Work Text:
Heterogeneity in Nonverbal Communication Modalities Among Exoplanetary Species: The Case for a Common Architecture
by A. Rose
Across exoplanetary species, spoken language demonstrates remarkable structural convergence. Nonverbal communication, by contrast, exhibits extreme divergence, with modalities ranging from gestural systems to direct telepathic transfer. The mechanisms driving this divergence remain poorly understood. This study examines…
She couldn't read this again.
Amy leaned back from the screen and pulled off her glasses just as a familiar chime sounded over the ship's intercom. She stretched, working the stiffness from her shoulders, and glanced sideways as Arcadia spaceport began to shrink beyond the glass.
The University of Terren's research vessel had completed its undocking procedure. They were underway again.
The stop had been good. Productive, even—well, aside from her thesis. She'd gotten to stretch her legs, tried a lot of new foods—even discovered a market with produce from the neighboring planet. Amy still wasn't certain what the pink, tear-shaped fruits she'd found were called, but she'd definitely eaten her weight in them.
On the table, her datapad chimed.
>Blaze: Meeting in 10. Coming??
Amy looked at the mess spread across the table. Her laptop was barely visible beneath the mountain of paper and books surrounding it. With a sigh, she tapped out a quick reply and began gathering her things, stuffing them into her bag without ceremony.
She already knew what this meeting was about, and she was running out of excuses.
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Deck 4 was almost always busy, yet it was one of the quietest places on the entire ship. The entire floor functioned like a library, and the students—especially the other grad students—were viciously protective of that silence.
Amy didn't come here when she didn't have to. The stiffness and formality of academia had never quite suited her. She arrived at room 4B with two minutes to spare, slipping into a seat next to her friend. Blaze didn't look up as she sat down, her attention fixed on the datapad in her lap.
Amy leaned over. "Hey—"
Blaze shushed her immediately. She held up a finger before sliding the datapad over to Amy so she could see the screen.
"Have you seen this?" she hissed.
It was a local news feed. Amy scanned the headline.
UNKNOWN LIFEFORM ALLEGEDLY SPOTTED IN SPACEPORT
(0916 system hours. Arcadia Spaceport) An unidentified lifeform is rumored to have been seen wreaking havoc in the market district.
Mx. Uruk Sanghvi (104), proprietor of S&G Outpost, said a large, shadowy figure destroyed their storefront early Solsday morning.
"Destroyed my entire store of fermented grain cakes it did," Sangvhi told local reporters. "Nearly lost my tail trying to get rid of it."
Some neighbors said they do not believe Sangvhi's story. "This is just like when they claimed a shipment of unrefined rhodium burned down their warehouse," said one stall owner, who wished to remain anonymous. "I find it hard to believe this isn't more of the same bull****."
When asked, Sangvhi insists on the validity of their story. "If you ask me, the Federation's been nothing but trouble since they arrived. This is their doing."
The United Federation's military transport vessel, bound for the ARK Station in the Chaos system, is currently docked at Arcadia spaceport. Its manifest, which is public record, describes the ship's contents as biological samples. The ship's representative has declined further comment.
No other witnesses of the aforementioned lifeform have come forward at this time, though port authorities recommend visitors thoroughly check their ships for foreign entities prior to departing.
"What is this?" Amy asked, wrinkling her nose. "Wait—wasn't that shop the one Sonic made us go into the other day? You know—the one with the creepy sign."
Blaze nodded. "I told him he shouldn't have bought that data chip. It was way too cheap—something wasn't right about that place."
Amy glanced back at the article. "Do you think they really saw something?"
Her friend shrugged. "If it was big enough to destroy that much stock, don't you think someone else would have seen it? No, I'm sending this to Sonic. He deserves an 'I-told-you-so.'"
Amy rolled her eyes just as their professor entered the room. When it came to Sonic, she was never sure if Blaze wanted to kiss or kill him.
Professor Avison set her bag down at the front of the room before turning to face her students. "Is everyone here? This will be short."
She glanced around, taking stock of the students present. Amy looked down at her lap, not keen to meet her gaze and draw attention to herself.
"I hope you had a restful time in port," Avison began, "and that those of you still behind on your thesis papers used the time wisely. By now your outlines should be nearing completion. I expect to see them in my inbox by next Friday for final review, no later than 0800 system hours."
Just over a week.
Amy's stomach twisted. She was behind, and she knew it. The only telepathic species with sufficient documentation were two sectors away, and her entry permits had been denied twice. Without a live subject to observe, her thesis was little more than educated guesswork.
