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“What do I smell like?”
For some reason, the question surprised her. It shouldn't have, given the game they were playing, but Pulchra had a habit of ignoring problems she made for herself.
They were sitting in a crowded pavilion outside of Dom Ayame's Street Meats, a steakhouse Belle loved for the name just as much as the food. Copper fences made green by time enclosed them in a pocket of tables and tilestones. They reclined beneath an umbrella that Belle had set off kilter, slanting it in just such a way that she could hide in the shade while admiring Pulchra's golden fur glitter under the sun.
Pulchra had been using her enhanced thiren senses to indulge Belle's secret craving for messy gossip—a game Belle had quickly latched onto when she realized just how precise Pulchra's senses really were—when she finally asked the question.
She looked so casual. Elbow planted on the table, cheek held in the palm of her hand. Lips upturned, eyes genuine, curious.
Pulchra had to look away. Just the question brought an upswell of emotion in her chest, followed swiftly by the chill bite of anxiety. It should have been a simple question with a simple answer, but like everything Pulchra associated with Belle, it got tied up in feelings and emotions she’d only just begun to understand. They’d been together for months, but for someone like Pulchra it felt so new. So raw.
She believed that her life had taught her truths about herself. Truths that were generally unflattering. Once, she’d thought she was thoroughly unsentimental. Cold in a way that most people—people like Belle—were warm. And yet Belle, with her endless gentle persistence, pulled things out of her she thought she’d lacked but had merely buried. Exposing her to parts of herself to explore. Often, they did so together, but Pulchra couldn’t fight the urge to keep something close to her chest. A secret just for herself.
In the quiet moments when they were alone, wrapped in each other's arms—sleeping, or resting, or just quietly existing—Pulchra slowly unspooled Belle’s essence. Taking in her scent and pulling it to pieces. Meticulously identifying every small, insignificant, individual smell that threaded together to embody the beautiful weirdo who suffered the closeness of her existence like no one ever had. Part of her thought it was stupid and strange, but the rest of her wanted to know Belle completely, in every way.
Words pushed against her mind like an ocean held by a damn. Words she'd been ruminating on for months, holding for the day she dared to explain. The old part of her, the Pulchra afraid of connection, of trust, tried to stem the tide. She thought vulnerability was weakness, but the Pulchra she'd become knew it had always just been fear, and she was tired of being afraid. She wouldn't let it stop her anymore. Belle needed to know how Pulchra saw her, in a way only she could. It was too important not to say.
Eyes focused on the middle distance, where people and cars passed by in a blur, Pulchra took a breath. “I've thought about that a lot, actually.”
“Oh?” Belle's jacket rustled as she sat up. From the first, Belle had always been good at reading her. She knew her moods and how they could shift. Their playful back and forth had passed. This was… something else. “You don't have to share here, if you don't want to.”
Pulchra knew what she left unsaid. There were other people around, something that made her cagey about doing certain things. Sharing certain feelings. But that frustrated her. Was she really a coward who let other people dictate how she spoke to her girlfriend? That was stupid. She wouldn't let it stop her now.
“No,” she said, gathering the resolve she needed, “I want to say it.”
Belle nodded. “Okay.”
Pulchra swallowed and slowly began picking away at the dam. “A person's smell is… complicated. It isn’t only one thing, and it isn’t always the same. It’s hard to explain, but‐” Pulchra stopped herself and took another breath, centering her thoughts. Then, she forced herself to look Belle in the eyes. They were blue-green like the sea, vivid and bright and full of open, unquestionable acceptance. Pulchra would do it like this, eye to eye. “I'll just start from the beginning.
“First, there are the obvious scents. What you want me to smell. Or, what you want the world to smell. I'm not sure what shampoo you use, you know I'm bad at that stuff, but it makes your hair smell… fresh, breezy, kinda like wind over water. And your perfume, when you choose to wear it, smells fruity, but not biting in the way citrus can be. It's a lighter, sweeter smell. Soft. Like mango.” Unconsciously, Pulchra had wrapped her arms around herself, seeking comfort and distraction during a moment of exposure. She forced her arms apart, fighting the urge. “Those scents are different,” she continued, “but they're never actually separate, you know? They're like‐” Pulchra trailed fingers through her tail, thinking. “There's this bar I've been meaning to take you to, down by the coast. It's open to the beach, decorated in those stupid tiki things you love so much. I imagine sitting on a stool in the shade, cocktail close to my lips, and then the ocean breeze blows across the shore. Sea spray fills the air, the ice cubes clink, and the two scents mix. Together they smell like… I don’t know. Life, I guess, and happiness, and you.”
“Pulchra…” Belle said, voice thick with an emotion that made some of the tension in Pulchra’s shoulders lax.
“But that's only one part of you,” she said, cutting her off. Pulchra knew herself. These words had been kept locked away under pressure, and now that the dam had burst they needed to come out. Belle—keen, empathetic Belle—must have recognized the struggle inside, because her hand snaked out to grab ahold of her own. She squeezed.
“You're not just the good stuff you want me to smell,” Pulchra said, riding it out. “It doesn't work like that. You're everything in your life. The lacquer on your fingers when you polish your skateboard, lodged in the skin; the silicon embers on your jacket when you fix Eos, lost in the threads; the sticky adhesive under your nails when you repair a VHS tape, impossible to clean.” Pulchra chuckled despite herself, shaking her head. “And I know what you're probably thinking. Those aren't good smells. And you're right, but that isn't the point. To me, they're like signposts. Memories.
