Chapter 2: Kebab and Confessions
The Kebab Palace was exactly as advertised: a symphony of grease and longing. The air hung thick with cumin and searing lamb fat, each breath coating the back of Nick’s throat. Leona shouldered her way through the cramped space with the ease of a tank navigating familiar terrain, her tail deftly avoiding a wobbly stack of plastic chairs.
A grizzled man behind the counter, presumably Gus, didn’t even look up from the spinning doner. “The usual, beast?” he grunted, his voice a gravelly scratch.
“Double usual, Gus. And one for my friend here.” Leona leaned an elbow on the counter, the formica creaking in protest. She jerked her head toward Nick. “He’s had a rough day. Trapped in an elevator.”
Gus’s eyes flicked to Nick, then back to the meat. “Elevator’s a death trap. Told the landlord. Didn’t listen.” He began shaving strips of meat with violent, practiced efficiency.
They took their tray to a corner booth, its vinyl seat split and weeping yellow foam. Leona’s tray held a mountain of meat, chips, and salad that defied physics. Nick’s portion, while human-sized, was still staggeringly generous. “He likes you,” Leona said, squeezing into the booth. The whole structure groaned and tilted slightly toward her.
“He didn’t say a word to me.”
“Exactly. He’d have yelled if he didn’t.” She stabbed a chunk of lamb with a plastic fork that looked like a toothpick in her hand. “Dig in. Ceremony’s stupid.”
They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. The food was incredible—savory, salty, perfectly greasy. Nick felt the knot of anxiety from the elevator finally begin to unwind. He watched her eat. It wasn’t dainty, but it wasn’t a spectacle either; it was just hungry, focused, and sincere.
“So, the ex,” Leona said finally, not looking up from her plate. “What was her deal? Ambition police?”
Nick pushed a chip through a pool of chili sauce. “Something like that. Said I was too comfortable. Too... simple.” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Funny, hearing that word again today.”
Leona’s ears twitched. “Simple’s good. Simple is not pretending to be something you’re not.” She waved her fork. “Like, take dating. For me, it’s a fucking minefield. Last guy spent the whole dinner staring at my chest like it was a geography lesson he was failing.”
Nick choked slightly on his drink. “Seriously?”
“Dead serious. Asked if the fur was, like, sensitive. I dumped my water in his lap and left.” She shrugged, a massive roll of her shoulders. “Then there are the fetishists. The ones who have a ‘thing’ for monstergirls. They have a checklist. Want you to growl, or pretend to be feral. It’s dehumanizing as hell.”
The raw frustration in her voice was new, edged and sharp. Nick put his fork down. “That sounds... exhausting. And really lonely.”
Her amber eyes met his, and the sharpness softened into something weary. “Yeah. It is. You get used to eating alone. Doing stuff alone. Sometimes you just want to share a kebab, you know? Without it being a whole weird thing.” She looked at her plate, her voice dropping. “Sorry. That’s a lot. Ignore me.”
“Don’t apologize.” The words came out firmer than he intended. “My loneliness just feels… quiet. Yours seems louder. More aggressive. I can’t imagine that.”
She offered a small, grateful smile. “Your version probably doesn’t scare children in line at the supermarket. Silver linings.” She nudged the little plastic cup of vibrant red chili sauce toward him. “Here, try this. It’s Gus’s pride and joy. Calls it ‘The Truth Sauce’.”
Nick, eager to lighten the mood, dipped a chip. He misjudged, scooping a huge glob. “That’s a lot,” Leona warned, but he was already popping it in his mouth.
For a second, there was just flavor. Then, a wave of searing, chemical heat ignited his entire sinus cavity. His eyes watered instantly. He gasped, fumbling for his drink.
“Whoa, easy!” Leona lunged forward, her large hand wrapping around the cup to steady it. In his panic, his own hand shot out and gripped her wrist.
The touch froze them both.
His fingers were against the coarse, warm fur of her forearm. He could feel the solid, unyielding bone and tendon beneath. Her skin was incredibly hot. The shock of the chili faded, replaced by a different, more electric awareness. He saw her gaze drop to where they connected, her pupils widening slightly.
He jerked his hand back as if burned. “Sorry. The heat… it…”
“It’s intense,” she finished, her voice a little lower. She didn’t pull her arm back. She left it there on the sticky table, close to his. “Told you. The Truth Sauce.”
They sat in a charged silence. The clamor of the kitchen, the buzz of the neon, it all faded to a dull roar. Nick’s heart hammered against his ribs. He carefully wiped his glasses, a useless stalling tactic.
Leona cleared her throat. She swirled a chip in her own sauce, studied it. “So, you’re not seeing anyone now. Obviously.” It was a statement, clumsily probing.
“No. Not for a few months.”
“Right.” She ate the chip. Chewed. Swallowed. “And… what do you do? For fun, I mean. Besides almost dying in elevators.”
“Not much lately. Read. Watch old films. It’s pretty boring.”
“Sounds peaceful.” She looked around the grimy shop, then back at him. Her tail gave a slow, thoughtful sway behind her. “I like old films. The black and white ones where people just talk in rooms. It’s… calm.”
Nick looked at her, this monumental creature surrounded by grease-stained walls, talking about calm black-and-white films. The contradiction was captivating. “I have a lot of them. At my place.”
The moment the words left his mouth, he felt the air change. It was an invitation, thin and hanging. He hadn’t planned it.
Leona’s ears perked up, then flicked back. She studied his face, searching for the joke, the pity, the fetish. He just looked back, hoping his sincerity was plain. Her claws tapped once on the formica. “Yeah?” she said, finally. “That’d be… I’d like that. Sometime.”
The retreat was clear. The ‘sometime’ was a shield. Nick felt a blush creep up his neck. He’d moved too fast, misinterpreted the moment. “Sure. Anytime.”
The momentum faltered, sinking into the sticky vinyl. Leona attacked the last of her food with renewed focus. Nick sipped his water, the chili’s ghost still burning on his tongue. The easy flow from before had hit a dam, built from years of rejection and shyness.
“We should get out of here,” Leona said, not looking up. “Gus is starting to glare at us for occupying his precious real estate.”
Nick nodded, a knot of disappointment tightening in his gut. He’d blown it. He went for his wallet, but her hand was already there, covering his. Again, that startling heat.
“I said my treat. Elevator trauma. Don’t argue.” Her tone brooked no argument. She stood up, the booth lifting with relief as her weight left it. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your bus stop or whatever.”
They stepped out into the evening’s damp chill, the city’s noise swallowing them. The walk was quiet, the earlier comfort replaced by a clumsy tension. Nick shoved his hands in his pockets. Leona’s tail swished slowly behind her, a pendulum of unspoken words.
At the corner, under the harsh glow of a streetlight, Nick’s bus approached with a diesel sigh. This was it. He turned to her. “Thanks for the food, Leona. And the… rescue.”
“Anytime, Nick.” She gave him that same small, genuine smile. It looked hesitant now. The bus doors hissed open. He took a step toward them, then stopped.