x.1: valentines day special

"Hey, this is Eri. I can't get to my phone right now, so please make sure to leave me a message after the beep!"

Avett leans right up to the phone. He tries to think of something intelligent to say, something that won't make him sound like a complete fuckwit, but what comes out of his mouth instead is a slurry of nonsense.

"I miss you so fucking much, stars, I fucking miss you. I miss you."

He hangs up immediately and smothers his head into the pillow. How'd he even get his hands on her number? Eri is a memory he should've left back in middle school. All of these people, in fact, should've been forgotten a long time ago.

He hadn't meant to, but for Lover's Day, he's chosen to drink himself into a stupid fucking stupor and call up all of his exes in the comfort of the armoury. There's a mattress here for him already. It's like fate wants him to do it. To say that he actually misses all of these people is a stretch; a liberating, tail-curling, back-straightening, kind of stretch. Ok, he misses all of them, he'll admit that much.

Another one. The unidentifiable Therian alcohol goes down like sandpaper. It'd been on sale at the Hives supermarket—under twenty credits for ten bottles. Though he hadn't been strapped for cash at the time, he sure as hell hadn't been keen on overstaying his welcome within the sanctuary either. So he'd ended up just grabbing whatever he could get his hands on. It tastes like shit, but enjoying alcohol for its taste is for old Gallians and first-year mercenaries who have nothing else to spend their credits on. On to the next ex. Aoife.

He freezes as he sees two Aoifes on his contacts list. Panic seizes him so hard that he brings the bottle of alcohol to his lips again and takes a healthy swig. His vision is a blur. He can't see which one's which. Fuck it. It's not a drunk Lover's Day without a deadly gamble—his finger lands on the second Aoife.

This time, she actually picks up. Avett doesn't waste a single second on what he's about to say.

"Let's get married, Aoife," he slurs. "I wanna get married. Isn't your dad, like, the CEO of the IRC? I could be your stay-at-home husband or something. I don't want to be an inter-realm mercenary anymore."

"I'm telling dad," the voice on the other side says.

He screams into the phone in vain, but his sister's already hung up on him. She can't be serious. She can't just do that. She can't just…

With another bottle uncapped, he's already hovering over the contact for his fourth ex, Jaret, having already forgotten his most recent blunder. He knows there's a third ex in there, somewhere, but her name's escaped his memory, and he sure as hell doesn't have her number anymore. She probably doesn't even have a number, to begin with. One of those off-the-grid traditionalist Kattish families. He hopes she managed to move out, because it sounds like a shit way to live.

It occurs to him that he's not actually sure what time it is over in Therius, and that it's something like three in the morning. He's too tired to check his realm clocks, but it's no big deal. Jaret's probably already been promoted and stationed on Earth anyway.

He actually picks up on the second ring. What a god. He could kiss him on the lips if he hadn't actually done it already four years ago.

"Hey, Avett," he says.

Avett tries to say something smart, like 'hello,' or 'sup,' or even a 'how's it going?' but he ends up choking on his first words. Now he's sobbing into the microphone like a grade-schooler during his first break up because of it.

"Avett?" Jaret's voice lowers into a concerned hush. "You good?"

This is clearly a lost cause. Avett hangs up and rolls over in his bed. His phone actually starts ringing again and, feeling bad, he swipes up and right on the dialer.

"Avett, you're good, right?" Jaret asks again.

Avett sighs to calm his nerves, but it comes out as a laugh. "I'm smashed," he confesses. "Sorry."

Jaret doesn't say anything. He's probably checking the current date. Probably stifling a laugh. Maybe even going through possible conversation enders so he can hang up and go back to his own life.

Stars save him, he's in way too deep.

"You with anyone?" Jaret asks again.

"Mmmnot really. Wouldn't be calling you if I was." Avett shrugs. Then he remembers Jaret's broad shoulders and rippling back muscles and realises just how unstraight he is. He'd broken up with him because he quickly realised he wasn't bi during their relationship. Attracted to men, yes, though not in the way he's attracted to women. But now—courtesy of his intrusive and inappropriate thoughts—he's starting to reconsider it. He hasn't had a good fuck in a long while. Maybe that's got something to do with it, why he's deciding to ring up each and every one of his exes tonight. Is he actually just horny? That's just pathetic. He's pathetic.

