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Now— here’s the thing. There’s this new talk of the town, a fantasy character come to life. Every animal within a four mile radius of Ottawa is talking about him. They’ve heard a story from a friend who heard a story from a neighbor from a family member. Mr Gio, the pigeon that hangs around the park Ilya takes her running at, says that he’s from a country far away, that he has an accent.
Anya, respectfully, thinks they’re all shitting themselves.
It’s probably another one of those parasitic viruses that make animals start hallucinating, start believing things that aren’t true. Because that guy, the one in their stories, cannot be real. Absolutely fucking cannot be.
Ms Rosie, the neighbor’s cat, sighs wistfully at the fence. I heard his hair looks like the sun.
So, yeah. Maybe they’re all losing their minds. Or maybe she’s the one losing her mind, and they’re all normal.
She is plopped in Ilya’s lap. Ilya is nuzzling into her face, peppering kisses all over. At this, Anya cannot help but smile, pant, her tail wagging in delight.
“We have guest tonight, sweet girl,” Ilya murmurs. “You will like him, he is puppy like you.”
Anya nuzzles against his palm. Another puppy? Is it Troy and Harris, bringing Chiron? she knows about the guest, they’d been talking about it for a while, discussing what to make for dinner, etc. Why would all that matter if it was another puppy?
Holy shit. Is she getting a sibling? A sister? Is she—
Ilya laughs. “You will see.”
Like that helps. Anya grumbles, getting off his lap. With another snort, Ilya kisses between her eyes, and then gets up off the couch. She trots after him.
The kitchen is warm, a lingering scent of mellow spices and, her favorite to smell, simmering tomato sauce. It is aromatic: she notes garlic in there, some onion. Basil, too.
(Ms Mimi down the street says that she should have been named Remi, after the rat from that one rat-helps-man-cook movie. Anya disagrees— Shane and Ilya are great cooks on their own. They don’t need her help.)
Shane and Ilya work in relative silence. Shane stirs the sauce, occasionally dipping a fork in to taste it. Once, he holds it out for Ilya, who licks the spoon before pressing Shane into a kiss, inching forward until the small of Shane’s back is pressed against the counter. They smile at each other, dopey and love-sick.
Anya did not know it was possible for two humans to be so in love. Anya’s also not a prude, but some of the stuff she’s seen… she shudders at the memory.
The door bell rings. Shane huffs a laugh, waving the fork in the direction of the hallway, and therefore the front door. Ilya pushes off him with one last kiss to the cheek, making his way over.
Anya stays near Shane, sitting at his feet. Shane smiles when he looks down, ruffling the fur at her snort. She purrs, satisfied.
There is a voice at the door. Footsteps follow.
Anya is not greeted to another puppy, but he is greeted to a man, around 22 or so, with a bout of sun-kissed golden curls and a bright smile.
Anya will give credit where credit is due: his outfit is outright beautiful— dark wash straight-cut jeans, a tight-fitting black top that’s cut off right above his hip. His skin peaks through. Anya spies a tattoo at his hip, little lines that lead to something larger under his shirt.
He’s wearing fucking eyeliner. A little dabble just on his waterline, but— wow. Anya’s enamoured. It’s like that phrase Ms Mila, the neighbor’s cat, likes to say: he has rizz.
When he spots her, his smile widens. “Hi,” he squeals. He drops the wine bottle on the kitchen counter, crouching down next to her in one swift movement. His voice dips into a coo. “You’re so cute, Anya!”He scratches at her neck. “Ugh, I want to eat you!”
Anya likes him. Anya also says, “Please don’t eat me.”
Luca laughs. His nose scrunches.
Anya is delighted by what she finds when she spies a glance at Shane and Ilya. The looks of it— whilst Luca wants to eat her, Shane and Ilya look like they want to eat him. And. He is kind of like a puppy. Interesting.
“I like you,” Anya says. She licks his face. “You’re fun.”
Luca’s smile grows. At the same time, Shane makes a noise of amusement.“I think she likes you, Haasy.”
Luca’s eyes trail up at him. His lips are now pulled like he’s in on some big secret. “You think so?”
