FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The morning found Marco before Marco even had the chance to find himself.

Sunlight had already crossed the floor, conquered the walls, and was making its way toward his face. The light continually slipped over a pair of beat-up Vans before reaching the edge of an unmade bed. Somewhere near the window, his speaker was still playing music. Low. Mellow. Something R&B enough to make the room feel deeper than it actually was.

The dorm smelled like coffee grounds, detergent, a hint of bad decisions, and an ocean breeze drifting through a crack in the window.

Ch.1 - The Worst Guys

Marco slowly creaked an eye open. The other followed close behind. He stayed still for a second, letting his brain turn back on piece by piece. Only then did he notice the breathing behind him.

He carefully turned to his side. Jasmine had stolen his pillow sometime during the night and was now hugging it like it wasn’t his. Half of her curls covered her face. One arm was tucked beneath the pillow, the other wrapped around it tight enough that Marco wasn’t completely sure he could win it back without a court order.

He stared at her for a second. She slept peacefully. Good for her.

Marco turned back toward the ceiling. His thoughts slowly sorted themselves. Jasmine shifted beside him.

Time to escape.

He eased himself out of bed one inch at a time. The mattress creaked. As Jasmine shifted again, Marco froze. Jasmine murmured something in her sleep. He waited. Nothing moved. Sweet.

He moved again, slower this time. One leg out. The other followed. The blanket tried to catch around his ankle at the last second. Nice try. That trick had worked way too many times before.

With one final creak, the bed released him. Finally free.

Marco stood there for half a second, shirtless, barefoot, squinting at his own room. His room looked like somebody had robbed a laundromat, panicked halfway through, and left plastic water bottles as evidence.

Clothes were everywhere. Bottles were everywhere. His basketball was somehow hiding near his guitar.

“Great… I really, really don't want to clean right now.”

His hands started grabbing clothes anyway.

He grabbed a hoodie. Hamper. He grabbed a soccer jersey. Hamper. He grabbed some drawstring shorts. Missed. Good enough. Jasmine’s clothes… Those he set neatly on the edge of the bed.

Eventually, most of the floor felt normal again. Except for the clothes that missed the hamper, which were sitting there looking stupid.

Marco stared at them. They stared back with animosity.

With a sigh, he defeatedly walked over to pick up his failed attempts of greatness. He picked them up too. For real now, the floor was clean.

Next came the desk.

Empty water bottles. Sticky notes. A sketchbook covered in stickers of constellations. His astronomy textbook sat open beneath everything, pages marked up with notes that had started organized and slowly turned into some kind of ancient language only he could read.

He brushed his fingers over the sketchbook. Instead, he grabbed a bottle.

Crunch.

Jasmine shifted. Marco froze… Nothing. Crunch. Still nothing. “...Last one,” he whispered.

Cruuuuuuunch.

Marco glanced back again…

No change.

Sweet.

The bottles went into the trash. The stickies stayed. Procrastinating was easier when color-coded.

Marco crossed to the closet. Soccer jerseys. Graphic tees. Drawstring shorts. That was pretty much it.

He pulled out a white Inter Miami jersey, one of the cleanest ones; grabbed black cotton shorts; and put on his white Adidas shoes. Instead of getting dressed, he folded everything over the chair.

Below, near the edge of his bed, his skateboard peeked out. He walked over and nudged it slightly. It disappeared into the dark. Now, the room was looking… Alright.

He went back to his desk for his phone. His elbow knocked the sketchbook straight off the edge because the stars had apparently enjoyed comedy, which was news to him.

The pages flapped open before they hit the floor with a thud. Marco stared down. The summer night sky stared back.

He stared at the floor for a moment. His gaze drifted back to Jasmine. Her face kept that same soft expression as before.

He crouched, picked up the sketchbook, and studied the drawing for a second. Marco’s eyes met with the sketched Hercules. A small smile tugged at his face.

“Not bad… but you’re still crooked as hell.”

Hercules played the silent game. As usual.

