Untitled Alien Story

Thistle Onions, 2019

    Dante turns the key in his doorknob and pushes it in. The door sticks at the bottom, and he groans, kicking at the corner, but it barely budges. Gritting his teeth, he shoves at it with his shoulder, throwing all his weight into it (which isn’t really a lot, honestly). 

    The door swings open, and Dante falls into his apartment, barely catching himself by grabbing onto the doorjamb.

    “Fuck,” he mutters. He straightens himself and steps into the living room, slamming the door behind him. He drops his bag on the floor, walks forward a couple of steps and collapses face-first onto the sofa. “Fuck!” he says again, louder.

    It’s been a goddamn day. First Pam called in sick, which, fair. But he had to pick up the slack, on his fucking only day off this week, and had to rush in with only like, ten minutes’ notice.

    So of course, he was late clocking in, and so his boss yelled at him. Already off to a pretty shitty start.

    And then, of course, because he wasn’t wearing his fucking binder, everyone was calling him the wrong titles and pronouns, constantly misgendering him, ignoring the fuckin’ ratstache on his lip and the nametag clearly stating “DANTE” pinned to his shirt and the “HE/HIM” button right below it.

    Add that to the fact that he literally works in retail, stocking shelves and running registers and dealing with assholes all day anyway, and yeah, he’s had a pretty bad day, he’s exhausted, and cranky, and he just wants to go to sleep but he has to change and eat and shower and finish editing this week’s podcast episode before he can even look at his mattress.

    “Fuck,” he says a third time, louder and more emphatically. It makes him feel a little better to say that, so he lifts his face up from the couch cushion and says it even louder, shouts it out.

    His neighbor bangs angrily on the adjacent wall. 

    Dante groans and drops his head back onto the couch. Stupid Mrs. Nielsen. Hasn’t she ever heard of primal screaming? It’s therapeutic. Maybe she should try it sometime.

    Ugh, fuck. He’s really tired. Maybe taking a nap won’t hurt? Just a short nap, like, twenty minutes. Just enough time to get him some energy back. Yeah, that’s a good idea. He can grab his phone, set an alarm--shit, wait, his phone’s in his bag by the door! Damn it...he can’t even muster up the energy to get up and grab it.

    Fuck it. He can definitely wake himself up in twenty minutes. Right? Yeah, absolutely. He doesn’t need an alarm. He’s fine. He rolls over onto his side.

    He’ll just sleep for a few minutes...just a few….

----------

    When Dante wakes up, he feels like he’s dissolving.

    There’s really no other way for him to explain the feeling. Parts of his body are going tingly, that staticky feeling like he’s been sitting on them wrong or something, and then go numb. The feeling is spreading, moving up his body from his toes to his ankles to his calves, up and up and up.

    It’s not painful, it’s just weird and confusing and when Dante manages to wrench his eyes open, he discovers that it’s fully dark out, like, past midnight dark out, which means he wasted hours sleeping instead of doing all that shit he needed to do! Fuck, this sucks, now he’s stinky and hungry and this week’s episode is gonna be late and why the hell does he feel like he’s dissolving?!

    He tries to sit up, but he can’t. He can’t sit up. Why? He can’t move. He can’t move anything but his eyes, not his hands, not his head, nothing.

    The feeling is spreading up his torso now, picking up pace, and he can’t feel his legs at all.

    What the hell?

    He can see his chest disappearing, the tingling feeling accompanied by a weird blue glow spreading up his chest and along his arms. The blue glow eats away at his body, clothes and all, and okay, hang on, seriously; what the hell?

    He wracks his brain, trying to think of something he’s heard of or read or whatever that could explain this, but he can’t think of anything, not aliens, not witches, nothing. 

    The blue glow is moving closer to his face, creeping up his neck. He can’t feel any other part of him. He can’t feel anything!

    And then he can’t see anything but the blue glow, impossibly bright, and then he can’t see anything.

    There’s nothing left of him. Dante Gallo is gone.

----------

    When Dante wakes up this time, when he comes back to himself, he doesn’t even take the time to examine his surroundings first, just lunges forward and bends at the waist, grabbing onto his legs, feeling his arms and flexing his fingers and wiggling his toes.

