Amy had mere minutes before she could clock out and go home to wash the smell of synthetic butter out of her hair, but was too distracted to watch the time.  That guy was back again, and he was in her concessions line.  The mystery movie-goer showed up without fail to every experimental screening, obscure revival, and opening night horror the theater hosted, so she already knew he had impeccable taste.  On top of that...

In the immortal words of Men at Work he was six foot four, full of muscle.  Good hair, great eyebrows.  The leather jacket he wore stretched over his impossibly broad chest, which seemed to flex with every movement.

Wait a minute.

She squinted.  Gone was any pretense of coy not-looking.

It wasn't flexing.  It was moving.  That was new.

“The usual?” Amy asked as he reached the register, eyes darting back and forth from his jacket to his chiseled face.

“What?” he startled.  “Oh, yeah, large popcorn.  Please.”

Amy side eyed him as she scooped.  She wasn’t imagining it, something was pushing against the zipper from the inside.  The man realized too late, clumsily crossing his arms to stifle the movement.  Amy wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard faint yowling.

As she slid the popcorn across the counter she idly commented, “I don’t mean to alarm you, but it seems you have a bit of a chest burster.”

“What?  No,” he scoffed.  He clutched the bucket like a man with something to hide.

A hairless, clawed paw wriggled free from the collar of his jacket, jabbing him in the neck.  He struggled to maintain a straight face as he waved his card over the reader, but his blue eyes went wide.

“Uh huh,” Amy said.  She checked her watch before sliding around the counter to hand the guy his receipt.  “Show me.”

He knew he was caught.  They sidled around a corner and he unzipped the jacket.  Cradled against his perfect pectoral was a tiny sphinx cat in a knit sweater and beanie.  It did not look happy.

“I have so many questions,” said Amy.

“I couldn't leave him!  My heater’s broken, he'd freeze!”

“So you brought him to a theater?”

“It took them 36 years to make this sequel, I am not missing opening weekend.”

“Oh my god.”

“Are you going to kick us out?”

His tone was so vulnerable it caught Amy off guard.

“You’re lucky I’m off the clock.”  Amy pulled off her uniform vest and, with the skill of years of neighborhood babysitting, swaddled the wriggling creature.

“Look,” she said, “just hold him close and keep him quiet and nobody's going to question your weird little alien baby.”

She handed the calmed bundle back.

“Thanks, uh-” he looked at her nametag, still pinned to the vest.  “Amy.  I’m Max.”  He held out a hand to her.  “Would it be too weird to ask you to join us?”

“At this point,” Amy said, “nothing would be too weird.”