Marco closed the sketchbook and put it back on the desk. He grabbed his phone off the charger and crept out of the bedroom.

The living room air conditioning hit his bare chest immediately. A chill ran down his spine as he crossed into the kitchen. If it could even be called a kitchen, there wasn’t even a microwave! So basically, a kitchen with prejudice.

His bare feet touched cold tile, and he almost turned around right there. Though he was starving, the winner was decided before the challenge even happened. Marco opened the fridge. Cold air rolled out like the place had been hiding Antarctica behind the door. His shivering hands grabbed a carton of eggs and butter and quickly left the below-zero environment for the less chilly, but still kind of cold, kitchen.

He set both on the counter, then crouched to grab a pan from the cabinet. A sticky note waited inside. He leaned in to read closely.

“Buy tortillas.”

Marco stared at it. “Oh. Yeah. I should do that.” The thought left his brain instantly when he grabbed the pan.

Above him, another sticky note clung to the cabinet. It read…

Call mom.

He stared at it for a couple seconds before pulling it free. His thumb rested on the note. Later, he thought.

Marco folded it once and slipped it into his pocket. The note lingered in his mind a moment too long.

He grabbed a whisk, a spatula, and a mixing bowl. Salt. Pepper. No cheese. No ham. No peppers. Nothing exciting. Broke people omelette is still an omelette. Appreciate the craft.

He cracked the first egg into the bowl. Crack! Clean. Second egg. Crack! Also clean. Two for two. Gordon Ramsay would probably still call him an idiot, but statistically, this was going great.

Marco whisked until the yolks turned smooth. Added salt and pepper. Set the pan on the stove. Butter melted slowly and began bubbling at the edges.

That was his cue. The eggs hit the pan with a soft hiss.

Absolutely spectacular.

Marco tilted the pan, guiding the liquid toward the edges with the spatula. The yellow sea shifted. The spatula defended the border. Civilization rose from chaos. Soon, the liquid became solid. Peace returned to the kingdom! A golden age was born—

“Mmm… Marco?” A voice echoed from behind.

Marco sighed. The kingdom collapsed.

He turned. His eyes met a figure wrapped in a blanket, a hand rubbing an eye, and messy, curly hair. She had sat up in his bed and was now looking toward the kitchen. She looked half asleep and completely confused.

“Morning sunshine,” Marco said, amused at the sight.

“...Is someone cooking?”

Marco’s eyes returned to the pan.

“I sure hope so. I'm soooooo hungry. " The spatula resumed moving.

“...”

“Marco…”

His eyes stayed focused on the pan. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“You’re the only other person here.”

The spatula paused. A second later it resumed. “Oh,” a smile crept across Marco’s face. “Then yeah.”

A minute later, Jasmine sat across from him at the tiny dining table that was really just a table pretending to have purpose. Two very simple omelettes. Two plates. No forks that matched. The good life.

Marco slid into the “dining room” chair, opposite of Jasmine.

Jasmine stared down at the food. “So you cook?”

Marco pointed his fork at her. “Since I was a kid. It’s just something I know how to do.”

Jasmine paused for a fraction of a second, trying to read his expression. Marco ignored it and dug into his omelette.

“Are… Are you trying to impress me?”

A small chuckle escaped Marco. He shook his head. “Nah.”

“Good.” Jasmine continued into her food.

Marco stayed focused on his food. “I mean, why would I?” He stabbed a piece of omelette. “We literally just slept together.”

Jasmine let out a small smile. “Fair enough.”

They ate. Forks scrapped against plates. Small talk happened every so often, not romantic, not awkward, and only until both plates were picked clean. Marco stood up and collected the dishes. Jasmine continued to ask questions.

“You cook for everybody?”

Marco made his way to the kitchen. “Only people I accidentally let stay the night.”

“...Accidentally?”

“I mean, you kinda invited yourself,” Marco said as he set the dishes into the sink.

Jasmine rolled her eyes. “You are such a liar.”