    He breathes a sigh of relief, laying back down on the cold metal table. So it was just a dream, then. Or a hallucination of some kind. Whatever. The point is that he didn’t dissolve into nothingness, because nothing that bizarre would ever actually happen to him. Now he can go back to sleep and forget this ever didn’t happen. 

    Wait, why the hell is he on a metal table?

    Dante bolts upright again, looking wildly around him. He’s in a brightly-lit room with chrome walls covered in computer screens. The screens are all lit up with a soft blue glow, like the glow that had eaten away at him, and most of them display what looks like text.

    He squints at the screen closest to him, just a few feet away, but he can’t make out what it says. Not surprising, because he’ still feeling foggy, and the written word isn’t exactly his friend on the best of days, but he’s still pretty sure that whatever’s written on that screen isn’t English. Or Italian. Or Tagalog. Or, like, anything on Earth, because he is definitely, one hundred percent, without a doubt, on a goddamn alien spaceship!

    He looks around more, climbing off the table. The only other furniture in the room is a single chair situated in front of one screen, and he doesn’t see a door or anything, just blue screens and smooth chrome walls.

    He walks over to the screen the chair is situated in front of and examines it closely. Yeah, that’s definitely not a human language. Probably. He thinks back to that episode he did a couple months ago on alien abductions, trying to remember if anyone he’d interviewed had mentioned anything about seeing visible text on the ship, but the one person he can remember who had only mentioned English.

    He’s in the middle of examining another screen, trying to see if he can figure out exactly what kind of aliens have abducted him, when he hears a soft whoosh.

    Dante spins around to face the source of the noise and finds himself facing a tall man with light skin and blond hair combed back from his face, blinking at him in surprise.

    “Aw,” Dante says, disappointed. “Of all the aliens I could be abducted by, I had to get snatched by the ones who just look like normal humans?” Well, this guy looks like an insanely hot human with a jawline to die for, but still. “What, am I not good enough for the Grays?”

    “The what?” The alien blinks at him again, then shakes his head and stands up taller, lifting his chin. “You shouldn’t be awake yet. Why are you walking around?”

    “I dunno, man, I just woke up here and started lookin’ around.” Dante walks closer to the alien and looks up at him. The alien’s maybe a foot taller than he is, with greenish-brown eyes and what looks to be bleached blond hair, dressed in a simple white T-shirt and blue jeans. Huh.

    “You bleach your hair?” Dante asks, squinting at it. He can see brown roots, and unless this is just the way this particular alien species’ hair grows, it’s definitely bleached.

    “Uh,” says the alien, as the door behind him shuts again with another soft whoosh, disappearing seamlessly into the wall. “No?”

    “You don’t sound very sure of that.”

    The alien stares down at him, expression unchanging. “You shouldn’t be awake yet,” he says again, and points to the metal table. “Please, sit down.”

    “Why?” Dante asks, tilting his head. “Ya gonna probe me?”

    “...Probe?” The alien tilts his own head, and his eyes get a faraway look to them. “Well, I do have several questions for you, so. I suppose, yes.” He blinks, and his eyes come back into focus, making direct eye contact with Dante. “I am going to probe you.”

    Dante laughs, turning to hop back up onto the metal table. “Kinky,” he says. Fuck, if this turns out to be some hyperrealistic lucid dream and not an actual alien abduction, he’s gonna be fuckin’ pissed, but at least he’ll have fun flirting with a hot alien before he wakes up. That’s a definite plus.

    The alien gets that faraway look again, and then his eyebrows draw together just slightly and he shakes his head. “Never mind,” he says, stepping closer. “I still don’t understand why you woke up before I could administer the stimulants.” He turns to one of the screens, the glow lighting up his skin and coloring it blue, as he reads over something. “Oh,” he says, a soft sound probably not intended for Dante. “The ITD was improperly calibrated. That must have been disturbing for you; I apologize. I’ll have to speak with the engineers so it won’t happen again.”

    “ITD?” Dante asks, swinging his feet. “What’s that mean?”

    “It stands for Instantaneous Teleportation Device,” the alien tells him, turning back to look at him. “Wait. I’m supposed to ask you questions. Wait a moment. I have a list.”

    Dante snorts, watching him. “What, is this your first abduction or somethin’?”

    There’s a short pause, and then the alien says, “No.” Ha! Totally lying. Dante’s definitely his first. 

