James dreamt as he dozed. For some reason all of his dreams centred around Alicia, or more specifically their relationship.

The evening she’d torn strips off him in the middle of a packed club for simply talking to another woman at the bar, even though he’d only asked the woman where the bathroom was.


The afternoon she got mad at him for telling her about his first day at his new job because he apparently wasn’t caring enough how her day had been and it wasn’t even a real job because all he did was hand out brochures at the gallery and talk about painting all day.


The morning she’d stormed into the bathroom when he was in the middle of showering and forced him to get out that second, sending him out of the bathroom still dripping wet, because she needed to shower for work and after all, her job was more important.


The night he had tried to make a romantic dinner for her to celebrate her birthday and all she’d done was shout at him about how incompetent he was because even though he’d remembered she liked roses, he’d forgotten her favourites were white not red.

The only dream that had nothing to do with Alicia was the very last one. A flash of his own face, an expanse of green skin, and the feeling of being truly content. 


James woke with a start and groaned as he sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. It was still dark outside so he hadn’t slept for long, but falling asleep with both arms up over his head was definitely not a good idea.

As he sat on the edge of the bed, rolling the kinks out of his neck, James thought about the fragmented dreams and he realised something. Whether he hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself before or if he simply hadn’t realised; he hadn’t been happy with Alicia.

She had always treated him as though he did everything wrong and belittled him, his work, and his dreams every chance she got. When she was mad at him, the anger lasted for days and she made him suffer for as long as she could. She controlled every aspect of their lives; where they went, what they did, even what he wore. When yelling at him she’d often used words like useless, worthless, and pathetic.

She complained constantly about him not having enough backbone and never going after what he wanted but whenever he tried to stand up to her or try to go after what he wanted she would shout him down and tell him what he wanted was stupid.

He had loved her, even if he couldn’t remember why now, but he had never been happy.


That thought brought him to the very last fragmented dream he’d had before waking up. It certainly wasn’t his first sex dream, though it was the first he’d had about another man, but the way it had made him feel was not something he’d ever experienced before. If he was having sex dreams about Maze, ones that he very much enjoyed, did that mean…

James sat up straight, completely shocked as a sudden realisation slammed into his mind. It was something that had really never occurred to him before and he had no idea why but all of a sudden he knew it was the truth.

He didn’t prefer men, but Maze wasn’t men; he was simply man. Or alien as it were. James wasn’t gay and that meant absolutely nothing when it came to Maze.

Maze wasn’t someone you could put in a box. He wasn’t like anyone James had ever met, man or woman, and not just because he’d never met an alien before. He made James feel safe and comfortable, and he was always supportive of his painting. James knew he could always be himself around Maze and he wouldn’t be judged for anything.

Sure they had their disagreements and Maze had a very short and often terrifying temper, especially with those black eyes and sharp teeth, but he also had an amazing way of letting go of it very quickly; a few hours and some space and he was back to normal.

Maze was honest, aggressive, funny, mischievous, overly-confident, intelligent, bold, pig-headed, wild, ridiculously attractive … and whether James was gay or not made absolutely no difference to any of that.
James shot to his feet and headed for the door.