Marco smiled softly. “Little bit.”

Silence settled over the tiny room, and Marco’s eyes found the window. Outside, the city was already bright. Already loud. Already moving. The ocean breeze pushed lightly against the glass like it wanted to join the conversation. His gaze settled there for a long while, long enough for Jasmine to notice.

“Uhh… You good?”

Marco’s eyes stayed fixed onto the glass. “I’m chilling.”

“...” Jasmine studied him a moment longer, then continued.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Marco smiled again before breaking his gaze from the window. He turned back to her, the smile sharpening just enough to become useful.

“What time is it?”

Jasmine paused, reached for her phone, and froze completely. It was 7:50. She had work.

She shot out of the chair so fast it almost tipped over.

Marco leaned against the sink, completely victorious, as Jasmine scrambled around the room for her clothes. Shirt. Shoes. Phone. Bag. One earring that had somehow ended up under the table. In just a minute, Jasmine had all of her clothes on and was walking toward the door. She cracked the door open and paused.

“You know…” she said, looking back at him. “You’re not as much of an asshole as people say you are.”

Marco crossed his arms. “Don’t go and ruin my reputation.”

Jasmine shook her head, smiling, and closed the door behind her.

Marco stared at it for a couple seconds.

No. He decided to do something with his day. Classes haven't started yet. His dorm mate would move in tomorrow. Jasmine was gone. The dishes were in the sink, pretending they weren’t his problem. Perfect time to leave.

Marco went back to his room, grabbed the outfit waiting on the chair, and got dressed. White jersey. Black shorts. White Adidas.

He hit the bathroom next. A toothbrush, a razor, deodorant, and a comb all greeted him in front of the sink. The big four. He freshened up, splashed water through his curls, and gave the mirror a quick look. His right ear caught the light where the small earring sat.

Marco reached for his phone once more, then his earbuds and his wallet. Finally, he pulled out his skateboard from below his bed.

The board rolled against the floor like it had been waiting all morning. Marco smiled at it.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.”

---

Clack!

The wheels hit the pavement with a familiar sound. Marco pushed once. Twice. The hill did the rest. Cool, salty air was pushed past his face and raced behind. The music in his earbuds mixed with everything else the city had already been awake long enough to make. Construction could be heard somewhere in the distance, gulls arguing overhead, and somebody laughing loud enough that everyone in the dorms probably heard it.

UCSH always seemed so much different the week before classes began. So empty… No. More like half-finished, maybe. Parents helped carry boxes past Marco, toward the dorm buildings. Freshmen walked around campus like they knew where they were going. Upperclassmen walked like they owned the sidewalks. Someone had already claimed the grass outside the student union with a hammock.

A moving truck stood parked on the curb, just outside the main hall. Its back was wide open. Two human parents struggled to carry a minifridge to the entrance. Beside the two, a velvet dragon barely older than Marco balanced three mattresses on his back like they weighed less than a feather. One of the parents looked exhausted. The dragon just looked annoyed.

Marco continued skating down the campus and suddenly came to a stop. A construction crew had blocked off part of the sidewalk. Fresh concrete spread across the path beneath the sign that read:

DRAGON CROSSING CLOSED

A worker waved two dragons toward a temporary ramp. One complained anyway.

Marco stepped on the back of his skateboard, popped it up, grabbed it, and walked towards the road out of campus.

Along the side of the road, a food truck was stopped and open for business. The aroma instantly captivated Marco. Dragons and humans both ate these tacos. They were basically world-famous.

He stopped, contemplating if it was worth the money. He checked his wallet and was met with twenty dollars and an expired gift card.

Marco glanced toward the food truck. Back to his sad wallet. Food truck. Wallet. The wallet snapped closed. It wasn’t a good idea. It wasn’t worth it. There would certainly be other moments to have tacos.

Marco walked past the food truck, to his disappointment, and threw his skateboard to the floor once more.

Clack!

