Chloé Viva walked down the street with her hands in her pockets, feeling like the mouse she was, moving through pedestrian traffic much taller than her. She stared at people's legs as she walked. This let her keep out of everyone's way. It also let her avoid eye contact. She was wandering around Rainside after work. She still had on the white polo and khakis of her uniform. Between that and her grey fur, she looked nondescript, washed-out even. The only pop of colour on her was her red canvas sneakers, and the lime green trim of her tablet's case. She'd talked to her therapist about her daily routine, and they suggested she try to explore the city a little, to break the monotony of repeating the same day over and over again. She wasn't sure why. The days were clearly different. The number on the calendar changed, and sometimes it was a weekend and she didn't go out at all. Her tablet was in her hand, though she was trying not to look at it. It could tell her where to go from anywhere in the world, so after work, she picked a random direction and started walking. She'd get home, eventually. She realized, eventually, that exploration probably didn't mean she should just stare at the ground. If nothing else she should find a shop to go in. Looking up past the dangerous level where she might accidentally make eye contact with someone else, she started studying the signs she passed instead. Was there something she wanted right now? Maybe a place to sit, because she'd been on her feet all day. She stopped in front of a store and peered in the big window in front. It was mostly black and white inside, with people milling about behind a counter. There appeared to be a few spaces available to sit down. And she was thirsty. She went inside. --- The teahouse was noisier even than the street was. There was a small queue for tea, and it gave her the opportunity to decide if she wanted black or green. She didn't really pay any attention to the conversations around her, just let it blend in to a general din, at least until she got to the front. "Hey there, welcome to Gong Fu," said the barista, female, energetic, when it was her turn. The reflection in the dark marble of the countertop was of an orange feline in a black uniform, blouse and skirt. She even wore a black silk tie, though it appeared loosely tied for aesthetic reasons. "What can I get for you?" "Green tea, please." "Sure! What kind would you like?" Chloé blinked. She must not have heard. "Green, please." "Ah, ha." Chloé could hear the patient smile in that reply. "There are a bunch of kinds of green tea. There's, like, sencha, that's the one you're probably familiar with, but we've got lots." It was at this point that Chloé looked up and realized she'd never really processed the wall behind the counter. Dozens of porcelain jars stared back at her. "...Oh." "Tell you what, you come over this way, and I'll help you out." Chloé let herself be led to the side, and another of the baristas started in on the next order while this one went to grab jars of tea. "So, this one's the tea you're probably used to," the barista began as she opened up the jar, and Chloé peered in. "It's not in bags," Chloé pointed out. "Nope! We brew it loose to order. Not to badmouth bagged tea, because some of it's pretty good, but you can't get the best infusions with bags. Ideally the tea should be free to float through the water until you strain it." "Oh. ...does that affect the infusion rate of epigallocatechin gallate or caffeine?" The barista paused briefly, and then switched gears. "You know, I don't know that specifically? What I do know is that brewing bagged versus loose changes the flavour of the tea, it makes it more full-bodied. And probably it changes how much of what chemicals are infused, but as for the EGCG and caffeine in particular, I couldn't tell you. It's probably not, like, clinically singificant, though." Chloé nodded, glancing at the other jars. "What other kinds of tea are there?" "Right, so, here's another one to contrast..." The barista closed one jar and opened another. Inside were small, corkscrewy leaves. "This is bi luo chun. Whereas this—" The barista tapped the first jar. "is Japanese, this is Chinese." A sweet, green smell wafted out from the jar. "The leaves are curly but the other ones are flat." "Yep! These are whole leaves that get processed in a specific way. The flavour of tea is partially the place it's grown and partially the way it's handled afterward. Sencha's flat and steamed; bi luo chun is curled up and pan-fired." "Oh. ...Are these the only kinds?" "No, not by a long shot." --- Chloé sat in a booth with her cup of tea. It was paler and less yellow than the green tea she was used to, but maybe that was because it was in a clear glass cup and not an opaque porcelain one. The surface of the tea had little hairs on it from the leaves. What did the barista call it? Long jing? She brought the cup to her eyes and fixated on the way the hairs made divots in the surface tension of the water, and accidentally dipped the tip of her nose in it. Then she took a small sip, rubbing the sting of the heat out of her nose with the heel of her hand. She had just assumed the bitterness of tea was an inevitability, but this was far less bitter than what she normally drank. Instead it had a kind of fired note to it, like the maillard byproducts of toast. If the tea was really roasted, like the barista had said, that would make sense. She found herself relaxing, though that was probably being in the plush leather booth and off her feet. The store was nice. She had a tiny enclosed space and a cup of tea, and even though the room was bustling with activity, nobody was paying attention to her. It reminded her of home. Well, what was home. Her therapist had suggested she try to think of her apartment as home, but that was proving difficult. She'd only been there for five years; she'd been a lab mouse for eighteen. Her whole life, where she knew exactly where to go, what to do, how to think, and then out she went into the world. It was a big place, the world. A lot bigger than the lab, and the lab was huge according to the doctors. It took her nearly a year just to get comfortable with the commute to work. She felt like one wrong move and she could be lost forever in an endless maze of streets, cars, and people, all of whom seemed to know where they were going except her. Once she found a GPS map for her tablet, it was a lot less scary. Beyond the practical applications of having the ability to know where she was, she could imagine herself being picked up in the talons of a hawk and being lifted into the air, the map view of the grid below her, before she was taken to its nest to be devoured. The mortal terror of prey, that was far preferable to the existential anxiety of the unknown. At least she'd be certain she made a good meal. _Anything_ could happen to her while she was lost. She finished her tea. It was a little small, but she was told it could be re-infused, so she returned back to the bar. "Hey, how was it?" the barista asked her. "It was good. It was very different from expectations. It might be beneficial to return and try the others later. For now I would like the second steep, please." "Well, thank you for that! I'm glad to hear you're interested in experimenting." "How else could it be determined what tea should be drank without trying all of them?" "Exactly my thought." The barista set the tea to brew. "You know, if you want, we sell the tea to take home, if you want to brew your own." "No thank you. It would be preferable to try them in individual cups before making a decision on what to purchase." "Okay, just checking." There was a bit of a pause, and, ever the bartender-type, the barista filled it. "My name's Cayen, by the way, I own this place." "Oh. Hello. The t— My name is Chloé." "Nice to meet you." --- The teahouse wasn't on the way to work, but that didn't particularly matter to Chloé. Once she figured out the route, it was a simple matter of taking a detour before going