The alien taps something on the screen, and a different set of text appears. “Now,” he says, “what is your name?”

“Legal name, or the one everyone knows me by?”

“Uh.” The alien squints at the screen. “...It doesn’t say. I suppose it doesn’t matter?”

    “Dante Gallo,” Dante says. “No middle name.”

    The alien nods, mors text appearing onscreen. “Okay. Next--”

    “What’s your name?” Dante interrupts.

    The alien looks at him again, leaning away from the blue glow of the screen. He blinks. Opens his mouth. “kK'obrâAa,” he says, in a weird, fizzly voice, and it’s basically gibberish to Dante, but maybe that’s just how alien languages work! This could be a huge breakthrough!

    Then the alien blushes--like, actually fuckin’ blushes, his whole face turning red--and corrects himself. “Marco,” he says. “My name is Marco. I apologize; my translator glitched for a moment.”

    “Aw,” says Dante, putting on his best and most exaggerated pout. “Marco’s boring, that’s just a normal human name! You were cooler when I thought your name was all glitchy. Are you sure you’re even an alien?!”

    “Technically,” Marco says, “you’re the alien. And I can’t tell you my real name. Now. What is your gender, and what are your pronouns?”

    “Why can’t you tell me your name? Is it, like, a secret name no one but your family can know?” Dante asks. “And, uh, male. He/him.” He points to the pronouns button pinned to the work shirt he’s still wearing as he answers.

    More text appears on the screen; it must be voice-activated or something, automatically translating what he says into their language. That’s a pretty clever way of dealing with a language barrier, in case the operator or whatever can’t spell or something. He wonders what the alien translation of his name is.

    Marco snorts, and then frowns, not looking at Dante. “We’re supposed to introduce ourselves with human names to make you more comfortable,” he says. “Also, apparently my name would be completely incomprehensible to you, so. There’s no point. How old are you?”

    “Twenty-three,” Dante replies. He wonders how the name could be so strange that he couldn’t even comprehend it. Like, do they have different vocal chords? Is their language too complex? “How old are you?”

    “Sixty-nine,” Marco says. “And don’t ask what that equals in Earth years, I have no idea.”

    “Sixty-nine?” Dante crows gleefully. “You know what that means!”

    Marco turns to him again, face blank. “No,” he says. “What does it mean?”

    Dante grins at him. “That’s the sex number,” he whispers. 

    “The…?” Marco shakes his head. “I have no idea what that means.”

    Dante laughs. He doesn’t bother explaining.

    Marco sighs and turns back to the screen. “What is your ethnicity?”

    “Italian and Filipino,” Dante says. He hops off the metal table and steps up beside Marco, squinting at the screen again. Yeah, there’s no damn way he can read this. “Any chance you can put this into English?”

    “No,” Marco says. “It’s confidential. Where do you live?”

    “You literally abducted me from my apartment, dude, I’m pretty sure you know where I live.”

    Marco makes a strange gesture, flicking out his index and middle fingers and tracing a pattern of some sort in the air. He waves a hand over the screen, and more text appears. “Can you please go back to the table?” he asks. “You’re supposed to stay there. It’s difficult to do this with you hovering over--” he glances down at Dante, a quick look, then back at the screen, “--well, hovering near my shoulder.”

    “Fuck off,” Dante says cheerfully. “Look, I always wanted to be abducted by aliens, and the chances of me bein’ abducted twice are pretty damn low, so I’m gonna make the most of this and see everything there is to see!” He reaches forward and touches the screen, but nothing happens. He frowns, pokes it again. Still, nothing.

    Marco slaps his hand away from the screen. “You wanted to be--?” Marco sighs again. “Alright, I’m sorry, but I’m not even supposed to be talking to you except to ask you questions. So can you please stop being so... curious?”

    “Am I seriously just here to answer questions? When am I gonna get probed? That’s, like, the big thing with alien abductions, y’know? When am I gonna get, like, injected with mysterious chemicals?” Dante sighs. “There aren’t even any weird alien hybrid experiments in test tubes! Boring.”

    “Weird--?” Marco blushes again. “This is not how this was supposed to go. Honestly. This is just a demographics survey! There’s no-- hybrids.”