"Where are you?"

"I'm on Earth."

"Stars. Earth." A deep, throaty laugh. "You're on Earth? I'm still stuck on Therius. I'm practically a janitor stuck doing dragon cleanup on this bitch of a realm, fucking save me."

"Earth sucks dick." What he would give to be Earth right now.

"You're good, right?" Jaret asks again.

"Yeah," Avett responds.

"Cute. Good boy. I'll see you later."

The dial tone drones on in his ears. All he can think about is the compliment, the grand title of 'good boy' that Jaret's bestowed upon him, and the fact that he'd said 'see you later,' instead of 'goodbye.' He's grinning to himself like a goblin who's just stolen an entire vault of gold. Yeah, he's cute, and no one's going to stop him. He's so happy about himself that he skips his fifth ex and tunnels straight in on the ex of exes.

His sixth ex is Jasmina Goldsmith, daughter of Yrna Goldsmith, the woman who owns the repair shop he used to work at. Stars, Jasmina's presence is enough to make him feel like he's a nineteen-year-old repair boy working in a garage in downtown Aurores again. It's a hefty thing to call her up just so he has something to jack off to later. He gets why the universal symbol for a court of justice are scales now—because he finds that he has to weigh each option like a meticulous science experiment. Does his carnal desire outweigh the sheer corruptness of his actions? If he knows he'll regret it in the morning, will it put a damper on his experience now?

He glares at Jasmina's contact number, curses, then flicks off his phone. Fuck Lover's Day. The day he retires, he's going to get into a long-term, loving relationship with a pretty Kattish woman from the motherland and live happily ever after in a high-rise central Aurores apartment. That way, he'll never have the displeasure of having someone walk in on him during his alone time. Like now.

He groans. One of his ears flicks up in annoyance. "Lilith, fuck off. This is my room."

She stills. She's thinking about turning right around and leaving him the fuck alone. Both of her hands are behind her back, like she's got something for him but she doesn't want him to see it.

"Avett," she says. "That's my bedspread."

"No, it's mine. It's been mine ever since Ysh' made me sleep here after my first romp around in the sewers during a relic retrieval." He rolls over and pulls the covers around his body to prove a point. "Ever had to smell six-year-old shit on you for a week straight? It's mine. Go away."

"Avett, I sleep here."

He narrows his eyes. "The only way you're sleeping in this bedspread tonight is if you're willing to cuddle up with me." Then he lifts the covers before he can catch himself. What the fuck is he doing, and how can he stop himself from doing it?

Thankfully, Lilith is a wet fucking loser—which is not a bad thing, not at all—and refuses him outright. "I guess I'll just sleep in the communal quarters," she says. She walks up to his side, and for a moment, Avett thinks she might be down to fool around. But then she says, "I'm just here for this."

She nicks his bottles of Therian alcohol. He lunges up half-heartedly, but it's like she's taking candy from a child. Something lands on his pillow in their place. When he looks up, he finds chocolate. It's heart-shaped, and it's wrapped in red-foil.

He holds it between his fingers. The chocolate is about the size of his palm and is cold to the touch. "What the fuck is this?" he asks. "I fucking hate chocolate."

"Oh, it's uh, it's friend chocolate." Lilith sounds kind of embarrassed. "For Valentine's day. D-do you guys do that here? On Therius?"

He shrugs, then tosses it to the side. It clatters against the ground. "Can't have it right now. I'm going to throw it all up anyway."

Her features dim—and then she brightens up like she's a lightbulb. "Oh, yeah, speaking of."

Lilith leans over and eases Avett onto his side. Though he knows he weighs a reasonable amount, she's just pushing him around like he's nothing. Then he realises that he's nearing the end of his alcoholic-enthused Lover's Day shitstorm, and he's probably way too exhausted to fight back.

"Lilith," he mumbles.

"Yeah?"

His eyes are starting to shutter. With one, shaky finger, he points to his cheek. "I don't like sleeping without my goodnight kiss."

"Ok," she says.

The lights turn off, and the doors slip shut.