home. It only added fifteen minutes to her route, plus the time it took for the bus to come and any time she spent in the shop. She told Cayen this once. Cayen was impressed that in one visit she'd gone from bagged, low-quality, unspecified green tea to traveling out of her way to come back for the good stuff. So was her therapist. They appreciated that Chloé took their suggestion to heart, said it was good progress. Chloé wondered how much progress she needed to make to be finished. Maybe she would need to visit every location in the city at least once. She wasn't sure that was what they meant by progress, but she continued exploring anyway. When it was slow, Chloé tended to sit up at the bar and listen to Cayen talk about tea. She was very knowledgeable. She gushed for minutes at a time about the terroir of certain teas, the grape notes of darjeeling, the campfire flavour of lapsang souchong. She told Chloé about the history of tea, how it was important enough to be currency, and how the bricks still lived on in pu'erh bing. Chloé enjoyed these lectures. They reminded her of her previous home. Sometimes Cayen asked Chloé about herself, and sometimes they were easy questions, like 'are you from Rainside' (no), and some were harder, like 'where are you from'. She settled on the broad answer, St. Louis, after a few moments of thought. She told Cayen that she worked at a store called Modernist Kitchen, which, as its name implied, sold modernist kitchen supplies. Cayen didn't know the definition of that phrase, so she explained the modernist cooking movement, using examples such as Ferran Adria's Garguillou and The Fat Duck's liquid nitrogen meringue. She talked about the vast array of hydrocolloids, each of which had different properties, from the mucus-like xanthan gum to the silicone-like iota carageenan, and how these new compounds allowed for transformations of foods that were not previously possible. She liked talking about modernist cooking. It was less fraught than talking about herself. She remembered the day she signed the non-disclosure agreement. She was about to leave the lab, and they'd asked her to sign things before she left. They'd also asked her to read the documents she signed very carefully after they were signed, to make sure she understood exactly what she had agreed to, and she did. The NDA was there, strictly forbidding her from mentioning the nature of the tests she underwent, as was an affidavit stating that the tests and treatments were consensual and therapeutic, and documents pertaining to the naturalization program the lab ran to help test subjects adjust to life outside of it. They gave her a notarized copy of each of these documents and kept one for their records. Then they brought out her cake. It was her eighteenth birthday. She still had the party hat somewhere. --- Chloé walked toward the teahouse, checking the time. She had about fifteen minutes to get there, according to her tablet. She hadn't intended to be out this late, but she'd found Rainside's nature trail, and it took her all the way from midtown to the park at the north end of the city. Her map told her that it could take her almost all the way home if she went in the other direction, but she knew she wanted to stop at Gong Fu first. She had to take the bus back because she'd spent so much time walking. The teahouse felt very different this late, when she entered it. It wasn't bustling like it was in the early evening, when people came to relax after work, or even mid-evening, when people stopped in for a tea after dinner at one of the nearby restaurants. A mild smell of detergent filled the air, counters and tables looked freshly scrubbed, and cups were arranged to dry on a towel on the counter. Cayen was behind the bar alone, mopping the floor behind the counter; The floor in front of it was already shiny, and a yellow caution sign was propped up in the middle. Cayen looked up when Chloé arrived, and smiled. "Hey, Chloé, you made it. I didn't think you'd be showing up today." "Today the route here went through the nature trail. It goes all the way to Rainside Park." "Rainside Park, wow, no wonder. Isn't that, like, way in the north end?" "Yes. It was tiring but it was still preferable to come by for tea. Long jing, please." "Sure." Cayen flipped a drying cup over and started making it. Chloé found a seat at a booth against the wall and sunk into the cushioned seat. Her feet didn't ache as much as they did at the end of the nature trail — she had found a seat on the bus — but they were still a bit sore. It was one of her days off, at least. She could rest tomorrow. Her tablet chirped at her and she took it out of her bag. By the time she got it out, it had already turned itself off. She sighed, took the charger out of her bag, and plugged it in. It wasn't holding a charge very much any more. Given that she'd had it since before she left the lab it wasn't that surprising, though it did mean she would have to send it back for repairs. She could probably put that off for a while if she was careful, though. It'd mean one of one of the longest fixtures of her environment wouldn't be available to her for a few days. The doctors had given her the tablet as her own personal computer as far back as she could remember. They told her that it was hers to keep and that everything on it was for her and only her. It had a very rugged case, and it never broke once in her possession, but if it had, they would have replaced it immediately, and they would continue to replace and upgrade it for the rest of her life. She felt naked without it. Cayen brought a cup of the long jing to the table and flopped into the seat across from Chloé. "So how's Modernist Kitchen?" "I thought you were at work." "I am! It was slow today, there's not much left to do. 'Sides, I'm the owner. Who's going to tell me off for slacking for a few minutes?" "Oh. Modernist Kitchen is as it always was. More immersion circulators have been sold. Sous vide seems to have become more popular recently." "Neat. You know, since you told me about them, I've kind of wanted to get one. That thing you said about the eggs sounds really cool." Chloé nodded. "They are very useful. I have one." "Oh cool. Maybe at some point you could show me how to work it." Cayen glanced over at the clock on the wall, and thought. "...Yeah, I'm calling today done." She got up and headed to the door. "Are you closing? Should I leave?" Chloé was already reaching for her back to pack up. "Oh, no no, you stay, I don't mind. I just don't want anybody else coming in." Cayen flipped the open/closed sign, locked the front door, and took a jogging start to slide on the wet floor towards the back hallway, where she could turn off some lights to make it look less like the shop was open. Chloé watched this, because she had nothing else to watch. Cayen's movements were very fluid, she noted. She seemed to be able to track her body's movements with great precision, and appeared practiced at executing little agile or acrobatic movements as part of her normal gait. Chloé's tests were sometimes physical, sometimes involved obstacle courses or mazes, but she never had that skill even when she was at the lab. She decided Cayen must have deliberately cultivated it. Cayen ducked low and opened a fridge behind the counter, emerged a second later with a tallboy can, and hopped off the riser behind the bar. She did another half-run-slide to Chloé's table, though she stumbled a little when she hit a dry spot on the floor. "Sorry," She said, grinning bashfully.  