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Chapter 6 - Part 1.

19:01, Monday, the 5th of March. 2028.

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They raised a paw to my cheek, claws trailing lightly over my skin. One soft kiss, then they clambered out of the blanket nest, grabbed a small bottle from a drawer, my frazzled mind registering it as lube, and hurried back. They used their tail to pull the blanket over them, and by extension both of us.

It was an odd sight, but more than thsat, it was sweet.

“You ready?” they asked awkwardly, unscrewing the cap and, before I could answer, rubbing a generous amount over the end of their shaft, still beaded with excitement.

I nodded. “Yeah.” My voice was a little shaky, but it came out.

They moved forward gently, like I was fragile -- because in that moment I was -- moving my legs apart, their odd, bow-legged knees shifting so they were underneath mine, the tip of their cock aimed just so. I tensed, breathing heavily, unsure what to even do with myself.

“Easy,” they said. One paw, still wet with lubricant, slid down to my ass. I flinched, almost jumping.

“What?” they asked, the smile obvious in their voice.

“Cold,” I said weakly.

“Yeah. It is.” A soft huff of laughter. “You guys don’t self-lubricate. Poor baby.” With the blunt underside of a sheathed talon, they spread more of it against me, slow and careful, before pressing that digit inside with disarming ease.

I gasped. Shock and sensation hit together, eyes wide, mouth falling open at how smoothly they slid in, at how full I suddenly felt. They leaned over me, close enough that I could feel their breath.

“Ohhh, your face is so red right now,” Hrodvitnir whispered. “Nice, right~?”

“S-Shush!”

“Mmm?” They withdrew to add more lube, then pressed back in -- two this time. I lurched as pleasure and pain bloomed together, more of both than I wanted to admit. They pulled back just slightly, then slid in again, testing and stretching, the tightness making my head spin.

“Just like that, baby?” they teased. “That’s what you said, right?” Their breath hitched. “Gods, you’re tight.” They bit their faux lip, long tongue flicking out as their hips shifted, eyes darkening.

Their talons curled reflexively. I gasped, hips jerking forward without meaning to. Their tail lashed behind them, expression tightening as if they were holding something back. Then they moved faster, digits pumping in short, deliberate strokes, their other paw gripping my thigh hard enough that I knew it would bruise.

When they curled their digits just right, pressing against a place that sent a jolt straight up my spine, I went hard again despite how recently I’d come. They noticed instantly; breath catching, reptilian pupils flaring.

That was enough.

They withdrew and surged forward, forepaws pinning me on either side as they loomed over me, weight settling heavy and inescapable. Their cock slapped against mine, slick with lube and their own excitement, the swollen knot grinding between us, smearing heat and wetness up my stomach.

A low, broken sound tore out of me. Seeing that, they lowered themselves further, chest brushing mine as they ground down, the ridges and bulb dragging over my cock again and again. It was overwhelming; too much friction, too much closeness and their raw, excited expression pushed me into near gibberish.

Their forelimbs tightened as their claws dug into the floor. “I’ve been wanting to knot you since I met you,” they growled. “So fucking cute.” They kept grinding until they pulled back with a shuddering breath, hips lifting, then rolling forward again, the tip of their cock nudging insistently against my rear.

Panic flared. Just a flicker, but enough to steal my breath.

They stopped.

“I’ll go slow,” they said, low and steady, tinged with nerves, or maybe impatience. “Okay?” Their jaw brushed my forehead as they waited.

I nodded, barely. Just a twitch.

They shifted their weight, positioning themselves above me properly -- not just on top, but in control, like last time. The realisation sent a pulse of heat through me, cock twitching, chest tight and cheeks hot. Instead of fear or shame like before, I liked it.

The pressure returned, gradual and insistent, as they lined themselves up and pressed forward. A pleased groan rumbled through them as they slid in inch by careful inch. I clutched at them as the stretch burned sharper than I’d expected, pain bright enough that I nearly told them to stop. But the slickness eased it, the only real resistance being the tightness, the sheer size of them.

They lowered their chest against mine again, pinning me gently before rocking back out. I gasped at the sudden emptiness. They barely withdrew before thrusting back in, deeper, a slow spear of pleasure that made stars burst behind my eyes. I wrapped my arms around their chest, legs bending awkwardly as they filled me.

Their breathing deepened as they settled into a rhythm—small, controlled rolls of their hips. Gentle enough to keep the ache manageable, steady enough that I still panted, my cock throbbing and leaking against their underside.

“Just like that,” they whispered, burying their snout in my shoulder. Their claws scraped softly against the floor as they continued, slowly getting me used to it.

…

…They were holding themselves back.

I realised it dimly, through the haze, when my hands slid up their withers and met muscle bunched tight beneath scaled hide. Every inch of them felt braced, contained. They could have taken me harder.

Deeper, faster. They were choosing not to.

Lightning crawled through my chest and down my spine.

I wanted them to. Needed it.

I dragged my palms down their back, feeling the subtle ridges beneath their scales, the gaps between their long spines, the way their lithe muscles flexed with each careful pump. Their chest was heavy against mine, warm enough that sweat slicked between us.

“You don’t have to-” I started, breaking off when they rolled their hips deeper, the stretch in my gut flaring sharp and bright.

They made a low, broken sound, claws scraping as they fought to stay still. “I know,” they said, voice rough.

Their grip shifted down, one paw sliding beneath my thigh, lifting it higher, angling me open. The change made me gasp as the narrow head of their cock dragged further inside me, sending a jolt straight through my gut. They held me there, open and exposed as I sretched around them.

They thrust again, slow and deliberate. I could feel how thick they were inside me now, how completely they filled the space, every movement rubbing me raw in the best way. My cock dragged uselessly against their underside, slick with pre and lube.

“Gods,” they breathed. “So perfect.”

I couldn’t see myself, but I felt just how open I was, how my body kept yielding despite the ache, how my hips lifted to meet them without thought. My hands clenched in their hide, nails biting hard. Their tail lashed once before curling tight around their thigh.

I tried to grind back, to take more. The movement pulled a sharp hiss from them as their hips snapped forward harder. The force knocked the air from my lungs.

“Careful,” they growled, eyes dark, jaw clenched. “You’re- fuck- you’re doing this on purpose.”

“Can’t help it,” I panted. “Feels too good.”

They laughed softly and finally let themselves move more. Not fast, nor reckless, but heavier. Each thrust pushed them deeper, then dragged back just enough to scrape against everything sensitive on the way out. Wet sounds filled the room, layered with my gasps and the strained noises they kept failing to hold back.

Their knot brushed against me again, firmer now. It pressed, slipped, pressed again, the pressure building with each thrust until my body shook. I clenched helplessly around them.

“Fuck,” they whispered. “You’re squeezing.”

Their hips stuttered, control slipping. The free paw dug into the floor, claws unsheathed, hard enough that I heard a faint crack. Sweat darkened the scales at their temples, their breath coming in sharp pulls against my cheek.

“I’ve… fuck. I need to.”

I didn’t stop them.

Didn’t even try.

They drew back slowly, the near-empty stretch making me gasp loud and pathetic, hips lifting to chase it, then surged forward again, harder, hips slapping against mine. The stretch was sharp and breath-stealing as the head pushed deep, the broader base bulging insistently.

I cried out as they held there, buried to the hilt, their body trembling above mine. Then they moved again, thrusts shorter and more forceful, each one knocking broken sounds from my throat.

Their breath hitched as they pressed forward again. The knot nudged insistently, stretching me wider with each push until there was no space left for thought. Just need. Just sensation. As they angled their hips forward, pushing with careful force, grinding, almost forcing it, I finally gave way.

With a wet, unmistakable sound, it popped inside.

Hrodvitnir roared. Teeth found my shoulder, sharp enough to break skin. Pain and pleasure crashed together as the swelling knot drove me over the edge. I surged up into them, cock spurting desperately as heat tore through me, a broken, desperate cry escaping my throat.

Pressure, pain, too much.

Their whole body seized as they came, wet heat flooding deep inside me in heavy pulses. They thrust shallowly as they spilled, trapped by the knot, filling me until I shook with it.

They panted hard, claws scraping uselessly at the floor as another wave pushed through them and into me.

Their teeth stayed buried in my shoulder, not tearing, just holding. I felt each slow, pulsing surge and how full it left me.

At last, their body sagged forward, heat pressed everywhere, breath warm and unsteady against my neck.

We stayed like that, bound and trembling, the room quieting as the intensity slowly eased.

No escaping. No movement. No fear. Just me and them, finally done.

Slowly, they lowered themselves completely over me, nesting. The gentle, almost nervous way they licked at the small cuts on my shoulder told me it wasn’t all instinct, more like a heavy cuddle. They moved their paw from my thigh to my side, holding me carefully, snout against my head.

“Are you okay…?” they asked once our breathing evened out. The knot remained lodged, still pulsing, still almost too much. “I didn’t get carried away, did I?”

I swallowed. “Yeah. Just… sore. Never done that before.” I tried to stretch and winced. “L-Little painful.”

“Well, you took it like a champ.”

My cheeks flushed hot, but there was nothing I could say to counter it and as awkward as it felt in the afterglow, there wasn’t anything I wanted to say. Still, the knot remained tight, and the still-warm-but-cooling seed was making me feel sticky. I tried to shift again, but they were truly stuck to me. “Uh-uh,” they muttered against my nape. “You’re mine until I’ve finished seeding your eggs.”

I groaned, covering my face. “That’s so gay,” I grumbled from between my fingers. They laughed, loud and cheery, and the movement made me spasm. “D-Don’t move, you moron.”

“Hmm?” They raised their head up to look down on me, a brow ridge raised. “Like this?” And then wiggled their hips, sending a bolt of pleasure-pain right up my spine. I clutched them tightly, fingers practically embedded into the muscles of their shoulders. “Ooh, so sensitive.” And then they laid back down, and I could almost hear their eyes closing.

“Hrod.”

“Hmm?”

“Please don’t fall asleep on me – we’re all… sticky.”

“It’s too late for me.”

“No…”

They snuggled closer, tail wrapping around my leg, stretching out to their full length, neck crushing my head and long legs extending, joints cracking. “It is… too late…” I smacked them. A light tap on their head. They whined, buried their head further and began ‘snoring’. Truly, an immaculate strategy. To be talked about for aeons.

