He led me to a small, cozy hut I’d never entered before. The door was painted with bright colors and shapes. When we pushed past the door, I gasped. It was beautiful inside. Sunshine spilled into the den from multiple windows, illuminating the already vividly painted walls. The space was split up neatly into different sections. I recognized kofotta fibers tucked into woven baskets in one spot—that must be the weaving area.

  But there were others, too. A long wooden table was streaked in a rainbow of stains. Sitting on top of it were brushes and vials full of kaleidoscopic pigments. The entire hut radiated creative energy.

  “Linn’ar,” I murmured. “Is this your den?”

  “It does not belong to me.”

  “Right,” I said, remembering the way Maeleons had no possessions. “But this is where you sleep and craft, isn’t it?”

  His feelers perked. “That is correct.”

  “I had no idea you were so... artistic. I mean, I knew you could weave since you made these,” I said, picking at my onesie. “But this place is incredible.”

  Linn’ar trilled. “Thank you. I am happy to finally show it to you.”

  I scanned the final section of the den. It was tidier than the rest, as if cordoned off from the weaving and painting radius, and it was decorated with familiar tools—pots, pans, and what appeared to be a cute little stove.

  “Wait,” I said, stopping in my tracks. “A stove? You have one of those? I thought fire was a no-no on Eukaria.”

  I couldn’t help but remember our disastrous entrance to the planet. Part of the Sweetfields was scorched by our crashed ship, and when Zat’tor told us that harming the Sweetfields was taboo, we thought we’d be put to death for it.

  But that wasn’t all my evidence. I’d never eaten anything cooked on this planet. Most of the Maeleons’ diet—and therefore, ours—was raw fruits, salted vegetables, and honeyed grains. They didn’t appear to eat meat, despite their ferocious-looking fangs.

  Linn’ar beckoned me towards the stove. “Come and see for yourself.”

  I kneeled at the base of the stove, narrowing my eyes as Linn’ar opened the stove door. Instead of being dark and bone-dry, it was well-lit and humid. I blinked in confusion.

  “How does this work?” I asked. “And what’s that light down there?”

  Linn’ar looked amused at my curiosity. “There are no flames. It is heated by steam.”

  I recalled the steamed broccoli from my childhood with a nostalgic smile.

  “Is it safe to put my head inside?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Linn’ar said with a chuckle. “But I will hold you so you don’t fall in.”

  “Fall in?”

  Now I was really curious. After Linn’ar grabbed my waist for safety, I peered inside the odd alien steam stove. Immediately, a warm, wet burst of air shot up against my face. It came from the big hole in the ground. Unlike an Earth stove, there were no coals or wood or anything related to burning. It baffled and intrigued me.

  I gazed into the hole. It delved deep underground to a mysterious bright, steamy place.

  “I feel you leaning closer,” Linn’ar warned from outside. He clutched my hips tighter. “I don’t want you to fall in.”

  I snorted. I liked when he got all overprotective.

  “Why don’t you pull me back out then?” I asked.

  I was joking, but Linn’ar pulled me out and lifted me into his arms as if I weighed as much as a hamster.

  “Hey, I wasn’t done exploring,” I protested.

  “My filum will not be tumbling into the underground steam chamber today. We have other plans, remember?”

  “Underground steam chamber?” I asked, my voice rising inquisitively.

  Linn’ar leveled a look at me. “Garaetteok?” he countered.

  “Oh, right.” I glanced back at the stove one last time before shutting the door. “Fine, but I’m not letting that discovery go.”

  Linn’ar playfully tapped me with his tail, then summoned me to a Maeleon version of a pantry. Thick shelves made of roots lined the wall in such a perfect formation that it was like a tree had been asked nicely to take that shape. I scanned the containers full of ingredients.

  “You’re very organized,” I pointed out.

  His magenta eyes sparkled at the compliment. “That is why I offered to help you tidy your desk.”

  I blushed. In hindsight, I felt bad for not accepting. But I was coming around to this wacky idea of letting others, including my life partner, assist me.

  “Well, I officially give you permission to help me tidy anytime,” I said.

  Linn’ar looked deeply pleased as he reached for a clear container filled with light purple dust. He placed it on the counter where I could see.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “Rice flour.”