“Oh, yeah. She takes a while to warm up to people sometimes.”
“I can smell fear,” Anya mutters, flatly. “Why the hell is someone scared of me? I don’t like them.”
Luca laughs, and then makes an aborted coughing sound, covering it up. Why? She doesn’t know. Was her bark funny? He’s a little weird, but she respects it. She loves weird people. Luca clears his throat, the easy smile flitting back. It seems like his natural state, smiling. Does his face ever get sore? “Well, I’m flattered, Anya.” His fingers find the bottom of her chin. “You’re, just, so cute!” He makes another light ugh! noise. She finds that it’s a noise people make when they don’t know what to do with the rush of emotion they’re feeling. “I promise I won’t eat you, though.”
Well, that’s a relief.
Dinner is a warm affair. Luca is fun company. At some point, he tells them about his pets back home, (technically not his but his grandparent’s), about how his omi was a veterinarian, about how she spent her career doing fieldwork in various conservation reserves and sanctuaries. He smiles as he shows them a photo of her— he has her eyes— holding a sloth.
See, veterinarians make Anya nervous, no matter how kind they are. But maybe she can make an exception for Luca’s grandma.
The conversation drifts into other things, and for the most part, Anya lounges around. She eats her dinner— a fresh, high-end (she’s spoiled, okay? So what about it?) dog food delivery service Shane and Ilya use— and enjoys it. It’s high quality and quite frankly delicious, except for, well.
The fucking steamed peas they added in today’s meal. She’s picked those out, eaten around them.
Luca, who can see her bowl from the angle that he’s sitting, notices. He huffs a laugh, but it doesn’t really sound like he’s making fun of her. “Don’t like the peas, Anya?”
“No,” she grumbles. She sounds a little petulant, but it’s not like anyone knows what she’s saying, anyways. “I like the turkey one more. It has carrots.”
Luca hums, eyeing the discarded peas. He turns back to Shane and Ilya, tilting his head in thought. “Does Anya eat the ones with carrots, or does she put those aside, too?”
Shane considers this. “She eats the carrots, I think.”
Ilya makes an aha! thoughtful sound. “Oh, sweet girl, do you like that one more? We can order more of it instead.”
Wait, what?
“I like the one with zucchini the most.”
“You know,” Luca adds. “I’ve heard that the zucchini one is quite popular, too.”
The shock must show on Anya’s snout. Luca tilts his head back down towards her. He sends her a grin, and then fucking winks.
And.
Everything slots into place.
I heard his hair looks like the sun.
Oh.
Oh god.
“What the fuck,” Anya says. “You can understand me?”
Luca’s fingers make a thumbs up underneath the table. Other than that, he has no outward reaction. Well, of course he doesn’t. It would be fucking weird for him to answer her.
But Anya does. Anya is. Anya is having an outward reaction. Anya is losing her fucking mind. Everything is melting. Her brain is melting. “I need a cigarette.”
Now this garners a reaction from him. Luca chokes on his pasta, a half-aborted cough-laugh bubbling out from his chest. “Sorry,” he croaks, picking up his glass of wine. “Sorry, wrong pipe.”
“What the fuck,” Anya says, again.
Luca nods once, sympathetic. What the fuck.
Anya kind of loves Luca. He’s funny, and he understands her, which means she has someone to talk to outside of her friends. Of course, they only conversate while they’re alone. In front of anyone else, Luca does not answer her, acknowledge what she’s said blatantly. If he does, he’s more subtle about it. He’ll say: I’ve heard dogs prefer…. instead of Anya said she prefers…
There’s this one day where, during a team dinner party hosted in their backyard, Anya and Chiron hang out. Chiron, having met Luca at the rink, is nowhere near surprised, but the two of them stick by his side, trotting next to him.
Birds, too, love him. Sometimes, they’ll sit perched on his shoulder, making little chirping sounds. Well, chirping sounds, apparently, to humans. To Anya, they sound normal. A little demanding, if anything.
It’s like they’ve kidnapped him. There are animals everywhere around him— little backyard birds, squirrels mostly, sometimes the neighbor’s cat.
The Centaurs start calling him Doolittle, after the movie. Animal whisperer, they say.