I didn’t let up. “Hrod, no. We’ve done this before, and I woke up slimy. And what if your sister needs you?” They didn’t answer, so I bapped them again. “Hrod, up. Now.”

“Cuddle.”

My chest panged solidly despite where I still was. ‘Cuddle’ sounded nice, but I really didn’t want to risk anyone coming in, locked door or not. So, instead, with them still half asleep on me, I fished around for my jacket, found it beneath a crushed blanket and slipped my phone out. One-handed, I unlocked the device, only to pause. A message, one from a contact named Mum.

All was good. Hrod had said I may simply have been looking too deep into it, and truly, they might’ve been right. After shuffling just a little, I opened it up and squinted at the blaring screen.

Mum

> Come home.

> We need to talk. I’m not mad, I just need to understand.

I swallowed, unsure of how to take it, but refusing to wallow in misery like before.

Cole Macapagal

> Okay.

> At-

I paused.

> At partner’s rn. Could do tomorrow? Before work?

Work, I realised, quickly sending Tom a text telling him I wouldn’t need a lift.

Mum

> Ok.

Cole Macapagal

> Thank you.

> Love you.

Mum

> Love you too.

I smiled, stupidly wide and happy. So badly that I didn’t mind the ick and instead turned my phone off, stuffed it back into my hoodie pocket and held Hrod just a little closer, both of us calm and waiting, until at last the knot began to deflate.

“That feels so weird,” I said, shivering at the sensation, at how they were, at last, able to slide their rapidly shrinking length from me. At how…cold… I suddenly felt, and worst of all, the rush of fluids that left my body. “Ugh. Never again.” Free at last, I rolled over onto my side, scrambled to grab my boxers and slid them on when able to, doing my best to stand, given how shaky my legs felt. Hrod grumbled something indecipherable even when I shook them. “Shower,” I said. “Can I use it?”

Their eyes shot open, and with shaky limbs, they got up, tail limp. “We use it.”

They didn’t give me time to argue. Hrod stretched, long and slow, joints popping faintly as they shook themselves out like a settling animal, then padded toward the bathroom with that careful, heavy grace. Watching them move like that, all muscle and scale and soft domestic energy, did something warm and silly in my chest.

The bathroom light flicked on, too bright at first. Steam curled up as they turned the water on full heat, testing it with the flat of a foreleg before nudging the temperature down. Even with it being meant for quadrupeds, their body filled most of the space, tail coiling along the wall, spines brushing dangerously close to the shower curtain.

“Mind the spikes,” they warned, already smiling.

“I’m always minding the spikes,” I said, stripping and stepping in anyway.

The water hit their back first, running in rivulets along the ridges of their back, darkening the scales. Steam softened the hard lines of them and made the room feel smaller and safer. I grabbed the soap and rubbed it into my hands, then reached for them without thinking.

They stilled instantly.

“Is that okay?” I asked.

They hummed, low and pleased, lowering themselves just enough that I could reach properly. Washing a giant lizard was… involved. I had to lean, stretch, and brace myself against the tile as I worked soap between scales, careful around the spines, tracing the familiar map of their body.

They returned the favour in their own way, nudging my shoulder, then my side, careful with their claws as they helped rinse me off. It was clumsy and slow and totally unsexy in the best possible way.

At one point they leaned their head against my chest, eyes half-lidded, water running over both of us.

“Thank you,” they said quietly.

“For what?”

“For… Nothing. Shush.”

“Yeah,” I said, trying not to laugh. “Me too.”

By the time we turned the water off, the mirror was fogged white, and the room smelt faintly of soap and warm stone. We dried off as best we could, bumping into each other, tails and elbows everywhere.

Sweet. Domestic. Mine.

#

06:40, Tuesday, the 6th of March. 2028.

Sorcha, her son and his father were already at the table when we decided to head into the living room, plates already loaded with meat, most of which I recognised as beef that was simply overcooked and steeped in some kind of buttery, strong smelling oil.

Along with fish. Raw and so fresh it was a shock they weren't blinking.

Oisin’s dad was wingless, but his snout was far broader, and he lacked the sharp spines Hrod and Sorcha had. Less sleek, more what I recognised as draconic. “Hello,” I said, raising a hand, hoping I looked at least somewhat presentable.

He gave me a look so scathing, so suddenly offended that I actually flinched. “Who is this?” He asked his partner, who held a tense smile. Hrod didn't share my worry; they took a seat and began eating, eyes on the table. I remained standing.

“Cole,” said the hen. “Hrodvitnir’s mate. He works for the government.”

“Nice to meet you,” I continued, hoping the chipper introduction might've melted some of the tension in the air.

He didn't appreciate it. He looked lost and confused and suddenly very frustrated before, with a huff, he got to his paws and walked away, disappearing down the hallway and slamming the bedroom door shut.

Cold and shaky, I remained frozen where I stood. Neither Hrodvitnir nor their sister said aught, however. They looked at ease, almost like they'd expected it. Still, I felt a clawing sense of guilt. “Sorry,” slipped out like a cough.

“He's always like that,” Hrod revealed, spearing a sardine with a delicate talon. “There’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Yeah…” Sorcha exhaled. “It's something we don't quite agree on. It's my home, and you're my family.” Tension at last entered her voice. “...If he doesn't like that, then he can just leave. You can stay as long as you want – you help with groceries, and you look after Oisin. That's more than he does.”

Hrod's tail found hers, gently wrapping around the end like they were holding hands.

Oisin kept his eyes on the face, clearly upset and out of everything; that stung me the most. “Oisin,” I said, trying to put on a friendly face. “You're, uh,” I paused. “Hrod said you liked Dragon Ball? I've got almost the entire manga and a couple of games. If you ever come over, we could play them.”

His eyes lit up.

I took my phone out, swiped to the gallery and showed him a picture I'd put on Reddit. The manga is set up until the first appearance of Raditz. “Uhh, this is my manga.” Swipe. “And this is a screenshot of my character in Xenoverse 2. I made a Saiyan because they get all the transformations.”

He left, tail wagging as his little legs let him skitter away into the hallway. I sat back, mouth drawn into a tight line.

“He—”

He came back, a booklet held too tight between his little fangs, and quickly spat it onto the table. The drake didn't say anything; he simply sat beside me, blue eyes flicking from me to the book and back. Taking the hint, I began reading.

It was a magazine, one with a miniature kit attached by a small plastic box. A tiny paint bottle and cheap brush. The kind that used to be popular a decade ago, when xeno-hating space warriors were a little more mainstream.

Inside, as shown when he began flipping, was a short, not quite child friendly story about the figure. Some space captain who fought to the bitter end against monstrous insects. The excited but still silent drake tore the packaging off, paint and all.

“Oisin!” His mother shouted, caught between amusement and irritation. “They've got to go soon. Y-You can have him help later, if he wants to.” She spared me an apologetic glance before moving to get up.

I checked the time and found that I had at least a little bit, so I held my hands up. “It's fine. I can at least sort the pieces out. It comes with glue.”

Again, the young drake said nothing; he simply allowed me to bring the many pieces over to my side, going as far as to very carefully line them up.

Torso first, I picked up the needle-thin glue and dabbed a droplet in the socket of an arm I then attached. Easy. Then the other, being as careful as was possible. He placed a paw on my shoulder and looked over it, as though inspecting.

“Legs now,” I said, passing him the glue and holding it for him, showing off the underside. He looked at the glue, then took it with careful paws, angling it as best as was possible with such inhuman hands.

But when he squeezed, he missed, painting the hips. He flinched, eyes widening with quite visible fear. “It's fine,” I said quickly, picking up a tissue and wiping away the excess, trying my best not to notice just how intense the stare from Sorcha was that I was getting. It felt nearly ritual.

Extra cleaned up, I presented the right leg, which he, with an even slower pace than before, slotted in just right, the plastic glue working its magic almost immediately. “Nice!” I grinned, deciding to do the other myself. The head was small, but I let him do the glue himself, which he managed on the first try.

When we'd finished, the paint ignored because I lacked the time, I placed the figure on the table, and we both observed him, how proud the soldier looked to be hunting down heretics and non-sanctioned aliens. Very cinematic, I thought, rubbing Oisin's shoulder on reflex, like he were my own younger brother.

He accepted it but once again left the room, the left figure gently held in his maw. He didn't return this time, and the expression on his young mother's face was anything but happy. She looked distant and pained, as though she'd realised something was wrong.

“We should head out,” I said to Hrod, who didn’t share the tension. They looked proud, head held high, ears pricked.

“Yeah yeah.” I got up, put my shoes on, tied them and thanked Sorcha for the meal. She managed a small nod but said nothing else. Even her sibling seemed worried, but when I asked them what was up, as we left, they told me not to worry about it.

Their cart, and the supplies within, were left in the garden, since we'd be taking a bus straight to my mum's anyway.

I paid for both of us, after reminding them that I was the one with the ‘big shot’ job.

“Another easy win.”

“I shouldn't have told her anything,” they grumbled, sitting down in the quadruped section. “Probably thinks I'm some stray mooching off my rich boyfriend.”

“...Aren't you?”

“Shush.”

The bus was empty, so I sat in front of them, between their forelimbs, allowing them to rest their head atop my own.

“Gonna be rich someday,” the dragon mumbled into my hair. “Gonna make, like, clothes for dragons. Super money.”

I leaned back into their chest. “That's… not a bad idea, actually. Why haven't you?”

They shrugged. “Costs a lot. I think. I looked into it. Plus I’m just kidding.”

The bus rocked.

“Why? I'm like ninety-nine per cent sure dragons would wear them. Young ones definitely would. Dragon in a hoodie.”

Hrodvitnir paused.

“...Kara might help me.”

My chest tightened, the memory of the blood and her fangs flashing through my mind. “Kara-Cerys?” I asked, just to be sure.

“It was her idea to set up the cafe, and her money that helped Morrigan's get on its feet. If I have a good business plan, she might go for it.”

“Is that a good idea? I thought everyone was scared of lindwyrms?”

“They are, but they've helped a bunch when it involves money. She'd… fuck, Cole, she'd go for it. It's a business, and it's dragon-specific. New, too. Plus, I've seen her wear clothes before, so she might appreciate it.”