  I blinked as the ITM translated the words perfectly. How could that be? This definitely wasn’t the same kind of rice flour we had on Earth. But maybe it was close enough.

  I examined the jar, picking it up and shaking it to see how the contents behaved. It acted like flour, at least.

  “Huh,” I said. “It’s not not rice flour.”

  Linn’ar flicked his tail as he scanned the pantry. “What else do we need?”

  “Salt, sesame oil, and water,” I replied, still scrutinizing the strange lilac-colored flour. “Oh, and a hard, flat surface.”

  Within seconds, Linn’ar manifested the required ingredients and placed them on the counter. I inspected each of them, and to my amazement, they were nearly perfect replacements for Earth ingredients. I tentatively sniffed the sesame oil. The sweet, nutty flavor rushed my nose. It wasn’t exactly the same as on Earth, but it was an excellent substitute.

  “This is incredible,” I murmured. “Why didn’t you ever tell me you had all this stuff?”

  Linn’ar’s ears twitched playfully. “You never asked.”

  I chuffed. “You’re right. I was always too caught up in my own head.”

  He nuzzled my temple affectionately. “I like your head. It is very cute. Now, what do we do with these ingredients?”

  “Grab a bowl and some hot water. We’re going to mix this rice flour with salt and water, then steam it.”

  Linn’ar’s feelers glowed with elation as he scampered off to get the items. Watching him move with all that enthusiasm put a smile on my face. He loved helping. I wished I realized that sooner. I was starting to come around to his point of view when it came to aiding others—and accepting others’ help. What was that saying? “No man is an island”? Maybe some Earth idioms had nuggets of truth in them after all.

  Linn’ar placed the items on the counter and looked at me expectantly. “Now what?”

  “Now we mix. Remember how we weaved the onesie together? It’s kind of like that.”

  Judging by Linn’ar’s array of kitchen tools, he wasn’t a clueless cook, but I wanted to teach him up close and personal. I wanted us to make food together.

  “Here. Put your hands on mine and feel what I’m doing,” I instructed.

  Linn’ar sidled up behind me. His powerful chest and scaly stomach pressed against my back like a comfortable wall. He brought his arms around my front, placing his strong hands on top of mine. It was nice to have him so close. I felt myself relax into his body, knowing he’d support my full weight if I let go.

  I mixed the rice flour, water, and salt into a big lump of pale purple dough. Linn’ar’s hands mirrored my motions perfectly. As I watched our hands move as one, I felt a little thrill of happiness deep inside my heart. It was such a small, simple pleasure, but I loved it.

  “Now we steam the dough,” I said.

  Linn’ar grumbled.

  “What?” I asked, laughing.

  “I don’t want to move,” he complained. “I like when you are tucked into my chest this way. Ah, yes. I know.”

  In a whisk of his tentacle, Linn’ar picked up the bowl of dough and placed it inside the steam-powered stove.

  I snorted, amused at his resourcefulness. “You didn’t want to take three steps over there, huh?”

  “It’s not that.” He nuzzled his chin against my head. “I want to stay like this.”

  My increasingly mushy heart melted a little. God, this alien did things to me.

  The dough needed to steam for a couple minutes, so I had nothing to do except stand there being spooned by Linn’ar. I wanted to keep my full attention on the garaetteok, but that was easier said than done when my mate’s presence was innately intoxicating. I ignored the tingle of heat between my thighs. Being horny was not conducive to cooking—it could wait.

  After a couple minutes, I said, “That should be enough. Could you take it out? Oh, be careful not to burn your tentacle.”

  Linn’ar chuckled. I didn’t understand why until he swiftly slipped his tentacle into a woven oven mitt.

  “Ah.” I grinned. “You’re always prepared. I like that in a mate.”

  He made a deep trilling sound in his throat.

  After he retrieved the bowl, I spread some sesame oil on the counter and asked Linn’ar to dump the dough on top of it. The slick, nutty surface glistened.

  Linn’ar arched his neck forward so we were cheek to cheek. He inhaled. “It smells wonderful already. Now what do we do?”

  “Here comes the fun part. We pound it.”