Oh, they have no idea.
“Mr Luca,” Ms Moony, the neighbor across the street’s cat, says. “What happens at the end of Frozen? Cathy paused the movie right when Anna froze.”
“That’s cause she’s went to work,” Ms Chia, one of the Chickadees, grumbles. “She works the night shift. She’ll be back.”
Ms Moony sends her a stink eye. “I know she’s coming back, idiot. It’s only that I want to know what happens.”
They’re all idiots, Anya thinks, sometimes. By the look on Chiron’s face, he agrees. See? That’s why Anya likes Chiron’s company.
Luca makes a noise that is half placating, half amused. “Elsa hugs her, and then Anna melts,” he explains. “Turns out that is true love.”
“Wow,” Ms Moony says.
“Oi, Haasy,” Holmberg calls out from across the backyard, holding out a shot glass. He’s where everyone’s at. Luca, sitting with them, is not where everyone is at. Anya feels a little bad. Does he want to spend time with his friends? “It’s shot ‘o clock!”
Luca laughs. “Okay, guys,” he whispers, apologetic. “I’ll be back in a little bit, yeah?”
Luca is, like, their favorite person. Well, Anya’s third favorite besides Shane and Ilya. Maybe triple-tied for first, maybe. He’s precious in their world— there are rumors, afar and close, about him. He’s, as Ms Mimi likes to say, the shit. The boy with golden hair, the one who understands them. A keeper of their word.
He isn’t back in a little bit. In fact, Luca gets absolutely shit-faced. Good for him, honestly. Most of their little animal group is dispersed by the time he goes inside and straight onto the couch, she and Chiron in tow. He giggles when he notices the two of them have followed him.
Anya angles herself to curl next to him, her chin resting on his hip. Chiron curves into his other side, doing the same. Luca smiles, and then laughs breathily, his fingers finding their fur. He scratches, a little wobbly, but practiced regardless.
“How much did you drink?” Anya asks.
“Shh,” Luca says, and it makes himself laugh. “You sound like my mom.”
Okay, so, then. A lot.
“Say,” Luca continues. He squints at her. “Anya, d’ya think Shane and Ilya would ever want a third?”
(And the thing is—
This is what happens next, a little later.
Luca dozes off, nearly slumped sideways into the couch now, halfway through their conversation about the socio-political implications of the movie Frozen. Very enlightening stuff, really.
“I’m so weird,” Luca had said, at some point. “I’m talking to animals about poverty.” He peered at them, earnest. “Do you guys think I’m weird?”
“No,” Chiron said, at the same time Anya said, “Yes.”
This garnered another one of those light laughs, ones where you knew someone was being earnest about it, unfiltered. “I’m so fucking weird,” Luca muttered. “All my friends are animals.”
“You’re, like, famous, to us,” Chiron offered, and it was kind of soothing, the way he said it. “We all love you.”
Luca smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Thanks, Chiron. You’re the GOAT.”
“I’m a dog.”
“Greatest Of All Time,” Anya supplied. “The GOAT.”
Chiron made a face. Luca blinked over at Anya. “You’re so smart, sweet girl. You’re the GOAT too.”
Anya nuzzled into his hand. A couple of Centaurs had trickled in at that point; Luca went quiet, the extent to his involvement in their conversation now reduced to small hums, noises of agreement or disagreement. Tonally, he converses. It’s a skill, really.
Chiron dozes too, a little while later. Anya can’t blame him— Luca’s heartbeat, under them, is a lulling thing. At some point, Harris walks over, Troy in tow behind him, snaps a photo of them, and then rustles Chiron awake, the three of them heading back.
The party is mostly over. Shane huffs a laugh when he notices she and Luca, pressing a kiss against her snout. “Hi, sweet girl,” he whispers. “Did you have fun tonight?” Anya fucking loves Shane and Ilya. She’s gotten so lucky. She makes an agreeable bark. Shane smiles, nuzzling her fur with his cheek. He kisses again, this time just below her eye. “You are so sweet, Anya.”
And he’s so sweet, too.
Shane steals a glance at Luca. Like they’re in on some secret, his smile softens. “What do you say we let him rest?”
