see over the other booths and the counter. What was a booth? A prison? Sitting next to Mr. Universe was lovely, but so restrictive. Perhaps that was why humans liked their privacy; Stephen understood that well. The island was as private as one could get. Among the only occupants were strangely-marked plastic packets and two sets of silver utensils wrapped in paper napkins.

Stephen straightened his back as the man reached over and grabbed a thin booklet from the wire holder at the end of the table. There were so many words, and when Mr. Universe opened the book, the pictures were just as mouth-wateringly distracting as Stephen had anticipated. Nobody could read with images like that. Except Connie.

She would have expected him to read everything, but there were no words here. Starting from the top-left corner, the structure was so completely off from what he had been trying to read in the books Connie had lent him earlier. The lines leading to the numbers had some words he recognized, but as for what it meant, his head was just not able to get to where he wanted to go. He had to concentrate. He heard Mr. Universe open his mouth, but Stephen ignored him as he pressed the booklet into the table—the menu, right, he remembered that—and peered at the first column.

“Whoa! Don’t worry about reading every single thing on there,” Mr. Universe said nervously. “Tell you what. I’ll get us a full sampler, some big English breakfast, right? That’s got a little something for everyone. And we can split it, and you can try what you want, and I’ll schnarf up whatever doesn’t tickle your fancy.”

“Oh-mell-et.”

“That there is an omelet. I’m willing to teach you new words, but French is where my abilities just end.”

Before he could rail against the injustice of horrible spelling and why words didn’t sound like the way they should, the young woman approached from the other direction. She almost started when Stephen lifted his head in anticipation, as if she was coming to expose him and throw them out of this place. She carefully set two mugs down on the table, followed by a small pitcher. A drop of cream dribbled from its spout. The paper she slid down by Stephen was something he recognized. The map of the state was embellished with animals, with different lines leading to words in the same style as the words above the building. Another clean mug filled with crayons weighed it down.

Mr. Universe took the mug filled with dark liquid and murmured his thanks before folding the menu down and sliding the other to Stephen. The boy’s eyes briefly fixated on the jiggling foam on top, a perfect swirl. It smelled like cream as well with sweetness underneath. All his energy went into not digging his nose in and studying the new scents. His gut certainly didn’t enjoy the restraint, but what else could he do. He smiled at the waitress as he rubbed his right heel against his left calf.

“Thank you,” he muttered.

“You’re so welcome, young man! Have we decided on something today?”

She had to have a name. Stephen wondered if it was impolite to ask, because he wouldn’t ever see her again, would he? And she didn’t know him. It sunk in that she would be seeing so many more families over the day, maybe even five or six. Did people come back here? Did they return like they would to the feeding grounds? It was then that Stephen noticed the small white word on her apron, a pin that glinted in the light.

“We’re gonna be splitting a big plate here today, probably going for the special?” Greg said as he opened the menu. “Number thirty-six here, and can we get some bacon and maybe silver dollars on the side?”

“Sounds perfect, and how would you like those eggs?”

“Let’s go sunny-side—”

“Ggggen… Geneh…”

Stephen could see the individual words, but the vowels made it hard to know where the stress was. That word made him also feel its appropriateness, because stress was what he was feeling trying to pronounce this word. Was it even a name? The young woman giggled, and her hand moved up to run her thumb gently underneath the hard plastic. Inside, though he wasn’t sure how, Stephen recognized the patience.

“Genevieve. My great-grandma’s name too,” she giggled. “Mama said it’s French, but my grandma says it’s Creole.”

“Genevieve,” Stephen repeated.

“That’s right.”

The look that she exchanged with Mr. Universe was one that Stephen had a hard time placing. He didn’t want to make it look like he was spying, but the pride on her face, pride and subtlety, was unlike anything Stephen could fully understand. Humans had too many social rules for the expressions to make sense, so what else could he do? As much as he was able, the selkie pushed himself against Mr. Universe, squishing his arms down and pressing his legs together.

“Sunny-side eggs, heh,” the man murmured before he wrapped an arm around Stephen. “And that’ll be wheat toast, I think.”

“A’righty. Might be a little bit with all that, but we’ll get you two fed as soon as we can.”

“That’s totally fine. Thank you.”

“Thank you, Miss Genevieve,” Stephen echoed.

“You’re very welcome! What’s your name, mister?”

“Stephen!”

“Well, Stephen, thank you for being so polite. I’ll get you and your dad breakfast straight away.”

The line of thought about humans and their constant thanks was instantly severed. Stephen’s face fell as Genevieve walked back towards the kitchens. He hadn’t considered that. He shouldn’t correct it. This was another lie that he had to live with now. Was it? The sudden thrust of a role upon him was unusual, rapid, and made his fingers curl up into his palms. Mr. Universe cleared his throat, putting their menu back at the end of the table.

“Right. So, um, Stephen, go on, take a sip. Be careful, it’s gonna be pretty hot.”

The mug was a welcome distraction. Stephen’s hands wrapped around it carefully as he tested the weight. It was so warm, almost too much to grip. With the whipped cream on top, the entire surface jiggled violently, as if it would spill all over his knuckles.

“How does the drink work with this…” he mumbled.

“You can mix it in once it melts. I might grab a spoon and get some myself if you’re not fast enough to stop me.”

