Meat on those bones

The additional caloric demands of the brain slug on the host are relatively small, but the integration of extraterrestrial biology imposes unusual requirements on the host system. Brain slug hosts typically display anomalous eating habits to provide necessary nutrients for the brain slug's further integration. Access to sufficient nutrition can rapidly increase the process of integration toward stage 2.
—National Geographic Field Guide to Extraterrestrial Species of North America, Chapter 2

The Macleod Street Co-op was buzzing with the rush hour crowd. Soong and Jordan bought raw vegetables, eggs, tofu, store-brand oat milk; no condiments, no meat, nothing non-food except tubes of generic toothpaste. They shared a look when picking out zucchini, which made Mel's imagination go in strange directions. Mel, with money to burn for literally the first time in his life, wandered through the small cookware aisle, mind alight on questions he had never asked himself before.

He selected, after some thought and consideration, a small stovetop pot that was just the right size to hold a cup of ramen, a wooden spoon to replace the plastic one he'd been using, a small plastic three-pack of kitchen knives, and a green scrubby and dish soap to clean them with. The question of what to add to the ramen to make it taste better or be more nutritionally complete came next, and Jordan and Soong followed him as he eyeballed different things. He really had minimal experience in cooking, and finally selected a pack of hot dogs and a bundle of green onions wrapped in a rubber band.

That would hopefully get him through the next few days. Maybe the week if he stretched it. Although he knew that it wouldn't keep him from getting scurvy or beri-beri or some other vitamin deficiency. So on their way to the checkout, Mel grabbed a bottle of adult vitamins, feeling very grown up and mature about this aspect of his health, and a two-pack of deodorant sticks because he was out and didn't want to smell like sweat and the Cosmic Fill-Up all the time.

At the self-checkout, in a little splurge, Mel bought one of the fabric carry-out bags rather than using the plastic ones. No one was there to stop him. To question whether he was spending his money wisely, or judging whether he had the credits to go back and buy a box of sugary cereal, or condoms, or anything else he might want. Nobody asked why he was following these two young women with the brain slugs on their necks, holding hands and making silent decisions as they pushed their shared cart forward.

Antonio met them in the hallway, just coming to his own door, chef's sleeves rolled up, stubble on his face, eyes that looked bruised. He swiped his card, and Soong slid into their apartment. Tired eyes glanced down at the pot handle sticking out of Mel's grocery bag.

"Do you know how to use that?"

Mel looked down and stared at it.

"Not really," he admitted.

Antonio nodded as if he expected this.

"What are you making?"

"Ramen," Mel said. "Cut up a hot dog to go with it."

Antonio said nothing. Then he glanced in his own doorway, still open.

"Five minutes," he said. "Don't start 'til I get there."

Mel and Jordan left the door open. For a moment, Mel was nervous, afraid Jordan would take off her clothes—but she didn't. Just stood there, stared at the door. Six minutes later, Antonio was back, in a clean t-shirt, and carrying a bottle of something.

"It is possible to fuck up ramen," Antonio said. "But if you're careful and watch your time, it'll keep you going, and you'll never get bored of it. Add veggies, boiled egg, any sort of meat, mushrooms—good stuff."

Jordan had put her food away, while Mel had laid out his purchases on the counter. Soong came in Antonio's wake and stood next to Jordan, their hands finding each other.

"These are electric stovetops," Antonio said, and flicked one on. "When it's glowing red, don't touch. This is a quart pot. Takes about five minutes to bring water to a boil, and you want to boil it for at least three minutes. Your hot dogs will take about four minutes to boil until they're cooked through. But don't overdo it."

As he spoke, Antonio washed and rinsed his hands, then washed Mel's new pot, the wooden spoon, and all three of the knives. Mel recognized that he was sterilizing everything, careful that it was clean before he touched it.

This close, Mel got a better appreciation for Antonio's size. He was maybe an inch taller than Mel, but with broader shoulders and bigger forearms. As might be expected for somebody who spent the day using knives to chop meat and vegetables. Smelled of herbs that Mel didn't know, and grease and sweat.

"You're just making a meal for one, so don't go overboard. You don't want to overfill the pot," Antonio said. As the water boiled, he opened a ramen cup, selected a hot dog, and quickly cut it into little sections. "At some point, you'll probably want to get a proper chopping knife, full tang, and a small cutting board. Not plastic."

An inch of green onion was turned into small green circles that also went into the cup. When the water began to boil, Antonio showed him how to add the noodles and whatnot without splashing.