    “Okay, look, I’ve interviewed, like, dozens of people who’ve been abducted, read accounts of hundreds more, and none of them have ever had to do a demographics survey. What the hell kind of aliens abduct people for a demographics survey?!”

    “The kind of ‘aliens’ who want to know more about the people in our universe?” Marco turns to him again, and sits down in the chair situated nearby. “How much do you make in a year?”

    “You think I know that kinda shit off the top’a my head?” Dante groans, turning to lay his cheek against the screen, which is kind of warm and tingly. “I can’t even talk about my alien abduction experience on my podcast, ‘cause no one’s gonna believe me ‘cause it’s so boring!”

    “We can skip the economic questions, I suppose.” Marco taps on the screen again, and the text changes. “Wait. What’s a ‘podcast?’”

    Dant perks up, lifting his head. ”It’s like a radio show!” he says excitedly. “You know what a radio show is, yeah?”

    Marco’s eyes go unfocused again, and after a moment, he nods, eyes refocusing on Dante. “I do,” he says. “So, you have a...podcast? On the radio?”

    “No, no, it’s on the internet, it’s just like a radio show ‘cause it’s audio-only!”

    “I see. Your podcast is a show about...aliens, then?” Marco seems concerned.

    Dante snorts. “I mean, sometimes,” he says. He turns and gets back up on the table, settling himself comfortably and swinging his feet. He loves talking about his podcast. “It’s a conspiracy theory podcast! I talk about all sorts’a things, like, whether the Earth is hollow, and the moon bein’ a hologram, and bigfoot an’ mothman, and, yeah, aliens. It’s fuckin’ awesome, you should check it out.”

    Marco’s brow is furrowed, his lips pursed as he stares at Dante. “You think,” he begins, and then stops. Shakes his head. He tries again. “You think your moon is a hologram?’ he asks incredulously. Which, yeah, okay. Fair.

    Dante laughs. “No, man, I don’t think that,” he says. “I mean, not really, anyway. Some people do, though. So I examine the evidence for the theory and compare it with the evidence against it an’ let listeners draw their own conclusions!”
    “Ah,” says Marco, blinking. “So, it’s...an educational show?” His eyes widen a bit, and he actually looks interested now, instead of worried.

    “Not really,” Dante says. “I mean, I do a hell of a lot of research, but it’s like...edutainment, I guess?”

    “Edu...what?” Marco sighs, shakes his head again. “I don’t have a translation for that. I think the software needs an upgrade,” he mutters to himself.

    “It’s a made-up word,” Dante says. “It’s just, like, a combo of education and entertainment, ‘cause it’s mostly for fun, but, like, it is a serious podcast, y’know?” And it’s true. Dante loves conspiracy theories, and cryptids, and definitely aliens--he has for years, ever since he was a kid. He puts a ton of work into each episode,and while he may not have a whole lot of fans, the ones he does have are just as dedicated as he is. 

    “Hm.” Marco smiles, then, just a soft uptick at the corner of his mouth, but definitely more than he’s given Dante so far. “You seem pretty passionate about it.”

    “I am,” Dante says proudly. Then he gives Marco a big, exaggerated glare. “Which is why I’m so pissed I got, like, randomly selected for a survey instead of havin’ all the secrets of the universe pumped into my brain, or a dire warning for humanity, or somethin’!”

    Another sigh. “I don’t have all the secrets of the universe,” Marco says. “I wouldn’t be here researching humans if I did. I want to know as much as I can, though. That’s why the Board sent our ship here, and--oh, no. I got distracted again.” He turns back to the screen. “What is your marital status?”

    “I’m incredibly single,” Dante says, winking again. “And you’re incredibly hot.”

    “I’m actually quite comfortable right now,” Marco says as the computer fills in the answer. “The temperature’s kept fairly comfortable throughout the ship, but especially in these Inquiry Rooms.”

    Dante laughs. The translator thing really must be off; only using literal definitions in some cases and providing only one definition of a multi-definition word in others. “I mean you’re, like. Sexy.”

    Marco frowns, and pauses, and then he turns bright fuckin’ red again. He opens his mouth, but before he can speak, Dante finger-guns at him. “So, ever had a close encounter of the pantsless kind?”

    Marco buries his face in his hands and groans. “What does that even mean? ” comes his muffled response.

