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More vague, drunken memories surfaced. “Yeah, we lost everyone somehow, and we were trying to get back to Fil’s place for some reason.”

“Oh, that’s where we are!” Gem snapped two fingers. “I thought this room looked familiar. We’re at Fil’s flat.”

Annoyance flashed through Rusty, and he scowled. “How do you know what Fil’s bedroom looks like?”

“Ha, please.” Gem shrugged off the question. “Anyway, we must have crashed here after—” He cut himself off, several eyes darting to Rusty, then away.

“After what?” Rusty demanded. “What happened on the bus?”

Gem winced again. “Technically, nothing happened on the bus.”

“I swear on the deities, Gemae, if you don’t tell me—”

“I had an idea while we were lost on the bus, okay? And you”—Gem rose to his knees, the sheet pooling on the mattress to reveal his lacy, hipster underwear—“and I cannot stress this enough—you liked the idea. You fully and enthusiastically supported it.”

“You know what would be funny?” Gem said as they both giggled in the back of the empty bus, several of his hands petting through Rusty’s fur in ways that had the Pyclon both drowsy and amped up. “Listen, listen. You know what would be really funny?”

“Nooo,” Rusty whimpered—no, he pleaded .

Gem sucked air through his teeth as he hugged himself with all six arms. “Yeah.”

“No, no, no.” Rusty pawed at his back, freezing when the rough pads of his fingers found shaved hide—not fur—on his lower back, right above his tail. “Oh my gods.”

“Hey, Rusty, I have a great idea,” Gem said as he pointed to a storefront lit up in neon lights.

Carefully, Rusty slid his fingers along the smooth skin until he found rough scabs, and he hissed at the sharp burning sensation that radiated from the fresh wound.

“We should—just listen for a sec,” Gem slurred, inclining his head until all Rusty could smell was his coffee and cinnamon scent mixed with the fruity alcohol they’d been drinking. “We should totally get tattoos.”

“No!” Rusty wailed as he scrambled to his feet and ran toward the open door to what he assumed was the bathroom. It smelled like tile and cleaning supplies and soap, and he flipped on the light, flinching at the bright fluorescents.

His reflection in the large bathroom mirror was practically offensive. His fur was going in every direction, and his eyes were veiny and bloodshot. He had unknown substances on his chest, making the hairs there crusty. And had someone braided the fur around his ears?

But he didn’t care about any of that. He gave the mirror his back and craned his neck to take in the monstrosity tattooed right above his tail.

Three letters. There were three letters branded into the hide of his lower back .

“No, but it would be, like, so funny,” Gem said as they both stumbled into the tattoo shop, “if we got each other’s names tattooed on our backs.”

More horrified than he’d ever been in his life, Rusty released a high-pitched shriek he honestly didn’t know he was capable of.

He hit a falsetto that his vocal chords shouldn’t have been able to emit, but somehow, he managed it.

It was a scream of denial and regret, of his soul being crushed in a vise of shame and misery.

Because Gem’s name was tattooed into Rusty’s skin. Right above his ass. Like a tramp stamp. Deities below, Rusty had a fucking tramp stamp of Gem’s name .

So he screamed like he’d never screamed before.

He was dimly aware of Gem stumbling into the doorway, jumping from one leg to the other as he tugged his bedazzled shorts on to cover his lace-clad ass. Several eyes dropped to the tattoo as the other eyes met Rusty’s mortified gaze in the mirror.

“Oh my gods,” Rusty cried.

“Oh my gods,” Gem wailed.

“I have your name tattooed on my back!”

“I know, and it looks so much worse under the fluorescents,” Gem said, and Rusty leveled him with a death glare, making him backtrack immediately. “I mean, the light really highlights the calligraphy choice. Very artistic and classy.”

“It’s your name!”

“I know that; I’m just saying that you chose a nice font, and the artist was clearly talented!”

“It’s three letters. A child with a Sharpie could accomplish that,” Rusty seethed .

Gem grimaced. “You’ve clearly never seen my little brother try to write the alphabet.”

With a wordless roar of impotent rage, Rusty turned away from Gem and scratched at the letters, ignoring the sharp, biting pain it caused.

“Stop!” Gem lunged for him, capturing his hands before he could rub away the scabs. “Don’t do that. You’ll ruin it.”

“What?” Rusty demanded as he fought against Gem’s hold. “I want to ruin it!”

“Trust me, you really don’t,” Gem insisted as he pinned Rusty’s arms at his sides and captured his face and shoulders in his other hands.

His eight eyes were wild as he continued, “If you mess with it, it will heal badly and scar. You might not be able to remove it at all, which means you’ll live the rest of your life with my name scarred into your ass! ”

“Oh my gods,” Rusty whined.

