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Ialott didn’t know anything about bugs. He couldn't remember ever being around them that often when he was young, and for the longest time he found them a little unsettling. Their legs were too many, too long. Their eyes were huge compared to their heads. They just didn't seem to fit into what Ialott expected a creature to be. But somewhere along the line that had stopped being true. Something about the way Syfic talked about them, those exact unsettling qualities, he made them seem almost beautiful. And the hope in his voice when he looked at Ialott, when he shared the little intricacies of the bugs... Ialott wanted Syfic to know that he saw the beauty too.
It was this urge that led him to be crouched over this crinkled piece of paper on the floor of his quarters, painstakingly dragging one of the pencils Kirith had gifted him to make the shape of a Vulcan stag beetle. The drawing didn’t quite match the image of the beetle he had displayed on a data PADD next to him, but it was certainly better than his first few attempts. Once the drawing was sufficiently complete, Ialott carefully folded down the edges of the paper until it fit within the small frame he had replicated. He had made sure it was real wood, but sanded smooth so the texture wouldn’t catch Syfic’s fingers.
Ialott hardly remembered the walk from his room, instead finding himself standing in front of Syfic's door in the space of a blink. Ialott hesitated, tail flicking. He was beginning to see the flaws in his drawing as he held it in front of him. The proportions weren't all the way accurate. Certainly not according to Syfic's standards when it came to insects. The scales along Ialott’s tail spiked and rippled as he shoved the doubts aside and knocked. The door opened almost instantly, as if Syfic had been waiting just on the other side all this time. Ialott hurriedly tucked the frame behind his back, doing his best to keep from looking suspicious.
“Hello.” Syfic’s voice sounded cheery, and Ialott’s scales smoothed.
“Hi,” he sighed.
Syfic stepped to one side to let Ialott in and let the door close behind them. Ialott almost expected Syfic to ask him why he had stopped by, but Syfic seemed to be engaging in that preamble less and less as time went on. Sometimes Ialott felt as if neither of them had to speak at all to understand each other.
Ialott brought his drawing out from behind his back as Syfic walked further back into his quarters and typed a few buttons on his replicator. A soft hum later and the gentle fragrance of tea drifted toward Ialott. Syfic took two mugs from the replicator and brought them over to the small table between them. The steam drifted up from the twin cups and joined into one plume of warmth above their heads. Ialott’s fingers tightened on the wood frame beneath his fingers, but the steam from the tea seemed to lift the rest of his nervousness from his spine until he could bring himself to speak.
“I drew something for you.”
Syfic looked up, pausing in his motion of taking his seat at the table and standing back up. “You… this?” Syfic’s eyes slid to the picture Ialott held, turned backward and pressed against his chest. He nodded and handed the frame over. Syfic flipped the drawing carefully, light fingers rubbing along the grain of the warm, brown wood. He stared at the wobbly depiction of the beetle on the other side in silence for a moment. Ialott watched Syfic’s face closely and was surprised to find a film of tears beginning to shimmer in Syfic’s eyes. He turned away quickly and set the picture on the counter behind him.
Ialott stepped forward until he stood next to Syfic, close enough to watch him struggle to get himself back under control. Ialott found a hot anger ripple his scales. Some petulant part of him that refused to let go of a childish sense of fairness stomped and wailed in his chest. Why couldn’t he see? Why wasn’t he allowed to experience the feelings that would prove the connection here? Ialott longed for something tangible. Something he could touch and see and feel.
Ialott reached out until his fingers brushed Syfic’s. There, just under the surface. A rush of affection, warm, sharp. Ialott sucked in a breath at the unfamiliarity, but the sensation receded faster than he expected, leaving him feeling…empty. Or not quite. Now that he focused, he could feel it there still. A string pulling taught from his chest. He let out a shaky breath and only then noticed Syfic’s eyes on him.
"Are you okay?”
"…Yes.” Ialott nodded as he regained his footing. “I’m okay. Are you?”
Syfic only sighed a little and retrieved a pair of his gloves from the folds of his evening clothes. Ialott stopped him with a tap of his tail on Syfic’s ankle.
“Wait.”
Syfic stilled.
Ialott stared up at Syfic, finding himself a bit breathless. He could see everything. Every flutter of Syfic’s eyelashes, every inhale, every exhale, every shift of the eyes. He smelled of hot summer sun and air thick with pollen. How had he not seen all of it before? Had this been gradual? Slow enough that Ialott wouldn’t notice? Or had he just woken up this morning able to feel each beat of Syfic’s heart through a hand on his arm? “What’s— What is this?”
Syfic looked back to the drawing of the beetle as he spoke. “This is… we are T’hy’la.”
“T’hy’la,” Ialott repeated, stumbling a bit over the pronunciation. “That’s a Vulcan word, yes?”
“Yes. It’s… hard to translate.”
“I don’t need you to.” Ialott could feel that quiet string tug just a little. Despite it being everything he had asked for, Ialott found himself wanting to draw back, to step away from such a permanent form of connection. Instead, he stepped closer to Syfic, drawing him into a hug until Syfic’s high body temperature warmed every inch of him. After a moment or two, he felt Syfic’s arms settle against his back.
No, Ialott didn’t need the word to be translated.
He understood just fine.