  “Pound it?”

  “Punch it. Beat it up.”

  He looked scandalized. “We are going to attack our food?”

  His innocent confusion made me laugh. “No, it’s like an aggressive form of kneading. Here, Linn’ar, I’ll show you. Do you have a pestle?”

  “Oh. No.” He raised a fist. “But I do not need one.”

  “It’s difficult with your bare hands,” I cautioned.

  In a split second, Linn’ar’s fist landed with a whack on the counter. The oiled dough lump flattened into a pancake. My jaw dropped. I knew Maeleons had superior strength compared to humans, but since they were so peaceful, I’d never witnessed their use of force.

  “Uh. Yeah, actually. That works,” I said.

  “Wonderful!” Linn’ar chirped, like he didn’t just whack the dough to within an inch of its life. “I will continue to pound it.”

  “Go ahead.”

  The counter trembled, but it was shockingly sturdy as it took Linn’ar’s flurry of blows. Since I was backed against his chest, I felt his firm muscles flex with each punch. It was so weird to see him hit anything. It was like seeing a teddy bear pull out a knife.

  After a minute of relentless alien fisting, the dough was perfectly malleable.

  “You can stop now,” I said, eyeing the ridges of his knuckles. “They’re not bleeding or anything, are they?”

  He presented them for inspection. Aside from a thin layer of sesame oil, they were completely unscathed.

  “That was fun,” he said cheerfully. “I would like to pound more dough in the future.”

  “Well, garaetteok is my favorite food, so you can do as much pounding as you want.”

  Watching Linn’ar’s powerful form in action roused my appetite for a different kind of pounding, too.

  He pinched the stretchy pool of dough between two claws. “What is our next step?”

  “Almost done. Can you split that in half?”

  Linn’ar tore it in two and handed me one lump. I rolled it into a cylinder and nodded at him to do the same. He followed along, creating a smooth cylinder with his skilled hands.

  “Great. Now we’re pretty much done. Just chop it up into smaller pieces,” I said, miming the motion.

  Linn’ar copied it. He raked his claw across the dough to create a perfect piece of garaetteok, then flashed a proud smile at me.

  I never considered myself an overly emotional person. Pretty much the opposite. But seeing Linn’ar look so happy during a shared activity sparked a well of joy inside me. My heart felt warm and full.

  But my tummy was empty. And the garaetteok we made together looked pretty damn good.

  “Go ahead and try it,” I encouraged, grabbing a piece.

  When I tossed it into my mouth, I shut my eyes and nearly moaned. The soft, chewy texture was heavenly, and the salty, yet slightly sweet flavor melted on my tongue. Even the purple rice flour added a pleasant new note to the nostalgic taste.

  “Linn’ar, these are amazing,” I said, already reaching for a second.

  He grabbed one with his long tongue. I watched his face light up as the flavor hit. He crunched the chewy rice cake between his fangs, swallowed, then instantly grabbed another.

  After gulping it down, he said, “I understand why this is your favorite food. Thank you for sharing it with me, my filum.” His eyes sparkled with affection. “I would like to make garaetteok with our child, too.”

  My chest squeezed. “I’d love that.”

  After devouring the whole batch, I sank onto the floor with a huge sigh. I was full and satisfied, but after eating so much, I felt a bit dizzy.

  Linn’ar furrowed his brow. “You look pale.”

  “I do?”

  He didn’t hesitate to scoop me into his arms. “I am taking you to the Healer.”

  I was too full and lightheaded to argue. Besides, I liked when Linn’ar showed off his muscles by carrying me around like a doll.

  Then I suddenly remembered what Fhi’ran said earlier. Hours passed since our initial visit this morning.

  Did the pregnancy finally take hold?

  14 / Linn’ar

  The moment I saw the color drain from my filum’s face, I knew something changed.

  He felt limp as a wilted stalk in my arms as I rushed him to the Healer’s den. I knew he wasn’t sick or hurt, but that didn’t stop my protective instincts from seizing control.

  I kicked the door in, nearly breaking it. Fhi’ran blinked in confusion until he saw Jaeyoung in my grasp and immediately understood.