    Dante laughs, and hops down from the table again. “It means whatever you think it means,” he says, just to be cryptic.

    “Then it means that you’re the strangest alien I’ve ever met,” Marco says, lifting his face from his hands.

    “Excuse you, but you’re the alien, remember?”

    “You’re on our ship, so you’re the alien!”

    “We’re in space, ” Dante says, leaning against the screen Marco’s working with. “We’re both aliens,” he finishes, as Marco swats him away.

    “Fine,” Marco says. “We’re both aliens, in this particular scenario.”

    “Good,” Dante says, and they’re both quiet for a single, strangely tense moment, and then he says, “Anyway, so what’s this ‘Board’ thing you mentioned earlier?”

    Marco sighs, and turns in his chair to more fully face Dante. “The Interplanetary Research and Discovery Board is a team of scientists dispatched by the Central Government to study life on planets outside of our own solar system,” he says. “What’s the highest level of education you’ve completed?”
    “I got a GED,” Dante says. “What’s the Central Government? Are you a government agent? Why does your government wanna know all these boring-ass questions?”

    “I’m not going to get any work done with you here, am I?” Marco asks, but his lips are quirked up just slightly again.

    Dante grins. “Now you’re gettin’ the hang of it!” he says. “I wanna know everything you know!”

    “Well,” Marco says, “I know quite a bit. That might take a while.”

    “I got time,” Dante says. He leans against the wall with his arms folded across his chest, quirks an eyebrow suggestively at him. “I got all the time in the world.”

    “Technically,” Marco says, wiggling his fingers in some gesture Dante’s not quite sure he could replicate, “you have twenty-six minutes.”

    “What?!” Dante straightens up, frowns. “I have a time limit? What the hell?!”

    “I’m supposed to question six more humans before the end of my shift,” Marco tells him. “And if you won’t cooperate, I’ll have to add one more, which means you have even less time here. So, if you have questions you want answered, you’ll have to make it quick.”

    “Oh, shit,” Dante says, and asks the first question that comes to mind. “What’s the name of your species?”

    “Once again, it would be completely incomprehensible to you,” Marco says. “And, no. It isn’t really translatable, either.”

    “Damn,” Dante says. “Okay. Where are you from?”

    “What part of ‘ incomprehensible’ do you not understand?” Marco asks. “Wait. Is my translator malfunctioning again?” He reaches back and brushes his fingers against his skull, just behind his ear.

“No, I know what it means, but like, I dunno, could you maybe answer in a way that won’t, like, blow my brain apart, but would also actually answer my damn questions?” Dante huffs, pouting at him.

Marco smirks, just a little. “Okay,” he says, settling comfortably in his chair and steepling his fingers in his lap. “I’m from the eighth planet revolving around a star many, many lightyears from your own planet.”

“Oh, cool!” Now they’re gettin’ somewhere. “What’s your planet like?”

“It’s similar to Earth,” Marco says. “Or so I’m told. I haven’t actually been down to your planet, of course. Oh, but we have very strong winds and storms on our planet. And it’s wetter.”

“Huh. What was your home like?” Dante sort of wishes he had his tape recorder with him, but oh well. He’ll just have to do his best to remember every detail.

Marco lets his hands rest palm-down on his legs. “I just told you,” he says. “Like Earth, but--”

“No, no,” Dante interrupts. “I mean your home. Like, the place you lived. Or...your family, I guess!”

“Oh.” Marco tilts his head a little, pursing his lips. “My family is...mostly just my sibling and myself.” He smiles a bit at the word “sibling” and then continues, “We both left home as soon as we were able.”

“Huh,” says Dante. “Any particular reason why?”

Marco makes that weird gesture again, the finger-flick thing that actually might be his version of a shrug, if Dante thinks about it. “We didn’t really get along with our parents,” he says. He pauses, tilts his head. “What about your home?” he asks.

Dante groans. “I thought it was my turn to ask questions!” he complains.

Marco lets out a little huff of air that almost sounds like a laugh. “I never said that,” he says. “We’re just not doing the survey anymore. You have questions for me, and I have some for you.”

“Okay, but why?”

Marco raises an eyebrow. “Because I find you interesting.”

“Like, in a scientific way?”

