Bug Boy || L.S. - A/B/O

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It looked like an emerald, the same shade as his eyes, the glossy shell that protected its tiny body both sturdy and beautiful. That's why Harry was so drawn to it, he decided. He would like a pretty set of armor himself, with segmented, copper-green breastplates to match the lines where the little beetle's wings might open up and catch the light.

Harry squinted his eyes and pressed a finger to the powdery, dry soil in front of the bug's path. It approached, reaching its needle-thin arms to explore the new terrain tentatively. Gentle but sure claws began to pull it upwards, tickling his skin, methodically crawling next to his nail and gripping his cuticles. Once it had a sturdy enough hold, Harry lifted it to his eyes for a closer look, murmuring, "Can you fly, though?"

Of course, the beetle didn't respond, just waggled its thread-like antennae along the wrinkles of his knuckle, feather-light, and continued its expedition.

"I'd like to fly," Harry said, more confident this time, smiling and puffing out his chest. "One day, I'll wrap myself up in a little cocoon on the underside of a leaf, and when I come out, I'll have the shiniest wings."

Again, no response, as the beetle seemed to relax, exhausted by the long trek, and stilled on the back of his hand, just over a tendon. His finger twitched, but the bug stayed, grip sure. Comfortable. Trusting. Harry let out a gentle sigh, enjoying the camaraderie.

Further down the trail, darting between the trees, squeals of joy echoed toward him. The hairs on the back of his neck raised to attention, blood feeling thicker in his chest.

"I'd quite enjoy your life," he muttered at his beetle friend, "no cares other than finding food and climbing on weird pink lumpy mountains. Sounds fun." Harry pouted. "'M not having fun."

No acknowledgment from the bug.

Sneakers thumping, approaching, pulled him back to reality. It seemed they were like a stampede, though as the highlighter yellow lanyards around their necks came into focus, he realized it was just four other campers.

Cupping his left hand over the right to protect his relaxing beetle buddy, Harry scooted over, off the main path, and into the undergrowth. The grass, he decided, was also a beautiful shade. Not quite the deep, brassy hue of his beetle. More like it had been tinged yellow from the sun's rays, closer to the color of a lime.

"What are you doing?"

Harry flinched and glanced up towards the group, a mess of brown- and blond-haired boys giving him funny looks. One of them, a little bigger, probably a couple of years older than Harry - maybe fourteen - was focused on his hand.

"What's that?"

With a start, he realized that all of them looked older than him. Bigger and more confident. And - it wasn't likely, but what if one of them already presented as an Alpha?

His little beetle friend began to shuffle around.

"Um," Harry started, unsure if he was comfortable showing them. Not everyone liked bugs like he did. Back at school, Tessie Baker had screamed and run away crying when he showed her the spider he found on the playset. It was years ago, but the memory stuck with him.

This kid, though, he was getting too close, approaching Harry even as he cowered back, pulling his hands further away.

"Let me see," the kid insisted, reaching to pull his hands apart.

Hit by a spike of adrenaline, Harry hopped up and pulled away, bearing his teeth like his mother had told him. "Back off," he growled.

"Just show him, weirdo," called one of the blonde boys, rolling his eyes. "What's wrong with you?"