“Right…”

“Makeup, too. She… Shit, that might work. I, uh, I could, like, mention humans like that sort of thing. Sorcha did say she was into her bodyguard.”

“Do you know how to make makeup?”

“Nah, but we could expand.”

“Maybe stick with clothes for a bit.”

They clicked their tongue and nodded, chin pressing into my scalp. “Need measuring tape and, like, cloth.”

“Can’t you export the actual, uh, making part, and you just be the head or whatever it’s called?”

“Nah, I can make them.”

“Really?”

More people got on the bus, gave us some odd looks but ultimately did nothing because, like anyone who’s used a bus before can tell you, you’ve always seen worse. Hrod nodded again but said no more, clearly in thought. I thought about it too. I’d never seen dragons wear anything aside from the harnesses that I knew were government standard. Just straps that helped with carrying devices and ID. A little ugly.

But dragons didn’t need clothes. They were reptiles. You couldn’t – I knew this firsthand – even tell their sex at a glance, so trousers weren’t necessary.

Necessary, I realised, wasn’t why a dragon would wear anything. Pure fashion, so…

“Leggings?” I said, receiving a curious little hum for my efforts. “Like leg warmers? Just to look cute? O-Or hoodies?”

“Leg warmers sound good,” they replied. “Hoodies?”

“Yeah,” I said. “A hoodie would probably look good on a dragon. Or, uh, what about tail warmers? Basically a sock, but, yeah, something comfy. In case it gets cold?”

Another hum.

“I could sow some and show Béatraís first. Get my foot in the door.”

“Foot?”

They raised their head up just to bring it down to bonk me. “Human phrase. Shut up.”

Together, we sat in silence. The streets were passing – I kept an eye on them, just to be sure. It was a long ride, but one I recognised the closer we got to home. “Is it really a good idea?” They asked quietly, voice low, uncertain, like the idea of success was foreign to them. “I do want to actually make some money. Sorcha has a good job, but I feel bad leaning on her so much.”

My respect for them was too high to lie. “I don’t know. It’ll be hard. Lots of people have clothing brands nowadays, but a dragon starting a dragon clothing brand? That could work. Imagine Hrod branded clothes. ‘Hey, what does Hrod stand for? Probably something deep, right’?” I laughed a little, and so did they, but it was restrained.

Silence.

“Thinking about your mum?”

I was.

“Just a little.”

“It’ll be fine.”

I believed them.

#

Time was fading; I’d lingered too long with Oisin, fun as that had been, which meant as soon as our talk with mum was finished, I’d immediately have to head to work, no matter how it went. The car was in the drive, the lights on. She’d have to leave for work afterwards, too.

But even still, I waited, lingering outside the front door, trying to breathe. Hrod didn’t stop me, didn’t shake me and didn’t give me tips on confidence. If anything, they looked even more terrified than I did, ears pinned, lip split with how hard they were biting it.

I gently opened the door.

The hallway was dimly lit, Mum probably having chosen to instead rely on the steadily growing daylight. No fresh food could be smelt; only the distant tang of instant coffee let me know someone was in. She preferred instant, oddly enough.

We walked slowly, Hrod’s breathing entirely audible. They were a reptile, and every now and then I noticed just how much effort it took them just to breathe. In that moment, that one long moment, I noticed too much. Their shoulders were bunched tightly together, claws unsheathed, eyes wide. Their throat bobbed as they greedily sucked in oxygen.

I rubbed their shoulder just once before walking forward, making the first move. Our home was small, the living room doubling as a dining room, with her, eyes on her drink, at the head. I entered first; she looked up, licked her lips just so and nodded. Then Hrod entered, a dragon, pensive, muzzle drawn tight, and her face dropped into one of raw shock and appal.

It hit me instantly, like a shock to the system. She knew Hrod was not a woman, and I felt, deep down, that maybe, just maybe, she could have lived with that. What I hadn’t mentioned was that they weren’t even human. Somehow it had completely slipped my mind, such a crucial, life-altering detail.

To me, it wasn’t anything.

Of course Hrod was a dragon; why did that matter?

“W-Who is that?” She opened it, hands tightening around the mug, knuckles white with the pressure.

“Hrod,” I said, taking the steps necessary to reach my seat, arm extending to the back of it, fingers wrapping around the wood. I dragged it out, moved slowly, just barely, and took my seat.

“Boyfriend,” Hrod said, swallowing, simplifying themselves for my sake. “I’m, um, Cole’s boyfriend. My name is Hrod, I make sculptures.” Their head bowed low, nearly nosing the ground. “It’s an honour to meet-”

“What have you done?” She asked them, eyes wide, voice shaky. “S-Siya ay isang mabuting bata.” The Tagalog caught me flat-footed, which let her continue uninterrupted. “A-At ngayon ay ganito na siya. Hindi sa trabaho, hindi handa. Dahil sa IYO. May ginawa ka sa kanya.”

Hrod couldn't understand, but they caught the pain and accusation, the raw hatred towards their very existence, and found it was too much. In the corner of their eyes, just barely visible, near-nothing, I saw the start of tears, the cheap light of the bulb bouncing against the minute drops.

“Mum, no,” I said clearly, literally stepping between them. “They haven't done anything to me."

She shook her head.

Not sharp. Not angry. Just a small little motion, like she was correcting a misunderstanding.

“No,” she said. “This is-” Her mouth pressed shut. She looked down at her mug instead of at us. “This is too much.”

The clock above the doorway ticked. It was an old thing, round and yellowed, one my dad had brought back from a charity shop years ago because it had character. It was always too loud. I’d hated it as a kid.

I waited for more. For anger. For questions. For the kind of speech you could push back against. Instead, she set the mug down with careful precision, the bottom clicking against the table, just beside the woven placemat she’d brought with her when she moved in. It was torn at one corner. I remembered her telling me, once, that her mother had woven things like it back home, before everything got complicated.

“You can’t see him,” she said.

The word hit. After a moment, she corrected herself, still not looking at Hrod.

“It. You can’t. This isn’t right, Cole.” Her hand lifted, hovering in the air between us, fingers curling and uncurling like she was trying to grasp something invisible. “This is not…” She swallowed. “Not even a man.”

Behind me, Hrod made a small sound. Not a word. Just a noise, small and broken, the kind you make when you've realised you’ve stepped into something you can’t walk out of cleanly.

“I’m not asking,” she continued, her voice steadier now, more certain. The hesitation drained away as soon as she found her footing. “I’m telling you. You—you stop this. You come home properly. You focus on your work, your career. You’re doing well; good work. You don’t throw that away for—” She gestured again, sharper this time, the movement cutting through the air. “For this.”

The clock ticked.

She looked at me then. Really looked. Not like she was seeing her son, exactly, but like she was checking to see if I was still there.

I understood, suddenly, what she expected. For me to nod. For me to say okay. For me to apologise, maybe. To fold myself back into the shape she knew, the one that fit neatly into family photos and phone calls back home.

“I-I can’t,” I said.

The words came out quietly. Almost polite. They still felt loud in my ears.

Her face changed. Not to fury. To something flatter. More distant. As if she’d just confirmed a suspicion she’d been circling for a while and didn’t like the answer.

“Then you can’t stay here,” she said. Just like that. Calm. Final. “If you choose this, Cole, then you choose it somewhere else.”

There it was. Everything I feared, everything Hrod and even I thought was just an exaggeration.

Behind me, Hrod’s breathing broke completely. I heard claws scrape faintly against the floor, then retreat. A second later the front door opened, letting in a burst of cold air and morning light, then closed again too quickly, the latch rattling as it caught. Through the small front window, I saw them in the garden, hunched and shaking, one paw braced against the brick wall as they dragged in air that didn’t seem to want to stay in their lungs.

“I’ll pack,” I said, voice droned.

She nodded once. A short, efficient movement. As if we were agreeing on a chore.

Upstairs, my room looked exactly the same. Posters curling at the corners. The old bookshelf my dad had put together wrong, so one side leaned slightly no matter how many times you adjusted it. The faint smell of laundry detergent that never quite left. I stood there for a moment, listening to the clock downstairs ticking through the floorboards, and then pulled my suitcase out from under the bed.

The zip rasped as I opened it. Too loud. Everything felt too loud.

I folded clothes slowly. A shirt at a time. The ones for work first, because habit kicked in even now. Jeans. Socks I hadn’t paired properly in months. I left more behind than I took. Things that suddenly felt like they belonged to a version of me that wasn’t coming with.

My laptop came next. I slid it into its sleeve, fingers lingering on the sticker I’d never bothered to peel off. The manga took longer. I hesitated, then stacked them anyway, feeling the familiar weight of paper and ink, the covers soft from rereading. Dragon Ball and a couple of others have spines cracked just right. They fit badly in the case. I made them fit.

At some point, she appeared in the doorway. She watched me for a second, arms folded tight across her chest. Then she stepped in and began folding too.

She did it neatly. Efficiently. Picked up a shirt, smoothed it flat, and folded it one too many times so it came out smaller than mine ever did. She handed it to me without comment. I took it. Put it in the suitcase.

We didn’t speak. The clock ticked on, steady and indifferent.

When the case was full, I zipped it closed. The sound cut through the room like a line being drawn.

Outside, Hrod lit a cigarette with shaking claws. The stick rattled in their talons, lit with a flame from their maw. They sucked in too hard, coughed immediately, and bent double as smoke poured from their mouth in uneven bursts. I watched through the glass, my chest hollowing out at the sight.

I didn't know they smoked. Or ever had.

I carried my bag downstairs. She stood by the table again, hands wrapped around the same mug, now long gone cold. The little Santo Niño figurine by the window caught the light, its red and gold paint dulled with age. My dad had never liked it much. Said it creeped him out. She’d kept it anyway.

“Be careful,” she said at last, slipping me a folded brown envelope. Money, I assumed, feeling nothing.

“I will,” I replied.

She nodded, satisfied, like that was the important part.

I didn’t hug her. She didn’t ask.

The front door closed behind me with a soft, final click. Outside, the morning had fully arrived, pale and completely unremarkable. The street looked exactly the same as it always had. Cars parked crookedly. Someone’s been left out too long.

Hrod looked up when they heard me, eyes red, smoke curling around their snout. They dropped the cigarette immediately, grinding it into the concrete with a guilty, frantic motion.