Stupid. She should have changed it when she'd had the chance.
Amy barely listened to the rest of the meeting, too caught up in what-ifs. Maybe there was a way she could do a holovid call to conduct interviews? But distance changed things. There was translation lag to worry about, signal loss. Not to mention the most glaring issue—most telepathic species did not rely on sound.
If only she had the credits to pay for the travel herself. Blaze would help if she asked, she was sure. Her friend was something like royalty back on her planet. But Amy was too prideful to let that happen. There had to be another way out of this.
Movement brought her back to the present. Her classmates were standing, moving into groups to chat with their friends. The meeting was over. Amy stood and whispered a hurried goodbye to Blaze, promising to meet her for dinner, before making for the door.
"Ms. Rose."
Amy froze. Shoulders stiff, she turned to look at her professor.
"Um," she said stupidly. "Yes?"
Avison's eyes softened. "I just wanted to check in after our conversation last week. How are things with your thesis? I hear the department is still giving you trouble."
Amy chewed on her bottom lip. "Fine," she lied. "I've figured something out."
A small smile. "Good. You're resourceful. I knew you would."
"Thanks." Amy fought a wince. "I'll, um, I'll see you later."
She dashed from the room before her professor could respond.
✦•······················•✦•······················•✦
The student dorms sat near the stern of the ship, a cluster of rooms and common spaces where Amy spent most of her time. In past years, she hadn't really appreciated the space as much, opting to spend more time in the library or the atrium, with its artificial sunlight and towering trees. But as a grad student she had her own room, and she found that made all the difference.
Her common area, which she shared with half a dozen other students, was surprisingly bare when she arrived. But then again, they'd just left port. Her friends hadn't had time to settle back into their regular routines yet.
Passing Cream's decorated door, Amy slid the door to her room open with one foot. In the six months she'd lived there, she'd become accustomed to not locking it. There was simply no reason to, and most of her friends were in the habit of coming to her door at odd hours to trade theories and research questions anyway.
Which was why she couldn't have predicted what happened next.
Something slammed into her side, shoving her up against the door. She let out a yelp of surprise, but her mouth was quickly covered with something dark and slippery. Amy watched as her bag tumbled to the ground with a loud thunk.
Her laptop was in there. She hadn't backed up her work in days.
Her first, ridiculous thought was: please let it not be broken.
Then: what the fuck?!?
She wrenched her head to the side. A tentacled, red and black mass had her pinned against the door. Numerous red eyes blinked from what she assumed was its head, watching her with unsettling intelligence.
She actually screamed then. Or tried to. The tentacle wrapped tighter around her mouth, the ones that held her body squeezing tight.
An image flashed in her head. Not concrete, like a picture or painting, but less abstract than a concept. It was an urge, a feeling, willing her to be silent.
And it wasn't her own.
Amy struggled harder, trying to wrench her pinned hands apart. She kicked her legs, but they too were caught tight. Each time she moved, the creature pressed back harder. It was like trying to wrestle water.
Another image. More insistent this time. A feeling so strong she knew what it was without the word being spoken.
Stop.
Amy stopped, realization hitting her.
The creature—whatever it was—was telepathic.
Her heart hammered. Then, despite everything:
Wait. Wait. Telepathic?
"Shit," she mumbled, though it came out more like "sshhp". She shook her head, trying to get the creature to let go. "Whahsths," she said, mouth still covered. "Wdyouwant?"
The creature stared back. For a moment, Amy felt incredibly stupid, but then the tentacle across her mouth eased, slipping away until she could breathe openly again.
Then another impression pushed against her mind.
Dark. Hidden. Safe.
Amy blinked. "You want me to hide?"
The creature's grip tightened immediately.
No. The feeling sharpened. Not a command, a condition: Dark, Hidden, Safe. It wanted those things.
She sucked in a breath. She was shaking; her hands were still pinned. Some enormous alien thing had broken into her room, but a distant part of her brain was already cataloging—tentacles, multiocular, nonverbal communication via projected imagery—
Direct thought transfer. A hysterical laugh nearly escaped her. Months and months of begging the department for access to a telepathic species, and now one had practically fallen out of her ceiling and into her dorm room.
The creature watched her carefully.
"I've been studying species like you," she said softly. "You don't scare me."
Its grip tightened, just slightly, as if in surprise. Then, unexpectedly:
Wrong.