“Yes.”
He grabs a blanket folded over the back of the couch, draping it gently over Luca’s body. It covers most of Anya, too, given the angle.
Shane leans down and presses a kiss to Luca’s temple, too.
So, yeah. Back to Luca’s question. Yes, they probably do. Most likely do. Do. A keeper of their word sized third, if she had to guess.)
In the moment, Anya can only help but laugh.
When it’s pointed out, there are a lot of clues. Very obvious clues.
For example— Luca comes over a lot, and then more and more until he’s over at their place nearly every evening. Everytime Anya questions him, he flushes a little, maintains, I’m here to see you, An, duh.
Sure. Suuuuure.
Of course, Luca’s company is to her benefit too, so she’s not complaining. He’ll take her outside, smoke a cigarette while they converse about god knows what. Their current favorite topic of conversation, which has spanned the last couple days, is whether they would rather never need to sleep, or never need to eat. Anya prefers no eating (I’d have unlimited energy!) whilst Luca prefers no sleep (I’d have unlimited time!)
Besides the time Luca spends with her, Luca spends with them. Anya’s spied them curled up on the couch on numerous occasions, Luca’s head tilted on one of their shoulders or his legs curved next to theirs. Ilya’s taken to calling him malysh, his tone only half flirtatious, the other half mostly sincere. Shane’s started to do that little signature thing he does with his husband with Luca now, the one where he runs his hands through their hair, smoothing away the stray curls.
Suuuure.
One night, Luca comes back to the house alone. (Anya doesn’t remember him having the front door code, but. Well. She’s not entirely surprised.) He’s wearing a t-shirt and jeans under his peeled off outer layer, his hair half wet from the rain. He flops down on the couch, horizontal along it, his head buried underneath one of his arms.
He hasn’t bothered turning on a light— there’s a couple of lamps on for her, but the light from it stays soft, mellow, yellow. The windows shine a blue-ish storm hue, the accent of it grey, gloomy. It’s cozy, but dreary, regardless.
Anya trots over to him. “Hi, sweet girl,” he says, tiredly.
She jumps up onto the couch, settles on top of his stomach, her head coming to flop down at his chest. His heartbeat is erratic, breathing resigned. He looks. He looks tired.
“Are you sad?”
One of Luca’s hands finds the fur at the top of her head, the other laying across her back. His eyes remain fluttered shut. “I’m okay, An, don’t worry.”
So she lets him be. This is what she has noticed humans will do with one another: they will let the other one be okay, even if they are not. It is not pretending so much as it is giving some relief, some space to breathe.
A tear slips off the corner of his eye, and then another. His chest stutters beneath her. Anya can hear his breath rattle, can his vigorous attempt at keeping it even.
“You don’t sound very okay,” she says, after a minute.
Luca snorts, wetly. “It’s nothing, An. Not worth it.”
She thinks about it. There’s not a (human) soul she knows that is aware of Luca’s ability, about the fact that he can talk to them all. He’s careful about it, methodical. Practiced, too, like he’s been doing this for a long time.
Anya knows he’s teased about his inclination towards them: it’s what people do when they don’t know the full extent of something, when they pick up on empty patterns. Haas, who is always sitting outside, an array of creatures sitting around him. Haas, who loves animals. Haas, the animal whisperer.
Doolittle, they call him. Haasy, it seems like you have more animal friends than real ones! Haasy, I think you would have made a better zoologist than hockey player!
(It is all teasing, but. She doesn’t think she’s ever heard Shane and Ilya say anything remotely similar. If anything, they’re endeared by it. Him. They get that little soft look on their faces when they see him sitting with all of them.)
Luca shakes it off. He sends the little birds sitting on his shoulders a private smile, his fingers never faltering where he keeps running them against one of their bodies. Even the squirrels, normally erratic in their energy, settle down against him.
But a secret like that is. Well, it must be so lonely.
“When did you find out you could talk to us?”
Luca blinks, and then huffs a breath, the nature of it rueful. “I dunno. My entire life.”
“Do you like it?”
