Ladybug had never been entirely comfortable receiving gifts outside of her immediate family. She always worried that she wouldn’t display the correct enthusiasm, that her face would telegraph the wrong emotion and that she would cause inadvertent offense to the gift giver. The anxiety she felt over the correct appreciative performance only made things worse, and the stress of receiving gifts from people who did not know her well was hardly worth it. But Anzan’s gifts had delighted her from the start.
She had learned much about him in the last year. He was quiet but watchful, and the gifts she received on a near weekly basis were always tailored exactly to her and what she would enjoy — a hard-to-find potion ingredient, a clump of rare herbs or flowers, still attached to their roots and dirt, resting in a small burlap sack on her worktable. She didn’t need to worry over whether her expression telegraphed the right level of enthusiasm, for she would be over the moon with excitement, flapping her arms like a goose and squealing.
. . . At least, until she wonderedwherehe had procured such a find. She had begun to suspect that her partner had a habit of sticky fingers. Anothernecessary skill, he’d likely tell her, and although she didn’t wish to encourage his kleptomania, but she couldn’t say she disliked his presents.
The home theater, on the other hand, had been as much a gift for him as her, and that made her more excited and far happier than nearly anything else. At times, she still felt as if he considered himself a boarder in her home. It washerhome in his mind, and she was merely gracious enough to allow him a room.
“It’sourhome, now,“ she would remind him periodically. “The house belongs to me, fine. But a house is just a house. We’re making it ahometogether.”
That he had taken this space and claimed it for himself, turning it into a spot for him to enjoy something he lovedwithher, was the best gift he could have ever given her.
“A wisecracking hit man on the run takes shelter in an likely place — hiding in plain sight with his college roommate in suburbia. This orc-for-hire doesn’t realize he’s about to get a crash course in caring for gnomish toddlers — or discover the true meaning of family.” Anzan looked up to her with wide blue eyes, their smaller mates fixed on her with beady, black intensity. “An orc and a gnome! Can you imagine what that dwelling must have been like?”
“I suspect from your enthusiasm, we’re about to find out,” she giggled, uncaring of the evening’s movie fare, only that he was happy and comfortable.
He loved movies. It didn’t matter what genre. It didn’t matter how old it was or what species it starred, didn’t matter if it was the third in a franchise for which he had no prior context. The twists and turns in thrillers always shocked him, no matter how predictable. Romcoms made him pull her closer and hum into her hair, comedies left him breathless with held-in stoic laughter, and he couldn’t seem to get enough of human and non-human relationships.
The common mundanity of commercial entertainment had been restricted to only what he’d been able to stream on his work computer during all the years he spent living on the fringes of society, which wasn’t much. Ladybug was thrilled to help him make up for lost time, no matter how many French vampire costume dramas and Naga spy action adventures it required.
They had just settled in for the evening — Anzan on the specially designed floor support he’d ordered for himself, giving him the ability to fold his legs beneath him on a mat and rest his upper back against a cushioned arc, as Ladybug curled against him on the side of the sectional sofa he’d placed adjacent to his own seat. It was a delightful setup, as close to snuggling on the sofa together as they were able to manage. It might not seem normal to an outsider, but to her, this was near perfection.
He had just queued up the film when they heard it.
What was now a familiar yowl from the window, first from one corner, then from the other, further down the wall. It was the black cat, up on the window ledge, moving from pane to pane, attempting to look in at them.
It wasn’t as easy to ignore at this time of evening, particularly at the back of the house when there was no other noise, and the cat knew it.
“Ladybug, this is getting out of hand.”
She dropped her head back, closing her eyes.Go away. Please, just go away.
“Do you remember that time you were convinced we had house brownies?”
She lifted her head wearily, looking askance at Anzan. She did not need to be reminded of her paranoia the previous winter, when the gathering shadows of the evening played tricks with her mind, and she was convinced they were in need of an exterminator. “Yes,” she mumbled unwillingly.
“I think, my little bug, this situation would be best handled similarly.” He looked pleased with himself already. “Tomorrow, I shall place webbing around the outside of the house. If this feline wants to jump up to the windows, they will quickly find they cannot jump out as easily.”
“That’s not a good idea,” she sighed, dropping her forehead once more, this time to rest against his turtleneck sweater-encased pectoral. “I don’t want him to hurt you.”
The sound Anzan made in his throat was a mélange of disgust, shock, and offense, and she couldn’t help but laugh at the gurgle of it.
“Hurtme?! I assure you; I am not afraid of garden cats. This creature is a nuisance. It thinks it is fast? I will show it the meaning of true speed. We will catch it once and for all and dispose of it humanely.“ He quickly threw up two hands when she pushed from his chest with a gasp. “By which I mean,” he quickly added, “I shall fetch the cat carrier in the morning, and you can drop the beast off at the shelter. It will be gone from your garden for good.”
She smiled at the thought of Holt at the animal shelter, being adopted by a family with small, rambunctious children.That would serve him right.
“No,” she sighed. Regardless of how much Holt deserved to be treated like a mangy stray, the repercussions for doing so would not be worth the short-term amusement. “I’m serious.”
She winced as another sharp yowl came from the other side of the window. The speed with which Anzan was able to leave his seat, circling the room and closing the drapes would’ve made her dizzy if she wasn’t accustomed to it.He might actually be able to catch him. And then what? Could you live with yourself if Holt hurts him? He doesn’t understand.
She’d still been slumped over against the back of the couch when he returned, hitting the power button on the remote for the projection screen. Once the motor finished running, pulling the white screen back into its home on the ceiling, he gripped her chin, forcing her head up.
“I think our movie night this evening needs to instead be a story time, don’t you?”
Ladybug sighed again, tucking her legs up beneath her, mirroring his pose. Anzan, silent and stony-faced as ever, waited patiently, giving her no out. Beyond the window, the garden was quiet, for the moment.
“His name is Holt.” Her voice wavered over the name, not fully closing the final consonant, in an effort to prevent speaking the name aloud. “He belonged to my Aunt Willow. Well, he didn’t belong to her . . . he was bonded to her . . .”
She trailed off, floundering already. How was she to describe the relationship the cat in the garden had shared with her beloved aunt? How could she convey the nuance to an outsider to their world, no matter how willing Anzan might be to listen? Ladybug scarcely understood it herself.They made magic together. They loved each other. They saw through the future together. When he had to leave her, it broke something inside of them both.She shook her head, starting again.Keep it simple. Just give him the basics that he’ll be able to understand.