Amy froze. "…What?" she whispered. Could it sense she was afraid?
Wrong, it corrected. Not like me.
Relief rushed through her, followed by a ridiculous second where she was offended at being corrected.
Then the implications caught up with her.
Oh. That was interesting. Very interesting.
She swallowed. This time, she tried to project the thought as she spoke, pushing it outward the same way the creature had.
"What do you want?"
The response came immediately.
Safety. Hunger. Hide.
The pieces came together startlingly quick. "You're the one from the market," she said slowly. "The article was about you."
An affirmative.
"You stowed away."
Another affirmative. This time, there was a flicker of something like pride embedded in it.
Amy stared, processing the weight of what she'd just learned. An escaped alien had ended up on their ship. In her room. This was illegal, surely.
Finally, she managed:
"You don't want to hurt anyone?"
A pause.
No.
The answer seemed honest, though Amy didn't know how she knew that. Maybe it was because if it wanted to hurt her, it already would have.
"If I let you stay here, can you be quiet?"
Affirmative.
"Can you promise not to hurt anyone?"
Another affirmative, though there was a current of mistrust running through it that hadn't been there before. The meaning was clear. But will you hurt me?
"I won't hurt you," she said firmly. "I won't tell anyone you're here, I promise."
Why?
The question arrived with surprising force.
"That's…" She hesitated. How did she explain what a thesis was to a giant space octopus? "Because I've spent years trying to meet someone like you."
The confusion remained.
"Not you specifically," she amended quickly. "Someone who communicates like you do." She paused. "I'm curious. About you. It's my—" She faltered, searching for a word simple enough to translate. "—job. It's my job."
She wasn't sure how much of what she said got through, but the creature's confusion seemed to lessen.
Slowly, the tentacles retracted. Amy stumbled forward, catching herself on the side of her desk. Only then did she realize her legs were shaking. When she looked up, the creature had withdrawn into the corner of her room, a dark mass of limbs folding in on itself. Its red eyes looked at her with a different kind of consideration than before.
Agreed, came the thought. Will stay. For now.
Amy suspected the last part had been added intentionally.
Then another thought—almost hesitant.
Food?
Amy laughed, a little shaky.
"I can do that."
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"I can't believe you're still on this," Sonic said between mouthfuls of food. "It was a good deal. So what if the dude was sketchy?"
Blaze rolled her eyes. "Not a dude. Everyone knows the Drexan are sexless."
"Pshh. I call everyone dude. Doesn't matter what they are."
"You're such a moron." She elbowed him in the side. "Why do we hang out with you again?"
Sonic's mouth quirked up at the edges. "Because you love me?"
Blaze looked away, though the faintest pink showed on her cheeks. "Shut up."
Across the table, Amy poked at her steamed vegetables. They were fresh tonight, what with the ship having just resupplied, but she didn't have much of an appetite.
All her thoughts kept going back to her new roommate. At the time, letting it stay had seemed like a good idea, but now all she could think of was the amorphous blob that waited back in her room, a thin door the only thing separating it from her classmates.
Had it stayed put? Had it touched anything? Was it still in her room at all?
She was so stupid.
A foot knocked against hers under the table, and Amy glanced up to see Blaze giving her a concerned look.
"Hey—you alright? You look a little pale."
"I'm okay," she mumbled. "I think maybe I just ate something that didn't agree with me."
Blaze laughed. "That's what you get for stuffing yourself with nothing but fruit. Did you even eat any real food while we were down there?"
"I did." She stabbed a green bean with her fork unnecessarily hard. "I was just excited. You know we don't get fresh produce on the ship for long. I had to make the stop count."
Blaze made a face. "Honestly. I'm surprised you're not sicker. But you should probably eat something—" She glared over at Sonic. "—least of all because someone might take it when you aren't looking."
"Hey," he protested. "I just don't like to waste food, alright?"
"We know," both girls replied in unison, before breaking out into a fit of giggles.
After a moment, Amy sighed. "I'll take it back with me," she said, pulling her plate a little closer to her side of the table. Seizing the opportunity, she continued, "Maybe I'll grab a little extra, you know, in case I get hungry tonight."
Blaze smiled. "Good call. I'm sure we'll all be up late this week trying to finish our outlines. Never know when you'll need a pick-me-up."
Amy managed a smile. If only she knew.