“Like it?” Luca’s eyebrows knit. “I love it. It’s so special, I can’t even describe it.” He hesitates, and then semi-shrugs, the movement halfway done from his position laying down. “I didn’t— don’t have the best relationship with my parents. Um. I used to spend a lot of my time alone, and it was really fucking lonely, sometimes. And I was already… Well, I didn’t have many real friends, because everything was hockey, hockey, hockey. At those overnight camps I used to train at, I guess I’d always end up outside, sometimes, sit with the wildlife, as they say.” He pulls out his phone, flicking through the screen for a moment. On it is a black cat sitting on an unmistakably young, maybe nine or ten year old, Luca’s head. He looks the same, but the loneliness is apparent in it, uncaring of the world. The picture itself is a selfie, Luca grinning, his face half cut off from the angle. It’s a cute photo. “I love it, Anya. Being able to talk to you guys.” Something quiet crosses his face. “It makes me feel a lot less alone.”
“Did anyone know?”
“No,” Luca says, and then: “Yeah. My omi knew.” Luca’s omi, the veterinarian. Knew. Ah, shit. “She was a great person, Anya. You would’ve liked her.”
“I already do,” Anya says. At the faintly reminiscent, grateful look on Luca’s face, she puts her ear at his heart. ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ “Do you still feel alone? Here?”
Luca is silent for a moment. “Sometimes, sure,” he says. “But not— not as much.” He smiles, soft. “There’s some really good people here. I’m very happy.”
Really good people. The rest of the Centaurs, sure, yes. But that’s not what he’s talking about, taken by how he says it. Anya cannot help but snort. “So.”
“So?”
“So, do you like them?”
“Anya, I am not talking about my feelings for Shane and Ilya with Shane and Ilya’s dog. I draw the fucking line at that.” He pauses, nose wrinkling. “No offense.”
“None taken.” And it’s true. “Feelings, you say?”
Luca throws a hand onto his face, although the gesture is more for dramatic effect than anything else. “Fuck.”
“I knew it. What’s your favorite color?”
“Blue.” A pause. “Why?”
“Only fair I get to know my future step-dad.”
It takes a moment to register. When it does, Luca grumbles, “I hate you.”
For a Centaurs fundraiser partnered with the Irina Foundation, Luca, hosted by a local coffee shop, sits at one of the tables with a LUCA HAAS DRAWS $5 PORTRAITS OF YOU AND YOUR PET sign next to him. In the essence of the event, Anya and Chiron get to hang out in the place too, along with all their fellow Centaurs, guests.
Ottawa catches wind of the event. By the hour mark, there is a line out the place and down the street. The people are excited. The pets are excited, too. It’s fucking great.
By the time the event has ended, and it’s only them and a couple straggler teammates, Luca has drawn a hundred and seven little portraits. He blinks dazedly, his hand limp on the table. He winces when he cricks it, the muscles visibly sore.
“Haasy,” Ilya says, sympathetic. “You are crazy.”
Luca’s hand is in his, then. Chiron and Anya exchange a glance— they seem to be the only two to have noticed, besides Shane, who’s eyes have softened. Ilya wiggles his eyebrow and then brings Luca’s hand up towards his mouth, kissing the area at his knuckle. “Everything is better with a kiss, malysh,” he says, and then winks.
“Thanks,” Luca grumbles, a flush coloring up his cheeks. “I feel better.”
And Shane laughs, squeezing his shoulder.
(Luca comes over for dinner.)
It reeks so domestic Anya has to stick her nose outside a couple times, catch some fresh air.
She settles against Luca’s leg, content to lounge while he gets to work chopping zucchini. He’s fought Ilya and Shane, on it, too, the stubborn motherfucker. He just drew for six hours straight and now he wants to chop veggies, too?
Overachiever.
“So,” Anya asks. “How was your date?”
Luca got a barista’s number the last time he’d visited the coffee shop by the Centaurs stadium. He insists he went on the date on his own accord. Anya thinks it’s because he’s trying to distract himself from his two fucking massive crushes.
Speaking of which. Ilya is stirring the base of the soup, peering into the pot. Shane, beside him, has another cutting board out, carrots on top of it.
(Luca had grabbed the carrots first. Shane had snagged them out of his hand, handing off the zucchini.