Mr. Universe chuckled, but Stephen couldn’t bring a smile to his own face. Carefully, he closed his eyes and raised the mug to his lips. The smooth surface, he had heard this word before—the word ceramic, the process of glass, burning it together into this polished edge. Then, the cream, its coolness, almost went up his nose. Sensations of soft cream and warm liquid soothed him, and it was only the taste that made him shudder. Connie had brought him chocolate before, but it had never been this sweet or flowed this easily. And of course it was hot, as hot as a fresh heart, as hot as the name. This was a simple one to understand, for once. The cream melted and flowed with the mouthful, and as soon as Stephen had swallowed and lowered the mug, he could feel his body calming instantly. Just a touch of coolness remained.

A clicking noise jolted his eyes open. Mr. Universe stifled a laugh as he turned the phone around to show Stephen the picture. That was him. Stephen stared at his own image, the calmness on his face, with a speckling of white cream on the tip of his nose covering up the freckles. The man sat back, then set the phone down. He unrolled a napkin and let the silverware clatter to the table.

“I might have to send that one to Connie when we get back. But that’s a memory. Right? A little something to save. Hope you don’t mind, kiddo. Your fault for being adorable.”

“Mm.”

“Yeah? That’s all that’s on your mind?”

“Do I need to pretend, with… She thinks we, that we… Do I?”

Mr. Universe was silent. It wasn’t just a lack of answering, but there was a silence that felt heavy with a loss of words, like how a shadow of a cloud could cover the ocean and make it seem deeper. He reached over to the end of the table. In the mix of packets and containers, he pulled out a white square, gently tearing with two fingers. In went the sugar, then a quiet dripping of cream, and Stephen watched as Mr. Universe mixed his coffee. Everything blended until it became a pleasant brown, almost the color of the man’s hair, just lighter. He kept stirring.

Stephen took another sip. He didn’t want to stir, and he didn’t want to leave. He couldn’t go back right now. But the air was pulling him down, pulling him to the earth, and he had to put the mug down. His hands were already moving before the thought was finished. When Stephen realized that he was setting it, he realized at the same time that he was half on the edge of the table. His hands moved quickly to settle it, thrusting forward. A wave of chocolate rocked over the edge as he put the mug down firmly with a rock-hard clacking noise. The boy gasped as the heat and stickiness splashed onto his knuckles, onto the table, making a small puddle that drifted towards the center. The cream wobbled on top as things settled.

“Whoa now—!”

Another reach, another grasp. Stephen’s hands hovered above the tabletop. Drips ran down the front, and he shook with inaction while Mr. Universe was suddenly spurred, dragging over a small wad of paper. The man ran it along the edge first, then mopped up the outer rim. Stephen just watched, his own silence settling in. Now Mr. Universe was full of his little noises and sounds, a steady with a bit of there we go and some okay thrown in. Stephen could see that his coloring page was splattered. The paper began to curl.

Finally, there was only a fist-sized lump of sodden napkins, a streak down the mug, one ruined map, and a couple drops on Stephen’s sweatpants. They looked at each other. Stephen couldn’t understand fully what he was supposed to get from this, how he could interpret the look on the man’s face. Mr. Universe seemed angry, but not at him, and embarrassed, too, but not for what had just happened. His eyebrows were fighting for control of his expression, and Stephen had to be the one to break their gaze.

“…Looks like we both kinda got lost there, eh?” Mr. Universe said.

The man attempted a dry chuckle, but Stephen just returned his hands to his mug. He needed to focus. After a second, he heard a sigh from beside him.

“Stephen, you don’t have to pretend for my sake. Or for yourself. Other people will say what they say about us. Genevieve said—well, you heard her. Is…is that bad?”

“No!” Stephen said, then froze. He swallowed, hoping the tinny music had covered his little outburst. “N-no.”

“Okay. That’s good.”

How could they talk about this? Stephen felt his hands start to dance. He pulled them away from the mug, clenching his fists, then folding them into his lap. On the first day he had learned about his parents, he had met this human, and there had been something horrible about that day. His memories of the strange selkie on the boat were marred by the eye contact afterwards, the touch on his cheek in the hospital. Every time he wanted to think about what it would have been like to be comforted by the spirit of his father, there was Mr. Universe in his stead. There was a reason for that, he knew. Obviously there was a reason, and that was because he didn’t have any memories except for the memory of touch, a song of humanity. Bitterly, Stephen wished he could have gone without the song. Pearl had told him too much. He could have just been stupid and happy.

“I remember when you came down to the van, when I gave you my old shorts. Remember?” Mr. Universe murmured. “And you said I was like home. Well, I feel the same, and it’s never stopped. Maybe it’s ‘cause of the other stuff you’ve got going on wherever you live, but I get the feeling sometimes that you’re a little like me when I was your age.”

Stephen’s throat tightened. For days after he had emerged to greet Connie, he had been shouted at and chastised for breaking the secret, no matter how much Garnet had explained, no matter how much he begged for understanding. He could keep some secrets, but he felt the itch. His true skin was left behind on the beach. He had left it next to Perry, the least likely one to obsessively check on him in the night. Now, Stephen’s skin prickled. It wasn’t until he had been away for so long that he realized just how much comfort it brought him. He couldn’t have taken it with him. Could he? No. No, he had to keep this hidden, this part of him that was apparently impossible to explain.

