Amalgamation

CHAPTER SEVEN

I sigh, my return to work has been nothing but awkward. I don't know what Jin told Kookie, but Kookie has been avoiding me and everytime Jin gets anywhere near me Suga becomes a territorial and protective bag of raging testosterone. It's honestly more than a little annoying.

"Suga, he's my boss. He's gonna have to talk to me at some point," I tell him between bites of the salad that I am currently eating.

Normally I'd simply eat at the shelter, but today I'd needed to get away, so out to eat we had gone. I couldn't very well leave Suga behind, knowing the kind of fights that he'd start. Kind of a moot point though, to be honest, since he hasn't let me leave his eye sight since the night I sucked his dick. I'm not sure what's going on in that head of his.

"Fuck that," he spits, "that douchebag made you cry. That shit isn't gonna fly on my watch."

I am shell-shocked, though I try not to show it. He's been saying semisweet things like this all week, but I've noticed that the moment I make any sort of deal about it he grows cold once more. I don't get it, but semisweet is better than asshole with open hostility any day of the week.

"Even so, if this continues I very well might lose my job. If that happens I won't be able to afford my rent, let alone everything else we need." As I tell him this I notice an odd kind of light in his eyes. I twirl my fork around in my salad thoughtfully, waiting for words that I know are coming. I just wish I knew which words they are.

"If money is an issue I could get a job," he tells me softly. A little too softly, I almost don't hear him.

"Except, you can't, because we haven't managed to track down your previous owner. Until we can find that person," I say, unsure as to whether his previous owner was male or female, "we can't force them to sign the paperwork to free you. If you apply for a job without papers you know what will happen to you."

His face hardens, though with anger or determination I am not sure. "Fuck her, I hope you never find her. I'd rather remain 'lost'," he tells me angrily. "And you know that I lived on the streets, there are plenty of people willing to pay hybrids under the table."

Ahh, so it'd been a bit of both. "Absolutely not," I tell him forcefully, "there is not a snowball's chance in hell that I'm gonna let you get used and treated unfairly by some shady scum. And you know that they do, Suga, don't try to tell me they don't take advantage of your desperation. I've seen it happen too many times to count."

He sighs, almost angrily, but doesn't push. He can't deny it after all. As he pushes his food around on his plate, ears twitching in obvious irritation, I study him. He isn't scowling quite as much anymore and it's nice. Despite the tumultuous way he'd entered my life Suga has become a part of my daily norm. Each day that passes brings with it a growing confidence in each other. Maybe we'd just needed to get to know one another.

"So what do you want for dinner?" I ask him. My not so expert attempt at changing the topic is met with generous eye rolling, but be bites anyway.

"That tuna casserole you made last week was actually half way decent," he says snarkily. "Of course it was disgustingly overcooked but it's better than the standard fare."

I brush his mean words aside. In Suga-speak this is his way of telling me that he likes it. I hope that someday he can grow past this, but for now this small understanding that we have is fragile and to be encouraged.

"Tuna casserole it is then," I reply. "But we need to go to the store on the way home tonight."

He doesn't respond, perhaps because my statement is just that, a statement. No answer is truly necessary. Instead we consume the rest of our meal in relative silence before making our way back to my place of employment.