At the four minute mark, Antonio pulled the pot off the heat and turned the stove off. A few shakes from the bottle onto the spoon—it turned out to be oyster sauce—and a quick stir, and the apartment suddenly smelled amazing.

Mel took a bite. It was a complete improvement over the last week of slurping salty broth and realizing he'd overdone the noodles.

"Thanks, man," Mel said, and he meant it.

Antonio gave a tired smile. "No problem. Sunday, I'll cook dinner for all of us. Want to put some meat on those bones."

Mel nodded, but he noticed Antonio's eyes were fixated on Jordan as he spoke. Mel felt a weird twist in his stomach. The look had been way more intense than he cared for. Soong unlaced her fingers from Jordan's and followed Antonio back across the hall.

As soon as the door closed, Jordan's shirt came off. It was like she had been waiting for Antonio to leave, though she hadn't shown any sign of impatience. Just that familiar placid expression. As Mel slowly ate his ramen, Jordan swiftly shrugged out of the rest of her clothes. Mel sat on the couch, patently not looking at her as he tried to find them a program for tonight.

"Ooh, trilobites," he said, as she settled into her accustomed seat next to him, taking rabbit-bites out of a head of iceberg lettuce.

They ate in silence. Mel found himself thinking more about Antonio's comments than he did the naked woman next to him. Their neighbor had been friendly. True, he'd kind of invited himself over, but he wasn't a jerk about it. Showed Mel how to cook on the stove top, which was nice of him, even if Mel hadn't asked him to. For the first time, Mel wondered how meals went across the hall. Whether Soong ate like Jordan, or if Mel cooked for them. Both women were thin; they'd bought identical groceries.

Yet Soong still had those bruises on her arm.

As he finished his ramen, Mel turned to look at Jordan. She was still staring at the trilobite documentary, but her left eye swiveled in its socket and looked straight at him. Something exactly as creepy now as it had been earlier. Yet what was he going to say? That the next-door neighbor who had just helped him cook dinner also gave him a bad vibe? Mel sighed and said nothing, just stood up.

For the first time in his life, Mel washed his pot. Without a dish drain or anywhere else to put it, he let it dry in the dishwasher rack. They brushed their teeth in comradely silence and, to Mel's slight surprise, the naked woman went right to her bedroom.

Mel stared at the door she had left open. She lay on the bed, in the dark, curled up on her side. In that position, the brain slug would be comfortable. He stared, eyes drawn to the line of her buttocks and thighs, and there—

—Mel realized he was staring, and quickly looked away. It was one thing for her to be naked, but it felt inappropriate to—he wasn't sure what the right word was. Leer? Maybe. He didn't want to be a pervert.

He settled into bed to read for a few minutes, but his brain couldn't focus on the text very well. The box of condoms Jordan had bought the other day had three condoms in it. He'd filled two. So the other condom—the last one—was she saving it? Or had she given it to Soong? Mel didn't like the image that came up. A naked Soong, offering Antonio a condom. What Antonio might do if that happened. Then he thought of Jordan and Soong there, like they had been for him, and . . . Mel wasn't sure if it was jealousy or the beginning of a stomach ache. Yet he felt the disturbance inside him, the discomfort at the thought.

Stupid. Irrational. They were a pair of brain slug hosts, one of whom was his roommate. Not . . . girlfriends. Not even friends, exactly. Yet what else could he call them? Jerking off to a naked woman didn't create a bond of mutual trust and respect. Mel had heard about guys falling in love with strippers and hadn't really understood it, but he was beginning to get an inkling. He was getting emotionally attached to a roommate who was an extension of an emotionally unavailable alien entity.

Who sometimes asked him to jerk off while staring at her breasts.

When at last Mel set the Field Guide on the floor, the stubborn image remained—and the aching hardness of the erection he'd denied earlier in the day, now back with a vengeance.

Moving quietly, Mel turned out the light and shucked his pants. He thought of taking care of the issue—but he didn't want to wake Jordan. Something told him it would wake her. Mel imagined her nostrils flaring in the dark, eyes opening up, uncurling and crawling on all fours like a snow leopard stalking its prey. If he touched himself—if he sprayed that hot, sticky mess all over his stomach and chest—would she creep up beside his bed? Would her silent lips open to slurp the sticky seed from his body, like a trilobite feeding at the bottom of some ancient sea?

The image haunted Mel, and he was unable to shift it as he settled into sleep.