“I am not like you,” Stephen said quietly.

“Sure you are. You’re living with a lot of rules, you wanna see the world, you’re pretty darn great at music—and hey, took practice for me, too. And you’re smart. You know that there’s so much out there for you to see.”

“No, Mr. Universe, I-I am…not, I…”

There had to be a word he didn’t know for being unable to explain what he couldn’t explain. But Stephen couldn’t say anything more. Literally, it felt like the words were leaving his mouth, like the thoughts were damming up his speech.

Mr. Universe cleared his throat. “I’ll, eh, I’ll be honest, Stephen, it seems like you enjoy hanging around with me. If you don’t, if this is all too much, you gotta tell me.”

Before Stephen could protest, the man raised a hand. “And I hear you! I’m aware I say things like that a lot. I’m harping on because it doesn’t seem like you get too many choices in your life as-is. Plus, hate to say it, you might know a lot about me, but we don’t run in the same circles. Your little community is still…pretty tight-knit.”

“They do it because of safety,” Stephen insisted. “Because of—the past. Bad things are happening when others are knowing.”

“Bad things.”

There was a solemnity in the man’s refrain; he already knew. Of all things, in all places, Stephen didn’t want to cry here where others could see and ask questions. Their waitress had already taken a liking to him. What if she offered to help? What could she possibly do but ask? And the asking would be more and more personal, unless she walked away, leaving Stephen and Mr. Universe in the shadow of that memory. Bad things, that was the term for it now, not a murder, not a senseless killing, not a cruel example of human’s worst instincts. A bad thing. They weren’t his parents; they were just part of a song, and now, two words. They would have hated him. Stephen didn’t know his hands were clenched in white-knuckled fists until Mr. Universe pulled them together.

“Nothing bad’s gonna happen as long as I’m around. You hear me? I refuse to be one of those bad things,” the man whispered. “I can’t…be everything for you, Stephen, but I can still help. I love you, buddy. You’re my special guy. You’re my little road tripper. I’m gonna help you out no matter what, to do everything you’d ever wanna do. I promise.”

“I know, I know,” Stephen sniffled.

Mr. Universe sighed and raised the selkie’s knuckles. He waited. Stephen let the heat take him, until finally, he let his body unclench. Both his hands were moved to the mug, and then Mr. Universe put one hand around his shoulder.

It was half an offer, half an order—not quite an order, more like an instruction. The gesture was exactly what he had to do. Humans weren’t like them in public. Stephen could tell that this was closer, that he was being just a little babied. The way that Connie and her mother interacted had that bond, but they weren’t as touchy, not as close. Distance seemed odd to Stephen sometimes. She was still under Dr. Maheswaran’s protection, after all. Maybe Mr. Universe was just different. He understood what Stephen needed sometimes. Stephen brought the mug to his face and drank. Next to him, Mr. Universe took his mug in one hand and followed along.

They didn’t have to talk in the peace of it. Stephen let his eyes wander. It was the only thing he could do. He didn’t want to say it, but he had a feeling that Mr. Universe already knew what had happened to his mother and father, to a degree. And they didn’t have to say a word. The guitar sang for them, all chords and screaming. This was an electric guitar, a mellow sound, distant from the speakers. He glanced at the rounded stools with their odd metal casing, plush seats on silver poles, all lined up the same. There was a battle between the shapes in here. The booths and chairs and walkways were all supposed to be measured and identical, but the photographs and decorations were so out of place and wild that it was impossible to follow an order to it. Humans loved order. Maybe there was something secret that Stephen couldn’t follow. He could watch for hours and investigate, perhaps drawing something if Connie would let him borrow her sketchbook. What would the rest of them think, walking and sitting down for a meal? Rosa would be the most happy with it, of course. She would lead Amelia and Perry down, while Pearl stood guard without eating a thing. Garnet might enjoy the decoration, but she wouldn’t trust even someone as nice as Genevieve. Stephen didn’t know about Jasper; if he could even fit through the door, he might stand with Pearl, but if the coast was clear then he could eat every scrap of food in the restaurant. Stephen snorted.

“Whacha got in your noggin, Stephen?” Mr. Universe murmured.

Stephen looked down. He hadn’t even noticed his sips in the silence.

“Um…whipped cream. Most of it now.”

“No, buddy, your head. What’s got you chuckling?”

“Oh! Oh, Jasper. He eats.”

“Jasper, one of your guys?” Mr. Universe set his mug down, then patted his stomach. “Nothing wrong with that! Hey, maybe we can grab a business card and see if he’s willing to take you out for breakfast sometime, yeah?”

“He would not be wanting,” Stephen sighed, still grinning. “Jasper hunts.”

“…he, uh, he’s not a gun nut, is he?”

There were many kinds of nuts in Stephen’s vernacular, and he was somewhat aware of what a gun was, but the metaphor wasn’t coming together. The boy paused, then shook his head quizzically.

“I got a cousin who tried to be a hobbyist, but that whole side of the family got weird about a lot of things,” Mr. Universe said quietly. “But I guess if you’re not super familiar with phones or cars, then you wouldn’t be too down with guns, either.”