That finger-flicking motion again, and a tiny smile. “Just answer the question.”

“Uh,” says Dante, because wait, is Marco flirting with him? Or, like, is this just how aliens--or just how Marco- -talks to scientifically fascinating specimens? And Dante’s definitely fascinating and absolutely a specimen, but somehow the idea of Marco flirting back is just...unexpected. Weird. “Uh, yeah. I grew up in a little town,” he says. “Like, maybe a couple thousand people? And it was nice. Like, my parents are great, okay, I love ‘em to pieces. But I left home as soon as I could, too. Small towns aren’t a great place to live when you’re, y’know.”

Marco shakes his head, a few strands of blond hair falling into his face. “When you’re what?”

“Trans,” Dante says. “And pan. Like, my parents were cool and super supportive, but everyone else….” he shrugs. There were other factors in his decision to leave, but that’s the main reason. 

And Marco’s got that faraway look again, tapping his fingers against his pant leg. “I don’t think my translator is translating all of your words properly,” he says, “but I think I understand what you mean. My sibling and I left home for a similar reason, I think.” He blinks, and looks at Dante again, leaning forward a little. “So, after you left your home, was life better for you?”

Dante nods. “In some ways,” he says. “Like, my job sucks, and I hate bein’ away from my parents, but I’ve got some fuckin’ awesome friends, and it’s nice to be myself all the time, without havin’ to hide anything. Y’know?”

“Yeah,” says Marco, smiling. “I know.” He pauses, and settles back in his seat again. “So, if you could have any job you wanted, what would you do?”

“I’d podcast full-time,” Dante says, without hesitation.

“Your conspiracy theory and ‘aliens’ podcast?”

“Yeah, ‘course!” Dante shifts, taking a step toward Marco. With Marco in the chair, the two of them are about equal in height, with Dante being a little taller. Marco’s looking up at him, and there’s this little glimmer in his eyes, something Dante recognizes but can’t quite place. He really does have killer cheekbones, Dante thinks, and a nice nose. He doesn’t look like an alien at all (which would never not be a disappointment), but...he’s still a good-looking dude. And nice. And kinda funny. And oh fuck, Dante’s actually got a goddamn crush on the alien that abducted him, oh shit.

“Uh,” Dante says, hoping the realization doesn’t show on his face, because holy shit, flirting with some random guy you might never see again is fine, but getting a crush on a space alien who’s never even been to Earth and is never gonna be on Earth, let alone your own city, is just a terrible idea! Plus, Dante still isn’t even sure that this isn’t some elaborate dream, and getting an actual crush on your own dream is just sad! “Uh, um, anyway, I mean, yeah. Yeah, uh, if I could, like, do it all the time--talk about the stuff I like, share the stuff I make--and not have to worry about, like, affordin’ food an’ shit, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“Hm,” Marco says, and something in his expression flickers, but Dante doesn’t know if he’s been too obvious or not, “so, what’s your favorite part of making your podcast?”

“Research,” Dante says, willing himself to calm down and sink into the familiarity of his favorite topic. “I mean, I’ve always been interested in, like, secrets and cryptozoology an’ shit. Always liked learnin’ about it, watchin’ bigfoot specials on TV an’ ghost huntin’ shows an’ stuff. That was the only kinda thing I’d read as a kid, too, so my dad got me all these books on cryptids an’ government cover-ups an’ that kinda thing an’ we’d read ‘em together.” He feels himself smiling at the memory. “Anyway, so that’s how I spend most’a my free time, learnin’ about different mysteries an’ stuff. Puttin’ stuff together. It’s fun.”

Marco hums in reply, and his eyelashes flutter against his cheek, and, fuck. Dante’s breath catches in his throat. “That’s what I like, too,” Marco says, and Dante forces himself to focus on his words. “Researching things, compiling data, making discoveries. Learning, and providing the opportunity for others to learn. It’s why I chose this job.”

“Right,” says Dante, trying hard not to think about how much they’d have to talk about if they had more time. “Yeah, it’s...it’s great, y’know?”

“Yeah,” says Marco, and they look at each other for a moment, studying each other. Marco opens his mouth, like he’s going to say something, but then there’s a shrill beeping coming from somewhere, and Marco straightens up, a look of disappointment crossing his face. “Time’s up,” he says.

