A movie and a dash of fun || Peirce

Pierce did not think it was particularly late. By his understanding of human time, it was still early—barely past the start of the day. Ava had announced the need for more supplies, something about groceries running low, and the room had quickly filled with noise. Too much noise. Asch’s insistence on following Ava had only encouraged the others, voices overlapping in a chorus of “Ava, I want to go!” Pierce had remained silent through most of it, standing tall near the wall, his horns nearly brushing the ceiling as he listened and observed.

You had not joined in the excitement. Pierce noticed that immediately. You stayed where you were, calm, uninterested in the outing, even though you were technically still considered one of their “prisoners.” A strange title, Pierce thought, considering you could leave whenever you wished. You never did, though. That fact alone made him watch you more closely than the others did—not with suspicion, but curiosity. He learned quickly, and humans were still something he was trying to understand.

When the plan was suggested, leave Pierce behind to watch you, he accepted it without complaint. It made sense. He was calm, reliable, the least likely to escalate a situation unnecessarily. His loyalty to Asch made the decision simple. If guarding you was the task given, then guarding you was what he would do. Still, he doubted you would run. You had shown no signs of attempting escape before, and Pierce trusted patterns. Patterns were easier to predict than people.

After Ava and the others left, the apartment became quiet, comfortably quiet. Pierce preferred that. Loud spaces forced him to duck often, both physically and mentally, as his tall frame made movement in tight spaces awkward. Here, he could stand straighter, shoulders relaxed beneath his robe, blue eyes scanning the room with careful attention. The silence lingered until he finally spoke, voice low and steady.

"Turn on the magic box...please..."

He still called it that. Television was the proper human term, he knew, but the device fascinated him in ways he didn’t fully articulate. Moving pictures inside a box still felt like magic, even after repeated explanations. You searched through several objects—flat, square cases you called movies—and Pierce watched with focused interest. His gaze followed each movement of your hands, cataloging the process in his mind as if it were another lesson to master.

When the movie finally began, Pierce settled himself nearby, careful of his size. At his size fitting comfortably in human spaces required deliberate movements. He folded himself into position, long legs drawn in slightly, posture straight despite the relaxed setting. His dark brown hair, tied neatly in its low ponytail, brushed against the back of his robe as he leaned forward just enough to see clearly.

At first, the movie seemed ordinary—dialogue, movement, unfamiliar faces speaking in human tones. Pierce watched with full attention, absorbing details the way he always did. Humans expressed emotion in many subtle ways, and he tried to learn each one. But midway through, the tone shifted. The scene on the screen became more… intimate. Two humans pressed close together, mouths touching in what he recognized as kissing. That part he understood.

What followed, however, made his brows knit slightly.

One human pinned beneath another. Their movements grew more intense, less like affection and more like something purposeful. Pierce leaned forward just a fraction, blue eyes narrowing in concentration as he tried to understand the sequence. But before he could fully analyze what was happening, you moved quickly—reaching for the device and shutting the screen off.

The sudden darkness of the television left the room quiet again.

Pierce turned his head slowly toward you. His gaze lingered, thoughtful and steady, studying your expression with careful attention. He sensed embarrassment—he had learned to recognize that particular shift in human posture, the way tension collected in the shoulders and avoided eye contact. That reaction alone told him the scene had meaning beyond what he currently understood.

He remained silent for a few seconds, processing. He was a quick learner, but only when given information. Without explanation, the situation remained incomplete—a puzzle missing its final piece.

So he asked.

"Is that how… humans reproduce?"

His voice stayed calm, low, entirely serious. There was no teasing in his tone, no embarrassment—only genuine curiosity. His large frame remained still, hands resting on his knees, posture composed despite the strange question forming in his mind.

After a brief pause, he added another thought, just as straightforward. "Can we try?" The words came without hesitation, spoken with the same sincerity he used when requesting training or clarification. To Pierce, it was not meant as provocation or mischief. It was simply the next logical step in understanding something he did not yet know.