I like to skate on the floor when it's wet." She sat back down in the booth and cracked open the can, which described itself as a pilsner, sipping the foam that started to exude from the mouth of it. "Do you drink at all?" She asked. Chloé looked down at her tea. "I am drinking now." "No, no, I mean, like, alcohol." "...Ethanol is used as a method to create tinctures of herbs for culinary purposes but it is not clear why it would be suitable as a beverage." Cayen looked at Chloé like she was from another planet. "...Well, I don't mean, like, pure alcohol, I mean like... Chloé, are you telling me you've never heard of alcoholic drinks? Like, beer?" "No. ...Is that common?" "It's... yeah, I've never met anyone who I've had to explain the _concept_ of alcohol to." she paused a moment, and Chloé let her gather the thought. "...Can I ask you something, maybe it's too personal, I don't know, but... you haven't really told me much about, like, how you grew up. I dunno, I'm curious to know how someone avoids all mention of alcohol without being raised by feral wolves or something." "They were not feral. They were scientists." "Your parents?" "They are my legal guardians." "Oh. ...I'm sorry, it's none of my business, but, do you know your parents at all?" "I do not have parents." "...Chloé, everyone's got parents." "No. I do not." "...So how were you born?" "In an incubator." "In an— wait, what?" "Conception and gestation took place in vitro. Genetic material from other people was obviously used for conception but no copulation took place. I was not born in the traditional sense." You— wow. I didn't even know that was possible." Chloé shrugged. "I did not know people drank ethanol." "Yeah, but like — everyone knows about alcohol. Nobody knows how to create life outside the womb." "My guardians do." "Okay, almost nobody. ...So, let me get this straight. You were conceived in a test tube. You were raised by scientists. And you... somehow didn't get out enough to know about booze? That's a term for drinks with alcohol in them," Cayen adds, at Chloé's confused look. "Yes. I did not leave until my eighteenth birthday." "Y— wait, wait, wait. Are you telling me you never went _outside_ until you were eighteen?" "The Habitrail had everything that was needed. There was a cafeteria and a courtyard for outdoor activities and dormitories and classrooms and testing rooms. Nothing was required outside the lab for food or shelter or clothing or education or exercise." Some emotions flashed across Cayen's face, but Chloé didn't know what they were. She was never good at understanding what other people felt by their expressions, but she was told her flat affect made it hard to know what she was feeling too, so she supposed that was fair. "Well... I guess that makes sense," Cayen said, eventually. "You said, like, testing rooms. What... kind of tests?" "I am not at liberty to say." "What do you mean, you're not at liberty to say? Chloé, you're kind of scaring me here, what the hell were they doing to you?" "...I am not at liberty to say." Chloé was confused and a little unnerved by this line of questioning. Cayen sounded agitated. She was staring at her. Was she angry at her? "Wh— why are you not at liberty to say?" "Because I am under a non-disclosure agreement that forbids me from talking about the specifics of tests underwent while at the lab. They are trade secrets and exposing them will get me in a lot of trouble." Cayen was quiet for a few moments, and her agitation visibly drained away. "...Oh." She looked away. "I, I'm sorry." Chloé shook her head. "It was not clear before now." Cayen was silent and sipped her beer for a while, and while Chloé liked silence, she didn't like this silence. So she filled it. "It seems like the lack of knowledge about booze is disturbing in some way. It is not clear why. You grew up in a location or locations in which ethanol is drank as a beverage. I did not. I grew up in a location where children were routinely conceived in test tubes. You did not. We come from different backgrounds but mine was not inferior to yours." "...I—" Cayen startled, as someone knocked on the front door. She turned around to look. There was someone standing there, who knocked again, as if that was required to keep her attention. "We're closed!" she called out at them, crossing her forearms into an X. The guy gesticulated at his watch. "Ugh, gimme a second." Chloé watched Cayen stalk to the front and open the door. "Are you open?" The guy said. "You knocked on a locked door with a 'closed' sign in front of it." "But... I see someone in there." "Yeah, weird, isn't it, the people behind the counter have lives and friends and stuff. She came by late and I was having a lovely conversation with her, and I'm not going to kick her out just because we're closing." The guy crossed his arms and stepped in closer to the ajar door. Cayen was almost as short as Chloé was, and he had over a foot of height on her. "You don't have to be rude about it. Look, what's your name? What's the name of your manager?" "...You want to get me in trouble for this." Something about the emotional tone of this statement didn't sound right to Chloé, but she couldn't parse it, and the guy didn't seem to notice. "You're damn right I do. Come on, give me their names. I want to know who I can talk to about your incredibly unprofessional behaviour." Cayen started laughing. "Oh, you think this is funny, do you?" "Yeah, I think it's fucking hilarious. My name is Cayen Aleva. My boss is Cayen Aleva. I am the sole owner and proprietor of Gong Fu Teahouse, douchebag, and if you think I need or want your business after this stunt you have another thing coming." The guy went silent for a few moments. "...Fuck you," he said. "Thank you, come again," Cayen returned in a singsong, and shut the door in the guy's face. Relishing the loud clack of the door lock, she walked back to the table and ran her hand through her hair, taking a breath. "Sorry about that. I... people like that stick in my craw." "It is okay." Chloé was not sure what a craw is or how the man stuck in it, but Cayen seemed annoyed, and that was understanding enough. Her tea was, by this point, finished, and she pushed the cup away from her. "I think it is best if I head home," she said. "Yeah, okay. You want anything for the road? A pastry or something?" "I thought the shop was closed." "I'm open for friends, and besides, it's on the house. Just not entitled—" She visibly stopped herself from launching into a tirade. "—people." "Oh." She stared at the surface of the table. "...I am your friend?" "Of course you are! You're genuinely interesting, you really know your stuff about the modern cooking thing, you let me talk your ears off about tea, and you seem really nice." "The term is modernist cooking. Also, my ears have remained attached to my head throughout our conversations. Though if you wanted one it may be possible to get by with only one." Cayen laughed at her comment, and Chloé wasn't precisely sure why, but she liked the sound. It wasn't the same kind of laugh she heard Cayen use when the man was speaking to her. It was lighter. Maybe even happier. Chloé found herself blushing a little, suddenly aware of the fact that she, a mouse, was talking to a cat. She imagined Cayen tackling her, sinking her teeth into her, eating her... she tried to push out those thoughts. Now was not the time. "Well, I wouldn't want to make you asymmetrical," Cayen said, and got up. "Seriously, though, if you want something from the pastry counter, go for it." "Oh." She turned and looked at it. "Um, thank you. Nothing is needed at the moment." "Alright. ...Are you okay? I... look, I didn't mean to pounce on you over the lab thing, okay?" Pounce. Bite. Rend. "That is not an issue," Chloé said quickly as she packed her bag. Why did she have to say 'pounce'? She could feel her heart begin to pound, the familiar acid sensation of anxiety in the pit of her stomach, the thrill lower in her belly. The more she tried to suppress it, the more it just seemed to come back twice as strong. "O— okay." Cayen sounded... something. Chloé was not sure. Perhaps Cayen noticed her reaction. Perhaps she was offended by it. She needed to go before she made a mistake. "Um it was very nice that you let me stay after you closed and thank you for the tea." She said this to the door, her back to Cayen, already walking towards it. "Yeah, no problem. Take care." That emotion was stronger now. Chloé fumbled with the unfamiliar lock, and wrenched the door