A gun was a killing machine. Stephen had never seen one before, but Connie had told him a little, and Rosa had told him more. The fact that it was a tool that anyone could use was odd to him. After all, he hadn’t been able to hunt for the longest time, and even when he could, he wasn’t allowed to. Jasper had taken down sharks, dragging their fighting bodies to shore. Common seals didn’t stand a chance. Their songs were so fearful. But Jasper could do anything. Jasper didn’t need a gun to kill.

“I don’t wanna think about them. There’s a reason I haven’t spoken to my folks in a while. You have to choose your family in the end. Right?” the man said, squeezing Stephen’s shoulder gently.

“Who have you chosen?”

Mr. Universe sucked air through his teeth, but didn’t respond. Before Stephen could press, he felt a tingling onset, right between his ears and eyebrows. The tingling turned into a firm swelling, brief but constant, drifting up towards the roof of his skull. He couldn’t keep in the quiet little grunt of pain. It was as if a fist was being formed inside his head, as if someone as big as Jasper was reaching in through his neck and growing. The pain only lasted for a moment, but the seconds that it took him to come back down were enough that he tightened his grip on his mug lest it fall in the shock of things. Stephen opened his mouth, then grit his teeth as he forced his eyes shut, as if he could squeeze out the pain.

“Hh!”

“Oh, Stephen, you okay? Cramping up? Sorry, I know the van’s not too comfy…”

But Stephen shook his head slowly. This wasn’t the kind of headache he was used to. As he shook, he could feel his brain wobbling back and forth, and he centered himself again. When was the last time he had felt like this? It had been in the hospital, it must have been. Sometimes, he could feel his head ache when he came to the van, but that was headache and heartache at the same time, when his body felt awful just talking about his memories. He could be comforted then, and he had been comforted in the hospital, too. Mr. Universe didn’t need to comfort him now. He had already done that, so much, and Stephen had to appreciate it. But he wondered all the same what the intensity could be. Allergies? Connie had asked Stephen if he had any once. Even after an explanation, he didn’t think so, and this was more intense.

Just like a fog bank, though, the pain rolled through his temple and down his face, aching away just as subtly and strangely as it had come. Stephen found himself sitting straight and stiff as he blinked back. The world was more off-kilter than he had left it. He looked up. To his surprise, he was at an odd angle, not as straight as he thought; he felt no such surprise that Mr. Universe was holding him steady, one hand around his shoulder and one pressed against his chest. His heartbeat drummed rapidly underneath the man’s palm.

“You definitely, definitely need food,” Mr. Universe muttered. “Don’t you pass out on me. I’d hate for you to eat a good meal out of a to-go box.”

This was his first real time out of the sanctuary, wasn’t it. Stephen forced himself upright, grunting as he set his mug down finally. His fingers were starting to ache from holding it so tightly. The sudden onset of his body’s nervousness wasn’t going to stop him, not now and not ever. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that Connie had gone through the same thing. When she was at school, when she had to move around, she had described that same kind of feeling in her soul where everything locked up and she felt trapped and scared. With Mr. Universe here, Stephen wasn’t scared, but maybe his body didn’t know that. Maybe he was just getting used to the human world, and he was learning. It hurt to learn sometimes. Deep diving, angry fish, the riptide, the snowy beach nights—everything had its moments.

“I am good! I’m good, I’m feeling okay,” Stephen said.

“Sure about that? What happened just now, kiddo?”

“My, um, I…I think I may be hungry,” he said, shaking out his hands. “Chocolate is good but not solid. Not meat. Will there be meat?”

Mr. Universe chuckled with relief. “Don’t worry, remember the side of bacon? Hope you’re not so blunt around the vegetarians.”

“Oh! Connie was saying. Her ma and da, used to be eating vegetarian.”

“Makes sense, I think Doug—ah, Mr. Maheswaran mentioned his Hindi upbringing. Wait. Hindi? Hindu?” Mr. Universe muttered, tapping his chin. “Shoot. One of those is the language and one of them is the religion and I can’t remember…”

While the man was pondering, Stephen caught motion out of the corner of his eye. He smiled reflexively as Genevieve turned the larger plate and set it right in between himself and Mr. Universe, with a second plate of food clinking down next to it. She eyed the table as she straightened up, grinning at the pair.

“Well, that’s one special for you two, and do you want me to top both of you off?” she said.

“Thank you. Huh. I saw the coffee, but is the hot chocolate bottomless, too?”

“We can make an exception.”

As Mr. Universe expressed his thanks, Stephen didn’t hear a word as he eyed the plate. The smaller, secondary plate was actually two, one for the food and spare underneath for sharing. On top was a pile of little pancakes, golden and round with the crispy cream-colored bubbly edges. Strips of meat rested at the other end; it was just what Stephen had been envisioning, except crispier, firm and steaming and blackened in some parts but far from burnt, smoldering rectangles that dissipated salt into the air. A little container of what looked like honey balanced on top of the cakes and wobbled in the diner’s light. The main plate was absolutely piled, and Stephen clenched his fist to keep from trembling. He could smell everything. Three eggs hovered around the edge with their perfect golden yolks set and ready to be punctured. Stephen recognized eggs well, as he did toast, a bread concept that he had heard about from Connie. Actually catching a whiff was leagues better than the description of the scent, grains and yeast streaked with scorch marks, earthy without rawness, as if the texture of the crunch could be captured in his nostrils. He knew potatoes as well, but never like this, not with these herbs and the unknown spices, all the little pieces chopped up and fried for them. The small mountain of potatoes sat in the middle of the plate, and on the other end was a small white bowl filled with various berries, still wet from the wash. It was the most food that had ever been placed in front of Stephen before, or at least the largest amount of human food. And it spoiled him. Guilty as he was, Stephen accepted that there was something magical about this meal, and he almost felt like crying. It was so much, and so wonderful.

