Alpha Assignment (BL) Chapter 8 (Early Access) (Patreon)

Quinn lingered at his desk at the end of his work day. Jordan started and finished work later than him, so he was still clicking and typing and generally focused on his work. After a few minutes, though, he noticed that Quinn had yet to leave.

"You okay?" he asked, hands falling still.

"Mmm. Just..." Quinn squeezed his phone against his palm. "Trying to decide what to get for dinner... I want take-out."

Jordan's brows raised. "You? Mister Make-Everything-From-Scratch?"

Quinn shrugged.

"Is this for your... friend?"

Quinn shrugged again. He couldn't explain that he had someone staying with him who drained the soul from his body every time a joint decision needed to be made. He had no energy to go back and forth with Remi over food and then have to prepare and cook it, too. Not today. Not after a night of broken, guilt-ridden sleep.

"Well, there's a chippie on the corner." Jordan pointed out the window. "Or, since you've got a car, if you drive round the back, past the convenience store, and follow that road a bit there's a Chinese."

Quinn nodded gratefully. "Thanks, I appreciate the help,"

"No problem. Have fun with your friend."

Jordan was still grinning to himself as Quinn left, tapping out a message to Remi to ask if he would prefer fish and chips or a selection of Chinese food.

Predictably, the response from Assistant was:

Please tell him I would like whatever he likes. Thank you, Assistant.

Quinn picked up two bags of chips, a battered fish and one of the long, bright-red sausages. It would hopefully be less of a culture shock to Remi than the Chinese takeaway.

Backpack slung over his shoulder, flimsy plastic bag of food hung from his arm, and key in his hand, Quinn waddled up the small path from his driveway to the front door. All of the windows were dark with the curtains drawn. It was familiar, exactly how it would look pre-Remi. But it seemed strange that, knowing Remi was inside, there were no lights on. It was still the very beginning of September, so the sun wasn't setting for another hour or so, but it was still dim outside. If Quinn were inside, he would at least have a lamp on.

Hopefully his little live-in guest was catching up on sleep.

Once inside, he was corrected. Remi was perched on the sofa with perfect posture, waiting patiently for Quinn to enter. Like a doll left out to watch the house. The thought sent a creepy shiver up Quinn's spine. He kicked his shoes into the hall and flicked the lights on before walking further into the house.

"How was your day, Remi?" he asked over his shoulder. He unpacked the food onto the dining table and tossed his backpack onto his usual working from home chair.

Remi hurried to his side, overseeing Quinn's actions with wide and curious eyes. He was dressed in a top and shorts that made it appear like he was about to go hiking. The seams of his top were fluffy, and not a single one seemed tight enough to touch Remi's skin.

"I had a very good day, Alpha!"

"I'm glad." Quinn collected a pair of plates from the kitchen. Remi followed his every step, half a foot behind. His tiny pink feet were bare again, and Quinn made a note to ask later if he needed a tutorial on using the washing machine.

"How was your day, Alpha?"

“Very productive. And that soup we made was just as nice when I had it for lunch."

A glow of pride encircled Remi and he fiddled with the pockets of his shorts awkwardly. Quinn tried not to laugh, it would be too difficult to simplify the reasoning for Remi that his sweet and shy behaviour tickled something in Quinn. Because then he would be the creepy one.

He split the food between the two plates, providing a commentary to Remi on what was what. And then justification as to why humans would cover a perfectly good fish in batter.

When he took up both plates and walked to the living room, Remi still followed, but now with a confused head tilt.

"When humans get takeaway with their family, they sit in the living area and watch TV together while they eat," Quinn explained. At least, this is what he understood from the office talk, particularly between the women aged over thirty. They regularly recommended carpet cleaning foams and sprays to get out stains left by their children while eating on the floor. It made more sense to Quinn to simply eat at the table than buy cleaning products, especially for an avoidable mess. But this was supposed to be part of the fun of 'takeaway night' - eating somewhere different and watching TV.

Quinn placed the plates on the floor, and then dropped a pile of cutlery and napkins between them. He took the sole decorative cushion he owned and put it beside him for Remi to sit on. Slowly, he lowered himself into a cross-legged position behind his plate and looked back up at Remi, who had yet to sit.

Remi had a strange look on his face.

Quinn's cheeks felt hot, wondering if the man was judging his strange behaviour. "You don't want to?" he asked, desperate to keep the embarrassment from his voice.

Remi jolted. "I do!" he responded immediately. "Yes!" He scrabbled to sit on the cushion and tucked his feet under him. "I just... I was thinking that it is funny that we are the animals... but we eat from tables and they eat on the floor. That seems more like wolf behaviour than human."

Quinn let himself laugh at that. "They eat at tables regularly. I think it's about a change of environment, it's supposed to be fun."

"Oh, I see."

As the TV buzzed to life, it occurred to Quinn that he had not turned the device on in months. For a time, he had attempted to watch every show and movie recommended to him, in the hopes of keeping up with the human culture. Eventually, he realised it was not possible in one lifetime to absorb all of the content being constantly created. Instead, it was actually easier to admit to humans that he didn't watch TV. They accepted this as much more 'normal' than having watched some things but not others. It was almost a sign of bad taste to have watched the wrong things.

The screen was lit up by some kind of game show, there were people stood on podiums and bright lights and colours everywhere.

"Would you like to watch this?" he asked Remi.

Remi struggled to draw his eyes away from the intense colourful light. "What is it?" he asked, sounding a little dazed.

"It's a game show, they have people play games to win money. Different game shows have different games."

"And humans like to watch other people play games instead of playing them themselves?" Remi clarified.

"Yep, and they really like watching each other play video games." Quinn thought of some of the famous people his company paid to promote their products. The millionaires who had found their fame playing games online - some of them free games that anyone else could be playing instead of watching. Parts of humanity were completely baffling. He glanced across at Remi, who had been freshly entranced by the game show. People were cheering on screen. "Do you like video games, Remi?"

"I have only played a bit," he admitted. "We all shared the video games in my pack."

Quinn nodded. It was the same for him. Endless fighting over a battered silver playstation that he now understood was probably years behind what the human children were playing with. Nothing was ever the newest edition of anything in the commune of a pack. And they didn't create much entertainment themselves outside of sports with made-up rules.

That was one area that humans had always, and would always, excel in. The arts. The creation of content like TV shows, books, music, paintings, comics… The humans could express themselves in mediums that wolves were too closeted to even attempt. They all consumed human media, though. Not trending, hot off the press content, but the kind of DVDs, books and magazines that could be found in gas stations and charity shops. 90s rom-coms, children’s cartoon compilations, dog-eared thrillers and crusty copies of Mills and Boone. It was incredibly overwhelming to attempt to migrate into a community where everyone has decades of context for every joke, catchphrase and insinuation.

But an area without trends or fads, that always allowed Quinn to feel in control, was maths. Numbers and data were tangible. More so than references to a stapler trapped inside jelly. For possibly the thousandth time, he thanked his lucky stars for how his life in the human world had fallen into place. That he had found a job he could succeed in, that he had a home and privacy within it, that all he had to worry about was the upkeep of his social skills in the ever-changing human landscape of casual conversation.

He looked to Remi, his round face lit up by the bright colours from the TV screen, and wondered if it was possible for someone who had spent even more time than Quinn sheltered by the Assembly laws to ever assimilate into the human world.