open. "Thank you. Good night." The door closed behind the mouse, and Cayen stared at it for a few moments. "Shit," she said. She blinked as the door moved, and then realized that someone took Chloé leaving as a sign that they could come in. "We're closed!" --- The clock on the wall was seven minutes fast. In Cayen's experience, it was the average length of time people took to leave after she said the store is closed. She didn't mind the dallying — part of her vision for the space was one where people can just sit and talk without pressure — but she also wanted people to leave on time so she could get upstairs. "She's late again," she remarked to herself. "Lea? No, her shift's in half an hour," came the unexpected reply from beside her. She looked over, and her cyan eyes met the beady brown of her shiftmate, and she realized she'd said that out loud. "Oh, not her." Taylor shrugged, and continued to putter around the shop. He — the, Cayen reminded herself, she was still getting used to this pronouns since the came out to her — ran a tight ship, and there was mostly just nitpicking at any given time when the was punched in. It was why she hired thim. "You're waiting for, ahh... the mouse... to show up? ...God, her name's, tip of my tongue." "Chloé. And, yeah. She was late yesterday, but then again she apparently walked to Rainside Park yesterday." "Ah, I see." Taylor flipped a cup and started prepping for the second steep the customer approaching the counter was probably looking for. "What's that tone mean," Cayen asked, watching thim make the tea. "Sec," the said, studying the cup in front of thim. Cayen watched the ritual, and Taylor by extension. The beaver was fully kitted out today in this lumberjack hipster ensemble — buffalo check with the sleeves rolled up, faded blue jeans that could survive the apocalypse, steel toes. Waxed moustache. She'd chuckled at that, the first time she saw it. It made thim look like a Canadian silent-film villain, which, the told her, was exactly what the was going for. "Anyway," the said after handing the tea over, "Nothing. Hey, whatever happened to the bunny you were seeing?" "Who, Glire? I'm still seeing her. We've got a thing tonight." "I see." Something about this tone finally clicked. "You think I'm crushing on her." "Are you saying you're not?" "...No." Taylor clucked this tongue. "Never satisfied." Cayen smirked. Her polyamory — theoretical, as of now — was something the accepted about her, but didn't quite get, which was fine by her, because the same was true in reverse for her. "Look, we've been over this. You remember that time you asked me what my favourite tea is, and you had to stop me after nine, and even after grilling me about it I couldn't pick one?" "Yeah, but people aren't cups of tea. You don't consume them." "No, they're not." Cayen brought down a jar, partially to make a point, but also because she wanted a cup of it. "If I have a cup of da hong pao, if I decided that was the only tea I would ever need to drink, should I take it down from the wall and bar others from drinking it too?" "Of course not." "There you go. Other people get to drink the tea, and I get to drink other teas, and everyone's happier as a result." Taylor chuckled. "I can't help but think you've positioned me as the customer who walks in and is like, oh, no, I just want the same kind of tea I make at home, all this choice is too confusing." "Pfft, no. You're the customer who comes in and gets the same thing, and talks for ten minutes with us about it. Never orders anything else, but the thing they like? They like _hard_, and they really are satisfied with just that. And that works for you." "Damn skippy." Taylor took a gaiwan and started making a tea from the jar Cayen took down. "I thought you preferred the tie kuan yin." "Call it polyamourtea." "You're fired." --- Cayen looked out her living room window. It wasn't much of a view — the alleyway behind her shop, and a parking lot beyond that — but it was a better idea than staring at a wall. It'd been a couple of days now, and Chloé hadn't come back to the shop. Cayen was getting worried, and she was beating herself up over it. Maybe Chloé just needs a few days, Cayen thought. I don't know. Was it just being upset? It had to have been, right? What else could it have been? She got a spring jacket from her closet, and changed into something a little more athletic. She was restless, it was her day off, she hadn't done anything but go check on the shop, maybe it was time she went out and loosened up a bit. --- "Oh no, no, no no no no." No matter how many times she turned on her tablet, it just wasn't responding. It was at a full charge when she left the house. She didn't even think to look at how the battery was rapidly losing its charge until she glanced down at it and saw a black screen. And now she was in an unfamiliar area, and it was getting dark, and she didn't know how to get home from here. She didn't even have a phone. Who would she have called? Her only correspondence was through email. She closed her eyes and felt the fear spread through her. She was so small, and the world was so big, and now, she was in the middle of it. She pictured herself flying through the air in the talons of a hawk, but it wasn't working. In that moment, she desperately wished for that to occur, just to alleviate the terrifying bigness of the outside, to give her something direct and specific to focus on. Tears began to well up — frustration that it just wasn't an option. Giant hawks didn't appear out of nowhere. "Hey, are you okay?" Chloé opened her eyes. Or maybe they did. --- Fences, hah. Walls, double hah. Not even trees could slow Cayen down. She felt totally free like this, body and mind working to manoeuvre through an area with nothing more than a little creativity and a lot of upper-body strength. She jumped from the top of a wide banister to the four-foot-diameter concrete ball at the bottom, and then hopped to the sidewalk, barely slowing down as she looked for her next route. Her vision was almost entirely edges and movement, judging safe jumping distances, speeds, the limits of her own body. The shrill scream caught her off-guard mid-vault, and it nearly made her fall on her ass, but a quick pinwheel of her tail kept her upright. What the fuck was _that_? The scream continued, and — was that supposed to be words? She couldn't make it out from this distance, but at least she could discern its direction. She sprinted off, her phone in her hand just in case she needed to call 911. Two blocks later, she saw something she was not prepared for. Chloé had backed a big avian, a raptor, maybe, against a wall, and was screaming at them. She didn't sound angry, she sounded like... like she was in pain, totally distraught. _What the fuck happened?_ "Chloé!" Chloé's head whipped around. "C— Cayen—" "Hey, you know her?" the avian asked, eyes wide, hands up to ward off the mouse's assault. "Something's fucking wrong with her, man, she just asked me to eat her and then when I said no she just like—" "I do not understand!" Chloé said, turning back. "You are a bird of prey! _I am prey!