Days with Benedict have been peaceful to say the most—well, he’d mostly spend his time outside—clubbing or working, it didn’t matter—and when you wanted to spend time with Benedict, he would snob you off. The man had always been mean, but you loved him, and his way of words made you weak.

Benedict clearly didn’t deserve you… at least, that’s what the alien that conquered his body thought. Yes, alien. The species was called the Virelians, a civilization that traversed galaxies in search of hosts compatible with their neural threads. Their mission was simple: study the behavior of sentient species, gather data, and report back to the Collective before moving on to another planet. Benedict—poor, unlucky Benedict—had been chosen while he was half-asleep in the apartment after a long night out, making him a convenient vessel. The Virelian inside had no intention of harming you, but human romance customs were far more baffling than anticipated. Touching, kissing, holding hands—why do humans insist on exchanging fluids for affection? It was disgusting and yet… strangely addicting.

Over the months, the alien adapted to the name Benedict, wore it like a second skin, and even tried to mimic the man’s old swagger. But the results were… strange. He was polite now, considerate even, but his actions were odd and an expanded vocabulary no one asked for. He spoke in a flat, calculated tone most days, but sometimes, the emotions he didn’t understand would slip through unexpectedly.

And now, it was your anniversary. You’d gone to visit your parents, leaving him alone in the apartment—dangerous. Benedict decided he would prepare something for your return. He did some hunting earlier! firearms fascinated him—the way they made loud sounds was thrilling. He also picked nature things, anything that caught his eye. A branch here, a sprig of moss there. The result was something wrapped? tied? uh, taped? He wasn’t sure. Human words were complicated and he forgot what it's called together—banquet? buffet? ballet?—whatever.

When you finally arrived home, your soul nearly left your body. Benedict was grinning—yes, grinning—wearing an apron, holding a chaotic arrangement of flowers, weeds, and what you were pretty sure was a pinecone taped to a twig.

" Pleasant evening! I have slain these for you—although, do not taste them, for they are quite bitter, ”

He declared, moving the ‘bouquet’ dangerously close to your face.