✦•······················•✦•······················•✦
She returned with a container of food, still warm from the dining hall. The creature had made itself at home on her bed. Amy set her to-go container on her desk before turning to face it. It looked no less intimidating than before, but at least it hadn't tried to pin her against the door again.
They stared at each other in silence.
Amy gave a weak little wave. "…Hi."
The back of her neck flushed. She was communicating with an unknown lifeform, and she opened with 'hi'?
"Here," she said, picking up the box and opening it for the creature to see. "I brought food. I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I got a little of everything."
The creature didn't move toward the offering. Instead, a feeling pressed into her mind: confusion.
Not this.
"Not this?" she echoed. "Then what do you—"
An image. Red liquid. Heat, salt, life.
She stilled. "You feed on blood?"
Food, it repeated, the image of red projected in her mind again.
"No," she said firmly. "No way. You said you wouldn't hurt anyone. I have no idea how I'd even get that for you."
Frustration.
Then, a sensation of warmth—something alive and vital.
She tilted her head. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."
For a second, the creature said nothing. Then a new image hit her, hard enough to send her stumbling.
Heavy breaths. Salt-slicked air. Her legs parted, and between them—
"Oh," she squeaked. "That's… that's what you eat?"
Yes. And beneath it, something else—hunger certainly, but also restraint. He could have fed already. Could have simply taken.
But he hadn't. Somewhere in that realization, the creature stopped feeling like an it.
Amy squeezed her thighs together on instinct. "No. No way."
Why? came the question.
Despite everything, that gave her pause. Was it just her, or were these concepts becoming more complex? Amy still got a series of feelings and images, but they were starting to form into something that almost felt like sentences.
Fascinating. Was there an acclimation period as her brain adjusted? Maybe he'd been speaking in full sentences this entire time, and her mind was only just catching up.
The creature's eyes were fixed on her, waiting for a response.
"No," she said after a moment, feeling slightly ridiculous that this conversation was even happening. "I just—I can't. Look, I've got a long day tomorrow, and I have to get to bed. I promise I'll find something for you tomorrow. Maybe the kitchen has some blood, or the labs, I dunno."
The feeling that flashed through her next was clearly disappointment. Amy's face heated, the thought of him disappointed—disappointed not to taste her—
No. Gods. Stop thinking about it.
She got ready for bed in the shared dorm bathrooms, changing into her sleep shorts and a faded t-shirt before brushing her teeth. As she stood alone in front of the tiled sink, Amy considered the strange fact that she currently had more privacy here than in her own room.
When she returned, the creature had retreated to the corner next to her dresser, leaving her bed blessedly free. At least she didn't need to explain the concept of personal space. Still, Amy noticed that the sheets were still faintly warm from where his body had rested.
She didn't want to, but she noticed all the same.
Amy rolled over to face the wall.
"Goodnight," she said, because she didn't know what else to say. She didn't check to see if he'd heard her.
She closed her eyes. Sleep was a long time coming.
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She was on her back. The sheets were gone. She didn't remember kicking them off.
Then—the mattress dipped at her feet.
Amy looked down. Red eyes watched her in the dark, holding her gaze so completely she couldn't have looked away if she tried.
Oh.
Here, again.
He seemed to melt out of the shadows, a tall, lithe form made from midnight itself. She didn't recognize the hedgehog's face, couldn't make out any facial features save for the eyes that glowed like coals in the dark; but somehow, implicitly, she knew she was safe with him.
He approached her slowly, like he always did. A hand brushed her calf, the inside of her knee. Her legs parted without permission as his hand moved higher, following the soft inner flesh of her thighs. Where he touched, warmth bloomed under her skin. She arched into it without meaning to.
He stopped just short of where she needed him. Red eyes searched her face. She was breathing hard, now.
"Please," she whispered.
He didn't move.
She reached for him, fingers lacing through his, and tugged him forward. He went willingly, letting her pull him atop her until he was close enough his warm breath ghosted over her lips.
"Please," she murmured again. It was all she could say. All she could ever say. Time lost all shape before finally, at last, he leaned closer.
Amy jolted awake with a gasp.
Her heart was pounding. Her skin was slick. The sheets were sticky and scrunched at the foot of the bed.
She pressed her thighs together and found them aching, wet.
Gods.
She sat up too fast, the room tilting. She stumbled to the door, squinting as she flicked on the light.
Bathroom. Cold water. That's what she needed.
A noise made her turn, and she jumped at the red eyes watching her from the corner.