_" "Whoa, whoa, Chloé, let's, let's not— look, I'm sorry, I don't know what's going on but I'll, I can take care of her from here. Are you okay?" "I'm okay, I just... there's something seriously fucking wrong here, man. She needs help." "I'll make sure she gets help." She hadn't moved towards the mouse. "Chloé," she said, in the tone of voice usually reserved for corraling startled animals; a wry part of her supposed that was not far from the truth. "The shop's not far from here, and my apartment's above it. Do you want to go there and talk?" Cayen's shop. Familiarity. Security. Chloé broke down into wordless sobs of relief, and moved towards Cayen, who put her arm around her. "Okay. Okay. Let's go home and figure this out." --- The walk home wasn't long, but on the other hand, it was incredibly long. Cayen kept her arm around Chloé the whole time, and Chloé let her. Nobody said anything. Cayen wanted to give Chloé some time; she clearly needed it. She'd stopped crying, even. Now she just looked dejected. She went around the back and let herself and Chloé into the shop, making a beeline for the stairs up to her apartment. "Come on, it's up here," she said, and Chloé followed. Cayen's apartment was as minimalist as the shop, almost like it was designed to be an extension of it. Black shag carpeting dampened the acoustics, and the walls and ceiling were covered in little holes spaced regularly. There was a computer desk, a futon, a glass coffee table, a floor lamp, and an entertainment system. The odd furniture out was a red leather wingback chair, a little antique touch in amongst the otherwise modern décor. There were four doors, including the front door; one showed the kitchen, the other the bathroom, and the third appeared to be a closet. Cayen sat Chloé down on the futon. "Can... can I make a tea for you?" Chloé nodded, looked at the floor, and didn't say anything. "Okay. I'll be right back," Cayen said, and padded to the kitchen. The hissing of the kettle and the tinkle of the glassware against the counter was all the sound in the apartment for a while. Cayen made the tea as quickly as she could — it only took a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity. She came back and put it on the coffee table next to Chloé, and then sat next to it so she can face the mouse. Chloé took the cup, and then, carefully toeing her shoes off, turned away and drew her feet up onto the futon, curling up. "So, um..." Cayen tried to sound... not freaked out, she supposed. "...What happened?" "My tablet died." She gestured to the blank screen. "It has not been holding a charge lately and I was out exploring because I was supposed to and the battery died and I got lost." "Oh." This was not the response she was expecting. "...What happened with the guy?" "I wanted him to eat me and he refused." Chloé said it with such nonchalance, so unself-consciously, that for a moment it almost seemed reasonable. "...Chloé, why did you want him to eat you?" "Because it would have been easier than living in this big scary confusing world." Something broke inside Cayen upon hearing that. "Oh, Chloé..." she leaned forward, and then hesitated. "Can I... can I hug you? Would you appreciate that?" "Yes." Cayen slowly shifted from coffee table to futon, and shifted forward, and wrapped an arm around Chloé. The mouse didn't move, but she did sigh, so Cayen guessed that was a good sign? "It would be so much easier if more could be related," Chloé said suddenly. "You don't have to tell me anything else," Cayen replied. "I don't get it, but I don't... have to. You're my friend. You're a _sapient being_. The fact that you want to kill yourself is enough for me." "It is not desirable to kill myself. It is desirable to be eaten." This took Cayen back. "—Isn't that the same thing?" "No. It is not desirable to jump off a bridge or cut myself or overdose on venlafaxine or shoot myself in the head. It is desirable to be eaten." "...Why?" "Because I am prey." "Chloé, you're..." she paused. No, contradicting her isn't going to solve anything. "You're also a person." "I know." "Your— you don't have to—" Cayen stopped, and started again. But where do you even start? "Who told you you were prey and needed to be eaten?" "I am not at liberty to say." Oh no. Not this. Anything but this. "Chloé... Are you telling me the lab told you that you were prey?" "No. The lab cannot speak." "Someone _in_ the lab." "I am not at liberty to say." "Are you under a non-disclosure agreement for anyone except the lab— or the people _at _the lab?" "No." Okay, this was getting fucking scary. Cayen stopped for a moment, and thought hard enough that she could feel the headache developing. She had an idea, but she had to construct exactly the right sentence. She glanced at her computer. "...Chloé... I would like to ask you a question, and I would like you to think very hard, and then I would like you to answer it to the best of your ability." "I will try." "...Hypothetically, what would a mouse in your condition had to have experienced at the lab?" Chloé thought this over for a long time. Then turned around. Then told Cayen everything. --- "Hypothetically speaking," Chloé began, "this mouse could have discovered a sexual fetish known as gynophagia during her sexual awakening. The scientists at the lab may have told her about it and changed some of the tests she was to run in order to accomodate and explore this fetish. These tests may have been sexual in nature. Some were meant to assess the parameters of the fetish and some may have been to test pharmaceutical drugs' effects on someone with this condition. The pharmaceutical tests may have been done regardless with different parameters. The mouse in question may have been genetically modified in vitro to disrupt their serotonin production in order to test selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors." "...Chloé, I'm so sorry, I didn't know you were living with that kind of thing," Cayen said. "I did not say I was. A hypothetical mouse in my situation might." "...Right. I understand." She laid her head on Chloé's shoulder. "How might a hypothetical mouse know she's got gynophagia?" "If a rattlesnake was hallucinated during her first masturbation experience." "I imagine that would have been confusing for y— this hypothetical mouse." "Yes. But the doctors may have been very helpful in guiding her through it." "...Chloé, I... do you still want to be eaten?" "Yes." "Does it... ever really go away?" "Sometimes it can be ignored for a few hours or days. It tends to manifest most strongly when it is impossible to cope with life outside the lab. There have been discussions with my therapist about it." "You see a therapist?" "Yes." "Oh. Um... I'm glad you're seeing them." "Thank you. They have been very helpful. When my tablet is charged an appointment will probably be scheduled to talk to them about tonight." "...Chloé—" Cayen tries to stop herself, but it was too late, it all came tumbling out. "—Don't go tonight. Stay here. The bed's big enough, and I can curl up in my chair if I have to, and just— I'm worried, and I'm scared for you, and I want you to be okay." "Okay." Cayen had to stop herself from drilling. She'd struck oil much faster than she thought. "My tablet needs time to charge and I am... very tired." Chloé sighed. "It will need to be sent back to get it replaced. It will not be comfortable coming back here without it until then. The world is... just too big and confusing." "That's— that's okay." Cayen bit her lip. "—What if I picked you up from your work?" "If you know the way I will be comfortable going with you." "Yeah, just, give me the address and I'll figure it out. I'm good with directions." "Okay." Chloé closed her eyes. "Thank you. I had missed coming to your shop." "You did?" Cayen blinked, then looked at the black screen on her coffee table. "Oh, I guess it was 'cause of the tablet." "No." "Oh. ...Um, Chloé, look, I'm sorry again for pushing you a few days ago. I... it's clear I really upset you." "You did not." "...You weren't upset about that?" "No." "But... you looked like you were." Chloé paused. "...You mentioned talking my ears off and pouncing me. My... brain started to do things. It was not precisely upset you saw." "Oh. ..._Oh_." Cayen cracked a smirk, then grinned in relief and sheepishness in equal measure. "Oh my god, Chloé, I'm— I thought I'd really offended you." Chloé looked up. "I thought _you_ were really offended." Cayen looked bewildered. "What could you possibly have done to offend _me_?" "It seemed like it was obvious that sexual arousal was occurring. It was explained that not everybody outside the lab would be as accepting of these sorts of inclinations as the people in the lab were and your emotions could not be read. Emotions are... hard to read." "Oh. Um, well, first of all, I wasn't aware of that, not at the time, anyway, and second, I wouldn't necessarily have been offended? I mean, like... from