More dialogue, more fluff,,, and more angst. Oops?

/TW:\ mentions of bad foster families - not sure if that would be consider a trigger, but, you never know.

.

He is waiting at the place they discussed earlier in the days, far away enough from the university that it's unlikely that they would run into any students there. The narrow alleyway doesn't look too inviting either – but rather like it could belong inside the Black Market. Agata huffs at the thought. He wouldn't mind a change of setting, every once and a while.

He feels his palms start to sweat again and, for the umpteenth time, wipes them against the fabric of his pants. His train of thoughts is back to square one – and no matter what direction it takes off to, it keeps hitting a wall, because the young lion is trying to think about a normal activity for twenty-something years old to do and this proves difficult when the two people involved are everything but normal. He is also pretty sure most of his ideas are going to be laughed at, but maybe it's only his nervousness speaking.

Maybe, if he was honest with himself, he could face the words written in big bold letters on the wall he keeps running into – "what if that was a date?" – but at this point, he instead vaguely wants to bang his head against said-wall.

He is thankfully distracted by footsteps echoing inside the alleyway. He pushes himself off the car hood, turns to greet Melon – and his brain unhelpfully screeches to a halt. Ah, yes. Forgot his professor attire included black dress pants and a tight-fitted shirt. To top it off, the hybrid is absent-mindedly loosening his tie with one hand, exposing more of his neck.

"Hey," Agata croaks, before clearing his throat (and forcefully dragging his mind out of the gutter): "You- uh, you remembered."

"Hmm-mh. Sorry, I'm late."

"Eh, no problem! What-" He stops, takes a second look at the hybrid's face. He still has his mask on, so he can't really read his expression, but there is something strange about the way he's not quite meeting his gaze. Agata's brow furrows. "Hey, did something happen?"

"Hum? Uh, no." Melon dismisses his concern with a wave of his hand. "Nothing. I just… I ran into someone in the corridors when I was leaving… Someone I wasn't expecting. I guess that's still on my mind."

"Okay…"

He pauses, waits, but it's clear that Melon is not going to elaborate. Agata makes a mental note to ask again about it later – right now, he doesn't want to think about anything worrisome or unpleasant. This afternoon, they are normal. (He would just have preferred that pretending to be normal didn't mean for the hybrid to hide so much of who he is.) Without thinking, he reaches out and lightly touches his mask, earning a surprised glance – soon turning into amusement.

"What, don't fancy herbivore? You prefer my chimera face?"

"Actually, yes, I do."

The surprise is back in the golden irises, teetering on shock this time.

"Eh, don't look at me like that, Melon. I did mean it, when I said I find you attractive."

"That… wasn't exactly what you said back then, you know."

No, it wasn't, indeed – what just escaped his mouth, that's a step further, one he didn't fully intend to cross just yet. Agata goes to rub the back of his neck, suddenly too embarrassed to look him in the eyes. His ears only burn hotter when the hybrid laughs.

"You're so easily teased, kitty, it's kind of entertaining."

"But… the suit is unfair, though," Agata complains.

"What? Why?"

"It, uh… it's a good look on you, that's all." His eyes travel a bit south against his will, down to the long slender legs of the hybrid, before he forces them back up. "Ahem. So, how was the lecture?"

"… Good. It was about the aftermath of the carni-herbi war, which is, well, my thesis subject." There is a beat of silence, then: "And so, kitty, what did you have in mind for this afternoon?"

"Uh, I-"

Agata stammers, cursing himself internally for not deciding on a plan earlier – momentarily forgetting that it's not that he didn't try –, and doesn't manage to get any more words out. An awkward silence stretches out. That's, of course, precisely the moment his stomach chooses to growl loudly, surprising them both.

"Oh, uh… guess I'm hungry. Maybe we could go grab food?"

"As you want. I haven't had lunch yet anyway."

"But it's four in the aft- Nevermind. Any preference?"

Melon returns a blank look.

"Come on, I know you can't taste, but perhaps something like… like ice cream? You can still tell apart the temperature, right?"

"Yeah. And…" He hesitates, then adds: "I can sort of taste mint and spices too. As cold or hot, but still. That's why I usually add spicy sauce to stuff. Make it seem less like I'm swallowing sand."

Agata thinks it over for a second, then an idea pops up in his mind:

"Eh, I think I know a place. It's not too far from here, too. Tell me, have you ever had jelly?"

"No." He frowns slightly, his nose scrunching up over the edge of the mask. "Isn't that for kids?"

"Even if it was, who cares? It's a fun texture."

"Fine. Lead the way, then."

It's a small shop on a street that in itself doesn't look like much, but its terrace sprawls across all the very large sidewalk, bright lime metal chairs and tablecloths the colors of spring. It's already pretty much filled with customers, but a bit aside there are a few free tables – grass-colored, of course.

"That's… green," Melon comments, reviewing the terrasse with raised eyebrows.

"Coming from someone always wearing pink, I find that a bit bold."

