Complicated it may be, but it reassures Alex that it's all pretty flexible and friendly, not some sort of elaborate structure his Bel has gotten stuck in. "Be patient with him," he suggests to Erskin. "I don't think he's ever once considered having more than one partner. He got the usual eleven-year-old boy crush on his babysitter, and talked about practically nothing but her for nearly a year. And... well, I'm just speculating, but I think he's been a little bit unhappy for a very long time, he might need a while to process being happy. When I say I've never seen him this happy, it's not a figure of speech." The sentiment is thick enough on the ground now to make even Alex a little embarrassed, so he tries to lighten the mood a bit: "I'd appreciate if you'd use your powers for good. Like, for instance, convincing him that knifing bears is never Plan A."
"That's adorable," you say, about the babysitter— though you feel validated, at the reminder that Bel does, actually like women, and you are not a woman, so further partners could too happen and you're not just making assumptions because you didn't grow up enough to realize not all families are just like your own. About the bear thing, you raise your hands in exasperation. "I'm a supernatural creature, Mr Kadros, but I'm not that magic. I am fairly sure Bel only doesn't roll out of bed and go stab a bear first thing every morning because there's very few of them in suburbia. Or Afghanistan. It's entirely possible we should ship him back there for his own safety."
This combination of merciless accuracy and delightful absurdity has Alex laughing helplessly into his beer again. He almost fails to hear the tapping against the radiator pipes upstairs, but a part of his mind is irrevocably wired to interpret Morse code now, so it comes to him clearly once he becomes conscious of it: S H A R E Y O U R P I Z Z A L O S E R S C O M E O N N O F A I R
You look curiously at Alex, then your dad, who's got his head cocked to one side, listening. "The man of the hour wants pizza," he explains. Ah, it's that damn morse again. You finish off your beer and get unsteadily to your feet. "Should I fetch the pizza up or the local hero down?" you want to know.
"If he feels up to it and you think you can get him down here without rolling him down the stairs like a slinky, bring him down. I'll scoot the recliner in here so he won't end up on the floor if he lists to starboard a bit."
"Alright, I'll go see." The stairs are a difficult climb, your side and flank don't like the exertion at all. Why do humans even have stairs when they're so unpleasant to scale in human form? You catch yourself in the doorway and enjoy the sight of Bel, in bed, alive, and exactly as handsome as eveer. "Hello," you tell Bel, fondly. "There's pizza."
"You're wearing my shirt," you point out stupidly, a dazedly delighted smile taking over your face. "You're wearing nothing but my shirt. Oh my god you're so cute." But your stomach reminds you sharply that you have other priorities right now. You set down your radiator-tapping device (a plastic ruler from your bookshelf, the only thing in reach) and do grabby-hands at him. "Help me sit up, blue warrior needs food badly."
"You need a shirt," you tell him, "It is shirt o'clock for everyone," and bring one over. After that you get one of his heavy arms over your shoulder and help him up off the bed. "Let's take the stairs slowly, I hate them."
"I am about to hate them," you predict, and you're right. Walking hurts less than you expected, but that's not saying much, considering you expected not to be able to do it at all. Still... "This werewolf thing is the bomb. I can't believe I'm already on my feet. Sort of." Between Erskin's strong shoulders, and the alluring smell of pizza, you succeed at stairs. You shuffle into the kitchen with a big smile for your dad, noting that he's moved the recliner in here, which makes the eating process sound a lot more comfortable. And then you notice there's another person in the room, and freeze. He's elderly, but still very handsome. Wild white hair and a tidy beard. Sparkling eyes full of friendliness and humor. A smile that reminds you of good things. Erskin things. Oh god it's Erskin's dad isn't it. This is Erskin's werewolf-lord dad, sitting in your kitchen with a bottle of beer and awakening all the awkward tingly feelings you used to get from Sean Connery movies in your adolescence. "Erskin," you stage-whisper, "why didn't you tell me to brush my hair, I look like the Swamp Thing."
"Only if Swamp Things have runway models," you tell him, and tip him into his chair. "I forgot, on account of, stairs." You comb his hair a little straighter with your fingers, then take your own chair. "Dad, this is Bel, Bel, this is Reginald Elizabeth Aspera. The fifteenth." "Third." You shrug and pull over a fresh pizza box to put on Bel's lap. "Well, I'm just glad I'm not the sixteenth." "Fourth," your dad says, and bops you gently over the head with his bottle. "Anyway, don't push me, you blister, I could change it at any time and it's not like you can navigate the paperwork to say otherwise." He leans across the table to shake Bel's hand.
A couple of those fingers are still taped up, but you dazedly give him your hand anyway, and he shakes it gently enough that it doesn't even twinge. "A genuine pleasure, sir," you say honestly. "So it's your fault he's an adorable smartass."
"Guilty as charged on both offenses!" Aspera says brightly. "And I hear it's your fault the ornery hairball is actually walking and talking, these days. How did you manage it? We tried sausage treats but it didn't take." "I made a perfectly reasonable cost-benefit analysis that learning my times tables was more bad than sausage treats were good," you snort. "You go ask a bunch of eight year olds to do the same calculation and see if they don't run screaming into the woods." "Three of your cousins went to college," your dad says. "They didn't go to the bermuda triangle on their own when they were fourteen, though, did they."
"I suppose my sausage treats are just better," you say, and then cover your mouth with both hands in belated horror. "Oh my god. Morphine. Morphine wishes to offer a sincere apology." Your dad is laughing with his head down on the table. Thanks for the support, Dad.
"Good advice," you tell him gratefully. "I love you for your mind. Can you reach me the onion-and-mushroom? Our dads are too busy mocking my pain." Erskin gets you pizza, and you slump in the recliner and blissfully devour it. It is the best thing you have ever tasted in your life. Ever. Just when the dads are starting to settle, yours puts a slice of sausage pizza on your plate and loses it again. "You should have your own show on Comedy Central," you say scathingly. Since you say it with your mouth full, it's possible your wit is unappreciated.
You're starting to slow down, so you scoot your chair against his and lean. "So how did you meet?" your dad wants to know.
"In Wisconsin," you answer, leaning back and hooking your non-pizza-holding arm through Erskin's. "I was sulking. He ate my sandwich."
"I promised him all the sandwiches he wanted if he'd give me wolf lessons. He taught me to catch squirrels, but then I wanted to talk during the sandwich obtaining process and I couldn't yet understand wolf language while human, so I persuaded him to change, loaned him some clothes, and took him out for burgers. He was extremely scathing about human goals and interests." You grin fondly at the memory of how much that had hurt your feelings. You'd already wanted him to approve of you.
"I still am, though," you say. At Bel's pointed look at your pizza, you elbow him. "Shut up, pizza is a universal goal. And interest."
