Page 21 of Alien Warrior Chef… With Benefits
“I missed this,” I admit before I can stop myself.
He tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly.
“This?” he asks.
I gesture between us, sweeping my fingers over the air like I’m tracing an invisible thread.
“Talking. Laughing. Being around you. The safe version. The dangerous version. All of it.”
His gaze burns. “I don’t want to be dangerous to you.”
“You aren’t,” I say, my voice fierce. “You’re dangerousforme, maybe. But not to me.”
Something breaks behind his expression, like a shutter yanked open in a storm.
We eat without speaking for a while, the weight of those words settling between bites of noodles and sips of sharp, earthy tea.
Eventually, I scrape the bowl clean and lean back. “Walk with me?”
He nods. No hesitation.
We weave through the city’s evening pulse, feet skimming across cobbled stone lit with star-lamps glowing pink and silver. Alien flora curls from alley pots, curling tendrils twitching lazily. The air smells like sweet brine and fried starch and someone's cologne drifting on the breeze.
When we reach the town square, the glow of the central sculpture casts glittering reflections across the stage where a small ballet troupe from the Geleri Territories begins to perform.
“They’re good,” I whisper, slipping my hand around his forearm.
He stiffens—but doesn’t pull away.
I rest my head gently on his bicep, and the entire world seems to hush in reverence.
We stand like that for a long while. Silent. Breathing the same air.
I don’t say it, and neither does he—but we both know.
This isn’t just a walk.
This is a date.
The walk back is quiet, but not the brittle silence of discomfort. No, this silence shimmers. It hums like a low frequency between us—buzzing, golden, electric. I feel it each time my arm brushes his. Feel it in the way his breath slows when I laugh too close to his ear. The city has gone to sleep around us, but we are wide awake, tethered together by something neither of us dares name out loud.
We take the long route. Through the roseglass archways of the merchant’s promenade, past the shuttered flower stalls with their sleepy puff-petals nodding under moonlight, and finally through the narrow side street that opens to my little square. The stars above Novaria look so different from Earth’s—spread wider, with deeper indigo between them. But right now, they seem to lean in, as if holding their breath.
Rekkgar says nothing, but his presence speaks volumes. He walks a half-step behind me, always to the side of the street where danger could come from, like instinct won't let him let go of that role. My protector. Even now.
When we reach my door, I slow down. My fingers toy with the key, but I can’t seem to lift it toward the lock.
“Thank you,” I say softly, turning to face him.
He tilts his head, that one good eye glowing faintly in the amber light spilling from my porch sconces.
“For dinner?” he asks, voice low.
“For everything.”
His breath catches, just slightly. I hear it. His chest expands, then stills.
“I should—” he begins.
