Zechariah furrowed his brow, unsure whether Pierre here was being facetious or serious.

When ‘Pierre’ asked how Zechariah knew that, Zechariah shot a flat look his way and took a long swig.

“Tue me … read? Journal. Tue me read journal?”

Zechariah’s gaze, too, slid to Dr. Wells. That man had fished foreign objects out of other men’s asses. That made him trust him both more and less at the same time.

“Non homosexualité, en public,” Zechariah whisper-hissed in public, waving a hand over their face, hair, and then after a pause of consideration vaguely over their entire person in emphasis. “En privé? Oui, oui. Je m’en fous.”