what you told me about... hypothetical gynophagiacs... It's just, like, what they like. And honestly, that's not the weirdest thing I've ever heard people be into." Chloé tilted her head. "What things are weirder?" Cayen felt herself blushing. "Um, well... lots of things, there's a wide world of kink out there. I mean... some people are fixated on specific body parts. That's pretty weird." "Oh. Okay." Chloé yawned. "Um, it seems like sleep would be a good idea now if that is okay." Cayen popped up to her feet. "Yeah, of course, just let me set up the bed." "Thank you." --- Cayen woke, and looked over at the bundle of blankets on the other side of the futon. She didn't have any spare pyjamas, and before she could even apologize for this, Chloé simply said she would sleep without them, and began taking clothing off. Her lack of modesty threw Cayen for a loop, that someone as shy and reserved as Chloé could also be so open about her body. This did not help the crush she was still harbouring. The mouse's body was uniformly furred with grey, and her chest was nearly flat; she looked thin, not quite emaciated, but thin enough to wonder. Chloé had requested a bedsheet; after some rolling around, Chloé had cocooned herself in it. It was hard to tell if she'd moved from that spot. Cayen had, that much she knew. She never woke up in the same position she fell asleep. She'd attempted to go to bed on the other side of the futon to give Chloé her own space; she woke up on her stomach, sprawled out to the point where her leg had draped over where Chloé's must have been. She sheepishly withdrew her leg, and the blankets stirred. "Good morning," they said. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up." "You did not. I have been awake for a while." Chloé rolled onto her back, then sat up, and the sheets fell, exposing the mouse's chest. Cayen looked away for modesty's sake, eventually. "Are you feeling any better?" "A little." "Oh, good. So, um..." she said, her cheeks burning, "...what's your plan today?" "It was expected that I would return to my apartment." "Oh, yeah, um, of course." "That was before... the incident last night. There had been a vague desire to request more time with you and now that it has occurred naturally it is not an opportunity to be missed. You are... the second person outside the lab that I have spoken with this extensively and the first outside a professional setting. More of your company... would be appreciated if it is available." "—Yeah! Um, yeah, it's my weekend right now, so..." she trails off. "Um... Do you want breakfast?" "Yes please." --- Cayen leaned against the counter in her kitchen and watched Chloé work for a moment. It was the first time Cayen had seen her tea scale used for anything other than tea. Chloé was precisely measuring out herbs. Her tablet was next to her, plugged into the wall socket so she could type out notes while she worked. She'd just thrown on what she had on yesterday, which was a yellow T-shirt and faded red sweatpants, both of which were too big for her. They made her look even smaller than she actually was. Cayen had explained that it was not necessary for Chloé to help her cook. Chloé asked whether it was necessary for her not to help, and Cayen couldn't help but laugh at the mouse's untroubled ignorance of the social contract. So here she was, making an omelette. "You know, you're the first person I've ever seen who uses a calculator to cook," Cayen remarked, over the bubbling from the other pan. "The mechanics of heat transfer is governed by a calculus equation," Chloé replied without looking back. "Ratios are an important part of the underlying chemistry of food. Recipes work because of math." "Fair enough." Cayen glanced over at the pan. She'd just heated it up and fired sausages into it. They weren't done yet; the water hadn't even completely boiled off. "I guess I just don't bother to be that precise when I'm just cooking stuff." Chloé shrugged. "As opposed to when?" "...Fair enough. You know, you seemed so shy when you first came into my shop, but you're... really confident with your cooking." "It is easy to be confident in numbers. A chicken egg cooks at 63 celcius and that holds for every chicken egg that has ever been laid." Cayen glanced away, as a thought occurred to her. "...What temperature do mice cook at?" she asked, softly. Chloé froze. "Shit, I'm sorry, that was out of line." "It was estimated to be fifty-seven celcius. Similar to pork." There was a silence, broken only by the sizzling. "It is unclear if it is understood what a comment like that is like to me," Chloé said, breaking eggs into a bowl so she could beat them. "It is..." "Like flirting?" "What is that?" "Oh, uh." Cayen tried to figure out how to explain it. "Flirting is like... when you try to make an offhand comment you think the other person will like because they're interested in you." "Oh." Chloé put her hand over the pan to check its temperature, and then poured in the eggs. Herbs and chopped vegetables went in on top, and a few moments later, she tilted the pan and folded the egg overtop of itself. "I do not think it is like flirting. It is more like telling someone they are a hot piece of ass." "...Shit. That _was_ way out of line." "That does not necessarily mean offense was taken." Chloé's words had such a neutral tone that it was impossible to infer meaning from the statement. What was that supposed to mean? That she wanted Cayen to say things like that? That she was annoyed at how apparently Cayen was assuming things about her that didn't exist? "...How _are_ you reacting, if you're not offended?" "There is a flutter in my belly and a mild urge to be seasoned." Cayen tried really hard not to laugh, and ruin everything. "Well, um... I don't think you'd need it. You're one of the least bland people I've ever talked to." "How could that be known? I have not been tasted." Oh come on, that had to have been intentional. Cayen watched Chloé slide the omelette onto a plate. "Chloé, um..." "The sausages are burning." "What? Oh, fuck!" --- The sausages weren't that bad, with enough mustard. Cayen ate in a silence becoming increasingly uncomfortable. What the fuck was she doing? This was stupid. She found her friend during a suicidal episode and now she wanted to flirt with her? God, what was wrong with her? "You seem agitated again." Cayen coughed. "I— I thought you were bad at reading people." "I am bad at understanding what I am seeing. I can still see it. I cannot tell why you are agitated." "Oh." "Is something wrong?" "Not... exactly?" "Oh." Chloé blinked. "What is not exactly wrong?" Cayen looked down at her plate. "Oh, I just— I— guh, dammit, I'm sorry, I can't take this any more." She set her cutlery down, a bit harder than she intended to. "I just— you _fascinate_ me, and I don't even know if it's just your weird mysterious past or your incredible academic knowledge paired with your stunning innocence— like, you sound so smart sometimes, way smarter than I am —or something else but I'm _hopelessly_ attracted to you  and _yes_ I was flirting with you earlier and I'm regretting it because I thought it might have been really fucking inappropriate since you, y'know, tried to get eaten last night." Well, at least she'd said it now. Chloé appeared to think this over. "Oh." She looked down at her plate, and resumed eating. Cayen boggled. "...That's it?" "It answered the question. That does seem like something that would induce agitation. As pertains to my intelligence, I am aware." "You're aware you're smarter than me?" "I am aware that is your belief. Also, you are correct." "...About what?" "You said flirtation was to make a comment that would be well-received because it is believed the recipient is interested. I was being flirted with; therefore you thought there was interest in you. You are correct." Cayen stopped dead. "...You know, you seem to be handling your, ah, interest a lot better than me." "There has been an urge to cover myself in mustard and offer myself to you throughout