“Sorry,” they said, voice hoarse. “I—I couldn’t—”

“It’s okay,” I said, and meant it, even as everything hurt. I took their paw. It was cold. “Let’s go.”

They nodded, swallowing hard, and together we walked away from the house, the clock still ticking somewhere behind us, neither of us looking back.

…There was this feeling.

Or perhaps a lack of feeling. A meaningless bundle of, ‘So that's how it is.’ Acceptance. It had happened and that was all there was to it. That event existed and then didn't. All that remained was next.

There was comfort in that, I told myself.

#

“I'm sorry.”

“It's fine.” It really was. I didn't blame them, not at all; everything they'd said had been reasonable. Don't expect everyone to be against you. People were more accepting than you might expect, but… sometimes they weren't.

Not everything had a happy ending.

She thought I was something else, always had.

“I-I'll ask Sorcha if we can stay. Maybe, um, o-oh gods. Cerys might have something?”

“Mum gave me five hundred,” I revealed. “More than she had when she first came over, apparently. Enough for some rent. I get paid soon. I'll be fine. Hotel, maybe.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be.” I leaned over to kiss their cheek, just as the bus to work rolled up. “Can you take this with you? Just for today.”

They took the case quickly and sat back, expression still tight and thin. “I'll see you at Sorcha's? You know the way?”

I nodded, stepped onto the vehicle and disappeared, work the only thing on my mind anymore.

#

After I dropped off the case at my sister's, I made a hard beeline to the cafe where I knew at least some member of the Lindwyrm family would be. I expected some low-ranking captain who I might be had to beg for an audience with. Instead, I found an eldest.

With soft pink scales, kind blue eyes and a smile that was at least mostly real, Béatraís was everything her sister wasn't. But it was a trap, for with as much love as she fostered in people that much pain was inflicted by the others. Still, she was no monster, merely powerful.

And she recognised me, eyes lighting up and a small, gloved paw raised to greet me. “Hrodvitnir,” she cooed, signalling me to take a seat beside her. Her guards shuffled away quickly. “Come sit down. You look a little frazzled.”

“Y-Yes. I have an idea. Business. I need money.”

A flicker of disappointment passed over her visage before fading, some interest brewing. “Brave,” she smiled, head tilting. “Go on.”

I took a seat, kept my head low and took out the sketches I'd made. They were rough, my art rusty, done in less than thirty minutes. But they were serviceable, displaying the general idea, along with some details and notes my time at the markets had taught me.

As soon as she saw my notes, however, she slapped a paw over them, expression hard, steely. “Do not present this to me and my sister.” Her tail swished violently, her slim body tensing. “If you do so, you will not only be laughed out of the room, but you will also be punished for wasting her time.”

“I-It's a good idea,” I whimpered, voice catching and chest tightening. “It would do well. I know it would.”

She looked over the notes, giving me time to notice just how rough they actually were. Scrappy lines, baseless assumptions on market appeal. A huge ‘Just trust me.’

Even then, she gave them an honest look, small claws, trimmed and painted blue, crinkling the cheap printer paper. “Young dragons more likely to buy?” She raised a brow muscle. “Probably, but you've got no proof. Production isn't as big an issue as you're making it seem. Marketing and a stock are. More fabric, more variations. Not to mention complexity – spine types are as numerous as horns.”

I nodded.

“Pure fashion is the appeal. Expression of self. Leg warmers?” She blinked. “That's not bad. Cerys would like a new brand of clothes, maybe a tail warmer.”

I nodded.

“S-So it's a good idea? Worth money?”

“Yes,” she answered, pushing the papers away. “But you will not get a single coin from us until your presentation is iron-tight. I am asking you not to present. You're a good drake, it'd be a shame for you to get hurt. Plus, your sister would kill me.”

“Thank you.” I sat back, eyes on the table, tail coiled tightly on instinct. “I-I just need money, enough for a room for someone.”

Béatraís took a bite out of her pork haunch, chewed twice and swallowed the rest in one long gulp, the piece visible as it travelled down her gullet. Sometimes I envied how quickly a snake could eat.

“Could Cole not just stay with you and Sorcha? You know we'd never charge her for an extra resident.”

I froze. She smiled. Not the same wicked, domineering smirk of her sister, but something small and confident.

Powerful indeed.

“She would,” I said reluctantly. “B-But I know her mate doesn't appreciate… me. And he definitely wouldn't like Cole staying with her. I don't want to cause issues.

Another chunk of meat her fangs, jagged and numerous, tore to shreds. When devoured, she reached into a pouch and took out a small notepad. “How much have you two got?”

“Five hundred,” I said, sitting up straighter. “A-About.”

She flipped through the book, blinking at the pages and nodding to herself. “Four hundred a month,” she said. “Utilities are included, but you have no legal right to it, and you can't use it as proof of address – legally you're homeless.” Her smile returned. “I could probably drop it to three-seventy. Give you some treat money.”

I ran the numbers in my head.

“C-Can I get back to you? Oh, um, any legal places…?”

She checked the book.

“Seven hundred per calendar month, utilities not included. Only two rooms. Very very small.”

“Oh.”

She spared me an apologetic look, a real one. “My sister wants a games room, so prices are up.”

“Okay.”

She said no more. The other serpents moved closer, so I took the hint and departed. I trusted her not to steal my idea. Disturbed as lindwyrms could be sometimes, they had some semblance of honour within their ranks.

The walk back, the entire walk back, consisted of me trying and failing to make a plan for Cole. I didn't actually know how much he made, but it was entirely my fault that he had been kicked out, so I had to do something. What I made from selling cheap knick-knacks was barely anything, just enough to pay for Oisin's snacks and sometimes a drink for myself.

I was barely anything.

Cole had chosen the worst possible mate. Smart and clever and high-ranking, he deserved so much better than some failed drake.

No, I told myself. I had to focus. Three hundred and seventy a month. That was doable. Possible. Béatraís said it was a good idea; I just needed to make a proper presentation.

Truly, that was all.

Really.

The thought followed me all the way to my sister's.

My cart was still there, reminding me I still needed to book my place at the next market, reminding me I'd made no progress on my miniatures nor any other merchandise.

I couldn't stay with my sister forever, I realised after unlocking the front door and stepping inside. As much as I despised her mate, Aodh treated both her and their son well. If I weren't there, she'd have had a perfect life.

After making sure Cole’s case was secure, I walked back into the living room, finding my sister lying down, book on the floor, looking tense. Aodh wasn’t there, only her. I didn’t even hear Oisin pacing or skittering about like he normally was. “Hey,” I opened, raising a paw up in greeting. “You, uh, doing alright?”

“...We talked,” she said slowly, carefully. “He’s taken Oisin to his mother’s for the week. You can stay for that week, but…”

I took the hint, let it hurt, and nodded my head. Agreeing, like I had a say. “We, um, I talked to Béatraís, and she said they had a place for four hundred. Cole needs it.” I swallowed. “His mum kicked him out. We might be able to afford it.”

Her eyes teared up, and she looked away. “I'm sorry.” I looked away. “Oisin needs his father. He's not… he needs help sometimes, and I'm working all the time and…”

“I know.”

I didn't. I hated her, and I hated Aodh and everything in the world in that one moment. But I accepted it, got close enough to embrace her and stepped away, pushing down selfish, angry thoughts as I headed to my temporary room.

A week was good. Cole could – hopefully – accept that. My supplies remained on the desk: printer paper, pens designed for paws and half-torn fabric.

My phone found my grip.

Hrodvitnir Svartur

> Sis said I’m only good for a week at hers. Trouble with her mate.

> Be-

I couldn’t find the letters for her name on my keypad. Accented.

> Betrys. Kara’s sister, said she has a place for 400 a month but it’s not proof of address. She’s also got somewhere that’s legit for 700, but we’d have to pay water and stuff.

> I’m sorry.

> I can help pay. I promise. If you want to stay with me.

With those few messages sent, scant and anxious as they were, I got back to ‘work’, writing up different ways it might have worked. Spiny drakes with holes for our spikes, before realising a strip worked better, perhaps modular. Velcro. I wasn’t big on fashion, and it was practically last minute, but I was quickly realising how absurd it was that there was no primary producer of dragon clothing.

Sure, I told myself, the lindwyrms had their cloaks and their gloves, but they – at least according to a kobold my sister knew – were sewn in-house, by maids and servants. I'd made enough of my own stuff to understand the basics of it. I could make a prototype in a week. All I needed was a volunteer.

Myself, of course, but who else? Another species, definitely. Kobold was tempting – a bipedal body, but I needed proof of flexibility.

Archon then.

But from where?

#

…I didn't tell Tom about what had happened. We were work friends, the kind who chatted loudly when working, bantering, but as soon as we clocked out, we were done. Talking about Hrod in the abstract was as far as I wanted to go, as tempting as a proper explosion sounded.

“Make sure to add the finance department,” he said, breath heavy with the smell of cappuccino, warm too, and right in my face with how close he was leaning over my shoulder. “Make the subject explicit – they can be lazy.”

“Like this?”

“Perfect.” At last, he stepped back, one hand in his pocket, the other around the handle of his stained mug. “Are you ready for tomorrow? Clothes sorted? Could do with a trim.”

I tried not to flush at the – hopefully – unintentional dig, my hand going up automatically to brush my hair back into place, but in doing so I noticed he was right.

“Umm. Not yet, but I'm going to go pick something up right after work, so it'll be extra fresh. It's, uh, a full suit or…?”

“No, you'll look a dick.” Honesty. Respectable. “White button-up, blue tie and black trousers. Smart, not smart casual, but, uh, not a full suit.”

I nodded, returning to my work, making sure things were scheduled properly and data was input properly. Managerial but for toddlers. Our office – a small section of the council building – was woefully understaffed. Just me, Tom, another intern who skipped work more than she really should have, and the occasional actually important council member.

We did have a small table, near the door, with a mini fridge, kettle and a steady supply of tea bags, sugar and instant coffee. It was probably the best part about the job, honestly. Tom, on his fourth cup of joe that shift, always took full advantage of the setup.

“Is Primark good?” I asked, sitting back to seem more at ease than I was. “Oh, yeah. I, uh, got a new notepad to bring with me, too.” Old notepad. I'd just never used it. My phone's notes app worked fine.