Amy froze like a deer in headlights. She'd forgotten he was there. How long had he been awake? How much did he see? She'd said something—she wasn't sure what, but she was pretty sure she'd said something out loud in her dream. Hadn't she? The details were blurring already. The dream, no matter how many times she had it, always vanished within moments of her waking.
A tendril of thought brushed against her mind.
Are you alright?
No, not just a thought. A full, clear sentence. Like someone was standing right next to her. His voice was low, resonant, and it sent a shiver through her.
Acclimation, indeed.
"I'm fine," she said, her voice coming out hoarse. "I just—I need to—"
He uncoiled from the corner, a shift of shadow and limbs. She should have moved, should have yanked the door open and fled into the hall—
Her legs didn't cooperate. They seemed to be stuck in place. And then he was there, close enough to touch. A single tentacle wrapped around her ankle. Smooth but not slimy, cool to the touch.
He made a low hum.
You smell delicious.
Her throat closed. This was bad. "It's not what you think," she said quickly. "I'm not—ahh—"
She broke off with a sharp inhale as the tentacle moved higher, encircling her calf, then her knee. Her mind was a mess of contradiction. What kind of person says yes to this? she wondered desperately. But she didn't have to search hard for the answer; it came to her as clear as if it had been projected into her head.
A curious one. A lonely one.
And she had both of those things in spades.
Amy leaned back on the door and let her head fall against the wood. She could feel her pulse in her throat, rapid and fluttering. Her thighs were still slick. He was waiting for an answer.
What was she about to do?
Before she could answer that question, one tentacle moved between her legs, tugging her shorts to the side like they were nothing. The cold air hit her slick skin with a shock, and a groan slipped from her throat.
"Wait," she breathed. "Wait."
Her hand flew down to stop him. The tentacle stilled against her skin but didn't retreat.
No?
"…No," she said, trying for firm. The word came out a little wobbly.
He met her gaze, and Amy's mind flooded with heat, desire, ecstasy—she didn't know how much of it was his. She whimpered, jolting as the tentacle traced a line down the center of her folds, parting them slightly.
Her hand had fallen lax at her side. When had that happened?
Another touch. This time, a little bolder. He found the slick that had been weeping from her entrance and made a noise that Amy now knew meant he was pleased.
Her legs felt like jelly. She didn't know how much longer she could keep standing.
"You won't hurt me?" she whispered.
His reply was a resounding negative. A denial so fierce it shook her, melting away the last of her hesitance.
Slowly, Amy sank to the ground. He moved with her, more tentacles winding around her until every side was supported by a foundation of lean, powerful limbs cradling her form. The tip of one grazed her clit, and she let out a sob, her hips thrusting against nothing despite herself.
"Please," she whispered.
The tendril pressed closer as two others pushed her legs up and apart at the knee. Another wrapped around her arm, stopping at her collarbone to trace it, as if he were learning the shape of her. Amy let him. She let herself sink deeper into the cradle of his limbs, her breath coming in soft, uneven gasps.
"Ames?"
The voice came out of nowhere. Her head jerked in surprise, banging against the door with a low thud.
"…Sonic?" she croaked, wincing at the pain in the back of her head.
"Are you free to check my notes? I think Blaze is annoyed with me, and, well, I'll owe you. Whatever you want from the vending machines for the next week, on me—"
Her chest seized in panic, the feeling growing stronger as Sonic continued to talk. As he did so, a tentacle began to wind around her waist, brushing under the cusp of her breasts through her thin shirt. Amy tried to tug it away to no avail; it was stronger than it looked.
"What are you doing?" she hissed. "Not now."
Sonic stopped mid monologue. "Amy? What was that?"
"Nothing," she gasped. "I'm… not feeling the best right now. How about we chat tomorrow?"
"Oh—uh, sure. Sorry, it's just, your light was on and all—"
"Yeah," she said, strained. "I'm just not feeling good. I think whatever was bothering me at dinner got worse. Let's meet tomorrow, okay?"
"'Course," said Sonic. There was the sound of footsteps stepping away from the door. "I'll just leave you to it—"
Amy gasped as the tentacle brushed her nipples through her shirt, the fabric rubbing against them.
The steps halted, then returned. He was just on the other side. "Are you sure you're okay? You don't want me to get someone? Bring some medicine?"
Amy leaned her head back against the door, trying to control her breathing. "Y-yeah. I'm sure. I just need rest."
Just go, she begged silently. For fuck's sake, follow instructions for once.