“I know,” Gem commiserated miserably.

“Oh my gods!” Rusty bellowed.

“I know!” Gem shrieked.

“I’m gonna puke again,” Rusty warned, and Gem released him instantly.

Staggering to the toilet, he collapsed to his knees and surrendered to another furious round of retching. Gem rummaged through several drawers, then turned on the faucet. By the time the bout of sickness had passed, Gem had a cool, wet cloth at the ready, and Rusty used it to clean his mouth.

“Fuck, just kill me,” he croaked. “Seriously, Gem, kill me.”

With a huff, Gem leaned against the bathroom counter and crossed several arms over his torso. “It’s just a hangover. Stop being dramatic.”

“It’s not the hangover.” Rusty shot Gem another glare. “I just can’t live another second with your name tattooed above my ass!”

Gem frowned. “Well, now you’re just trying to hurt my feelings.”

Rolling his eyes, Rusty gathered the sour saliva in his mouth and spat it into the basin. “So where’s yours then?”

“My what?” Gem asked as he rubbed the skin between his largest eyes.

Rusty flushed the toilet and wiped his face clean as he collapsed back against the shower stall door. “Your tattoo.” Eyes flying open, Gem stiffened, and Rusty grimaced. “Oh gods, please don’t tell me you tattooed my name on your dick or something.”

Impossibly, Gem seemed to pale further, skin lightening to an ashy pallor. “So, the thing is—and trust me, you’re totally gonna laugh about this,” he said with a weak titter. “You know, eventually.”

Rusty narrowed his eyes, and Gem pointedly looked away, studying the light fixture on the ceiling as he cleared his throat noisily. “So, I was fully on board with the tattoo. I was so ready for it, even though I have a slight phobia of needles. But I was going to be so brave, you don’t even know!”

Dread crept into Rusty’s chest as Gem continued to avoid eye contact, looking everywhere but at him.

“But then you went first, and the artist brought out the needles and started stabbing you with them, and I… I just… I may have gotten nauseous and light-headed. I hadn’t eaten in a couple hours, so my blood sugar was low.

Or maybe it was just the ridiculously high blood-alcohol content—”

“Gem!” Rusty barked, jolting the Araknis out of his ramble before he was too far gone. He fell silent and withered under Rusty’s furious glower. “Where’s your tattoo?”

“Um, it’s actually nowhere because I may not have actually… done it,” he finally confessed in a whisper.

A beat of tense silence fell between them. Rusty glared. Gem cowered away .

“You’re telling me,” Rusty said, voice low and cold, “that after everything, after you suggested it, you stood by and watched me get a tramp stamp with your name on it, and when it was your turn, you sacked the fuck out?”

With a whine, Gem fidgeted his many hands and cringed. “Maybe.”

“Maybe? It’s a yes or no question. Did you get the fucking tattoo or not?” Rusty spat out between clenched teeth.

“No,” Gem whimpered out in reply.

“Gemae!” Rusty roared, and Gem whined again.

“I’m sorry! Okay? I’m sorry, but I almost passed out, and then I actually did throw up on the tattooist a little bit, so we got kicked out, and I never actually did it. But I was so going to. I swear, I didn’t mean to fuck you over. I would never purposefully do that.

“And I totally understand why you’re upset. But we were really drunk, and while, yes, it was my idea, you wanted to do it.” At Rusty’s furious expression, Gem immediately course-corrected. “But I will take a higher percentage of the blame since I suggested it and then later sacked out.”

After a heavy silence, Rusty buried his face in his palms and groaned out, “Fuck.”

“I know,” Gem murmured, hands fidgeting. “I’m sorry, Rus. Please, don’t hate me.”

The last part was spoken even quieter, but Rusty still caught it, and his groan turned into a sigh. “I don’t hate you, Gem.”

“Really? Because you look and sound like you hate me. And I think I’m still too drunk to handle that right now,” the Araknis blubbered, voice thick with imminent tears .

Regardless of his anger, Rusty couldn’t help but soften slightly when Gem’s eyes all watered. “Come on, don’t cry. I don’t… hate you. I’m pissed at you.”

“Totally fair,” Gem interjected.

“But,” Rusty continued, rubbing at his eyes as his head throbbed, “I don’t hate you.”

Heaving a huge sigh of relief, Gem half-collapsed against the counter. “Okay. Good.”

“Why would you even care if I did?” Rusty asked, clarifying when Gem cocked his head in confusion. “Hate you, I mean.”

“Um, because we’re friends,” Gem said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

It was such a silly thing, but for reasons Rusty couldn’t quite name, warmth bloomed to life in his chest. He’d never really had friends, even as a kid. People were annoying and cruel, and even at a young age, he’d preferred his own company over anyone else’s. Except for his mother, of course.