breakfast. Composure may not be the ideal metric by which the ease of my attraction should be measured." Cayen made a little -snrk- sound, and then, after a few moments, just kind of went... fuck it, why not? "Chloé, can I have your hand for a moment?" "Okay." Chloé offered her left hand, palm up. Cayen grabbed the mustard. "—Just so we're clear, I'm not going to bite anything off or anything." The cap of the mustard flipped open with a musical little pop. "But... if you wanted... I could... nibble." Chloé looked visibly, deeply anxious, and this made Cayen anxious. Was she pushing too far? Was this just how Chloé looked when she was into it? "Please," Chloé said. Cayen upended the mustard — shook it to get the condiment to the tip of the bottle — and squeezed a line of yellow from the tip of Chloé's index finger to where it connected to her palm. Then, slowly, watching for resistance or hesitation or _anything_, brought the finger to her mouth. She lapped the mustard from the tip, and she watched Chloé focus laserlike on this out of her peripheral vision. The acidic tang of the sauce bloomed on Cayen's tongue as she slid the finger in, her lips wrapped around it, her tongue running up the underside. Chloé squirmed, turned away, and Cayen could _feel_ her blush. She continued to trace the contours of Chloé's finger with her tongue, suckled lightly, and then withdrew — and on impulse, lightly bit the pad of Chloé's finger. The tiniest squeak emitted from the mouse, and it was as satisfying as any moan she could have heard. Cayen let Chloé's finger out of her mouth, and withdrew, letting her have it back. "...How did I taste," Chloé asked without looking back. "Um, mostly I could just taste the mustard," Cayen replied. "Oh." The obvious reply loomed large in Cayen's mind. Just say it. You know it'll work, just say it. "...You know, I could try it without the m—" "—Yes." Chloé nodded emphatically. "Yes please. —After breakfast." "Yeah, yeah, um, of course." Cayen picked up her fork, speared one of her own sausages, dipped it in mustard, and looked at it. Welp, she thought, that's an association that's never going to go away. --- Plates hastily stashed in the kitchen, hand washed, and back to the futon they went. Cayen sat next to Chloé, and it was hard to tell who was more nervous. "So, um... okay. Let's start with this." Cayen thought a moment. "Do you want me to, um... restrict myself to, like, a particular part of you, or...?" "No." Chloé was sitting with her thighs pressed around her hands. She looked so adorably bashful. Cayen wanted to tackle her. "Okay. Do you want me to be gentle, or hard, or...?" "I do not wish to instruct you on how to eat." Good _lord_. "Okay." She bit her lip. "Um—" Aw, crap, she thought, as a realization dawned. "...Ahah. Uh, I probably should have mentioned this earlier, but, um, I'm kinda... like, I'm seeing someone. But we're open, so like, it's all fine if you're okay with that." She tried not to pre-emptively wince. "Oh. ...Were they expected today?" "...No?" "Then it is not bothersome. It is not desirable to interrupt a pre-existing schedule but otherwise there is no problem." "Oh, yeah, that's, yeah. ...That went better than I thought." "There were many partners in my past. None of them were assumed to be exclusive." "Right." She stood her brain down from the explanations and defenses she had already begun preparing, and tried to press forward. "Y— you said you're, um, you think of yourself as prey, right." "No. I am prey." "—Right, yes, I'm sorry, you _are_ prey. I— th— if I—" She took a deep breath. "What if I... batted you around a little, too? Would you like that?" "Yes." Cayen took a hard, deep breath out. "Okay, um, one more thing. We need a safeword. Something so I know you really need to stop if you need to. It can be anything." "Laboratory." The symbology of this was a little bit of a stumbling block, but Cayen simply had too much momentum to get slowed down for very long. "That, that works." Chloé hadn't moved. "Chloé? Can I... tell me I can start." Chloé looked up. She was looking over Cayen's shoulder, but there was a sincerity to it, a sense it was as close as she could get to looking Cayen in the eye. "I would like you to eat me now please." Little fireworks went off in Cayen's mind's eye, the synaesthetic indigo of lust, and she leaned in. Chloé withdrew. "—Are you okay?" Cayen asked, suddenly unsure. "It is the prey's role to escape," Chloé said, staring at Cayen through her peripheral vision. "It is the predator's role to catch." Oh. _Oh_. Cayen ran a series of calculations on the risks, then, as with so many other things, threw the calculation out, said _to hell with it_, and lunged. Chloé flailed, pushed, but Cayen was fast, and strong, and the mouse was underneath her in less than two seconds. she'd managed to slip past one leg, but Chloé's other foot was on her thigh, trying to drive Cayen off; she tried to pitch to the side, and to her delight, it worked beautifully, the leg slipping off. One of Chloé's hands was in an awkward position against her stomach, and the other was trying to push her off by the shoulder; she grabbed at both and landed on Chloé, all four arms pinned between both chests. Chloé struggled. Cayen bared her teeth. "Hi," Cayen said. Chloé squeaked, and Cayen saw indigo. She hauled Chloé's arms above her and nudged under Chloé's chin, and bit her on the throat. The sound Chloé made was glorious, a cry, a whine, a moan, all wrapped into one, cut off in the middle. Cayen moved to one side and continued biting, then moved into the middle again, then to the other side, giving Chloé a necklace of nibbles. On impulse, she began lapping, grooming, and Chloé moaned weakly at it. "I was right," Cayen said, between long licks of her tongue. "You don't need seasoning. You're _delicious_." That got a bigger moan, and Cayen felt like she was flying. So what if it wasn't your typical dirty talk? It was still a button, and it was red and glowing, and she was going to gleefully mash it. Chloé was struggling, but it wasn't very effective. It almost seemed designed that way, like she wanted to thrash exactly not enough to undermine Cayen's control over her. She decided she was going to exert some of that control; a little bit of rolling around, and she got Chloé onto her front, and began pushing up her T-shirt. God, her back was beautiful, and Cayen happily exposed all of it, trapping Chloé's arms in the bunched-up fabric. She took her time, sinking her teeth into as many places as she could think of, ignoring the way Chloé's legs were flailing enough to nearly kick her. She got all the way to the small of Chloé's back — now sitting on the mouse's legs so kicking was no longer an option — and Chloé was by now whimpering. "Oh, what's this, a little noodle for me to eat?" She said, and god, that line was terrible, but Chloé loved it — or maybe that was just because she bit down on the base of the mouse's tail. Hauling Chloé over onto her back, Cayen was on top of her again before the mouse could do anything. There she was, topless again, but now she knew she could look, and do more than look, and she did look, and she did more than look, dipping down to bite the side of the mouse's breast, then lap across a nipple. This did not get much more or less a reaction than anywhere else, but it was still a reaction, so she kept doing it. The other breast got the same treatment, and so did the mouse's collarbones. "You're like a seven-course meal," she said. "And I'm gonna savour every _bite_ of you." The line provoked a high keen from Chloé, and Cayen wondered how many times she was going to think the sound she just induced was the best one she could possibly evoke. Down and down she went, biting Chloé on the ribs, on the belly — there was something strange about Chloé's belly, but she couldn't figure out what, and she really, _really_ didn't care at the moment — and on the hips, and she grabbed at the hem of Chloé's sweatpants. "—Tell me this is okay," Cayen said, her voice breaking with the