“Yeah, Primark’s fine,” he sniffed, reaching up to itch at his stubble and adjust his square glasses. “It's not about just looking good or wearing brands. It's just a way to show effort.” The older man gestured at his apparel. “When it's just us here doing busywork, hoodies and jeans are fine, but for anything that matters, wear what you buy, alright?”

I nodded.

…

“...How's, um, how's your mum, by the way?”

My stomach dropped. I picked it up, steeled my focus, and resolved myself not to give away-

“She hates Hrod.”

“Oh.”

Tom blinked, expression softening. “Oh, I'm sorry, mate. I-I honestly didn't think she'd be so against him. You and him – you always…” He cringed and looked away, face tightening. “I know I said he seems a bit iffy, but he’s alright, you know?”

It was sweet; it made my chest warm and fingers rap against the table in bundled cheer! So happy!

But it was also too much. I folded in on myself, held the laptop too hard, and tried not to think about how I’d just blurted out an extremely personal issue to my own boss. “They are,” I said, sitting up, keeping my eyes solely on the screen. “But they’re a dragon, and my mum is my mum.”

“Right.” He clicked his tongue and moved around the table, back to where he was sitting, but, it seemed, not to do any work, but so I’d face him. “You good?”

“Uhm.” The keys clacked loudly in my ears as I sent over an invoice. “Yeah? It's not- not the end of the world, you know?” He had a spot, right below his left eye, that looked sore. Maybe a face cleanser would do him good, I thought numbly. “Life moves on.”

He nodded, slow and thoughtful. He looked concerned.

“True… Doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to be upset.”

Annoyance surged, frustration bubbling beneath my skin

“Yeah, I know,” I clarified, pressing too hard on the key and typing out a long string of the same letter. “But there’s nothing I can do about it. She…” I took a breath, tried to make it quiet. “She didn’t know Hrod would be a dragon. She knew they were, like, not a girl, but not not a—she wasn’t expecting a lizard, and that was too much.” Clack clack. “There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Some people are like that,” he said uselessly, expression still tight, still tense, then suddenly guilty, almost ashamed. “My, uh, my own mates gave me shit when I told them I was going out with a gryphon.”

My fingers stopped moving. I looked over at him. He was blushing. Not a full-on red face, but there was some pink to him.

And out of everything said that day, that was what broke through my barrier of numbness.

“O-Oh. A… Oh wow. Gryphon, really? How’d you meet her?” I sat up just a little straighter. “Him…?”

“Her,” he corrected immediately, giving me a flat look that actually put a smile on my face. “I’m not, uh—”

I blinked, felt a smile on my face and leaned forward. “Uh huh. Not what?” Cheer lurching, some warm kind of acceptance flickering.

“Not into dudes,” he said, squinting just so.

“Sure. That’s what you were going to say.”

His eyes narrowed.

“I was going to call you a ball gargler, but since I’m thirty and we’re in a professional setting, I didn’t.”

God, there was something stupid and lame and high school about the whole thing that made it so good. That he joked about it and didn’t care if I was like that – that forced me to smile so much wider. It wasn’t something to be protected or coddled; what I was just was, and that teasing helped.

“Envy, envy,” I repeated. “So… Uhh. The gryphon?”

He raised a brow and looked down, still a little flustered. “Met her online.” He began typing on his own computer. “I, uh… I—I thought it’d be a laugh. ‘Haha, a bird. This should be good.’ But she’s really sweet. Kinda quiet. We hit it off, went to the park and Costa and just… yeah.”

So unguarded. He’d never so much as told me his favourite colour.

“What’s her name?”

He sniffed, checked a document, typed some more and said, “Eira.”

“That’s a nice name.”

“It is. You’d like her.”

I probably would have.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Cole?”

I pursed my lips. “I’ll manage. I promise. Thank you.” He nodded, and we spoke no more on it.

#

The clothes I bought were decent. Like the man had told me to; A nice white button-up shirt, black trousers and black shoes. I owned a blue tie, so that was left unpurchased. Not too costly, either. And, despite my own internal protests, a haircut.

It felt like a fresh start.

One I was excited for Hrod to notice, one I made sure my hair was perfect for, brushing it into place madly as I stepped through the front door of Sorcha’s home. “Hello?” I said, waving a hand into the darkness. Sorcha was curled up in the living room, tired-looking. She noticed me, gave me a small smile and a nod and pointed her tail in the direction of Hrod’s room.

It was dark, curtains drawn shut, the only light emanated from their phone which they'd propped up atop a desk.

“Yo, Hrod.”

They were leaning over said desk, hunched, shoulder muscles tensed, forelimb moving.

Awkward angle.

“Hrod?”

They flinched, tail swishing, and turned around. “Oh.” Their eyes looked red, tired, and more than a little surprised. “Oh, your hair looks different.” And then the tension faded, the body almost melting into the ground. “It looks really nice.” Warm faced, I stepped over papers and sat beside them.

I chucked my bag onto the nest. “Yep. Big meeting tomorrow, so I had to get all cleaned up. New work clothes, too.” They'd really made a mess. “What's, uh, what's all this?”

“Béatraís said if my presentation was bad, then her sister would kill me.” Slowly, they shuffled forward, crawling almost, to get close enough to droop their head onto my shoulder.

For a long moment, I wondered if I'd heard right. “Presentation?”

They nodded into my neck.

“Clothes idea,” they said. “I… I already messed up in front of your mother, so I wanted to find a way to get us money. But she said to my face that if I show her-”

“The clothes idea!?” I asked, stunned. “T-The one we talked about today?” Another nod I felt more than saw. “You- why…” No. No, I understood why. I'd seen the text message. “Hrod, I'm not that hurting for money. You don't need to try and become a fashion designer today. It's alright.”

“But you don't have a home,” the drake whispered, hitting me right in the chest. “And Sorcha said we can only stay here another week, and it's all my fault.”

“...It’s not. It's really not. It's j- no. Don't ever think that. You didn't ruin anything.” I raised my arms up to hold them. The angle was awkward – they were painfully a dragon – but I did my best just to embrace them. “Besides, even if I didn't have the money, there's always the tent.”

They giggled, snuggling their snout closer. “True. I-I do sleep in it more than I do a bed, but I don't want you to have to.”

“Neither of us will. The text said four for the scuffed one and seven for the proper flat, right? Yeah, I can swing the second.” They stiffened. “It'll, uh, be a little tight on my wallet – we'll totally be on noodles and hot water, but I can do it. I can look after you.” Sniffle. “Hrod? You…”

They held me tighter and refused to let me see their face. Softy.

“...Can't believe you were going to meet with the scary snake lady for me.”

“Shut up.”

“She'd probably have eaten you.”

“Béatraís said if I showed her what I had and asked for money, Kara would have ‘punished’ me for wasting her time. She's already a total bitch, but I think she hates her sister hanging out with mine and, like, takes it out on me. She did all that at the cafe to show off in front of you.”

“What do you mean? Bullying that drake?”

They shuffled, edging closer, pressing me into their smooth chest. “She's—I think she's got something wrong with her. She reeks of musk and pent-up heat, but she never mates. You can't tell because your nose is bad, but it's super fucking gross.”

“Right… So…?”

“She needs to mate really badly, basically. She was hitting on you showing off her ‘power’ or whatever that was.” They chuckled to themselves. “Sorry, that was the longest possible way to say that.”

“Dummy.”

They stopped talking, their breathing slowed, and their head fitted more solidly against my shoulder. I used the lull to pick up a sheet of paper, finding a rough but rather serviceable sketch of a dragon in a hoodie. Small notes on measurements and something about modular zips.

Looked detailed.

…But not something they'd manage in a week. The need to try and help, however – I could feel the care behind it. But I didn't want them to hurt themselves for my sake, especially when it was anything but their fault.

Not worth thinking about.

Seven hundred a month – that was worth paying some mind. I could afford it, if barely. The cheaper one was tempting, especially since water bills were getting high, but it not being exactly legit hurt my opinion. It also meant being kicked out at any time.

There was food to budget, too, and what, two-fifty on bills? Christ.

It also meant living with Hrod full time.

Which I could do, but… well… I'd only known them for about a month. Even I could feel how fast things were moving, desperation aside.

Tuesday. We'd shacked up Sunday and I'd spent each hour afterwards exhausted and stressed.

They were asleep. Sat up. Head atop my shoulder.

It was cute. Distracting.

Cute, cute.

I let them sleep.

Tomorrow's problem. I needed rest as well.

#

12:37, Wednesday, the 6th of March. 2028.

I was on break, sitting to the side, performative notebook open whilst another intern was chattering to me about what he’d done on the weekend. I and Tom had been speaking with the higher-ups about an old industrial area and how far along we were in converting it to residential. My lack of actual qualifications had flared when they began talking about codes and possible contaminants, but Tom was quick to explain, and I was determined to listen.

That, apparently, was more important than knowing outright. Commitment, dedication. But at last I had a break, which I spent entirely on my phone. Hrod had apparently taken a break from working on their business idea to get in touch with Béatraís and sort housing out. Very short notice, but the snake had a rather terrifying pull, and so it would be sorted in a little under a week, if all went well.

The Smarmy Babe.

> Two rooms.

> Kitchen in the living room, bed in living room. Bathroom is separate but quadruped specific, so that’s nice. We'll be squished.

*> Betrys said £700 per calendar month and about £150 on utilities. *

> Wifi free tho.

> I can help. I make about £200 a month with okay sales. Not much but I can put it all to the cost. Sorry.

Cole Macapagal.

> It’s fine lol.

> Don’t need too much space anyway. Money is fine.

The Smarmy Babe.

> ^_^

> I’ll tell her and get the paperwork. ❤

Cole Macapagal.

> TY xxx

Back to work, despite still being on lunch, I took my notepad back out for the fiftieth time, rereading what each code meant. A laptop would have been better, but it was awkward to carry, and being on my phone, even whilst working, might've looked bad.

Pen and pad it was.

Tom found me later, still making awkward notes, and dragged me over to meet the department heads we'd not yet spoken with, all of them oddly eager to meet me, all of them telling just how much my boss had bragged about me: how quickly I’d taken to it and how much easier I made his job. They even knew about the ‘projects’ I’d idly mentioned wanting to do.