“Pfft—okay, so you were definitely hungry. Check your lips, kiddo.”

The selkie jerked his head up and swallowed reflexively; it was then that he realized his mouth was brimming with saliva, and there was a small line of spittle running down. Drooling wasn’t polite around humans, and it didn’t take much to assume that. Mr. Universe lifted a napkin, and the two grown-ups hid their giggles as Stephen guiltily wiped it up. He shrunk back and turned as red as the strawberries. Even their sympathetic smiles couldn’t quite make up for that embarrassment.

Mr. Universe handed over Stephen’s mug. Genevieve shook her head with gentle rapport as she took it in both hands.

“I’ll be back in just a moment. Go on and enjoy!”

Stephen nodded; he was still a little too embarrassed to speak up. Genevieve bobbed away, and he glanced up to Mr. Universe’s fuzzy grin. The man had strong bristles, even sturdier than Jasper’s. One day, maybe he could have a beard in the same way, unless he scraped it off like Perry did. Here and now, he could wait. Food first, beards much later.

“Alrighty, now, if I’m not mistaken, you’ve never had… Well, I can’t imagine you’ve had a good chunk of this, have you.”

“No sir. What is the meat?”

“That there’s some bacon. I might grab a piece—as long as I got the antacids in the van, I should be all set.”

Delicately, Mr. Universe simply picked up a strip and handed it over. The action made sense once Steven closed his fingers around one end. Bits were already crumbling around his thumb from how crisp it was, and it seemed as though it could break in half with just a thought. The salt, though, made Stephen feel the saliva rising under his lips. He closed his eyes and bit down, and a crunch echoed through his mouth.

There was no parallel that he could make, nothing at all. He could recognize the different fish by their tenderness and sweetness, by the texture of their bones and the amount of oil on his tongue. Blood was the same, but never quite as much. Other mammals, though, were barely eaten by anyone in the clan. The meat of land was filled with a different song. The richness, the instant need to savor, was all Stephen cared about in the moment. He chewed slowly and looked up at Mr. Universe with a little smile. Mr. Universe beamed down at him as he too crunched, chewing with vigor and apparently trying not to smile too broadly at Stephen’s first bite.

Somehow, Stephen was certain that he and Mr. Universe were experiencing the exact same taste, in the same manner, the same heart. Perhaps they were more alike after all.

Mr. Universe wiped his fingers on a napkin and picked up the utensils. As he set an egg on top of the toast and began to cut it, Genevieve returned two full mugs to the table. She smiled at Stephen; she didn’t have to say anything. Mr. Universe murmured his thanks, and she gave a small greeting back. Pulling the mug over, Stephen watched as yellow yolk spilled onto the bread, soaking through the wheat like blood on sand.

“I want you to eat up, okay? Take as much as you need.”

“I…could be eating it all.”

“Ha! Maybe ten years ago, I could’ve said the same.” Mr. Universe shook his head and pulled the plate closer. “Dig in while it’s hot, Stephen. You deserve it.”

Deserve? That was the concept that Stephen understood the least about humans sometimes. As he picked up the eggy toast and dug into it, he knew that he had needed this energy, protein, as Connie put it, because that was how the body worked. He could subsist on berries or boney mackerel when food was scarce, but something so rich and lovely was just as much food as that. He hadn’t earned this, certainly not, not when all he had done was ride along. Mr. Universe had earned this because humans had the system of giving each other trinkets for labor, an almost-universal way of doing any kind of work and getting any kind of favor or item in return. Yes, money, purchasing, weirdness that Stephen wanted to stay away from for as long as he possibly could. He hadn’t done the work to earn it, but he was still practically a pup. The journey out here meant he had earned something, perhaps—but what? He grabbed a fork. He would think about that while eating exactly half of everything, unless Mr. Universe got to it first, because he was bigger and needed more.

Herbs were the most lovely as well, another kind of lovely, and after he brought the potatoes to his mouth, Stephen swallowed and sang momentarily in his head about the wonders of the tasty, tasty earth. Even the potatoes had that particular burning earth scent to them, but just like everything else so far, there was a strong savoriness. The salt that came from land and the salt of the water was different, or perhaps it was like how fire and water were opposites as well, the cooking process taking that element into account. Stephen had giggled the first time Connie had explained elemental magic to him. There was no question that fire was nothing compared to water. Waves could extinguish any burning land, and fire was limited to what it could touch. Water was everywhere, all the time, waiting. The ocean would never go, and it would never be eaten. Rains would return, just like this morning, pure and clean and giving.

