“Okay. Text or call if you need anything.”
As he pulled on his boots, the air pressure shifted behind him, and he straightened. Before he could turn around, a weight pressed to his shoulder blade. Zef’s forehead. He froze in place, barely allowing himself to breathe as they sighed, turning their head until their cheek took their forehead’s place.
They didn’t touch him any other way, simply their cheek resting on his shoulder, but it set him alight. Because they were seeking comfort in him. They trusted him enough to feel safe initiating this touch with him. Heck, it made his heart take flight, swooping through his chest and belly.
Without a word, they inhaled deeply, then exhaled in a rush. Then they were gone, shuffling back to their bedroom. Bryce didn’t turn around until their door clicked shut.
That evening, Bryce filled a vase with water and settled the bouquet of flowers he’d bought in it. He’d spent his commute and his lunch break researching Mantodean courting rituals. Frustratingly, there was very little online because Mantodeas were so close-lipped about such things. But he finally found a blog about a Mantodea and a Scorpia couple, and the Scorpia outlined several courting rules they had followed when wooing their partner.
Flowers were a thing, but not just any flowers. Specific flowers at specific times, preferably in the Mantodea’s favorite color. To convey support and well-wishes in times of struggle, he was to give a wide-petalled flower with black stamens and dark blue stems. He chose a pink bouquet, of course.
He had bookmarked the blog and would be doing intensive research over the weekend. Once Zef was feeling better, he was going to officially request a courtship, which required a different specific flower, a personal gift tailored to the Mantodea’s interests, and, intimidatingly, a portfolio of sorts, outlining Bryce’s financial situation and five-year plan.
Mantodeas were nothing if not pragmatic.
“Bryce,” Zef called from their room, and he set down his phone and fork, leaving his dinner on the table as he crossed the kitchen.
“I’m here,” he said as he stopped at their door.
“Will you do me a favor?” they asked.
“Of course, darlin’. What do you need?”
There was a pregnant pause followed by, “Please come in.”
Turning the handle, Bryce pushed the door open and peeked inside. It was dimly lit, their bedside lamp having been placed on the ground to keep their bed in shadow. The air was thick with Zef’s natural scent of tea leaves and homemade soap, but there was a musty, sour layer underneath, like old, sweaty socks.
They lay curled into a ball amidst tangled sheets, wearing nothing but a camisole and a pair of sleep shorts. Their arms glistened with sweat in the dull lamplight, and their breathing was labored. Ovulation was over. This was the painful part.
“Hey, baby,” he said, wincing at the endearment.
Zef didn’t seem to notice. They blinked glassy eyes at him before they pointed to their dresser with a trembling hand. “Top drawer,” they croaked. “Needs hot water.”
Following their directions, Bryce sifted through Zef’s undergarments until he found what resembled a hot water bottle. Right. For the cramps.
“I’ll be right back,” he promised.
He filled it with hot water as quickly as he could and returned to Zef’s bedside. They took it from him and hugged it to their belly with their lower arms, face tight with discomfort. Long, green legs ended in their barbed, ant-like feet, and their camisole had ridden up to reveal a strip of their peridot belly. Their dragonfly-like wings fluttered and flared absentlybehind their back, and Bryce saw the joints where they connected to their spine for the first time.
On one hand, he felt guilty for seeing them this way, like they were being forced to share this vulnerability with him because they simply had no other choice. On the other, he was so honored that they were allowing this at all. He hoped they wouldn’t regret it when this was over and their head cleared.
“Can I do anything else for you? You hungry?”
They shook their head, face half-hidden in their pillow.
“You need your blanket?”
With an almost alarmed trill, they shook their head harder. “Skin’s too sensitive.”
Their use of a contraction shocked Bryce more than seeing them half-naked, and he withdrew the hand hovering over their shoulder. “Okay. You sure I can’t do anything else?”
One bloodshot eye opened. “Will you read to me?”
“Of course, sweetheart. What do you want me to read?”
“Something interesting,” they said, and he smiled.
After gathering a few books, fiction and nonfiction alike, Bryce hunkered down on the ground beside the lamp, back to the side of their bed. Zef scooted closer, still curled in the fetal position, so they could see over his shoulder. He chose an anatomy book with diagrams first, so they had something to look at while he read.