Their duo – big carnivore and seemingly-herbivore – makes a few heads turn; thankfully, most animals quickly go back to their food. This shop takes pride in serving only jelly-based dishes, and if Agata remembers right, it has something to do with the original owner being sea-folk and missing the texture of jellyfishes. Anyway, theirs is served in white bowls, finely decorated with a floral pattern, and it comes in approximately all colors of the rainbow. Some look truly appetizing, others… radioactive.

"That seems like it could be a new life form," the hybrid whispers to him, pointing to a bright, orange, trembling mount of the stuff. Agata has to agree. There are what appears to be little chocolate balls into it, and some of them form what could be read as eyes.

The menu is about as vibrant as the actual dishes, to the point where it's a bit aggressive on the eyes. At this point, the young lion can't help but wonder if sea-folk see the same colors as land animals because damn, that is too much.

"Look, there is a mint-flavored one," he points out to Melon, who acknowledges him with a hum. "I think I'm gonna take the orange, after all…"

"Fancy alien life?"

"Eh, citrus and chocolate go well together. Do you the, uh, the candy? Orange zests covered in chocolate… orangettes, I believe? They are the best."

"If you say so."

The food arrives quickly, he has to give the staff that, and his looks exactly like the one he saw. The smell of artificial orange makes his mouth water. It reminds him of candies his preschool teacher used to hand out to well-behaved kids. Melon's looks like an iceberg, which seems to amuse him. He takes a cautious bite and Agata can clearly see his eyes widening a bit.

"Eh, almost taste like something edible."

The young lion guesses that, for him, it's a compliment.

They eat in silence for a while, enjoying the last warm rays of the October sun. One of the hybrid's shoes rests against his and he is, to his own mortification, very aware of it.

"Hey, Melon? Can I ask you a question?"

Feline eyes open a little, curious and a bit wary.

"Shoot?"

"If you k- if your mother died when you were nine, where did you go after that?"

"Foster care."

The hybrid seems to be done with only those two words, going back to his food, and Agata doesn't dare press the matter – turns out, he didn't have to:

"I was placed twice into host families," he says, still not looking up. "After a third offer, I ran away, laid low for a while, then changed my identity."

Agata's gaze follows his hand as he goes to rub at the bite mark over his collarbone – that scar the lion noticed for the first time what felt like ages ago – the very same day he heard about that murdered young hybrid.

"Actually, in regards to the law, I as a hybrid am declared dead by predation."

He doesn't miss the way Melon's hand tensed around his spoon at those last words, but it relaxes just as quickly and Agata is left reeling with the amount of new information.

"Oh… what- an-" Questions swim around the young lion's mind, until he finally settles on the first one: "What was wrong with the last family?"

"They were leopards."

The hybrid keeps his gaze carefully fixed on his spoon, poking the jelly and watching it ripple, but Agata doesn't need to see his expression to know what he meant.

"Hey, by the way kitty, the food is nice. Good pick."

Agata feels the tip of his ears burning. What, no, that was such a banal compliment! … and an obvious evasive technique, too.

"How old were you?" he can't help but ask.

"Sixteen."

"Oh… that was the same year I also ended up on the streets, I think. Maybe we ran into each other back then?"

Melon huffs.

"I would hope you would remember me if that were the case."

"Hey, why not the other way around?"

"Lion. Hybrid," he says, pointing at each of them in turn. "Which one is more unusual?"

"Hmm. I'm still offended."

He makes a show of crossing his arms, puffing his chest – he feels ridiculous, this is everything society wants lions to be and that he loathes – but it makes Melon laugh, so it's worth it.

"Haha, what can I do to make it to you then, dear?"

Agat sputters, caught-off guard, his pretend haughtiness melting away like butter on a hot day. This time, it's not only his ears that are flushing. He remembers vividly the first time the hybrid called him that – "dear" –, that day he walked on him grading papers, but now it's worse because his mind unhelpfully supplies the image of Melon's face, eyes half-closed with sleepiness, inches away from his own, and how his slender body felt in his arms, how his lips-

No no no, stop. Stop. Right. There.

"Come on, don't be shy…" the hybrid drawls, seemingly very aware and very entertained by the lion's internal crisis.

Agata groans and brings his hands to his face.

"Stop, you're making it harder."

"I know."

He doesn't see the motion before a long finger pokes at one of the freckles on his cheek, sending his system into overdrive. Melon has opened his eyes a bit more than he usually does in public and the afternoon sun is catching on their golden tones. Agata wishes the surgical mask didn't hide half of the hybrid's face because, at that moment he really wants to see his smile.

"Ah- you- you are good at changing subjects," he squeaks when his brain cells agree to start properly connecting again.

"What, you're still curious about my childhood?"

"… Yes. If you want to talk about it, of course."

He shrugs.

"I don't mind."

"So… why didn't you stay with the first two families?"

"The first couple was antelopes – impalas, precisely. Looked a lot like me, body-wise, except they had white markings in the front. The husband was often away, and I kind of was a present to his infertile wife, so she wouldn't feel so lonely. Except, I think I scared her. She was too much of a prey, even my baby fangs triggered her instincts. She made me wear my mask inside, all the time. Once, I forgot so she yelled at me, and… I guess I must have bared my teeth at her at some point, she panicked and pushed me down the stairs. After that incident, it was written in my chart that I could only be placed with carnivores, or at the very least large herbivores. Like elephants."