All the additions to the gifts of the earth were just that, gifts on gifts, the curiosity that had drawn Stephen onto shore in the first place. There was that one quality shared between humans and selkies, and Stephen tried to meet it in the middle as he slurped his hot chocolate in between bites. Mr. Universe had pulled over the caddy of little packets. Jams, they were jams, in all the fancy lettering that Stephen had such difficulty reading. The man emptied one of them onto a remaining slice of toast, and spread it with little scrapes. It was deep and purple, and when he lifted it to Stephen’s mouth, the boy kept his hands on the table as he bit down; an offering. Odd sweetness met his mouth, somewhat displaced from the true earthiness of the wheat and potatoes. So many things in the human world were sweet, so many things unrelated to their origins. It was made from a fruit, but not any fruit that Stephen could call to mind.

Humans loved sweetness in everything. The bacon and the potatoes weren’t sweet, but there was even a sweetness in the wheat of the bread, and most certainly in the jelly, and the chocolate, and the berries of course, and when Stephen picked up and delicately munched on one of the small pancakes, he could taste an odd hint of sweetness there too. With a little chuckle, Mr. Universe switched the plates so that the pile of pancakes were closer. The little bucket of honey-like liquid wobbled as the man picked it up, before pouring the golden syrup over the pile. Stephen noted the way that it oozed between cracks and crevices and pooled onto the white plate underneath, like sweat on a brow. When he forked a dripping cake into his mouth, his eyes lit up. This was also from the land, but it was sweeter than any berry, almost like a liquid stone.

“Maple syrup, Stephen. It comes from trees,” Mr. Universe murmured. “Well, sort of. They put a bucket on the trees and make a hole, and all the sap comes out and you heat it up!”

“Maple… Can the other trees make—this?”

“No siree! Only the sugar maples. And that’s what makes them special and sweet. Just like you.”

He punctuated the statement with a little poke of Stephen’s nose, and the boy stifled his giggle by shoving another pancake in. Food was indeed making everything feel better, from his head to his heart. Mr. Universe took one for himself, spearing a strawberry on top of it. There was sweetness in everything here.

Stephen chewed, easily shredding the softness between his teeth. That was another aspect of human food: it was all easy to eat. Of course, the lovely meat of fish was tearable and couldn’t physically resist anyone’s jaw, but it was chewier, and there were the bones to contend with, and crabs with their spiky shells, and the occasional clam he pried apart.

This all made Stephen feel human, even though he couldn’t explain what human meant. Humans shouted together, but they didn’t bare their teeth. Hands were for expressing affection, but a human didn’t nuzzle in the way Stephen wanted, pushing the face against the flesh in nudges of encouragement. As far as the young selkie could tell, humans looked inward, wondering what everything meant to themselves, what their own stories were. They couldn’t see the songs drawn through every tree, every stone, every bird, the endless and magnificent song of the ocean and sky. What did it mean to be human? It meant to hunger for the self. To hold on, as if the song you sang needed to be heard above all others.

Mr. Universe was the most selkie-like human that Stephen knew. Every day, he ate and worked a little and played his instruments and stayed in the same warm place. And Connie, Connie was the least like him, but she was so understanding, and so smart, and there was a magic in the way she taught him that made Stephen’s head feel as if it could know every song just by looking and remembering. Connie would be the kind of person to know songs, as much as any human could. Stephen wished he knew what to do with these feelings. All he knew was that as he plucked and ate the last blueberry out of the bowl, he could accept being with Mr. Universe for the time being. Why did he resist? Because he knew how the man saw him. How did he know? Because they had love for each other. But he still resisted. That, he couldn’t reason with. Not yet. But he could ignore it.

Mr. Universe opened his mouth, paused, then raised a fist as he quietly stifled a belch behind his knuckles. He sniffed and shook his head vigorously as Stephen giggled beside him. The man raised an eyebrow at the plate; there was nothing more than egg stains and a few burnt crumbs left. Both mugs were empty and there was nothing left but a little stickiness on Stephen’s face and fingers. He sat up as Mr. Universe grabbed a napkin, but the man stopped himself.

“Every last crumb, buddy. Did you like it?”

“Yessir! Ate every of it.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Mr. Universe murmured. He pushed himself backwards, grunting with effort as he slid out of the booth. “You got a little jam session on your face, though. Think you can find your way to the restroom and wash up?”

Probably a good idea. Stephen nodded and slid out and over. When he stood up, his legs wobbled in his sandals. Mr. Universe, who had just sat back down, reflexively grabbed him underneath his armpits and held tightly to steady him. The motion almost made the wobbling worse, despite the steadiness of it all. As Stephen got his bearings, Genevieve walked past with a low whistle, carrying severy empty glasses.

“You boys cleaned up shop! And it looks like you enjoyed your little outing, Stephen?”

“Yes he did,” Mr. Universe chuckled, as Stephen nodded bashfully. “Just getting ourselves presentable before hitting the road. Where are the…”

She pointed towards the front of the building. “Right there by where you two came in. And should I get a check ready?”

“We’re all set, yeah. Go on, Stephen. I’ll be right here waiting for ya.”

Stephen nodded his head once more in deference as Genevieve smiled and walked away with the glasses. Some of them still had water in them, and Stephen felt a small pang of thirst as he made his way towards the restrooms—bathrooms, though there wasn’t always a bath. He remembered learning about this both with Rosa and with Connie, though he couldn’t remember which lesson he found confusing and which he laughed at. No matter; he knew what to do. The room he was supposed to go in had a drawing of a man with legs, and the one he wasn’t allowed to go in had the same man but with a dress that looked more to him like his own skin when he was half-changed. He pushed the door open.

