We need to find a way to help her.

To seek the proper balance of flavors in a bowl of ramen is to seek the proper balance of life. Time, temperature, saltiness—there may be no perfect bowl every time you get hungry. But there is always the best bowl you can make at any given moment.
—1,001 Ways to Cook Ramen

"Pssst."

The cracked ceiling. Mel turned his head, caught sight of a swish of white shirt in the doorway. Bare feet on the cold floor as he raced after her, out of the dorm, down the darkened corridor. By the time he'd turned the corner, they were gone, but the bathroom door was half ajar.

Mel pushed the door open. The cold bathroom. The drip of the broken sink. Cracked mirror. All the same. His chest suddenly grew tight, shivering in his shorts.

"Pssst."

It came from the far stall. Mel stepped forward warily. He opened the door. Toilet. Heat pipe running along the wall. There, where it shouldn't be, the hole, at waist height, the keyhole to a lock that he was made to fit; there was a cool movement of air. Mel held out his hand, felt the suction on his palm.

Something flashed out of the hole and scratched the palm of his hand. He pulled it back, saw the dark blood well up from the deep wound at the base of his lifeline.

"You wanna?" the girl's voice, terribly familiar, memory refusing to give up the name. The suction increased. Mel felt his clothes flutter toward the hole. With his uninjured hand, he pulled down his shorts. The thought suddenly came to him that nobody would know.

"Come on," the voice urged.

His right hand clenched, hot blood dripping down . . . no, not down. The dark red drops were being pulled through the air, into the hole in the wall.

"I need this." The voice was plaintive, almost desperate.

Tight. Hot. Squeezing. Slamming into his hips. Mel's eyes shot open to find Rachel on top of him, her eyes closed, jaw slack, her buttocks bouncing against his balls. Jenny and Jordan were on either side of Rache, trying to pull her off by grabbing at her arms, but she was fighting them, and the brain slug hosts were oddly uncoordinated, unable to grab a hold at the same time. Almost too late, Mel felt the spasm at the root which presaged ejaculation. Without waiting for permission, he sat up, gripped the sleepfucking woman about the waist, and wrenched her off.

The first hot white burst hit Rachel's sternum. Sweat-slick flesh wriggled in his grip as Jordan and Jenny finally managed to grab her arms at the same time. For a few moments, Rachel bounced uselessly, her labia rubbing against his sack as Mel's shaft pulsed and spat its virile load on her stomach.

"Rache!" Mel found his voice, louder and sharper than he intended. "Wake up!"

Her eyelids fluttered. Mouth closed. She grew still, blinking in the darkness, taking into account the naked women holding her arms, the naked man beneath her, the cooling good on her abdomen, Mel's still wet and half-hard chubby.

"What—what the fuck?" Rache managed.

In the dark, Jordan and Jenny's eyes were wide, the whites glowing. Nostrils flared as they sniffed.

"You should probably lie on your back," Mel said. "I don't think they want to waste it.

Mel helped lift Rachel off of him and onto her back. Immediately, the women let go of her arms and descended on her naked body. Sucking and slurping at the white feast on the salty flesh. Until finally Jenny got between her legs, pulling the labia aside with her fingers to lick inside..

"There's no sperm in there!" Rachel said. "I mean, fuck I hope not."

Mel sat against the wall. Jordan was busying herself with her lips, slurping up whatever remained on his prick.

"I woke up with you already on top of me," Mel said. "I barely managed to get you off before I exploded. That . . . could have been really bad."

"Ugh," Rachel said. "What is wrong with me!? First sleep-sucking, and now sleep-fucking! It's like my stupid body is trying to get pregnant."

Mel frowned.

"Maybe. Although isn't it . . . relatively safe right now? I mean, you just had your period, right? Should be two weeks before you ovulate," he groped desperately in his brain for half-remembered high school lessons on bits of anatomy he didn't have.

"It's never good to bet on safe days," Rachel said. One hand reached between her legs and touched her labia, then pulled it away, slimy with what Mel hoped was mostly saliva and her own natural lubricant. "Shit, and I didn't even get off. I'm going to be horny all day."

The two naked brain slug hosts looked at each other for a moment. Then Jenny pressed her head back between Rachel's legs, and Jordan leaned in to kiss her sister's breast.

"No," Mel said as he moved around to the other side of the bed and ran his fingers through Rachel's blonde hair. "I think we can get you off before work, at least."

