Tobias is a Minotaur, whose bed you just woke up in. He is shorter, actually, than might be anticipated, with legs that are suddenly hairy at the shin, just above the hoof. At the moment he is in the kitchenette. He has put his jeans on and his t-shirt. He is making tea. You lie on your front, the sheets kicked to the bed’s end. You are yet to put your jeans on, yet to find your t-shirt somewhere under the thrown-off doona. This morning as you shivered through the first stages of a hangover, Tobias spooned you.

And now, atop his linens, you are thinking on your next move. Thinking of the caterpillar footstep of blood in your head vein. And trying to remember the previous night’s undressing. Who took what off who, and in what order? How quickly?

Tobais is a Minotaur. No really. And you, having just woken up beside him, are loath to pull your clothes back on. A part of it is just how shit you feel, lying like a bag of sawdust in the sun. And another part is that, while it is very easy to put clothes on, sometimes it takes half a bottle of gin to take them off – you don’t want to waste the effort. But mostly it’s because you don’t want to look him in the eyes and with your clothes off he won’t try, even as he steps across the floor to hand you tea. Mostly it’s because Tobias is a Minotaur who you do not love, who you do not even really find attractive – though plenty of Minotaurs are – and you know, or think you know, this feeling is reciprocal.

So, for as long as you can, you stay there. Naked, on the bed of a Minotaur you like plenty as a person, but not in that way. Sipping Earl Grey and feigning a comfort in your own body that is actually 80% hangover, 20% unconfirmed underwear location. And when you do finally put your clothes on, it is like a door closing. And after this, without meaning to, you never see each other again. Though sometimes you wonder what possessed you to let such a creature in, and if you could even at all call that a bad thing.

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