Since she’d been sick, he’d taken to keeping a closer eye on her. Monitoring the state of her freckles and flush of her skin, but also the little things that he knew she still hid from him. Winces or stumbles, how she sometimes leaned to subtly disguise sliding her hip back into place, but mostly the tremor in her fingers. The reason she still struggled to get a rune to work, but more importantly, a sign she was hurting.
Kizros caught the slight shake of her pinky finger as she slipped her hand from the table and set it on her lap. And then he noticed the meat on her plate, a few jagged and superficial lines cut over the surface, but only one or two missing slices from the offering. Anything that didn’t need a knife had been eaten, but the tough feger had barely been touched. Not nearly enough food to sustain her.
Without a second thought, Kizros reached over and stabbed his fork into the slab, holding it steady as he began to carve. After slicing off a few pieces, he snagged her fork and skewered a bite, handing it off to Aofe without a word. Of course, thoughts of feeding her himself flitted through hismind, simply because he entertained the idea of doing it with berries and fruits while they were both gloriously naked, but he shoved them down, reminding himself that he was not meant to be enamored with his human colleague.
When the feger was cut, he returned to his own plate, oblivious to the silence that had fallen around the table.
But when he glanced back at Aofe to confirm she was still eating, her blue eyes were soft and full of sunshine, staring up at him with such gratefulness that… maybe he didn’t need to feel like a monster. Not when someone could look at him like that and make him forget why he felt so small here.
Or, more specifically, remind him what it was like to feel happy.
10
A WELL-TIMED STROLL
Aofe
Aofe was a master of many things.
Finding a workaround for an accessibility issue. Ignoring ableist comments. Dyeing the hair on the back of her head.
Normally she’d include preserving a smile in the face of obvious disrespect when she wasn’t in a safe position to rebuke the action, but her patience was so thin she thought she might inadvertently set a painting on fire with her thoughts.
She had just made strides with Kizros after he’d avoided her, only for him to receive the invitation from his parents and shut her out again. Now she understoodwhy. She’d watched him slowly fall silent, watched any excitement he might share get whittled away as his family ignored him until he only offered barbed smiles and silent nods.
But then he’d cut her food when he noticed her stop eating, and looking at him in that moment had solidified something in her chest.
Kizros wasn’t meant for silence. He was meant for rambling thoughts and charming jokes and little flowers sprouting out of every crisscross of his belt. And she wanted to pick up right where they’d left off in the shop days ago.
But Aofe didn’t know what she was meant to do here. Stand up and defend him, and possibly embarrass him? Offend the Kosteri name and find herself in violation of some clause in her work papers she’d still not read? Somehow end up alienating herself and Kizros even further, to the point he may not want her around?
Worse, since Karroth had requested he and Kizros have a private drink in his study after dinner, she was left helpless to offer any kind of support Kiz might need. And though she doubted she might find any sort of buffer with the presence of his siblings, she missed their company after their suspiciously uncomfortable and hasty departures.
“This one is my favorite,” Ukela said, already a dozen paces ahead of where Aofe was both trying to keep up and also not trying all that hard. The demon stared up at the large canvas, a soft smile on her lips. “Kizros has some connections with a few artists, quite talented demons, but noone has been able to pinpoint the identity of this artist in particular. We have several of their paintings, including a larger one in the study.”
Aofe looked up at the painting—a scene of shadowy figures dancing in a dark wood—admiring the few things she understood about art. The use of space, the colors, the emotions it evoked. She felt a subtle sense of longing, mixed with a hint of rebellion, which was truly a fascinating thing to consider when she’d not been exposed to much art in her past, let alone that of demon make.
Ukela continued her not-so-casual stroll and asked over her shoulder, “Do you have family back in the human world?”
Aofe shifted on her feet, a cold pit trying to open in her stomach. “I do.”
“Oh,” Ukela sighed, holding a clawed hand over her heart even as she kept walking. “They must miss you terribly. I’m so sorry.”
It didn’t feel threatening, but it also didn’t feel all that genuine. Enough that Aofe held her tongue on admitting or acknowledging Ukela’s perceived sympathies, even if her thoughts threatened to cloud her focus. “Kizros has been really wonderful since we got here, though. He’s supported me, but also gone out of his way to make sure the other humans have what we need.”
Aofe nearly clutched at her gifted necklace, but the dimmed smile on Ukela’s face had her tightening her hand on hercrutch instead.
“So much potential, my boy. Wasted on that silly little shop,” she hummed, then like she was pulled out of a trance, nearly skipped to the last painting at the end of the hall. “Oh, and this one I snatched right up from Vylless Sohraxi.”
Aofe didn’t give a farting fudge about the next painting, not when she realized exactly how timed Ukela’s arrival was to this location. Just beyond her, through the partially cracked door, she could already hear Karroth’s deep voice.
“… that was your first mistake.”
Aofe slowed her approach, disappointment creeping up her spine.
“Is this really what you called me in here for?” Kizros asked, and already Aofe could hear the impatience dripping from his voice.
“Look,” his father continued, and Aofe could see the smug tilt of Ukela’s chin like she was smelling victory. “It’s respectable what you did, but you’ve already noticed the repercussions. Just think about it.”