The board hit the pavement, and Marco was moving again. The salty breeze whizzed past, and he took a moment to take it all in. The music that flooded his ears, the commotion of a new year at university, and the sound of people playing basketball.

"...?"

Marco stopped once again and took out one of his earbuds. Someone was calling his name.

“Marco!”

He glanced over to his right; a bunch of friends from his freshman year were running ones with each other. One of them, nicknamed Tank, cause he’s an actual giant, was calling out to him.

“Wanna join real quick?”

A smile appeared quickly across his face.

“Only if you wanna lose.”

Tank snickered. “Yeah right, bro. C’mon, run the ones with me.”

“Aight then.”

Marco picked up his skateboard and made his way to the courts.

"Alright, Tank, how we doing this?”

“To eleven. Ones and twos. Loser’s ball.”

“Check.”

“Loser buys the other a Gatorade."

Marco grinned. “Dude… I’m so broke.”

Tank grinned in response. “Me too. That's why we're doing this.”

Tank started with the ball. He absolutely backed Marco down. Shoulder. Another. An easy layup.

1-0

“Holy shit, dude, do you eat bricks for breakfast?"

Tank spun the ball in his hands and smiled toward Marco. “Only on weekends.”

The ball was now in Marco’s hands. He checked the ball and got to work. A little hezi for Tank to bite on. A swift crossover. A tween. A quickstep. Tank reached, and Marco blew right past, hitting a reverse layup.

1-1

“Oooh!” a few bystanders exclaimed. Nothing insane though.

Tank’s ball. He went for the same maneuver, but Marco was ready for it. Marco reached just as the ball hit the concrete and stole it. Marco dribbled back toward the three-point line and went for the shot… Just for it to be sent into the stratosphere by Tank. Absolutely denied.

Marco chuckled as the ball disappeared over the fence. “Yeah… I deserved that.”

Sweat slowly replaced the ocean breeze as buckets were traded back and forth.

“Five-Four.”

“Are you serious, Tank? That was totally a travel?”

“It totally wasn’t. It’s called a delayed gather step, dipshit.”

“Fine. It doesn’t even matter. Watch this.”

The scores slowly grew in number. It was 5-5, 5-7, 9-8. Before either knew it, match point had arrived. The score was 10-9, Tank in the lead. Marco’s ball.

Marco went for one last move. A hezi. A crossover, which got Tank leaning. A step back. A pull-up jumper. Time moved slowly, the release was perfect, and the arc seemed immaculate. A couple people in the crowd shouted. Marco could imagine the sound of the swish. Then…

It hit the back rim.

DONGGGGG! The sound was deafening. Everyone looked toward the sky as the ball popped up, and it flew right down into Tank’s hands. He took his chance and scored the easiest layup of his life. Marco was still looking at the sky when Tank scored.

“Eleven. That’s game.”

Marco paused. He stared toward Tank.

“...Run it back.”

Tank laughed. Hard. Marco stood there with a fire no other could extinguish. He was out for blood.

Tank slowly stopped laughing; wiping a tear from his eye, he responded. “Nah. I got work in a little bit.”

Marco folded his arms. “Don’t be like that.”

Tank laid a hand on Marco’s shoulder and patted his back with an endearing smile on his face. “Scoreboard buddy.” Then he walked away.

Marco was left in the middle of the court, the ball rolling to his feet. The few people watching lost it. Despite the situation, Marco couldn’t help but smile.

“Nah, I'm ready now,” Marco exclaimed. He turned to face the crowd and shouted. “Who got next?"

Marco played ball for an hour or two more; he was joking, and laughing, and especially talking shit. Marco won a match. Lost the next. Won one. Lost another. Yet no matter the outcome, Marco always smiled.

“I’ll see you guys later!” A sweaty Marco shouted to the court; everyone waved him off. The familiar clack greeted his ears along with a song by Childish Gambino.

The wind ran along his body. A bus station whizzed by. A human was sitting on his phone, while two older dragons beside joked and laughed. The sight brought a smile to Marco’s face before he took a turn.

