Page 6 of Epidermis

“I do not. What animal does that skull belong to?”

“Oh. A mongoose.” Jasper finished pulling his sleeve down and rolled his shoulder to drop any bunched fabric back into place. He offered an explanation that Konrad hadn’t asked for. “They kill snakes. I knew I wanted a snake with a skull, but I thought a mongoose skull was more interesting than a human one.”

The timer dinged, cutting off whatever response Konrad might have given and acting as Jasper’s salvation. He thanked gods he didn’t believe in that whatever Konrad was making didn’t take long to cook. Or finish cooking, since it both looked and smelled like it had been cooking for some time when Konrad added the rosemary on top of it.

Konrad excused himself to fetch dinner, and as soon as he was gone, Jasper dropped his head against the back of the booth. He was being fucking weird. He knew he was. But this was weird. Konrad seemed to come from another world, and of all people, he’d insisted on Jasper’s company for dinner. To thank him for doing something that Konrad was more than capable of doing himself.

Konrad returned to serve the meal, plating it with such care that Jasper almost felt bad that he was going to eat it. His eyebrows raised at the huge leg of… something that was put in front of him. The skin was golden brown, and the meat lay on a bed of brown… stuff.

“Duck confit, on a bed of lentil ragout,” Konrad said before sitting next to Jasper again.

Jasper nodded. Those sure were words.

He really didn’t like eating things without knowing what consistency it was going to be, but he couldn’t think of an acceptable way to ask Konrad if the lentil stuff was mushy without being rude. Instead, he cut off a piece of the large duck leg first, then put a tiny bit of the lentils on the fork with it. He brought the fork to his mouth, discomfited by the certainty that Konrad was watching him for his reaction.

Jasper’s fears proved to be unfounded. He couldn’t help the small sound of bliss that slipped out as he chewed. The duck was the most tender meat he’d ever tasted. The lentils had a mild, somewhat nutty flavor, and contrary to his concerns, were actually good. “Wow. That’s amazing,” he said after he swallowed.

“Thank you.”

Konrad sounded so sincerely happy, like he enjoyed the compliment, and Jasper envied him that. Jasper couldn’t take anything at face value. To be fair, though, that was a learned behavior. Humans were duplicitous.

“This particular cut of meat, the leg and thigh being butchered together, is referred to as a ‘Maryland’ cut in some parts of the world. Just not this one, coincidentally,” Konrad explained.

Coincidentally because they were in Maryland, Jasper assumed.

Funny.

Jasper looked up at the tree. It was wrapped with tiny lights on such thin wire that it wasn’t visible at first glance. The lights appeared to just be there, like fireflies. He got to see fireflies outside his house from time to time. The dogs loved to chase them, and they reminded Jasper of simpler times, of sitting on the back porch while his dad cracked open a beer after a long day on the boat. Not perfect times, but simpler.

He’d asked his father if there was something wrong with him. Because his brain seemed to work differently than the other kids at school.

His father said of course not. He seemed offended by the prospect, and asked Jasper if someone at school had called him different.

Kids were quick to soak up what they were told. So that was how Jasper learned that different was a bad thing. Something unwanted and offensive. Of course, his understanding developed as he got older, but deep down, that seven-year-old boy still wanted to know what was so bad about being the way he was.

“Jasper?”

Jasper blinked and found his plate empty. He’d cleaned it thoroughly, and he still sat there holding his silverware, staring at the tree in the middle of the room. “Sorry.” Heat burned in his face when he realized how long he must have been spaced out.

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Konrad regarded him with that curious smile that made Jasper feel like his skin was being peeled back, letting Konrad see what was underneath. “Where did you go?”

Jasper was surprised to hear his own voice come out just as softly. “Somewhere with fireflies.”

“Sounds like a wonderful place.” Konrad stood and took their plates away. He didn’t press for details or why Jasper had just completely checked out while they ate dinner. He simply took the answer Jasper gave him.

Jasper found himself staring after Konrad as the other man disappeared back to the kitchen, unsure what to make of him. His eyes were still on the empty doorway when Konrad reappeared there. “I know you said you don’t eat much, but I insist that you at least try dessert,” Konrad announced as he came back to the table. “Even if only a bite.”

Jasper chuckled as Konrad put a single plate down. Two spoons. How… cute.

“Semifreddo,” Konrad said, sitting next to Jasper once more. “With fresh raspberry drizzle and shavings of dark chocolate.”

Jasper had no idea what he was eating, but he took a spoonful from one end while Konrad did the same. Jasper’s brow furrowed as he swallowed. It tasted like ice cream but felt like custard. He saw Konrad looking at him expectantly and his lips twitched upward around the spoon. This man was seriously invested in whether or not Jasper liked his cooking, though Jasper doubted that was specific to himself so much as Konrad just caring about his craft.

“It’s weird. But… good weird,” Jasper said, and saw the flicker of satisfaction on Konrad’s face when he went in for another bite.

They finished the dessert with Jasper surprising himself by managing to eat almost half. He hadn’t been lying when he said he didn’t usually eat much. Konrad was silently but obviously pleased with himself as he cleared the table again. Jasper shook his head with faint amusement. He slid out of the booth and almost felt bad that Konrad’s face fell by a fraction, seeing that he was leaving.

“Thank you for dinner,” Jasper said, detachment settling back over him like a heavy coat. It insulated him from the cold expectations of having to engage, but also from the warmth of human contact. He would always choose to sacrifice the latter for the safety of the former.