They kissed. Lips a little dry, spit a little thick. Both of them, Mel knew, needed to hydrate. She moaned into his mouth, and for a moment the sexual danger was forgotten in a moment of mutual tenderness and affection. It was only a little climax, when it came, and Rache made a noise in the back of her throat like a garden snake gagging on an ostrich egg, but it left the blonde panting and limp, her eyes fluttering heavily. Ready to go back to sleep.

Mel couldn't allow that. They had the day off, but Rachel had to go to work at the library. So the three of them pulled her out of bed and walked her to the shower.

In the bedroom, Jordan and Jenny were waiting for Mel to start their exercises.

"I'm concerned about Rachel," he said. "That was too close for comfort. I think the pearl is affecting her when she sleeps. We need to find a way to help her. But I don't know how. We could try and get her an appointment with a doctor—"

Jordan held up her right hand, index and middle fingers extended. She shook her head gently and tapped the tips of her fingers together. That was ASL for "no."

Mel frowned. "But we have to help her."

The hand became a fist that nodded twice. ASL for "yes."

"Do you have any ideas?"

Another hand-nod. Mel took a deep breath.

"Okay. I trust you."

Toe-touches. Crunches. Push-ups. Rachel emerged and climbed into yesterday's clothes. Jordan and Jenny went into the bathroom to take their turn at scrubbing up.

"I asked them if there was a way to help you with the sleepwalking thing. They indicated they had an idea," Mel said.

Rachel frowned.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"It's not your fault," Mel said, and put a hand on his arm. "Really, it'll be okay. We'll figure this out."

Rachel forced a smile, and kissed the corner of his mouth before she headed out. Minutes later, two naked brain slug hosts emerged, and Mel took his turn. Alone in the shower, he couldn't avoid thinking about the look on Rache's face as she'd ridden him. Like her body was on autopilot. It was creepy in a way that was somehow more disturbing than the recurrence of that dream.

It felt like his fault. It was Mel who had encouraged Rachel's relationship with his sister. He was the one who had told her to take the damn blue pearl. Now they were both dealing with the consequences.

As he emerged from the bathroom with arms full of wet towels, Jenny and Jordan greeted him with a pair of smooth plastic-wrapped packages marked with Japanese kanji and English lettering.

It was underwear. Ten fundoshi. Not the underwear they'd confiscated, but brand new, a soft matte black.

"For me?" Mel asked. "You want me to wear this?

Jenny and Jordan nodded in unison. Mel scratched his nose as he accepted the packages. He wasn't sure if they'd planned this, or if it was part of their plan. He supposed some barrier between his junk and the outside world might help prevent a sleepwalking Rachel from gaining access. Still, if they had it already, that meant they'd maybe been planning this for a while.

Mel nodded. "Thanks."

The instructions were in English and Japanese and, fortunately, included several illustrations. In practice, it reminded Mel of when a janitor had taken all of the boys aside and demonstrated how to tie a tie for yearbook photos. He managed, after a couple of false starts, to get the strip of cloth tied around his hips, and the block-and-tackle comfortably covered. Worn like that, the fundoshi was looser than the boxers, unfamiliar, but also reassuringly there, a barrier between Mel and the harsh world of his jeans. He hadn't realized how much he disliked his glans scraping on the stitching until he no longer had to deal with it.

Mel was dressed and collecting the laundry together when there was a hesitant knock at the door. Mel glanced at Jordan and Jenny, neither of whom had bothered to put any clothes on yet, and checked the eyehole.

It was Molly.

"Shit," he said, glancing at Jordan and Jenny. "It's my sister. Did you two . . . maybe want to get dressed?"

The women sat on the couch, unmoving. Mel gave a sigh. Well, it was their place too. And if Molly was his sister, he'd have to explain his relationship with his roommates at some point. Maybe it was time to rip that band-aid off. He opened the door, a smile on his face.

"Hey, Molly. Wasn't really expecting you," he said.

Molly wasn't smiling. No suit today either. She had a red-and-black tartan skirt, and a black leather jacket that had the worn-in look he associated with people who chose their clothes for hard-wearing and took care of them. Frizzy hair tied back in a ponytail. Sensible dark sneakers. A baggy black V-neck that revealed more cafe-au-lait cleavage than Mel was comfortable with, so he had to focus on her dark eyes.

"I talked to ma mère," Molly said. "She wants to meet you. Like, physically. She's flying out next week. I told her we should wait for the lab test, but when I told her your name and what you looked like, she was pretty confident that we're related."

She scowled as she said that. Mel's smile faltered.

