The main doors loom ahead, massive and utilitarian. I push through them carefully, and the hangar opens up around me – vast, loud, and buzzing with activity.
And there, emerging from a small conference room off to the side, is Cody.
He's surrounded by other pilots, a mix of Cerasteans and humans, all wearing the sleek flight suits which mold to their bodies like armor forged specifically for each wearer. The dark fabric has a faint woven texture, with reinforced panels guarding the chest and torso while leaving the joints free for movement. The effect is striking; even the smallest pilot looks formidable.
They're laughing about something, the humans loud and easy, and the Cerasteans joining in without restraint. That would have been unthinkable among my people only a few years ago. The introduction of humans into our society has created this, a relaxed happiness my people rarely allowed themselves to display. We were always so focused on propriety, on dignity, on maintaining our composure.
Humans have taught us the value in letting go sometimes. In being silly. In finding joy wherever it hides.
It's a good thing for my people. Even if it still feels foreign to me.
I take a moment to watch Cody, for once reversing our usual dynamic. It's always him watching me – those bright eyes following my movements, that barely-suppressed scent of longing trailing after me like a loyal pet. But now I'm the one observing, cataloging, and appreciating.
He's not as tall as many of the males of my species. Cerastean men tend toward impressive height, towering and imposing. Cody is more modestly built, but there's nothing modest about the breadth of his shoulders or the trim line of his waist. He moves with a loose, relaxed gait that might fool someone into thinking he's not a threat, but I've seen him in action. I know how quickly that easy posture can shift into something lethal. There's a coiled readiness beneath the casual exterior, a warrior's instincts hidden behind the goober's smile.
I like the way he fits into his flight uniform. The fabric stretches nicely across his chest when he gestures to make a point, and his?—
Cody looks up.
Our eyes meet across the hangar bay, and his face transforms. A happy, excited grin breaks across his features like sunrise over the desert, brilliant and utterly unguarded. His whole body shifts toward me, as if I'm a magnetic pole and he's helpless to resist the pull.
Has anyone ever been so happy to see me? Aloof, cold A'Vanti, with her walls and her silence and her reputation for freezing out others?
Cody calls back to his fellow pilots, lifting a hand in farewell. I see them respond. But I can't hear the words from this distance. However, I can read their body language well enough.The elbow nudges. The knowing grins. The way one of the human women waggles her eyebrows suggestively.
Whatever they say, it makes Cody's ears and cheeks flush an alarming shade of red. The color spreads down his neck, vivid against his pale skin. He turns back to them and raises his hand above his head, extending a single finger, the middle one, in a gesture I don't recognize.
The pilots roar with laughter.
Then Cody is moving, crossing the distance between us in an easy, loping stride. Before I realize what's happening, he's caught my hand in his. His fingers are warm and slightly calloused, the texture unfamiliar on my scales, and he's tugging me away from the hangar doors, back into the corridor.
"Come on," he says, bright-eyed and already moving. "Let's get out of here before I really give those gossiping church ladies something to talk about."
I allow myself to be led, bemused by the phrase. "Church ladies?"
"It's a… you know what, never mind. Just know that pilots are the worst gossips in any military, and I don't need to give them any ammunition."
I can infer enough from context. And truthfully, I don't want to be watched either. I don't want to be a spectacle or entertainment for others. My life has been dissected and observed enough already.
We walk in comfortable silence until we reach a quieter section of the corridor, away from the traffic of the hangar. Only then does Cody slow, releasing my hand with what seems like reluctance.
"You look lovely, by the way," he says, and there's nothing but sincerity in his voice. His eyes travel over my robes. I chose a deep purple outfit today, the color of my favorite flower. "That color looks beautiful against your skin."
I glance down at my hands, at the scales that cover my body in intricate patterns. It is golden with undertones of amber and brown that shift in the light. Beautiful by Cerastean standards. But I know that not all humans see it that way.
"Does it not bother you?" I ask, and I'm surprised by the vulnerability in my own voice. "My scales. I know some humans find them… unsettling."
Cody's brow furrows, and for a moment, a fierce look flashes across his face, almost protective. "Bother me? A'Vanti, your skin is gorgeous." He shakes his head, as if the very idea offends him. "You know what you remind me of? When I was deployed to North Africa, I saw a Saharan horned viper once. Most beautiful thing I ever saw – and one of the deadliest. It had these scales that were pure gold, like liquid metal poured over muscle, and these little horns above its eyes. It sat there in the sand, perfectly still, watching me watching it." He smiles, his gaze going hazy and faraway. "First time I saw you, that's what I thought of. Beautiful and deadly. The kind of thing you can't look away from, even when you know you should be careful." The red creeps back into his cheeks as he seems to realize what he's said. "Uh… anyway. The point is, you're beautiful. Anyone who thinks otherwise is blind."
A tremor of nerves flutter inside my ribs, delicate and unfamiliar. I crush it down, reaching for safer ground, something to deflect away from the heat spreading through my chest.
"Your skin is interesting as well," I say, letting my gaze travel over his face and hands. "Remarkable, really. Almost the exact pale pink as the meat of a sandworm, once it's been gutted and filleted."
Cody blinks. His mouth opens, closes, opens again. "I— what?"
"The sandworm," I continue, letting my finger trail along his arm as though to illustrate my point. Soft. Smoother than my scales could ever be, and yet firm beneath, the strength of a warrior hidden under that deceptively delicate skin. I don't let myself linger. "A creature native to the deep deserts of Ceraste. When butchered for consumption, the meat is precisely the same shade of pale pink as your skin."
"You think I look like a worm?"