Buildings started to grow taller as Marco entered deeper into the city. Another turn approached, and the ocean breeze blew into his face. He shielded his eyes for a moment, stopped, and lowered his hand to look at the horizon.

The sun reflected onto the dark blue water. It was as if the ocean had stars of its own, shimmering for the city of Santa Hidalgo to see.

Waves rolled back and forth along the sandy shore. The crashes echoed throughout the beach. The sound of seagulls' cries and people talking accompanied the sound. The salty breeze continued to travel past Marco.

The beach bustled with life. Along the sand, a group of humans played a game of spikeball. Next to them, a dragon poured sunscreen upon a human's back. Just past, two dragons surfed along the water. No matter how many times he saw it, the sight would always be ridiculous. He still never understood how they did it.

The skateboard resumed its rolling as Marco pushed against the pavement. The city continued to move against him. The clacks of the grooves began to sync to the music that blasted in his ears. It was at the point where he didn’t know whether he was nodding to the song or the sidewalk.

Marco rode around the city for a while longer before making his approach to the record store. The skateboard came to a halt as Marco’s foot met the ground.

His foot kicked the back down as the front came flying up; he caught it with practiced precision. Smooth.

The board was promptly tucked under his arm as he reached for the comically large handle that accompanied an equally as comical, large door. The door barely budged as he pulled, no matter how much power he put into it.

The more effort he put into opening the door, the more the sense of feeling incredibly stupid grew along with it. Eventually, he noticed a paper that read something:

CLOSED FOR RECONSTRUCTION

“…Are you kidding me!”

Marco stood staring at the sign for a long moment and threw his skateboard back on the pavement. With just enough force that the clack was much louder than usual. His foot rested on the board as he checked his phone. Not a single notification.

It was as if nothing wanted to work in his favor today.

Tank just had to run away like a coward, and I’m going broke. Since when were tacos so expensive anyway?

Marco glanced up from his phone, ready to complain to absolutely nobody but himself, when something moved effortlessly across his vision. A dragon was walking toward the beach.

This one hadn’t been particularly special; dragons weren’t really rare in Santa Hidalgo. They all enjoyed the shore, complained about construction, and got in people’s ways on sidewalks. Stuff like that. Though this dragon, she had Marco’s thoughts stuttering for half a second.

Her scales reflected a light lavender, not quite pink, not purple either. Like someone had taken the color of clouds in a sunset and turned down the saturation. Gold rings hung from both ears, catching the sunlight with every movement of her head. A burlap satchel rested across her body, bouncing gently with each step she took. She looked no older than he did. Maybe twenty?

But yeah, she was huge! Well, like dragon huge. 8 feet at the shoulders maybe. Her neck curved into a lazy S so her head rested higher than the record store door. Though she didn’t move like something huge. She moved like the city made room for her before she even got there.

Passers by shifted around her without really thinking about it. A guy with a surfboard stepped aside. A woman pushing a stroller slowed down. Freshmen stopped talking mid-sentence, watched her pass, then pretended like they hadn’t.

Marco noticed all of it. Immediately noticed himself noticing.

Huh… Pretty dragon.

…

…What?

Marco’s brain froze for a heartbeat; the weird, unwelcome thought floated around in his head. Not wrong, particularly, just kind of a weird thing to think. Like thinking a trash can was cute…

…Damn. That was fucked.

The dragon glanced toward the record store. She found Marco. Their eyes met. The music in Marco’s ears continued to sing. No wave crashed at the perfect time. Nobody dropped a drink in slow motion. She had stopped in her tracks and stared at him. He stared back just as intently, for some weird reason.

It continued for one second. Two. Three. One too many seconds for Marco.

Though he didn’t know if it was just him, her scales felt familiar. He had never seen her before. But he wondered for a moment if he had.