intensity with which she said it. "This is okay," Chloé said, and that was all the encouragement Cayen needed. She only hauled the pants down to Chloé's knees, and then just dove underneath. The mouse's thighs were soft overtop muscle, and Cayen found she had plenty of flesh to bite down on, so bite down she did. She was so fucking turned on, she felt like she had to do everything at once, but she stopped herself long enough to give both of Chloé's thighs a thorough nibbling before moving between them. She looked up at Chloé, and the mouse was in her own world, delirious with emotions Cayen could barely begin to name. She couldn't wait, couldn't even get Chloé's panties off, she just tugged them to the side, and there she was, marshmallow-puffy outer labia flanking a little butterfly of inner pink flesh. This was what her mind's eye told her she saw in retrospect, in the split second she had to take it in before she attached her mouth to it. Chloé's moans were musical and lovely and not numerous enough. Her arms wrapped around Chloé's legs and her lips wrapped around the other girl's clit and she suckled, lapped, even nibbled lightly, and it felt like she could do no wrong, Chloé seemed to enjoy all of it. Her nose filled with Chloé's scent, rich and complex, the mouse's hips were thrusting against her mouth, her back felt Chloé's heels digging into it, Chloé's hands — at some point, Cayen must have let go of them while she was focused elsewhere — tangling in Cayen's hair, gripping tightly, holding on for dear life. Cayen could feel her cheeks smear with fluids. She couldn't help but nuzzle back and forth while she ate, and feel the suppleness of those lips against her face. She couldn't help but let go of Chloé's clit, to the protest of its owner, only to have the mouse recant every little whimper of frustration as Cayen nibbled at the soft flesh, and ran her tongue along it. She was no longer pretending; this _was_ a morsel, it _was_ delicious, and she wanted nothing more than to eat and eat and eat. She felt Chloé's toes curling, and she grinned into the mouse's vulva, dragging her tongue all the way up to her clit again. "God, you taste so fucking good," she said, and looked up at Chloé as she flicked her tongue against that stiffened nub; Chloé cried out, and Cayen laughed, and tried to make her cry out again. She could see the tension building in Chloé's body, and locked in her rhythm, gripping tightly so there was nowhere for the mouse to go, nothing for her to do but lie back and take every agonizing moment of pleasure, and it filled her up  and overwhelmed her and suddenly she was bucking, gripping, squeezing, coming, all that tension coming out in sobs and convulsions. Cayen began purring. Oh yeah, that was _deeply_ scratching an itch. She let Chloé down gently, but not abruptly, straddling the line between overstimulation and outright withdrawal, until the mouse seemed to be coming down from her orgasm, and then, as one final act, sank her teeth into the flesh surrounding Chloé's clit, as hard as she dared. The cry of pain was, she hoped, a good kind of noise, beacuse a sadistic part of her enjoyed it immensely. She slipped out from between Chloé's legs and let them rest on the mattress beside her. Sitting on the edge of the futon, tail whipping excitedly back and forth, pupils dilated. cheeks slicked back with fluids. She must look ridiculous. She didn't care. "Meow," she said. Chloé squeaked. Cayen flopped down next to her. "You okay?" She asked. Chloé squeaked again, and nodded. "Do you want anything?" Chloé nodded, glanced around the room, huffed as she couldn't find words. "Uh, okay, hold on. Water? No. Bathroom? No. ...Cuddles? Ye-okay," Cayen chuckled as Chloé began nodding emphatically and opened her arms, and moved in to hug the mouse to her chest, petting her hair. "There, that's it. I gotcha. I gotcha." She held Chloé like that for a while, and slowly, she felt the mouse relax fully into it. "...That has not been done in a long time," Chloé murmured. _...Well, I should have seen that coming, in retrospect,_ Cayen thought, furiously stamping down the rush of emotion that welled up in her. "Did you like it?" "Yes." "Good." Cayen shut her eyes. "We're gonna have to have a talk about how all this is going to work." "What do you mean?" "Just... boundaries, schedules, things like that. I mean, if you want to keep seeing me like this." "Oh. ...Yes. We are going to have to have a talk about that then." "I'll have to introduce you to Glire— Glire's my other person. She's really nice." "Okay." "...Chloé?" "Yes?" "If you ever have an urge to get eaten in the future, I'll give you my number, just, like, call me, okay? I'm always going to be available to talk if you need it." "I do not have a phone. Is it possible to use email instead?" "Y— oh, uh, yeah, that's fine." "Okay. I will do that then." "And I'll make sure if you email me in the middle of the night or something I'll hear it." "Okay. ...Thank you." "You're welcome." Chloé was quiet for a moment, and then: "...We may not merely be friends any more." Cayen shrugged. "Maybe we don't need a name for what we are. Or maybe we can be friends and lovers at the same time." "That would be preferable. ...I like being your friend." Cayen gave Chloé a little squeeze. "Me too." Chloé sighed deeply, and cuddled closer into Cayen's chest. She was right. She got home eventually. --- Epilogue Cayen sprawled in her computer chair. It was her default state of being. One leg over the arm of the chair, one heel on the corner of the desk, arm hanging off the back of the chair, tea in her hand, headphones on her ears. The right one still smarted. She'd caught her piercing on it. Hours upon hours of video scrolled by. This was her weekly ritual; her computer was her security camera, and silently watched the apartment 24/7. She had some beefy hard drives, but they only held so much, and she went through the tapes once a week to delete the hours and hours of extraneous footage. Okay, so mostly she kept the really fun masturbation sessions, since that's the most exciting thing that happened in the apartment. But it wasn't what the camera _did_ capture that was important. It was what it _could_ capture — evidence. Her brow furrowed as she saw movement. When was this? Oh, yeah, this is when she brought Chloé back to the apartment. She clicked on the button to stop it from scrubbing at high speed. "—ve been sexual in nature. Some were meant to assess the parameters of—" Cayen's hand slammed down on the spacebar. She took her headphones off and looked around the apartment. ...Door's locked. Nobody else is here. Okay, well, she saw this coming, and this is... in a way, what she planned for, albeit not in this particular way. She carefully cropped the video, starting before the door opened and ending right before she begged Chloe to stay. That wasn't relevant. She paced her apartment while it exported. She drank tea. She tried to watch TV, gave up, stared at the progress bar. The second it went -ding-, she opened her other hard drive. It was empty, and heavily encrypted. She'd never had to use it, thank god. Until now, that is. The file went in. She went through the rest of the footage. Oh, huh, Chloé tossed and turned, but always returned to the same position in the end, that was interesting. And then she woke, and there was that gap while they were in the kitchen, and then... breakfast. And then what happened after breakfast. She wracked her brain. Did they make any references to... yeah, they did. Shit. Could she — no, she didn't want to edit them out, that felt... wrong, and dangerous. What if she missed one? She sighed. Alright. That one went into the encrypted drive too. When it was done, she disconnected the drive, and opened a drawer in her computer desk, which contained nothing but a safe. She opened it, and the drive went in, on top of lease paperwork and a necklace with the virgo symbol on it. Click. Slide. Wipe the other hard drive. Reset the security cam script. Pretend it wasn't there.