Hey, Luca had grumbled. My hand isn’t even that sore. It can take a lot, you know.
There was a pause, and then Luca blushed. A grin spread across Ilya’s face, with teeth. Can it, Haasy?
Shut up.)
“Second date?” Anya tries, for the shits and giggles of it.
This garners a reaction. “Shut up, Anya,” Luca hisses, quietly.
“Hey!” Ilya wags the spatula at Luca. “Be nice to my child, Haasy! She is barking lovingly at you.”
“I’m not sure about lovingly,” Luca replies, sending her a glare.
“So no second date?”
“Anya,” Luca warns. There’s no bite behind it. “It went fine.”
Now, here’s the thing. Luca has never let himself be found out, not in his twenty-two years of being. He’s good at this.
Anya doesn’t entirely know what happens— maybe Luca is tired, maybe he’s sick of the secrecy. Maybe he’s comfortable with Shane and Ilya, subconsciously trustworthy of them. (She feels half bad, too. She’s caught in the banter. What do people say? Lost in the moment.)
Neither of them notice it. Shane elbows Ilya, mouths something. If Anya were to catch it, she’d find nothing but a warm inquisitiveness, softened eyes.
“Fine as in you’re still single?”
Luca rolls his eyes. “Of course I’m still single. It was one date.”
The conversation moves on; the moment is gone. Shane and Ilya do not mention it, and Luca, somehow doesn’t have seem. Dinner goes well, a movie after it. Like clockwork, Luca leaves, though the time he leaves has gotten later and later, all of them stalling stupidly to preserve the company, or whatever it’s called.
“Anya,” Shane says. He blinks. “There’s no way he was actually talking to you, right?”
“Well, yes.”
“Oh,” he says, faintly.
Ilya kisses her snout. “Sweet girl, bark twice if Haasy was actually talking to you, bark once if not.”
It’s not Anya’s place to give him away— it’s up to him. So she says, “Well.” A pause. “Maybe.” A pause. “Maybe yes.” In the end it’s three barks.
The two of them take a moment to stare at each other. “Okay,” Ilya says, slowly. “See, Shanya, it must be a coincidence.”
Shane is quiet for a second. “Ilya,” he says. “I think he can. C’est une princesse.”
He doesn’t speak French, but Ilya seems to understand, anyway. “Doolittle,” he echoes.
Has Anya mentioned she loves them?
Of course, once a clue is laid, it’s not long until the pieces fall together. The big reveal is only a couple days later, this time at a terrible time.
Anya is sick. She keeps throwing up, cannot hold anything down. Ilya and Shane fret over her, hold her, coo at her.
It helps.
One of them must have mentioned it to Luca. He’s there less than an hour later, eyebrows knitted, frantic concern spread across the lines of his face.
“Hi, sweet Anya,” he says, quietly.
She feels mostly better now, resting. Absolutely fucking exhausted and spent, but resting. Ilya’s hand is deft as it runs through her fur, the movement repetitive, soothing. Shane leans down every so often and presses kisses, humming as he does.
And— it’s good, seriously. Better. Especially being sprawled across their laps helps.
Has she mentioned she loves them?
“Hi,” Anya says.
Luca winces. “You sound like shit.”
“Rude,” Anya huffs. And then: “They can hear you talking to me.”
Luca sighs, and then he nods, schooling himself. “I know. Nevermind that, you get rest, okay, An?”
“Okay,” she agrees, because, well. She doesn’t really have the energy for anything else.
“What do you want to watch, Anya?”
“Hockey,” Anya replies. She is a Rozanov-Hollander, after all.
At this, Luca laughs, albeit quietly. At the silent question in Shane and Ilya’s expression, he reaches out and ruffles at the top of Anya’s head. “She wants to watch hockey.”
“Tell them I love them.”
Luca’s eyes soften. “She says she loves you.”
Ilya’s eyes wet. Shane’s, too. “Oh, my sweet girl,” the former whispers. “We love you too.”
“I know.”
“She says she knows.”
Shane laughs, a little wetly. “Oh, Anya.”
A little later:
“So,” Ilya says.
