Page 55 of Filthy and the Beast

Having the bird there is pleasing.

Nico has a mute swan. He’s acting calm about it, but I think it’s a big deal.

And Damian has a raven and a crow. Both birds can trade eggs and foods and other crap, exactly like how they’re smart scavengers in real life. I don’t know what Damian’s up to, but he keeps using their power and trading stuff.

I tighten my brow. I really want to win.

“I lay my eggs now?” I ask.

Damian smiles. “No, your Pied-billed Grebe is it for this turn.”

Nico flips through some cards. “This game reminds me of my old job. Makes me nostalgic.”

“Nico used to work at the Natural History Museum,” Damian explains.

I nod. Nico’s like Damian. Smart and creative with lots of interests.

“You worked with the birds?” I ask, making the effort to be friendly.

“Not exclusively. I was in the archive, so I encountered a little bit of everything.”

Damian leans in close to me. “You’re going to want to focus on one habitat, two at most.”

I look down at my birds. “I like them all over the place.”

He shrugs. “Can’t argue with that. Aesthetics over strategy.”

Shit. I’m going to lose.

I glance across the table. I’m predictable, enjoying the game because of the birds. All the different species and drawings are distracting, and the food and habitat and special qualities are pretty clever.

Damian’s friend is easy to talk to, too. Almost consider telling them both about my time at the lake, but I need to keep something to myself. That’s my private time.

Damian’s probably told Nico everything about us. Makes me a little uncomfortable.

The boxes piled by the door to Damian's room, though, do not. They should cause a panic, but after the first few glances, I'm calm.

Been so many years since I had people over like this, eating and goofing around. I almost forgot what it feels like.

Warm, I decide. It’s gray outside, and fall is turning into winter, but the house feels warm.

Like it always does with Damian close.

* * *

DAMIAN

“Isn’t he so cute?” I coo, my normal chill shattered after the board game. I’m out with Nico, Shadow, Owen, and Owen’s husband Fox, a music executive who recently launched a new label featuring Nico’s bands. We’re in a private bar on the top of a hotel, overlooking Seattle, an impromptu meetup after Nico finished helping me move. Our lush cushioned booth is right in the corner, and the city twinkles in the night below us.

I’m secretly pretending we’re celebrating moving in with Enzo, although that fantasy just makes his absence from the table more palpable. We’re not going to have to say goodbye anytime soon, but I don’t imagine I’ll drag him out for social events, either.

Shaking the thought away, I babble to my friends. “You should have seen him play Wingspan. He got immediately attached to his birds. Super protective of them, too. He didn’t care about winning points at all, just about getting his favorites together.”

I can indulge a fierce competitive streak when I want to. With the right crowd, it’s half the fun. But nothing wins me over like when a person gets so into their own enjoyment they’ll sacrifice good gameplay for self-satisfaction.

The pleasure imperative in its highest form, geeky joy surpassing all else, including the point of the game.

Fox strokes his beard. He’s in a stylish black suit, the top buttons undone, and his arm dangles over his husband’s shoulder.

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