"Is that a bad thing? I thought you were kind of looking forward to . . . you know, a sibling," he said.

"I am." Molly's shoulders rose and fell. It wasn't so much a shrug as a full-body sigh-and-pout. "But she's not telling me everything. Can I come in?"

Mel glanced back at the couch. Jordan and Jenny were still there, but had managed to put on their hoodies, leaving only their legs bare.

"Yeah. Um. I do have to tell you my roommates don't really like to wear clothes at home. It's been a bit of an adjustment," he said. "So if they're not entirely dressed, please don't freak out."

Now Molly smirked, a twinkle in her brown eyes.

"Oh, really?" she said, and ducked under Mel's shoulder, stepping into apartment 501.

At a glance, Molly took in the kitchen, the couch and its occupants, the television and landline phone mounted to the wall, the chest of drawers with its small stack of books, the two bedrooms. Mel felt ready to crawl out of his skin. Like a teacher was grading him in real time.

"This is Jenny Soong and Jordan Carmichael, my roommates," Mel said. He tried to go through the motions of ASL, though he swiftly realized this was kind of pointless. "Jenny, Jordan, this is Molly Maguire, my sister. I mean, half-sister, but . . . sister."

The two brain slug hosts sat, most of their bits covered up by the hoodies, though it was clear they were wearing nothing underneath them. They seemed to Mel to be unbothered. Slugs pulsing calmly. They raised their right hands in unison and gave a little ASL salute for hello. Molly, standing halfway between the couch and the television, appraised them like a boxer sizing up an opponent during a weigh-in. The heads of the brain slugs peeked around their necks, sensory tentacles extended.

"They don't speak?" she said.

"They're both brain slug hosts," Mel explained. "So no, they're nonverbal. Not much facial expression either, although there's still a lot of body language, and the slugs themselves can be fairly expressive. Rachel and I are taking a course in sign language to facilitate communication. But they're very intelligent; they can hear fine, and sometimes we communicate by writing."

Molly nodded, slowly. If she was weirded out by meeting her newfound brother's half-naked roommates, she hid it well. Then her brown eyes narrowed.

"Carmichael. So you're Rachel's sister." It wasn't a question. Jordan stared blankly and nodded.

Molly glanced through the door to Mel's bedroom. The queen bed, stripped of sheets, was clearly visible. Mel was suddenly, painfully aware that the laundry pile probably reeked of sex. His sister turned to him and frowned.

"What exactly is your relationship with your roommates?" she said. "And does Rache know?"

"Rachel, Jordan, Jenny, and I are together," Mel said, ripping off that band-aid. "Um. Did you want the whole story?"

Molly drew herself up to her full 4'8". The naked women on the couch watched the verbal exchange like a tennis match.

"Go on," the short woman said. No smirk this time at all.

"It started not long after I moved in. I wasn't trying to put a move on Jordan, but it turns out that brain slugs have nutritional requirements, and human semen fits the bill. After I masturbated a few times, we came to an understanding about that. It was my first real sexual relationship, so I was feeling things out. Going slow. After Antonio attacked her, Jenny stayed here with Jordan to look after her. Jenny's brain slug started to bud, so she needed to feed more frequently. Rachel showed up, looking for her sister. She was, ah, not thrilled by the relationship, but she came to understand that Jordan and Jenny needed it, and over time we got closer and . . . finally we had a big meeting to sort out our feelings and what kind of relationship we'd have. Everybody agreed that they wanted to be with each other. Exclusive, you know. So that's where we are."

It felt weirder trying to sum up the last couple of months of his life than Mel imagined. At the same time, it was a relief. Fewer secrets to hide. Molly nodded, slowly. Her brown hands were clenched into fists, tightly at her sides. Mel felt the tenseness in the air. All the things she wanted to say but didn't.

"Hey, I need to do the laundry. Do you want to come with me? Just the two of us," he said.

Molly nodded. She even helped carry a basket. Down five flights of steps to the little laundromat, where Mel bought detergent and tokens.

"You know, it would be cheaper if you bought detergent in bulk," she said. "Instead of paying outrageous prices by the load. Better for your clothes, too."

She showed Mel how to sort out his girlfriend's unmentionables from the rest, sticking the bras in a pillowcase. Her mouth turned down as she looked through the rest.

"Where's your underwear?" she asked.