“Oh.” Dante takes a step back, away from the screen, away from Marco. He tries to force back his own disappointment. “Right. So, uh, what happens now?”

“Now,” says Marco, tapping on the screen in front of him and silencing the alarm, “to compensate you for the time you take to complete our survey, we’re supposed to cure you of any physical ailments.”

“What?” Dante exclaims, hands flying up in surprise. “Wait wait wait. You can, like, just do that?!”

“Sure,” Marco says, turning toward him again. “You didn’t finish the survey, and you didn’t answer any of the health questions, but you’re here, and it’d be rude to send you away without something. So,” he continues, standing up, “is there anything I can treat you for?”

Dante blinks up at him. Fuck, he hates being short, but also Marco towering over him like this is really fuckin’ hot. Wait, no, shit, he’s gotta stop thinking about that. “Uh,” he says, only half-aware of what he’s saying, “do you do top surgeries?”

Marco’s eyes unfocus again, probably checking some database. “Yes,” he says, when he’s looking at Dante again. “Is that what you need? Is that all you need?”

“Oh, holy shit,” he says, excitement overwhelming everything else for a moment. “You can? Seriously? Like, just lop this shit off my chest?”

“Yes,” Marco says, with that tiny smile again. “If that’s what you want.”

“Hell fuckin’ yeah, that’s what I want!” Dante says, bouncing on his toes. “What do I hafta do?”

“Get back up on the table,” Marco says. “I’ll give you some anaesthesia, and our Automated Surgeon will perform the surgery, and then you’ll arrive back home in a few minutes. And the ITD will be properly calibrated this time,” he adds.

“Oh, shit, that quick?” Dante asks, climbing up onto the table. “Damn, okay, maybe this survey stuff’s not so bad.”

Marco huffs out a tiny laugh and taps something on the screen. There’s a quiet whirr- ing sound, and what looks like an oxygen mask drops down from the ceiling, dangling just overhead.

Marco steps over to the table and places his hand on Dante’s chest, gently pressing him back to lay down. He reaches up and grabs the oxygen mask, pulling it down and handing it to Dante. “Put this on when you’re ready,” he says, “and take deep, even breaths.”

Dante takes the mask and brings it up close to his face, but before he actually puts it on, he pauses, and looks at Marco. Takes him in one last time, before he either leaves him forever or wakes up to the real world again. “Well,” he says, “this hasn’t been as weird of an experience as I was hopin’ an abduction would be.” He grins at Marco, who’s watching him intently. “But,” he continues, “it’s been fun.”

He puts the mask over his face and breathes. His eyesight starts blurring almost instantly, and his thoughts feel scattered, harder to capture.

Dante laughs, doesn’t know what’s funny or why it’s funny, but he laughs anyway. “Aw, shit,” he says, and his voice sounds slurred even to him. “I forgot to ask ya...if ya come here often.” He laughs again, and Marco’s face is blurry and indistinct, but he thinks he sees Marco lean closer before everything goes dark, and Dante loses awareness once more.

----------

Dante’s laughing, his limbs falling limp at his sides, his words slurring together too much for the translator to pick up what he’s saying, but Marco can’t help but watch Dante, listen to his voice.

Dante’s eyes fall closed, and his breathing evens out, and without really thinking about what he’s doing, Marco bends down and carefully presses his forehead against Dante’s, smiling to himself.

Marco’s never met anyone quite like Dante. Even after spending less than an hour together, he can see how passionate Dante is, how much he loves what he does.  His eyes light up when he talks, and Marco can’t help but love it.

Love him.

Sending him back home is one of the hardest things he’s ever done.

---------

This time, when Dante wakes up, he’s on the couch in his own apartment again.

He sits up immediately and looks around. It’s still dark, but the sky outside his window is slowly starting to lighten. He’s spent the whole night on his couch, and now he’s gonna have back pains all day, fuck.

Dante sighs. He knows the whole alien abduction thing was just a dream, because there’s no way that would actually happen to him, and that sucks. He would love to actually meet a hot alien, learn about actual alien civilizations and whatever.

He sighs, and runs his hand down the front of his shirt--and stops.

His chest is flat.

Oh shit, did he fall asleep in his binder?! 

No. He didn’t wear his binder yesterday, and even if he had, it’s never gotten him this flat before.