"So, the next ones were…?"

"Elephants indeed. Except I may scare most herbivores, but that doesn't mean I'm very much sturdier than them. Their eldest son, who was around the same age as me at the time, accidentally broke my arm during playtime. The parents were beyond themselves. You know, when I played the elephant therapist a few months back, I recalled that afternoon a lot. They felt so guilty they decided the best course of action was to dump me back in foster care."

"That… sucks."

Melon acknowledges it with a click of his tongue before he takes another spoonful of the iceberg-adjacent jelly in front of him. Agata feels encouraged to continue, and he doesn't think about how his next words would be received before he speaks:

"I guess your childhood, it kind of explains… excuses… that…"

He doesn't finish his sentence, slightly put off by the unwavering gaze of the hybrid in front of him. He still has his eyes half-closed, but now it seems way less friendly and more… predatory. A self-satisfactory kind of amused – the one of a cat watching a mouse. The young lion feels cold, all of a sudden. Like a switch has been flipped.

"Explain what exactly, hum, kitty?"

He is past being intimated by him, or at least that's what the young lion tries to tell himself. He's also quite sure he's safe. (But there is one word too many in this sentence.)

"Why… why you turned to the Back Alley Market," he answers nonetheless. "And, to a criminal life in general, I guess."

"Oh, you think so?"

He can't see his sinister grin with the surgical mask, but he still can damn well hear it, and it makes a shiver runs down his spine.

"And yet," the hybrid adds, his attention seemingly shifting back to the plate in front of him. "Yet, there are many other animals who suffered and never resorted to violence. Even other hybrids. They aren't a lot like me, but still, I'm not the only one across the country. Even that poor little girlie from that talk show… the one who was murdered."

"… You remember this?"

"I also remember how you were acting, that day. The wide eyes, the way you kept glancing at me… You were still hearing the words of poor papa bear in your mind, right? What did he say again?" His voice wavers slightly, but he goes on as if it didn't happen: "Let's see… Some bullshit about hybrids that should take after their carnivore parents… typical of your kind, that, thinking so highly of your strength… And what else? Antelopes are so- what, fragile?"

"Frail," Agata corrects without thinking.

"Yeah, see, I knew you remembered perfectly." He laughs, and it's back to sounding like something's cracking inside. "Is that what you see when you look at me? Frailty? Something that you should make yours and protect, maybe?"

"I wo-"

"Well, let me tell you one thing," Melon continues as if he didn't hear, leaning towards him over the table. "I don't need anyone to protect me, and I certainly don't fucking need your pity." (By now, he is spitting the words more than he's speaking them.) "What I lived through didn't make me evil, I chose this path myself. And I take pride in it."

"O-Okay…"

The hybrid pulls his mask down to eat and Agata gets a glimpse of sharp fangs.

"You know, kitty, I remember reading about some carnivores having instincts to defend the weak. Something to do with protecting their babies, probably, but some claimed it as the sign that carnivores should be more valued because their strength is not to terrorize herbivores, but to benefit them, if exploited correctly. Some do-gooder shit like that."

The young lion has no idea what to say to that – his lungs can't draw enough air in – his mouth feels dry, his tongue like it weighs a hundred pounds. He grabs his glass of water, brings it to his lips- and Melon adds mercilessly:

"What I took from it, on the other hand, is that maybe some carnivores that are easier to manipulate than others."

Agata feels just as if someone dumped a bucket of cold water over his head.

"Oh, what is it, kitty?" Melon snickers. "Did you reall-"

On impulse, Agata throws his glass at him.

The hybrid's eyes snap fully open and he stares back in shock. Water drips from his fur and his surgical mask clings to his jaw. Agata is still hunched over, clutching the glass in his right hand so hard it might shatter, breathing heavily. His chair has fallen when he has stood up abruptly, crashing against the pavement with a loud noise.

Too many eyes are fixed on them, but he barely even notices.

"You're an asshole," he manages to get out through gritted teeth. "You're right; you don't need my pity – and you certainly don't deserve it. Nor anything else, for that matter."

He grabs his phone and leaves without another word. He intended on not looking back – not doing Melon the pleasure of caring, not today –, except he can't help but hear the whispers popping up all through the terrasse. He doesn't fucking care about what they have to say, they don't know anything about them, and-

"Look at it. Another of those freaks of nature."

He stops. Doesn't even look for the jerk that said that, no, his gaze is despite himself drawn back to the hybrid's figure. He has taken his soaked mask off to be able to breathe, exposing all of his face to the cold October air – and to their gazes. He doesn't seem aware of the whisperings, though, slumped in his chair, staring at empty air. Agata wonders what is going through his head at that moment.

He leaves nonetheless.

.

If it can help, writing this made me sad too :'))

(Also, yes, usually people with no sense of taste can "feel" mint and spices, because it activates heat receptors instead of taste buds - used my bio major for this lol)