  “I’m fine, Fhi’ran,” Jaeyoung said, although his voice was thinner than before. “Really.”

  My purple sibling was already hurrying to retrieve the flower. In the meantime, I cradled Jaeyoung tightly in my arms, stroking his hair. Despite his claim to be fine, there was a sheen of sweat across his forehead.

  “How do you feel?” I asked. “Are you in pain or discomfort? Is there anything I should do?”

  He arched a brow at my rapid questions. “Linn’ar, I said I’m fine. When Levi found out he was pregnant, he actually fainted. My symptoms aren’t that bad. I’m only a bit dizzy.”

  My tail twitched irritably. He said it like it held no meaning, but dizzy was still a condition other than healthy.

  “I can tell you don’t believe me,” Jaeyoung pointed out with a smirk. “I’m a doctor, remember? I’m not clueless.”

  “I do not care,” I grumbled. “I will be agitated until you improve.”

  He sighed in resignation. “Fine. Then stop thrashing your tail. It’s jiggling me.”

  I forced my tail still.

  Fhi’ran returned with the gray flower. Jaeyoung’s eyes flashed, and I felt his pulse speed up. He held out his palms eagerly.

  “This is it,” he murmured. “The symptoms and timeline are the same as the previous case. I have to be pregnant.”

  Fhi’ran placed the pollenairus flower in my filum’s palms. The following seconds seemed painfully slow. We all watched with stalled breath.

  And then the flower came back to life.

  Jaeyoung gasped. The plant rose, color flooding its leaves and petals like a sunrise painting the land.

  Even without my feelers attached to him, Jaeyoung’s joy was palpable. It brightened the den, radiating like the sun’s glow.

  He glanced up at me. “That purple rice flour doesn’t have any secret mind-altering traits, does it?”

  “No.”

  “Then this is really happening,” he whispered. His body couldn’t contain its excitement. His hands trembled as he stared at the whimsical flower. “I’m actually pregnant.”

  “Congratulations,” Fhi’ran said to both of us.

  He opened his mouth to say something else, but Jaeyoung cut him off. “Quick, I need my notes! I have to do a minute-by-minute analysis of my body’s changes. Where’s my pencil?”

  Fhi’ran and I exchanged an amused look.

  Humans were so very strange, but adorable.

  When we arrived at Levi and Zat’tor’s den, Jaeyoung raised his fist to knock on the door. Now that he was confirmed pregnant, I didn’t want him to hurt his hand or do any unnecessary work. I also remembered how fun it was to ‘pound’ the garaetteok, so I gently pushed Jaeyoung’s hand aside with my tentacle.

  “Please, my filum,” I said. “Allow me.”

  “Oh. Okay.” He stepped back.

  I slammed my fist against the door.

  The wood crunched loudly and crumbled under my knuckles. Splinters fell to the ground. Apparently I used too much force.

  Jaeyoung gawked. “Uh...”

  My fist created a large hole in the door. It acted like a window, revealing Levi and Zat’tor within.

  “Um? Hello?” Levi cried, also gawking. “Why did you just punch my door?” Baffled, he turned to Zat’tor. “Is this a Maeleon custom I’m not aware of?”

  “It is not,” Zat’tor replied calmly. He wasn’t upset about the door. “Hello, sibling! Hello, Jaeyoung!”

  “Greetings,” I called back. “I apologize. Your door has a weaker constitution than garaetteok.”

  Levi stared at Jaeyoung. “What the hell is he talking about?”

  “I’ll explain later,” Jaeyoung promised. “Can we come in and chat?”

  “Since we’re currently speaking through a hole in my door, yes, you might as well.”

  I opened the door and closed it neatly behind us. We were greeted by a crawling toddler on the floor. Dai’zee grabbed the hem of Jaeyoung’s onesie and tugged on it.

  Jaeyoung smiled and kneeled down to pat her head. “Hi, Dai’zee. Do you like playing with my clothes?”

  She squeaked affirmatively.

  Levi tracked down his child. “Be careful, honey. Who knows, with your Maeleon strength, you might punch a hole in that, too.”

  “She won’t punch holes in anything,” Jaeyoung said. “Linn’ar just got a little... overly exuberant with his pounding. Right?”

 

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