But then the sniping. Not directed at me, of course, nor Tom, never us. We were the cogs that got work done for the city, according to Tom. Too unimportant to even mock.

“We’re still waiting on a full contaminants report for that site. Without it, residential is a little optimistic.” The man had said it casually, almost too easily, masking his expression with a drink.

Tom nodded, thoughtful, just a little tired. “We know that. We’ve got the records, but yeah, we’re still working on it. It’ll get done; don’t worry.”

The same man, seemingly not quite satisfied with his answer, turned to me, the awkward little boy with his notebook and Primark shirt. “You’re looking at the old records, right? Did you see anything worth flagging? Tom skimping out on us?”

My chest flushed with nerves, all eyes on me.

“No. Nothing like that. He’s been good.”

That got a laugh. Fleeting, but warm. We separated, and as we did, Tom leaned in. “Make a note to follow up with Environmental on the Phase One report. End of week, at the latest, please, mate. They’ve not communicated properly again. That could have been fucked.”

I nodded, quite literally making a note of it.

And then, of course, naturally, par for the course, as I was very quickly learning.

“If Planning hadn’t pushed the timeline-”

“If Environmental answered emails-”

Tom stepped forward, hands raised, smile pleasant and plastic.

“We’re all under pressure. Let’s not do this here.”

Then, to me.

“You’ve got the latest email chain, right?”

Receipt keeper. I’d take it. It was something. Worth having, worth paying – enough for a home with Hrod. I nodded. “Yes. I archived them just in case. I could send them over now if need be.”

“No, no. Later. Appreciate it though.” Tom then checked his watch; a nice one. Ostentatious for someone like him, but he always took care of it. “Right. We’ve got another session to get to.” Soft dismissal, one said as he looked me in the eye. I swallowed, nodded and followed. But then, Tom, voice low and neutral-toned: “You don’t offer documentation in the middle of a room like that.”

“Sorry,” I winced.

“It’s fine; it’s just, like I always said, all about appearances. You’re alright, though. Don’t worry.” He took me over to the drinks table, poured himself a mug of boiling hot coffee and took a sip without even waiting for it to cool. “Good you archived it, though.”

“Oh. No, no. I didn’t.”

He raised a brow.

“It's Gmail,” I explained. “It keeps them anyway. I'd just search ‘environmental.’ I only said it like that to sound more official.”

It took him a moment.

“Hah! Clever lad. It's a shame we've got you stuck on the internship.”

Money.

“Yeah… No cars yet.”

He nodded, passed me a coffee and leaned back against the edge of the cheap white table. “I'd say money's tight, but it's really not. There's just nothing in the budget for you to move up. Not enough experience either.”

I sipped my – dear god – far too hot drink, put the pad back into my work bag and mimicked his gesture. “I get it.”

“You're on… what, twelve hundred a month?”

“Mm.” Another sip. Too strong as well. Holy Lord. “One day I can buy a Ferrari.”

“One day.”

Seven hundred on rent. One-fifty utilities. Another hundred, maybe even two, for food. Left… two hundred for savings, not including any other purchase. No meals out, no treats, no-

Bus pass.

Eighty a month for my bus pass.

I'd forgotten about it completely.

Still doable. Barely. Just barely. If everything went perfectly, we'd make it.

We'd.

We.

Like we'd been married for years and not dating for three days.

“You're doing good, though. You just need time, that's all. Once the year is up, or we finish a major project, I'll put a word in for you; see if we can get you full time.”

“Can I get a bus pass?” I asked. “Or can the city, like, get me free buses?”

He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “Do you not want me to pick you up any more? It wasn't a bother, mate – it was on the way to Gregg's anyway.”

“No, no! It was cool,” I said quickly. “I-I've just had to move is all. And it's pretty far away, is all.” I internally winced at the repetition but kept going. “And I heard some council workers get free passes.”

The look he gave me. I'd never forget it.

Impossible to describe as anything other than fury_._

“...I'm not sure, but I'll try.”

He had another drink, swallowed like it was hard liquor. Nothing more was said, just that small promise. I believed him, gave him a quick thanks, and we continued mingling, meeting others, and trying not to sweat through my new shirt.

A couple of comments about my race, all of them positive in that awkward, vaguely insulting way, but I ignored them. I had bigger worries.

I wondered what Hrod was up to.

I wondered what tomorrow would bring, if we'd get the place.

If everything would go okay.

If if if.

#

Chapter 6 - Part 2.

15:15, Friday, the 29th of March. 2028.

-----

We did.

It'd been a mess moving everything into the cramped flat. Hrod’s steadily building work supplies took up an entire district of the living area and grew with each passing day.

Like we'd both expected, money proved to be an issue. We'd been as frugal as was possible, which left us just enough for coffee in the morning, lactose-free on their part, but aside from that we were careful. Their scale oil was used sparingly, much to their wounded pride, but I always told them they were pretty enough.

The shed scales, however, were the biggest pain.

“Hrod!” I shouted, hopping on one leg and pointing a shaking hand at the dragon-wife sitting on the sofa, laid back, watching TV. “Fucking scales again. Look!”

Sometimes literally.

They looked over.

“Look!” With my hand on a wall, I raised my leg higher, showing off my foot and the sharp, air-hardened scale embedded in the skin. “Hoover, please. I will pay you.”

A little sheepish, but still themselves, they said, “Ah, don't be such a hatchling, babe. It's just a little… embedded shard of hardened hide.”

They hopped over the cheap sofa we'd stolen from a neighbour and sat beside me, sharp claws unsheathed and pinched tight as they caught the scale, carefully but swiftly extracting it. “Evil creature.” I wiggled the limb and put weight back onto it.

“Sorry. I think I paced it out. Finally got a volunteer, but she's, uh… she doesn't have wings.”

“Huh?” No blood, just soreness. It had been a fine scale, probably from the side of their neck. “Yeah, no dip. Spiny-”

“Archon,” they said, butting in. “She is an Archon without wings, Cole. I figured it would be a statement, but now I'm realising Kara is a fucking lunatic who will think I am mocking her.”

I slumped down on the sofa and turned up the mockumentary they were watching to a human level of hearing. “I still don't get it.”

They followed me. “She's trans, you dipstick. I, uh, canvassed-”

“Stalked.”

“Canvassed that college looking for an Archon.”

“Yeah, I remember. Found some quiet girl who ‘looked desperate and alone’ and offered shelter within the woolly confines of a hoodie. Very Ted Bundy.”

“...No, yeah, I did actually say that; I have no defense. The point is I'm second-guessing myself.” They joined me on the cushions, stretching out, tail hanging limp off the edge. “Either Kara doesn't care, just sees how good the prototype looks on her and how much more confident she looks, or she goes, ‘What is this? Why-’ No. Wait. Shit. She- ohh no, she wouldn't care.”

Lost, I looked over at them, at their wide eyes and slack jaw.

“Is your brain melting again?”

“No. It's the best case. Why would she even know Meyr is trans? She might just think she's some super feminine drake.”

I stretched my legs out. “I really think you're overthinking this. Just show her what you made and go through your presentation nice and professionally.”

They chewed their claws, expressions tense. “I can't cancel on her either; it took ages to convince her. She doesn't even know who Kara-Cerys is.”

“Problem solved.” I leaned back, rested my right leg over my left and put the subtitles on, since I figured they were going to keep talking. The move had snipped some of their snarky edge off, replacing it with nerves and worry. “You get the deal, that place on Seventh, and boom, we're swimming in it. Well, you are; you did literally all of the work.”

They snuggled in closer. “Hoodies were your idea,” they said, causing me to roll my eyes and give them a quick peck on the head. “And it won't make us super rich. Small market, just pricey.”

“Honestly? As long as you're happy.”

They looked up at me, coral-coloured eyes sparkling.

“Plus, you've got your figurines if things don't work out. That lindwyrm one I got ages ago still looks really dope. And didn't you sell a full chess set once?”

They nodded into my chest.

“There you go then. Everything will be okay,” I lied.

We were barely afloat. All it took was one emergency. The bus pass Tom had secured me not only worked only on certain lines but also wouldn't be ready for at least another month.

“Mmm. If Kara eats me, I'm blaming you.”

“Hoover first.”

“...Fine.”

They hoovered, reminding me how hilarious it was to see a quadruped balancing whilst I cooked a cheap, low-effort dish my mum had taught me ages back; all the while, I did my best not to think about her.

Change was a part of life. Chaos. It never remained stagnant. She'd left her own life behind because she wanted a better one, and so had I.

I had Hrod and Sorcha, Tom and even-

My phone buzzed, nearly throwing itself off the side and onto the floor. I caught it, my other hand still mixing the noodles and egg. It was Ethan.

Ethan 4.

> Moving up the lunch to two weeks from now if you’re not gay.

> Absolutely dead over here.

> No joke. Might actually move back. It’s that bad.

I chuckled, both hands now on the Android.

Cole Macapagal.

> Oof.

> Yeah I should be free. I work all weekday but finish at 3 on Fridays.

> Kinda want Mcdonalds now tho.

And then, because I realised I sounded like I didn’t care about his life, I made sure to continue. I struggled with that sometimes. Selfishness. Or maybe just being nineteen.

> Work should be decent to find tho. Jobcentre is actual aids, but you’ve got uni qualifications, right? Should be alright.

Ethan 4.

> Yeah hopefully.

> Mcdonalds yeah. Train arrives at 2:45 so you might have to hang around for a bit before me.

Cole Macapagal.

> All good.

It’s the one right outside the city council building. I’ll send Google Maps.

Ethan 4.

> Nice one. Heading out now. TTYL.

We both sent a quick ‘cya’ and dipped from the convo. I wondered if we’d see that gryphon again, the one Tom had caught me staring at – the one who dissected fish. Should be fun, I told myself as I continued the meal.

#

10:27, Saturday, the 30th of March. 2028.

“Right. That’s good, that’s good.” It really was; Meyr suited the hoodie better than I expected her to. The stark blue stood out nicely against her dull grey scales. The white mane was a little difficult to manage, but making it baggier around the torso worked fine.

She nodded, though her dark violet eyes were darting around madly, making it look like she was getting ready to bolt. It let me, in the lull, take her in one last time.