"Um. So a couple weeks ago the girls confiscated it. I'm not sure if it was an access issue or what," Mel said, deciding to leave out the bits with Tomie and Maxine for the moment. He wasn't sure how Molly would react to the Seacouver Hive loaning him out. "They just gave me some new underwear today. Nicer than my old stuff," Mel said. "Japanese."

Molly stared at Mel with a mixture of what might be disbelief and pity.

"They confiscated," she said. "Your underwear."

Mel's smile was automatic and sickly. "I know that sounds weird, but—"

"They're treating my brother like a cum cow!" Molly blurted. Then, realizing what she said. "Oh, sugar. Sorry for the language. It's just . . . I'm worried about you. How you're living. How do you know those alien women really care about you and aren't just using you for sex?"

A part of Mel wanted to shoot back that maybe he liked being used—but in truth, he'd had the same argument in his head, more than once. Especially after the whole integration ritual in the compounds.

"I'm still new at this," Mel admitted. "There are a lot of things they don't teach you about living on your own in high school, you know? But I really care about Jordan, Jenny, and Rachel. I don't want to hurt them, and I don't think they want to hurt me. The sex is definitely a part of it, for all of us, maybe a bit more necessary for Jenny and Jordan because of the brain slugs' dietary needs, but for my part—I think it's more than sex. They're more than just my girlfriends and roommates. They're my friends. Practically the only friends I have."

Molly's face softened a little.

"I understand," Molly said. "I had a lot to learn when I moved into the dorms that first semester. And I had ma mère and mon père to help. You didn't have that. You got dumped in this crazy situation and have been making the best of it that you can."

"Thanks," Mel said. Then, wanting to change the topic: "So, how about you? Are you in a relationship?"

Molly grew very still. Her fists on her knees. She was short enough that she couldn't sit all the way back in the ugly orange chairs without her feet dangling above the floor, so she sat on the edge.

"No, I'm . . . I don't really have time for dating," she said. "School, teacher assistant job. I need to keep my GPA up to keep my scholarship."

"I understand," Mel said. He'd known teens at the orphanage whose grades were their only ticket to life. "So you like boys? Girls? If you don't feel comfortable, you don't have to tell me."

"Both," Molly said. He couldn't tell, because of her darker skin, if she was blushing, but she looked away from him to hide her face when she said it. "Hypothetically. I've been so busy I haven't really done anything like that yet."

Mel nodded. "Yeah, I get it. Honestly, if my roommate hadn't been possessed by a brain slug, I doubt I'd be in any position to date anyone. I'm lucky enough to have a job and apartment, and that's mostly because of Jordan."

They talked about other things. Slowly opening up. Mel told her about the orphanage, the rote, scheduled existence, the adoption periods, the awareness of what would happen when he hit 18, taking extra classes during the summer to graduate early before they turned him out, so at least he'd have his diploma. Molly told him about growing up in Montreal. They had a townhouse; she had her own room. Used to make pillow forts and watch old monster movies, with an enduring love for old kaiju films. Editor of her high school newspaper. Applying for colleges, scholarships. Her mom taught her how to skate on a frozen pond; her dad was coach of her local hockey team growing up.

Mel had never quite felt the loss of his own parents so poignantly. Her life, she assured him, hadn't been perfect. He was sure she was right. Yet compared to his own, the differences were stark.

She helped him fold the wash. It was fun, folding the sheets together, stretched out almost the length of the laundromat room. Fingers brushed as they came together to finish folding the big sheet. Molly even showed Mel how to fold a fitted sheet, which was something he didn't think could be done. Something else her mother had shown her.

Molly followed him back in. Jordan and Jenny were holding hands and reading a book—not, thankfully, a copy of Slug Fucker Monthly, but The Exodus: A History. They looked up as the pair entered, and as Mel put the clothes away, he told Molly about how they'd rescued the chest of drawers from the sidewalk. She smiled at the story. She did not smile at Jordan or Jenny, or look in their direction until it was time to leave, at which point she stared them in the eye, careful not to let her gaze wander to where the hoodie stopped. Mel realized that she was resisting the same urge he was when he looked at Molly's face instead of down her cleavage.

"Nice to meet you. Take care of him," she said. Jordan gave a thumb's up.

At the door, Molly gave Mel a fierce hug.

"I'll be in touch," she said. "Mon frère."

"Thanks," Mel said, "big sis."

Her smile was completely unguarded, like for a moment all of her emotional barriers and concerns dropped away, and she hugged him tighter still. Then she let him go and turned toward the elevator at the end of the hall.

"Well," Mel said as he closed the door. "That could have gone a lot worse."