"Sure thing, Ames." Sonic's voice was low, sympathetic. "You feel better, okay? Let me know if you need anything."
I need you to go away, she thought.
Her ears twitched back in relief as she heard footsteps retreat down the hall, back the way they came. The moment the silence returned, the tentacle at her waist tightened, pulling her back against the warm mass of his body. She went willingly.
Gone, he observed. There was something almost smug in the thought.
"You," she breathed, "are going to get me caught."
No. The denial was calm, certain. I was quiet. You were not.
The irony of the statement was not lost on her. She might have laughed if she had the breath for it. Instead, Amy fell forward, wrapping her arms around his form, the last of her resistance bleeding out of her.
"Don't stop," she whispered. "Whatever you were doing. Don't stop."
The tentacle between her legs pressed closer, dipping shallowly past her entrance, and she moaned as it started a gentle rhythm. In. Out. Each time a little deeper, each repetition pulling a pathetic sound from her throat. When he bottomed out inside her, a shudder of pleasure wracked her body.
She should have said yes much sooner.
It wasn't enough, though. Not after the aching pressure she'd carried since waking. As if he sensed this, a second joined the first. They moved together, stretching her wider, filling her more completely until her hips were rolling against him with each thrust. The tendril around her ribcage dipped under her shirt, and she arched into the contact.
Another slid up her neck, grazing her jawline. When it pressed against her lips, Amy obediently opened for him. A warm, tingling sensation spread from her tongue to her throat. He tasted electric, sharp as the first drops of rain in a thunderstorm.
He made that low, pleased sound again—the one she was starting to crave.
She'd never been the center of someone's attention like this, never felt so focused on. She was so wet now. Lewd sounds filled the air as he took her again and again. The twin tentacles inside her moved in perfect counterpoint, and she gave over control completely, letting him take what he needed, her body completely enveloped by his.
She had no idea how this counted as feeding, but then again, she knew nothing about his biology. Was it hormones? Some kind of direct ATP absorption? She'd read about symbionts that fed on the bioelectric fields of their hosts—was this a similar exchange?
The thought barely had time to form before amusement flickered across the bond.
He was completely in control, and she found she loved it. Her body grew taut like a wire, toes curling, arms tightening around his form. She couldn't speak, couldn't think, could only feel the heat coiling tighter and tighter in her core. Could only hold on and ride out the feeling until it consumed her.
He withdrew from her mouth. She opened her eyes, catching his gaze with a sharp intake of breath. The image flashed in her mind, unmistakable. He wanted to coax pleasure from her. He wanted to feel her body shake around him from release. And she knew because she saw it. Could feel it.
The tentacle that had been in her mouth slid down, down, finding her clit and circling it with the perfect amount of pressure. Amy made a strangled sound, her head falling back, hands grasping at the limbs that held her.
Yes. Yes. There.
She came with a cry, letting go as a tremor shook her very bones. She quivered in his grasp, shaking and shaking as the pleasure rolled through her, dragging small, breathy whimpers from her throat. He supported her frame, but didn't stop his ministrations, drawing out her pleasure until she was limp and trembling in his hold. He seemed to drink down every pulse, every wave, every shuddering breath.
The world had gone soft at the edges. Her limbs were heavy, thoughts slipping away like sand between her fingers. She felt hollowed out in the best way, as if he'd drawn something deeper from her than just pleasure.
Her eyes drifted closed. The last thing she felt was the gentle pressure of being lowered to something soft.
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She woke slowly to the soft blue glow of the ship's night-cycle lights, the clock on her nightstand reading just past five. The faint hum of the ship was a lullaby in the background, as familiar as her own breathing.
Still plenty of time to sleep. Amy snuggled back beneath the blankets, pulling them up to her chin.
At least, she tried. They caught on something, refusing to budge.
Amy cracked an eye open.
A hand lay on the other side of her head. Not her own.
She shot up, scrambling back toward the wall. Someone was asleep beside her. Tall. Lean. Broad shoulders half-hidden beneath the blankets. Inky black quills spilled across her pillow, crimson stripes reflecting the ambient blue, turning the edges violet.
He was turned away from her, but the movement had clearly woken him. Amy stared as he turned toward her, pulse stuttering.
This wasn't possible—
His eyes were that same crimson from her dream.
For a moment, Amy couldn't breathe.
"Oh," she said dumbly. "There you are."
He didn't speak, but the corner of his mouth twitched. In her mind, the word rang, low and slightly amused:
Here.