Page 93 of Evil Hearts

They found their truck nestled between the ringmaster’s RV and the dragon’s swanky livestock trailer—the disco ball that hung from the ceiling spun of its own accord and club music was thumping from inside. Nigel had obviously forgotten to turn his sound system offagain, and it was a wonder he ever got anything done with the constant thrumming. An oversized trailer with the words ‘Cirque des Étoiles - The Amazing Diego Delgado, Slayer of Beasts’in bright gold paint was attached toDiego’s truck. Its familiar comforts beckoned them home. Diego riffled through his pack to find his keys and unlocked the door.

“Home sweet home!” Diego said happily, inhaling the soft scent of lavender that lingered from the incense he’d lit before the show. He popped open the small windows and tossed his bag of gear and accessories onto the bean bag near the dresser where he kept his clothes, shoes, and linens. He hung his sword on the wall alongside his cap. With a whistle on his lips, Diego wriggled out of his bolero jacket and breathed a sigh of relief as his lungs were finally able to expand properly.

The trailer dipped when Atticus’ weight stepped on the lip of it. It made a creaking noise before setting itself upright as he strode toward his bed at the far end. The minotaur started unbuckling the epaulettes and shirking off his costume.

Diego unbuttoned his dress shirt then tossed it into the wicker hamper full of his much overdue laundry. The fiddle leaf fig beside it bounced in the breeze that came from a slowly oscillating fan. He looked around the trailer and started reminiscing about the conversations that had been held there over the last six months of travel. The serious chats about their performances under the twinkling string lights, the laughter shared while he and Atticus curled up for the night, the mindless talks about life before joining the troupe while stuck in storms that rendered them unable to drive. The trailer had seen many customizations to turn it into a proper home; adding windows, installing hooks for his hammock, setting up a small generator, securing their furniture to keep it safe on the long drives across the country.

While many of their coworkers had camper vans and RVs, Atticus’ build wouldn’t comfortably fit in anything meant for humans, but they’d found the trailer to be a perfect alternative. Many stops at thrift stores had been made over the two years of their partnership, picking up odds and ends to accommodate lifeon the road. Little by little, each small touch turned the metal box into a safe haven. Diego even went so far as to hang up ironic artwork of cows with flower crowns that he found for a handful of dollars in a secondhand store in Texas to make it ‘feel like home’. Atticus didn’t find it amusing.

They hung it up next to photos of the Delgado family. Of Diego’s father in his beautiful suit of lights, the ranch he grew up on with his sibling and now owned, his mother’s large smile as she cooked in the spacious kitchen. Several selfies of Diego and Atticus were interlaced between the photographs near ticket stubs and flyers for the first performances they’d done together, alongside the boat ticket for the ship that brought Atticus across oceans to America on his journey to find purpose. To find family. A family he found with Cirque des Étoiles, with Diego, with other lost souls trying to find their way in this weird world.

Pulling himself out of his musings with a yawn, Diego took stock of his body in the slightly dusty mirror after grabbing a sparkling water from the mini fridge. Thankfully, he’d only ended up with a few minor bruises this time. He took a moment to admire his figure—his top surgery scars, how his body had changed after starting T, the physique he’d built up over the years of ballet and long days on the ranch, even the wounds from the many,manymiscalculated jumps during their performances—and couldn’t help but be proud of all that he’d accomplished. Even the failures were shining trophies in his eyes.

He began stretching with the dresser under his palms to stabilize himself as his body naturally shifted back to that danseur state with slow, graceful lifts of his legs to ease the sore muscles.

“You must be tired,” Atticus said quietly from his place atop the oversized, extra firm mattress. It was the only thing that didn’t buckle under his weight.

“Do I look tired?” Diego asked with a thick eyebrow cocked.

“Your muscles betray you. Your leg is trembling.”

“It’s been a long few months.”

“You’ve worn yourself down.Again.”

“The joys of autoimmune diseases. I’m glad I managed to get through the season with minimal flare ups and only one missed performance, it was a much better showing than last year.”

“Make sure you take your medications tonight, and go easy on the drinks if you do decide to join the others for the wrap party.”

“I’m not sure I will, honestly. I kind of want to curl up and read. It’s not as if we won’t see each other again after the new year for tour prep, anyway.”

Diego opened one of the dresser drawers and grabbed a sweatshirt and shorts for himself. He found a pair of Atticus’ 6XL size sweatpants and handed them over. Though the myth was used to wandering around in the nude in his many decades of life, he understood how jarring it was for Diego—especially in a roommate situation—and the other troupe members, and kept himself at least partially clothed. The matador was thankful. It was hard enough not to stare in shock and awe at the minotaur’s physique when hewasclothed. Keeping himself composed when the towering, statuesque form was in the nude? Impossible.

He couldn’t help but think about all of the chiseled—nope, he needed to cut that train of thought immediately. He hated that it was so hard to do. Hated that he looked at him with such admiration. Admiration that shifted to something much more intimate than what coworkers should be allowed over the years spent together on the road.

He blamed his many miscalculated jumps on getting lost in the thrill on Atticus’ face in that brief second of weightlessness during the first launch of the performance. The minotaur looked so excited. So alive. Every single time, without fail. It was hardnot to lose all train of thought when staring into those golden eyes during those seconds of weightlessness.

Lips pursed and pajamas comfortably on his body, Diego began cleansing his face after he took his medications. The dirt from the stadium floor was caked across his skin and hair. He hated feeling dirty, and he was grateful that both fae and mermaid-crafted beauty products had become more mainstream. He’d go through his entire stock in a week’s time on the road. His skinliterallyglowed whenever he used their cleansers and lotions—though he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know what exactly it was that caused said glowing.

“It’s going to be alongdrive back to the ranch,” Diego mused as he slid his shirt on.

“Yes, but I’m sure it will be nice to be home,” Atticus said with a nod of his large head.

“I miss the wide open skies and the quiet. I want to work on the barn and paint the living room a nice orange, and re-do the porch. Honestly, I just want to spend the winter months doing cozy things. Do you have any plans? Anything you’d like to do? Anywhere you’d… um… like to be dropped off this time? Any adventures you’d like to have?”

Diego turned his whiskey eyes to Atticus as he scooped up some lotion for his hands. He wasn’t quite ready for this conversation. The minotaur tilted his head, his pierced ears flicked a bit and the golden shimmer in his deep set irises looked a bit sad.

“I wanted to ask you about that, actually,” Atticus said with a clearing of his throat.

“O-oh?” Diego stammered.

Atticus huffed.Cute, Diego thought.He really is such a bull, all of that huffing he does is adorable.Nope, stop it.Stop romanticizing your co-star.Don’t be weird.

“I had a few thoughts about my next steps,” Atticus said as he stood. He slid his sweats on, and finally unclipped the leathery pteruges from his waiste. His bovine tail whipped back and forth. It was an agitated motion. Diego wondered what had gotten him so irritated.

The minotaur hung his gear on the hook by the foot of the bed and walked toward Diego. Gently, he took the wounded matador’s hand and held it.

“I do not want to leave you this time, Diego. This is our second year doing this, and the break between seasons last year was… hard. I simply stewed in my thoughts and wandered without aim. This country is overwhelming for me, especially without company. I was lonely,” Atticus admitted.

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