Big eyes, fine features, slim. Archons, even females, were broad, powerful creatures, but Meyr could have passed for a mix. Serpentine, almost, with not one, not two, but three pairs of horns, nearly a crest. Cruel as it was to think, she’d have made a spectacular drake.

Cute hen, at least, and she seemed to practically melt into the hoodie, digging into the prototype, tugging on it, and shaking herself to get her scales used to the fabric. She didn’t seem the type for vanity, so I wondered if it was emotional, if being covered up was what she wanted, and if I could market that.

“Is it good? Feel nice? Not too snug?”

She shook her head and tugged on a cuff.

“Meyr, honey. Words, please.”

“...It’s good,” she answered quietly. Her voice was scratchy and soft, like she didn’t trust herself to speak. “Warm.”

“Mm. That’s good. It’s meant to be.” I reached over to pull on the hood. It was decorative for the time being. “All you've got to do is stand by the board and look pretty. I'll go through everything. Afterwards you can go free, and if I get the grant, you'll have all the hoodies you could want.”

She laughed, soft and grating, like I was joking, her eyes still on the ground, paw still tugging at the sleeve.

Time ticked on, but still it wasn't our time. Béatraís had actually warned against showing up early. Like her sister was some dangerous creature you had to watch yourself around, and not simply some jumped-up sociopath with weight issues and too-big fangs.

I still listened to her. Kara could have spat on me and I'd still have taken her money. I wasn't stupid, I listened, I saw; how often Cole counted the pennies, how he gave me larger portions so I wouldn't feel hungry.

…I'd do anything, take whatever humiliation just at the chance of success, at purpose.

A little shakier than before, I sat my flanks down, made sure I smelt good – I'd unfortunately had to make sure my temporary ward was clean too. Like all college students, the hen had been a smidge… . Musty. Doritos and sadness.

I walked over to her, tugged the zipper down a half-inch, exposing some of her soft violet underside. She blushed and looked away but let me do it. Just a bit of scale was all – anything to make her look just a little better and both of us just a little more presentable.

And then we sat down one last time, both relaxing, my own eyes closed. Her breathing was audible, heavy, and a little nasal. It ruined my concentration. “So… How’s school going?” I asked, needing something. “Those sketches you showed me were nice. The, uh, wizard.”

She nodded, sniffed, and pawed at the ground.

“He, um… He’s my character in Divinity 2. Elf. For the flesh sacrifice ability.” She nodded and pawed again. “Necromancy. It’s cool.” At last she looked up, eyes wide with want. “You like it?”

“Necromancy?” I asked, not really all that curious, more happy that she was talking. “Like… raising the dead? Or… Sorry, hah… I don’t play many games. My mate would probably know more; he’s really good with computers.”

She squeaked. Like, actually made an audible, high-pitched sound. So out of nowhere and silly, it made me laugh despite myself. “W-What?” I chortled. “Are you really that surprised I can land a mate? My poor maiden’s heart.”

“No, no. You – It’s just. You said he, right?”

Oh.

“Yeah. His name’s Cole; he’s a human. Works for the council.”

Blush. Adorable.

“Meyr, please don’t tell me you’re, uh… A little funny about that. No offence, honey, but you’re not exactly… standard.”

“I-I know, I just- like. You don’t… umm… You just told me? Like, just told me.”

I paused, because something about that sentence didn’t feel entirely right.

“Yeah?”

She didn’t answer. I got the hint. “Ah. Yeah, of course. I just told you.”

Another nod. No continuation; I didn’t mind. She’d figure it out someday, I hoped.

Eventually, however, we were called into the meeting room – a large, square room with four seating cushions in one corner, a table in the centre and no windows. The lack of natural light, I assumed, was for intimidation. My supplies were by the table, hidden beneath a drape, my blackboard and notes flipped over for the sake of suspense. A show for them, life for me.

Kara-Cerys, Béatraís, some blue kobold and another lindwyrm I didn’t recognise at a glance. Dark blue scales. Hard to tell, but they seemed female – it was always hard to tell with snakes.

“Oh,” began Cerys immediately, eyes falling onto Meyr. “He’s cute.”

Meyr froze.

Not subtly at all. Not in a polite, social way. A full-on prey lock: shoulders hunched, tail going rigid behind her, purple eyes wide. She’d been braced for hostility — for scrutiny, disgust, bureaucracy, I'd told her to be — but not that. Not casual appraisal, tossed out like a coin, mingled with misgendering.

I prayed she'd let it slide just the once.

Béatraís shot her sister a warning look. “Cerys.”

“What?” Kara-Cerys said, unbothered. She leaned back into her coils, chin in her small claw. Her gaze stayed on Meyr, slow and invasive. “I’m allowed to notice. He’s… what, young? My age? Maybe a little less?”

Meyr made a small noise. I stepped in before she could answer.

“They're modelling,” I said. “For the product.”

Cerys’ eyes flicked to me, sharp. “Didn’t ask you.”

Then back to Meyr. “You nervous, pretty boy?”

Meyr swallowed. “I—”

“Uh-uh.” She lifted a claw. “I didn’t say speak. I'm stating.”

A beat. Meyr nodded once.

She smiled, sharp teeth showing. Not kind. “Perfect.”

The blue kobold was already scribbling, head down. The other lindwyrm, dark blue, older, and with a posture tight with a kind of professionalism, watched the exchange without intervening. Testing, maybe.

Béatraís stepped in. “Cerys, we’re here to evaluate a proposal.”

“And I am,” Cerys replied lightly. “I’m evaluating the presentation.”

Her gaze flicked pointedly to Meyr again. “He’s part of it.”

I moved to the table, deliberately putting myself between her line of sight and Meyr. Not blocking. That would have escalated things.

“If you’re ready,” I said slowly, “I can begin.”

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “You’re the designer.”

“Yes.”

“And he’s… What? Your assistant?”

Meyr flinched.

“The reason this exists,” I said, careful of pronouns.

Cerys laughed. “Oh, that’s precious.”

Béatraís exhaled through her nose, clearly fighting the urge to drag her sister out by the horns.

“Go on,” Cerys said, waving a claw. “Show me what you’ve got. Impress me.”

I flipped the board.

The black surface came down with a soft clack, revealing my diagrams: segmented seams and notes scrawled in both English and Reonic. I took a breath.

“This is adaptive outerwear,” I began. “Designed for draconic and avian bodies. The seams are offset to prevent ridge abrasion. The fabric is layered to manage temperature without triggering shedding responses. It's meant for scales and feathers, not skin.”

Cerys leaned forward.

“And the fit?” she asked. “Because most ‘adaptive’ clothing I've seen online looks like a sack.”

“It doesn’t,” I said.

I nodded to Meyr.

She hesitated, then obeyed. Stepping forward, turning slowly. The hoodie moved with her; clean lines, no bunching.

Cerys’ eyes tracked every inch, long tongue flicking out to taste the air, nostrils flaring.

“Interesting,” she murmured. “It actually works.”

“Yes,” I said. “It does.”

She stood, uncoiling, and circled us without asking. Up close, her size was more obvious. Weight with power and length beyond either of us. Entirely muscle. Meyr went rigid again, breath shallow. Her presence was overwhelming — taller, heavier and more confident.

She reached out with a gloved paw.

I moved instantly. “Don’t touch-”

Too late. Her claw brushed the fabric at her shoulder, testing the give.

“Relax,” she said. “I’m not biting.” She pinched the seam and tugged. “Good stitching.”

Meyr looked like she would throw up.

“Cerys,” Béatraís said, voice tight. “Enough.”

Cerys withdrew her claw slowly, sharp eyes never leaving Meyr’s face. “He’s jumpy.”

“He’s under pressure,” Béatraís shot back. “Like anyone would be.”

Cerys straightened, expression sharpening. “You’re very protective of your friends.”

“He’s not… That doesn't matter,” Béatraís said.

Cerys laughed again, but there was an edge to it now. “Right. So what is this, then? A little passion project? Two boys playing dress-up?”

Meyr’s claws dug into the ground, unsheathed.

“This isn’t a game,” I said. “It’s a business proposal. I know how you've helped others in the borough.”

“Is it?” she asked. “Because I don’t hear sales. I hear feelings and one admittedly nice prototype.”

I clicked to the next board. Numbers. Costs. Margins. Conservative projections.

“This is a small-run model,” I said. “Deliberately. Lower risk. Higher unit cost, but a stable market.”

“Stable?” Cerys scoffed. “You’re selling to… misfits?”

“To people,” I corrected. “Who needs some expression. Think younger dragons who want to express themselves. Dragons who don't feel totally comfortable in their own scales. I know what that's like.”

The lindwyrm spoke for the first time. “Unique markets can be lucrative. You yourself enjoy playing dress-up. I figured you'd jump for this.”

Cerys shot her a glare. “I didn’t ask you.”

“No,” the lindwyrm said calmly. “But you invited me to observe.”

Cerys’ jaw tightened. She turned back to me, expression calming. “And what do you want?”

“Funding for equipment,” I said. “Workspace. A short lease to prove viability.”

“And control?” she asked.

I hesitated. Too long.

She smiled. “There it is.”

“I-I can't give up creative control,” I said. “That defeats the purpose.”

“Everything has a price,” Cerys said. “Even ideals.”

She glanced at Meyr again. “Especially when you’re pretty.”

Meyr snapped.

“Stop it,” she said. Quiet. Hoarse. But solid.

The room went still.

Cerys stared at her, then chuckled. “Oh, he talks.”

Meyr shook, but she didn’t back down. “I-I’m not part of the pitch,” he said. “Stop using me…”

“That’s enough, Cerys.”

For a moment, I thought she might actually push it further. Her eyes glittered with the thrill of dominance, of seeing how far she could go.

Then she leaned back, exhaling.

“Fine,” she said. “You’re right. I was being… distracting.”

Béatraís didn’t look convinced.

Cerys steepled her claws. “Here’s my offer. Trial run. Limited funding. Space on the first floor. Short lease.”

My heart slammed into my ribs.

“But”, she continued, “I want quarterly reports. I want veto power on expansion. And best of all, twenty percent.”

I swallowed. The part ownership was hefty. Painful. “I can work with that.”

She grinned. “Good. I like boys who know when to compromise.”