This whole time, the staring contest continued. He should have looked away. That was the normal thing to do. Normal people ended eye contact the moment it became weird. Though he was the one standing outside a closed record store, sweating through his jersey, a leg resting on a skateboard, staring at a dragon that seemed as if she didn’t fully understand how sidewalks worked.

So he looked away. Very casual. So smooth.

He checked his phone again, even though absolutely nothing had changed. Still no messages. So he decided to check the weather app.

85 degrees Fahrenheit. That’s crazy! It’s not like he was outside to feel it.

Marco glanced up from his phone; the dragon had continued its stroll toward the beach, no longer looking at him. Good. That was over.

The phone returned to his pocket, and his foot pushed off the ground. The wheels caught the groove between two slabs of sidewalk, and that almost threw him into the pavement.

"Shit—"

At the very last moment, he caught himself. One hand hit the concrete, and his legs spread outward like the accident was on purpose.

A couple walking stared at him. Marco nodded once.

“Street performance… Got any money?” He tried to smile convincingly.

They kept walking.

He lifted himself onto his feet and pushed off the pavement once again. This time with a lot less dignity and a lot more caution. A few strokes passed when Marco turned his head to look at the dragon one last time. The dragon was looking right at him as well.

Their eyes caught each other, and both immediately turned away. Marco faced forward, lips pressed together like it would hide the grin, and continued to push off the sidewalk.

“What the hell was that?” He muttered as music softly returned to his ears.

The skateboard rolled beneath him, the ocean glittered to his left, and somewhere behind him, the dragon kept walking towards the water like she hadn’t just ruined Marco’s ability to act smooth for five whole seconds.

Ch.2 - Chapter Six

The apartment awoke quietly. Never on its own. Catalina made sure of that.

A window slid open. Another followed. The balcony door opened last. Cool ocean air wandered inside like it had an invitation, carrying the smell of salt and sunscreen. A scent that never seemed to leave Santa Hidalgo.

She stood there for a couple of minutes, head hovering over the railing, with her eyes closed. One slow breath in. One slow breath out.

Much better.

The room always felt instantly happier the moment the breeze came inside. Or maybe she did. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference.

A familiar cry echoed from outside. Catalina chuckled before she even looked.

“You again?”

The seagull cocked its head. Waiting. Catalina laughed softly in response.

“You’re so spoiled.”

The bird blinked. She sighed dramatically while grabbing a bag of crackers she kept by the door.

“…You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

Half a cracker landed on the floor. The seagull accepted its payment without so much as a thank you. She smiled at the bird as it flew away into the horizon.

“Rude.”

Catalina turned her neck; the blanket on the couch wasn’t folded, one corner of the rug had curled upward, and a plant leaned slightly toward the window.

Five minutes later… Everything was exactly where it belonged. Only then did she head toward her bedroom.

She reached for her satchel to grab her iPad. Instead… She reached for her cabinet.

“…”

Slowly, she opened it. An army of Hello Kitty plushies and collectibles stared back at her. Some sat. Some waved. One wore a tiny astronaut helmet. Catalina smiled despite herself.

“I know.”

She wasn’t talking to anyone.

“…It’s embarrassing.”

The plushies sat there, unconcerned with her confession.

She gently nudged one that had turned sideways.

“There.”

She closed the cabinet and immediately turned over her shoulder. Empty room. A smile creeped across her face. No one needed to know.

Catalina made her way toward the kitchen. A sleek white color scheme with a black fridge. The tablet was held tightly by her tail as her paw wrapped around the fridge. The chill air faded as quickly as it came, and a carton of strawberries was placed on the counter.

A knife and a cutting board were fetched with her long appendage as her digits tapped on the screen. A psychology podcast filled the room as the knife was handed to her paw by her tail.

The podcast echoed through the room as chops cut in every so often. Catalina had lifted herself onto her hind legs, supported by her front, when a slow shuffle came from the hallway. One step. Pause. Another step.

She smiled before looking up. Sofia’s claws dragged on the floor, her left wing hung lower than usual, and her eyes hadn’t fully opened yet. Bad sleep.