The car wash’s restroom and the stalls here were the exact same, more or less, and once everything that needed to be taken care of was taken care of, Stephen washed his hands quietly. Nobody else had come in, thankfully. Soap washed down the drain, scentless except for some faint floral aura. Stephen felt his legs grow wobblier. There was the sting again. Sitting down and standing up had made it worse. Everything made the weirdness in his head worse. When all the soap had gone, Stephen cupped his right hand and made the water cold before bringing some up to his mouth.

It tasted wrong to him. The liquid tasted like how metal smelled. Water should never have tasted wrong. The room was too quiet. Stephen turned off the water and glanced around at the corners. Darkness and neon lit up the spaces where there should have been nothing at all but brickwork. Too many shadows. The young selkie felt like a selkie again. Something inherent, something unnatural, lingered inside him as he reached for the paper napkins dangling from the metal box. He turned on the sink again, and it was too loud. Sitting with Mr. Universe meant that he could ignore some of these signs, but when he was away, when he was alone, the rooms felt wrong. Showering this morning hadn’t felt like this until he had turned the water off, and he had had to wander outside and listen to the rain. It hadn’t been this bad. It hadn’t been this terribly bothersome. Stephen scrubbed at his face with the sodden napkin and tried not to mewl in confusion.

He needed a cup of water, real water. But he had already spent too much time in here taking care of his body. Stephen crumpled up the paper towel. As he gently let it fall into the overflowing trash can, he looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes felt too wide. He couldn’t focus on his own image. Had he been able to focus on anything, truly focus, since he got up from the table? The mirror started to fade backwards, as if he was falling away. Stephen turned his body just in time as he realized that he had, indeed, started falling away.

The moment of truth came when his face slammed against the plank attached to the stall door behind him. Twisting and falling meant that his collapse had pummeled his body against the stall, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that his jaw was suddenly shoved back against his skull, he would have cried out before he slid to the floor. His arms thumped under his weight as he finally struck the floor. Stephen shut his eyes. The tiles were cold. It was so sudden. The world had rushed past him in neon and he was dizzy and scared and he wanted to be back with Mr. Universe and be warm in the right way and he didn’t want to move. He laid still, just for a moment.

But he had to get up. With the world sideways, Stephen groggily pushed himself into a twisted sitting position. He could taste something wrong. On reflex, he raised his hand to his mouth, and the foreign taste and the foreign feeling built up before he spit into his palm. Yes, another tooth—had he lost that one yet? He couldn’t remember. It was bloody, and his mouth ached. Stephen had to go. Where? Mr. Universe. Stand up. Stand up. He pulled himself towards the sinks, then grabbed the porcelain edge. It took all of his strength to get his feet flat again. His left foot felt colder.

The restaurant lurched. Stephen grabbed one more napkin and wrapped the tooth in it as he pushed himself out of the bathroom doors. Once he was moving, it was easier, but getting his body moving had been so arduous. After all the pizza and the donuts and the watermelon from before, he knew it couldn’t be the human food that had done this to him. He still felt sticky, too, but in a different way, but in the same way, and it confused him. Clutching his tooth in the napkin, he finally managed to focus on Mr. Universe sliding some money underneath a black tray. He was humming to himself as he turned.

“Hey, I was about to come get you! Thought you mighta fallen in—”

Mr. Universe gasped so hard he almost choked. Stephen closed his eyes as the man bolted out of the booth and knelt down. The hands touched his shoulders, his face, turning his head with gentle gasps. The selkie tried to keep his mouth shut and straight. Then, Mr. Universe pulled him into a hug.

“Oh, no, Stephen, Stephen, what happened? I-I’ll get you a bandage, I’ll get something in the van, kiddo, oh no…”

“Lord—is he alright, is he—?”

The resistance necessary to keep from breaking down was more than Stephen could bear. He leaned against Mr. Universe as Genevieve knelt down as well. She raised a hand, but paused. Mr. Universe pulled the crumpled napkin from Stephen’s hands, and when he dabbed at the boy’s head, it came away with yet another smear of blood.

“Honey, did you take a tumble?” Genevieve whispered.

“I-I was falling.”

Mr. Universe squeezed the napkin in his hands, and stopped. He could feel it. Stephen looked him in the eyes. Slowly, hiding the contents, the man unwrapped the tooth and stared for a half-second in silence. Stephen swallowed. When he raised his gaze, he could see more eyes still, staring at them, staring at him, at the human being pretending to be his father, at the woman who rubbed a hand on his back in slow, agonizing circles.

“Looks like just an abrasion, but we have first aid in the back. I can get some water, some antibiotic ointment—I got some superhero bandages, Stephen, you like that?”

Mr. Universe cleared his throat. “We’ll be fine.”

Stephen knew the calmness was a lie. He shriveled inside, but stayed with Mr. Universe as the man sighed. He slipped the tooth and the napkin into his back pocket as he stood up. The boy didn’t look at Genevieve, even though he knew she was trying to catch his attention. Hesitantly, she let go, and stood as well. He had to hold the food down.