Luca shrugs, sheepish. “Surprise?” Something crosses over into his expression, equal parts vulnerable, chagrined. “Does it weird you out?”
“Luca, are you kidding?” Shane reaches out and squeezes his hand. “Never.”
Ilya smiles. He pats the space next to him. “Come.”
And so he does.
“It must be hard,” Shane says. “Hiding such a big part of yourself.”
Luca considers him. His brow holds something soft. Knowing. “People like us,” he says, quietly. “We hold a lot of secrets about ourselves, don’t we?”
Ilya’s arm wrings around his shoulder. “Mm. Yes. Can be lonely, sometimes.”
“Not anymore,” Luca breathes.
(“Luca, tell Anya that I am sorry, sweet girl, but we have to go to the vet today, there is no question.”
“She says… oh. Well. She says fuck off.”
“Anya!”)
The yearning gets, quite frankly, ridiculous.
Luca sits outside tonight, a cigarette between his teeth, mouth pulled contemplatively. When Anya rolls up next to him, he smiles. There are already Ms Chia and Mr Elio, the Chickadees, on his shoulder, Ms Moony sitting by his feet. No squirrels today, but there’s… a raccoon?
“Maxmiliano,” the raccoon greets. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Anya greets back, because why not? “I’m Anya.”
Ms Moony’s owner Cathy always leaves movies half-finished. While Ms Moony has mostly figured out how to operate the TV remote control, it seems she prefers asking Luca to finish the stories for her instead.
“And then,” Luca is saying, quietly. He takes a drag, exhaling slowly. “He says, ‘you were my brother, Anakin. I loved you.’”
“Oh,” Ms Moony says, with a sniffle.
“Yeah.” Luca notices her downtrodden face and scratches at the brown fur between her ears. “Oh, Moony.”
The door to the patio slides open. Shane peeks his head out. When he notices them, his lips twitch. “Ready, Luca?”
“Ready,” Luca confirms.
They make way for him. Luca gives them all goodbye scratches for a moment before he follows Shane inside, into the gentle illumination of the house. Anya stays behind, seemingly still in the company of the others.
He’s wearing a cute outfit. Eyeliner again, and his favorite dark wash jeans. His shirt is a long sleeve, but it’s hugging his frame, figure. The Centaurs are all going out tonight. They had won a home game earlier that afternoon, wanted to celebrate. Instead of meeting them there, Luca came home with them, the three of them leaving together.
“Say,” Anya hums. “Maximiliano, what do you think they are?”
“Are?” Maximiliano frowns. “Aren’t the three of them dating? I mean, I don’t know. They leave good shit in their trashcans, is all I do know.”
Which is. Fair?
Anya mostly ignores the second part of the statement for the first. Supposedly in agreement, Ms Chia shrugs, which, for her, is a flap of the wings. “I think everyone knows they’re dating except them.”
“Guys,” Ms Moony says, faintly.
They turn towards the large expanse of the glass paneling of the patio door. Inside, towards the kitchen, Luca has his hip against the island, Shane standing right there in his space.
Both of them are smiling. All three of them are smiling.
“Oh my god,” Anya says.
Shane’s hand reaches out. It cups Luca’s chin, his thumb flitting over his cheekbone. Luca stares at him straight, blinking.
Anya does not hear it, but she can see a vaguely mouthed, Can I kiss you?
“Oh my god,” Anya says, again.
Inside, Luca nods. Shane presses forward, light at first, until Luca parts his lips further, the kiss deepening with it. It’s slow, unhurried. Like sweet, sweet syrup. When it is Ilya’s turn, the man smiles with a wagged eyebrow. My turn? And Luca nods again, and then Ilya is kissing him, too, and—
This is probably the best day of her life.
When they get back, Luca is with them, because of course he is.
There are nights Anya does not go into their room.
And, well.
Anya does not go to their room tonight.
(The next morning, she does. Luca is sprawled between them, face slack with sleep, half tucked into Ilya’s chest. Shane has one arm curved over his hip, his front to Luca’s back, his own face soft as it rests against the back of Luca’s neck.
If Anya could, she would take a photo.
A dog’s intuition, after all.)