He rubs his hand over his chest a few more times, and, yeah--it’s fuckin’ flat.

Dante jumps up from his couch and sprints down the hall to his bathroom, slapping his hand uselessly against the wall until he hits the light switch. He rips his shirt off while his eyes adjust to the bright light, and he stands, blinking, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

His tits are fuckin’ gone.

It’s like he’s never had them in the first place, almost. The only indicators that there was ever anything there are the the faintest, thinnest lines of silvery scars beneath his pecs.

He runs his hand over his bare chest, staring, marvelling. They’re gone, they’re seriously gone, he never has to wear a shitty binder again, never has to worry about being misgendered because of his chest ever again, never has to feel like a stranger in his own body again. It’s like a goddamn miracle.

Except it’s not a miracle. Holy shit, Dante was really abducted by aliens, and they seriously gave him lightning-quick, super-healing top surgery in space!

He’s giddy, he’s excited, his mind whirling with thoughts and realizations and it’s so awesome, and then--

Marco.

Dante pauses, his hand dropping to his side. Marco. Marco’s real, and not a figment of Dante’s overactive imagination, with his hot face and long legs and blushes and genuine interest in what Dante has to say, and Dante’s never going to see him again.

The thought hurts more than it should.

----------

It’s two weeks to the day since Dante’s first extraterrestrial encounter, and he’s clocking out of work. It’s late again, already dark overhead, and he sighs, looking up at the sky and the few stars that have already made an appearance.

It hasn't been a great two weeks. Well, he hasn’t felt great these last two weeks, even though he probably should have.

Work’s been basically a breeze lately. He’s barely had to deal with any asshole customers, and he’s only been called the wrong pronouns a handful of times.

He got his latest podcast episode finished and uploaded only a few days late, and his dedicated listeners had really enjoyed it.

His parents visited just a few days ago, bringing lots of homemade food for him, and they spent a couple of days together.

It’s been really nice lately, honestly. 

The only problem is that he can’t stop thinking about Marco.

And it’s not even the fact that Marco’s an alien, it’s just that he can’t stop thinking about Marco, about his little smile and his sparkling eyes and the way that he looked at Dante, like he was actually interested in what he had to say!

Dante never gets this hung up on people, especially not people he’s only known for an hour! And he’ll never see him again! It just sucks!

He sighs again, walking down the street to his apartment, moving from streetlight to shadow to streetlight. He’s got to get his mind off of Marco. Maybe go to a club or something on his next day off, meet someone else. Someone he could actually have a chance with.

But that person wouldn’t be Marco. Ugh! This objectively sucks!

There’s someone standing at the top of the steps going up to his apartment complex, and Dante clenches his fist at his side, quickening his pace to brush past them.

“Dante?” asks a startlingly familiar voice.

Dante stops, one foot hovering over the next step, and looks up. There’s just enough light from the nearest streetlight that he can make out blond hair swept back from an angular face. “Marco?” he asks, hesitant.

The figure nods, his mouth widening just enough to reveal glinting white teeth. A tiny smile. “Hello,” he says. “I found you.”

“How long have you been waiting here?” Dante asks, lowering both feet onto the step and turning to face him, trying to pretend that his heart isn’t attempting to beat out of his chest. “No, wait, actually, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“I asked the Board to allow me to come,” Marco says. “I told them I wanted to study life on Earth more closely, and they granted my request.”

No, nope, Dante’s not gonna get excited. Not yet. “So...you’re here? Like, on Earth? For how long? Do you even have a place to stay?”

“For as long as I keep sending back interesting reports,” Marco says. “And I don’t think I’ll have any shortage of those, so...a long time.” He moves a little closer to Dante, and now Dante can see more of his face, his little microexpressions, the faint freckles dotting his nose, and, fuck, his heart is seriously jumping in his chest! “I hoped you and I could spend some time getting to know each other, and, um, maybe you could help me find somewhere to stay?” Marco seems a little nervous, fidgeting with his fingers. “Does that sound...alright?”

“Alright?” Dante says, and he grins, giddiness bubbling up inside him. He reaches up with both hands and grabs Marco by the collar of his shirt, tugs him down to eye level. “Welcome to Earth,” he says, and kisses the hell out of him.

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