“I have all that in the car. Not my first road trip, after all,” Mr. Universe continued. “We’ve got plenty of bottled water. It’s just a scrape. Kid’s been through worse knockdowns.”

“Right, but the head…”

“Stephen? You gonna be okay?”

Even being in the van wouldn’t help. Stephen learned a new word from Connie the other day, homesick, an easy feeling with a normal term. There was some kind of homesickness he felt for the van, and some for the island, but he knew that the comfy mattress wouldn’t keep him steady, and he knew even more than going back to the island would be met with punishment. This was a bad choice. They would punish Mr. Universe, too. He didn’t know what to do.

One large hand came up where Genevieve had rubbed him, around the shoulder, up to clasp him tightly. It was supposed to be soothing, but Stephen knew better; it was also a warning. He grit his teeth, feeling the hole in his mouth.

“I am okay,” he managed to whisper.

“You sure?” Genevieve said.

“We’re sure. Thank you, for a lovely meal,” said Mr. Universe. “I’ll get him all wrapped up before we hit the road.”

He raised a hand in farewell and began to steer Stephen out the door. The boy glanced back once, but when he looked up at the blurred outline of Genevieve, he could see the worry drifting over her face as she waved them off. She faded, a beautiful outline of a human being surrounded by the noises of clinking plates and glasses as the other patrons returned to their meals. The food was still tinged with the smell of blood. Silver lined his vision, trinkets he could no longer focus on. It was sunnier outside. It warmed the glass as they left.

Instead of herding Stephen into the front, Mr. Universe walked him to the back doors. Stephen managed to crawl onto the man’s mattress and felt the darkness cover him. The sun had tried to get through, but the shadows of the van were cold, too cold. The doors were pulled closed, and Mr. Universe grabbed a handkerchief from a pile of odds and ends.

Stephen didn’t resist as he was laid on his back, like a beached carcass. He felt like it, strangely enough, high and dry, as if he had never touched water in his life. Stubborn, wasn’t he, and he hated that feeling. As much as he would have enjoyed the ocean, it felt like weakness, like humiliation, to give in and touch the waves again.

There was a crunching sound of plastic—indeed, a water bottle. Dabbing the cloth, Mr. Universe wiped away the boy’s presumed bloodstain from his temple. Had it really been that bad? The man hadn’t said anything, and he remained quiet as he lifted and pinched the locks of Stephen’s hair to get those last little drops. It stung, but in the way that fresh water always did, without the toothsome bite of salt.

“You’re special, aren’t you.”

Stephen tensed. A thousand icy spines felt like they were prickling up his calves and thighs towards his gut. Mr. Universe knelt next to him and pulled out the napkin. He unraveled the tooth and held it up to one of the sunbeams that passed through the van windows. The two of them stared. It was sharper than human teeth, Stephen knew, a predator’s tool, a carnivore’s lifeline, and it belonged to him. Mr. Universe pressed it carefully in between his thumb and forefinger. In the light, Stephen saw the little patches of browning blood—his own— on Mr. Universe’s fingertips where the man had treated his scratch.

“You’re different. You don’t have to tell me. I don’t need to know right now,” Mr. Universe whispered in a voice just for the boy. “But no matter what, Stephen, you’re even more special to me. My precious boy. Okay? And I’m gonna keep you safe from them.”

“T-them?”

“Anyone who tries to hurt you. Anyone who could hurt you.”

Then what was there to do in instances like this, where Stephen had hurt himself? Mr. Universe put the tooth back away and laid down. Leaving the parking lot could happen in time. After all, trawling for concerts meant wandering through places where humans lived together, neighborhoods, looking for signs, looking for words that Stephen didn’t know like skateboards, garages, storefronts, words that had been etched into his aching head that he didn’t want to think about. He used the last burst of energy to pull himself over into the man. This, he knew. He didn’t need any human words for cuddling up. The feeling of Mr. Universe’s hand reaching over to grip his shoulder was a song in itself.

“Stephen? I…I wish my dad would have taken me out like this, you know. Going to have a big breakfast of whatever we wanted to eat. Talking about concerts, and jamming out, and the freedom of living on the road. Yeah? Do you…like this, Stephen? You havin’ a good time?”

Stephen nodded, rubbing his head up and down against the man’s shirt. If he didn’t hold on, he would spin off into space. He felt like he was drowning.

“Yeah. I know. I’m here, kiddo.”

The van was quiet for the longest time. Maybe it had only been a few seconds since he had answered, maybe it had been an hour. Stephen felt something akin to humiliation jerking him out of the void, some shame in not being active, in not feeling curious. He twitched. Mr. Universe only held him tighter.

“We got a little bit to go. What do you want to do today?”

Stephen sniffled. “Swim. I wanna be swimming.”

“Let’s do that, then. Let’s go swimming.”

They would have to go up front eventually. Stephen felt the silence turn to humming, then to ringing in his ears, then to a shrill and terrible noise, and then, nothing again. He sniffled and tried not to wipe his head too hard on Mr. Universe’s shirt. But even if the man minded, it could be washed, and even if there was blood, it wouldn’t show up on the blackness. It didn’t matter at all. Stephen hugged himself to Mr. Universe’s side tightly as they laid there and didn’t do anything for the longest time.