“The smell of your favorite soba place, where you take me and laugh whenever the chef makes a dumb joke. The leather of your couch, where we fall asleep watching another show you think I’ll like. The mint on your breath, when you whisper something stupid in my ear because you know it'll make me roll my eyes.”
Pulchra rubbed Belle's fingers idly, lost in thought. “I can pick all of those scents apart. Know them individually. Put them in words. But when they all come together, that's the real magic.” Pulchra smiled, more shy than she'd ever been in front of someone. “Every smell, it's all you. And I… love all of it."
Finally spent, the flow reduced to a trickle. Pulchra had expected she'd feel raw, vulnerable, but she didn't. She felt relieved, a weight lifted from her soul. Content. The whole time, she'd watched Belle's eyes cycle through emotions—first surprise, then awe, understanding, and finally a deep and enduring love. Pulchra hadn't always felt worthy of her endless affection, but now she allowed herself to wade in, fully immersed. A warm spring suffusing every pore.
For years, maybe her whole life, Pulchra had been hiding from connection. Denying herself these fragments of happiness. There’d been a reason once, but it felt so pointless now. A waste. How had she lived before Belle?
She hadn’t.
“Pulchra, that was… beautiful,” Belle said quietly. Her eyes were wet at the edges, but she didn’t blink. She kept them wide open, like lenses trying to capture her in film, forever. “You’ve been keeping that inside?”
Pulchra shrugged. “It's like I said, I've been thinking about it a lot.”
For a time, brief though it may be, she allowed herself to luxuriate in the moment. Bask under Belle’s radiant gaze, eyes cataloging every strand of her fur and the way it trembled in the warm breeze, but it couldn’t last. Embarrassment, never truly gone, began crawling up her neck. The limit of feeling; small, but growing. She shook herself and pulled back. Not far, but enough to let Belle know she felt overfull. Pulchra flashed her a playful grin. “Bet I surprised you, huh? I'm not so shallow. I have hidden depths.”
“Not a puddle, more like a pond,” Belle agreed, giggling in the aftermath of emotion. She shook her head, banishing the silly thought. Her smile was serene. “You don't surprise me anymore, Pulchra. I know there's more to you in there, hiding. It makes me happy when you let me see. Thank you for sharing.”
Pulchra felt her chest tighten. Leave it to Belle to push the limit, offering more.
It stung her, but that wasn’t Belle’s fault. Her capacity for giving and receiving this warm kind of love frustrated her. The raw vulnerability, the public arena, was finally having an effect on her nerves. A stark reminder that she hadn’t fully overcome the person she’d been. She felt drained with precious left to give, but she didn’t want this to end. Not completely. Not yet. In response, a desire stirred within her. A way to continue in a different direction. It was selfish, perhaps, but Pulchra knew that where warmth could be found heat often lingered, smouldering beneath the surface. A sensation Pulchra had more experience using to… express her affection.
Slowly, Pulcha used her foot to trail a single claw along Belle's leg. Much like how she'd studied Belle's scent, she'd learned how she liked to be touched. Hands still together, Pulchra felt the girl shiver.
“You know, there's another scent on you. Something foreign.”
“Really?” Belle said, curious despite the rosy color blooming on her cheeks, or maybe because of it.
“It’s new. Not like the others. Subtle at first, but it’s slowly been taking up more space. Settling in.” Her grin spread slowly, the kind that showed the tips of her sharp teeth. "Me."
Pulchra wished she could take credit for the purr in her voice, but it came from deep in her core, unbidden. Her ears twitched at the sound of Belle’s squeak.
“Pulchra!” Belle whispered. Her eyes scanned the crowd, settling on people sporting ears and tails. “I smell like you all the time? Can other thiren tell?”
Pulchra nodded. “I make sure of it, every time.”
The look on Belle’s face was perfect. Love warred with embarrassment and that new, simmering heat Pulchra had so expertly stoked. Belatedly, after only just giving voice to her secret act of possession, did Pulchra realize how selfish it seemed from the outside. She looked away again, suddenly ashamed by this breach in consent. Who was she to claim a person so free and untethered?
“Does that bother you?” she said.
Belle’s hand became a firm, vice-like grip. Pulchra turned back to see the blush reddening her pretty cheeks had deepened, eyes brimming with a synthesis of soft affection and intense desire—passion. Pulchra could smell that, too.
“We’re going home, now.”
Pulchra smiled, pleased. It wasn’t often she could spur Belle to lead. Usually, she was a branch in the river, caught in its flow. Today, she was the river, and it was raging.
“But Belle, our food,” she said half heartedly, playing the part. Belle pulled her out of her seat and toward the road.
“Pulchra, you can’t just say that," Belle began, ears scarlet as they disappeared into the diaspora of new Eridu, “and not show me how."
Pulchra laughed. She closed her eyes, content to let Belle's hand guide her through the throng. All around them, people moved. The lifeblood of the city, ever shifting, a sea of its own. A hundred thousand smells churned in the air, but among them only one braid did she care to follow. Mango, and lacquer, and spicy soba noodles.
Maybe tonight, she’d uncover even more.