Meyr looked sick. Alive, but sick.

The meeting ended shortly after. Paperwork promised. Contacts exchanged. Cerys swept out first, satisfied, victorious in her own mind.

As the door closed, Meyr sagged against the wall, shaking.

“You did well,” Béatraís murmured to both of us, her focus on the doors her siblings had departed through.

Meyr nodded, eyes shut, breathing hard.

But it had worked.

Pains aside, it had really worked.

I escorted Meyr, who was still shaky, back home. I had to take the hoodie off of, but I promised her I’d get her an even better one when I noticed how suddenly naked she seemed without it.

Her parents, an older pair of Archons, didn’t seem too happy to see me, and I was more than a little hesitant to leave her with them, but she wasn’t much younger than me, and I couldn’t do anything.

I promised to stay in contact.

Dinner at home was stew, which Cole had apparently been preparing all day, along with drinks he'd bought to celebrate my win.

“Nah,” He said, wiping the cider froth from his chin. I'd asked what he'd have done with the booze if I'd failed. “I knew you'd smash it. Never even crossed my mind that you'd fail.”

I looked at him, he looked back at me.

“...It was for making you feel better.”

“Hah!” I barked, pointing a claw at him. “You thought I'd fail. I knew it! You just want me here to cook and clean for you. Mhmhm. Not very nice.”

“I mean…” His head tipped to one side, a grin tugging at his lips. ”You don’t cook and you don’t clean.”

“That is slander,” I snapped back, unable to stop the smile from sneaking into my voice.

“My bad, my bad. You microwave aggressively, which is… kind of amazing considering you lived in a tent for so long.”

My cheeks flushed, ears twitching. “Low blow!”

He snorted, shoulders shaking before passing me my bowl of stew anyway. We ate like that, half buzzed, too close, flat too small and family still difficult. The stew was good. Too good for how simple it was. Root vegetables, something slow and rich underneath. Effort, but not spectacle.

For a moment, my thoughts drifted — His mother, the way things were still… unfinished, words still hanging unsaid somewhere far behind us. The rejection didn’t stab like it used to. More like a dull pressure. A fact. Somewhere else I’d been. Somewhere I wasn’t.

I took another bite.

Cole hummed quietly to themselves, nodding, as if he was impressed by his own cooking skills. Comfortable. Here. Like this was normal. Like it could keep being normal if we just kept doing the next small thing.

We didn’t talk much after that. Just ate. Let the day settle. Let the win be a win.

Eventually, the bowls were empty.

And life, unresolved as ever, went on.

#

Gryphon Feathers - Chapter 0.

15:10, Friday, the 13th of April, 2028.

-----

McDonalds. Cheap, easy. Very neutral. Right outside of work, too, with the peeling paint and the gryphon whose name I was dangerously close to asking for. Hrod was at the shop, still setting up tables, obsessively sorting displays and making sure their tailors were perfect.

I, meanwhile, kept working. Kept making sure I looked as good as I could in front of Tom, the higher-ups, and even the interns. I had to be indispensable, immaculate.

The shop wouldn’t be profitable for months, according to Béatraís. Years, maybe. It was all on me for the time being, and normally that would break me, but this once, just this once, I welcomed it. We were afloat, so all my effort was in progressing.

Work didn’t have the budget for moving up? I’d show them I was worth it.

But then, mid-ramble, the doors opened, and in stepped my friend, trying his best not to jog, to not seem cheesy. He was tall and dark-skinned with light, almost hazel-coloured eyes, sporting a sleek black raincoat and blue jeans. I kept my eyes on my phone, pretending I couldn’t see him, like we were both five again.

Wordlessly, he slid into the seat across from me. "Yo," he began, unable to stop himself from grinning, "I hear you've been hanging out with dragons. What's that like?"

I paused mid-dip, the slightly cold chicken nugget dripping in barbecue sauce held between my fingers. "Who told you that?" I asked, playing along.

"Doesn't matter," he said, waving me off. "What's it like?"

Shrugging, I popped the nugget in my mouth. "It's... different."

"Different how?" Ethan pressed. "What, do they have weird dragon quirks or something? Like, do they hoard gold and breathe fire when they're mad? I've only met a few."

"Not really," I snorted.

For a moment, he looked like he’d continue, but after his eyes roamed the dining room, he paused. "Wait," he said, voice low, "what's that?"

I glanced over, immediately catching on. The gryphon sat at her table, talons methodically dismantling a Fillet-O-Fish, and Ethan couldn’t stop staring.

"I think she lives here," I said. "Always here whenever me and Hrod or Tom come. She always gets the same thing, too--a Fillet-O-Fish--and then she does… whatever that is.”

The wrapper had been carefully torn open, and she was now using a single talon to strip the breading from the fish patty with unnerving precision. The top bun lay discarded on the tray, along with the tartar sauce and lettuce, all neatly separated like she was dissecting her prey.

"Why doesn't she just order it plain?" He continued, still unable to look away.

"A friend of mine said that it triggers some kind of primal hunting instinct." It had been Béatraís, who had an encyclopaedic knowledge for mythical creatures, one she liked bragging about whilst me and my mate were sorting fabric.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Something about the process makes it more satisfying, apparently."

We both watched as she worked, completely engrossed in her ritual. By now, she'd peeled the patty free from all traces of breading and held it up to the light, examining it like a jeweller appraising a diamond. Then, with a snap of her beak, she devoured it whole.

"Okay, yeah, that was kind of amazing," he admitted, almost flushed.

"See?" I said, feeling myself grin. "I told you it's cool."

"Cool is one word for it," my friend muttered. "But seriously, what's she doing with that fillet? You think she—"

"Maybe it's a kink," I interjected, evil thoughts bubbling up.

"A kink?" He repeated, laughing.

"Sure," I muttered, leaning in close. "The way she's handling that fillet... Maybe she finishes the ritual by, I don't know, putting it between her lips."

"They have beaks, you idiot," Ethan replied, clearly exasperated.

…

"...Wait," he said, narrowing his eyes. "You're not talking about beaks anymore, are you?"

I didn’t answer. It took an immense effort.

"You're sick."

I felt a laugh trying to escape at just how horrified he looked, but the sound died in my throat as we both glanced back at the gryphon hen. She wasn't dissecting her fish anymore. She was staring directly at him.

Her sharp, cerulean eyes locked onto his hazel ones, and the way she tilted her head ever so slightly made it clear she'd noticed something interesting about him. She rose gracefully, her wings shifting slightly, and began walking toward our table.

"Uh... she's coming over." Instinctively, he sat up straighter.

"Yep," I muttered, voice low, nerves creeping in.

The avian stopped just short of the table, her movements deliberate and smooth, talons clicking faintly against the tiles. She looked between us for a moment, but her gaze settled on me. She leaned in slightly, sniffing once, long and slow.

I felt myself shift uncomfortably, fingers drumming against the table. "Can we help you?" She was smaller than Hrod, and even the serpents I’d met, barely chest high.

The gryphon's eyes narrowed, and she recoiled slightly, a soft huff escaping her beak. Her feathers fluffed faintly as she straightened, fixing me with a disdainful look. Without a word, she reached into the small bag slung across her side, pulled out a business card, and extended it to Ethan, who sat back, gormless.

"You seem like the responsible one," she said smoothly, her voice rich and lilting. "You should have this. Keep it safe."

"Hey!" I snapped, half-offended, half stunned.

She ignored me entirely, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer. Then, with a flick of her feline tail, she turned and strode back to her table, her wings rustling faintly as she moved.

Ethan stared down at the card in his hand, turning it over, dumbfounded. I couldn’t read it from where I was sitting, but it must’ve been important.

Gryphon. Smell.

Oh.

It hit me. I groaned, rubbing a hand over my tired face. "She smelt Hrod,” I muttered.

"What?" He asked, completely lost.

"She smelt Hrod," I repeated, able to hear the tiredness in my own voice. "Dragons and gryphons don't exactly get along. And, uh... I guess I reek of them right now."

"Reek of—hold on, what?"

I felt myself hesitate. It was hard to explain without sounding a little gross. "Dragons are... kind of territorial," I said, choosing my words carefully. "They, uh, leave scents. It's a whole thing."

He stared at me, through me, appalled. "So she just gave me her number because you smell like your …"

"Pretty much," I said, grabbing another nugget. "You're welcome, by the way."

"Welcome? How do you even live like this?"

I smiled, leaning back in my chair to try to get some movement in me to dissipate the nerves. We were close, but I never knew how much to give away, even to friends. "Carefully."

"You know," he said suddenly, eyes on me, "you seem... different."

I paused, not sure how to take it.

"Different how?"

"I don't know. Calmer. Like… Yeah, I don’t know."

He was right. In a way I was. Or maybe I hadn’t changed; maybe I’d just become more myself, or maybe some of Hrod’s confidence had bled into me. Maybe nothing. "Been through some stuff lately."

"Like what? Dragon drama?" He was joking, but there was a genuine curiosity behind his words.

My pride flickered. Thoughts of Mum and the future flitted through, but I held fast. "Something like that. Made some… realisations… And I like them."

“Realisations?" He repeated, placing his chin in his palm. “Like what? That you like dragons?”

"Yeah," I nodded. My chest hurt. I hadn’t told him what exactly I’d realised. He was straight, too. We’d both made gay jokes, some harsh, but… "K-Kinda. Hrod. They…” I stopped, strings cut, too weak. He was looking at me. Not exactly judgemental, just curious. “Helped…”

He nodded, trying to focus on his food.

…It felt weird.

Sure, I didn’t care what others felt about me. I was old enough to know my life was my own, but that didn’t mean the idea of him rejecting me didn’t hurt. Not that he was, nor did I think he ever would.

“I, uh, moved out.” I tapped the table with the flat of my palm. “Convinced the internship to keep me full-time, so I’m making enough to afford it.”

That surprised him. "Wow. Nice. What brought all that on?"

"Hrod helped," I admitted. "Being around them makes me want to do more, you know? So we can both have better lives." He waited a moment, eating his food and focusing on the card. I ate my own food, wondered what Hrod was up to, and wondered what Ethan would think of them.

I also wondered what the gryphon was thinking. The way she’d looked at Ethan, it had been almost predatory, almost animalistic. Either way, it wasn’t my life, nor story.