By the time Sofia had appeared in the kitchen, Catalina already knew what she wanted to ask.

“Nightmare?”

Sofia stopped walking. “What?”

“Did you have a nightmare?”

“…How did you know I had one?”

Chop. Catalina froze. She didn’t actually mean to say it out loud.

“I—”

Her eyes dropped to the cutting board.

“Lucky guess.”

It wasn’t.

Sofia’s black scales glowed slightly as she gazed at the beach from the balcony. Seagulls cried overhead, and the ocean breeze continued to enter the apartment.

Catalina continued listening to her podcast and cutting fruit. A ding interrupted her session. A message had popped up from her brother.

Matty Bro

< gl with another year of college mom and dad wish well <3

Catalina switched the knife from her paw to her tail as she shifted along the counter to her tablet. Her digits pressed against the screen once more.

preciate it kid see you in a couple months <3 >

The podcast returned playing as the tablet was set down. The tail had finished the remaining cutting and scraped the strawberries into a bowl. The fruit rested calmly, just waiting to be devoured.

Sofia quietly wandered over to the counter, eyes lingering on the bowl.

“How do you make sliced strawberries look so appetizing?”

Catalina glanced up from the bowl and gave a little shrug. “I just cut them.”

Sofia looked entirely unconvinced. “You literally sliced every single one into the exact same size, even the big ones.”

“…Does that even matter?”

Sofia reached a paw into the bowl anyway. “It matters enough that I noticed.” She popped one in her mouth and continued while chewing. “I took one.”

Catalina's tail flicked and nudged the bowl towards her. “Those are for the both of us. But did you have to take the biggest one?”

Sofia chewed thoughtfully. “They’re all the same size though.”

“But that was the biggest of the same-sized ones.” Catalina reached a paw and dug into the bowl.

“…Guess you’re right.” Sofia went in for another big slice. Catalina watched as she threw it into her mouth. She lost the fight with a smile.

“You’re the worst.”

Sofia chuckled slightly. “I know.”

The podcast continued murmuring in the background. “People often mistake confidence for certainty…”

Catalina reached and turned the volume down just a little. Sofia commented on her listening choices. “You actually listen to those?”

She responded with a nod. “Just staying ahead of the game.”

Sofia stared as Catalina strolled across the kitchen toward the pantry. “Do they not make you overthink everything?”

Catalina shrugged as she reached for two slices of bread. “I already do.”

“Fair enough then.”

The toaster clicked as the bread disappeared inside.

For that moment, the apartment fell into a comfortable silence. The kind where neither rushed to fill it.

Sofia lifted herself to lean on the counter, absentmindedly scratching her horns as she spoke.

“Sooo…” Catalina glanced over. “You excited for classes?”

A small smile appeared on her face instantly. "Actually—" She caught herself, sighed, and continued. “…Yeah.”

Sofia let out a soft chuckle. “I could tell.”

Her eyes widened for a second. “How?”

“You reorganized your backpack twice this week.”

Catalina blinked, then gave a sour expression. “Hey, I only reorganized it once!”

Sofia stared at her.

Catalina broke and scratched her scaly cheek with her paw. “Okay… maybe twice.”

“Thought so.”

Catalina laughed softly, shaking her head as avocado spread across toast.

“I just want to be prepared.”

“Well, who doesn’t.”

Seconds passed as avocado met toast. Sofia went to fill the silence.

“You know…” she said, watching Catalina move from the cutting board to the sink and back to the counter without stopping. “…I don’t ever think I've seen you do, like nothing.”

Catalina paused for a fraction of a moment, yet the knife kept moving.

She's probably right.

"I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

Silence settled for a few brief moments. Her eyes glanced toward the surfboard that lay against the wall.

“I think I’m gonna head out in a bit.”

---

Click!

The final strap locked into place.

Catalina rolled her shoulders and glanced back to make sure the surfboard rested evenly along her spine. It sat between the base of her neck and the rise of her wings, held on tight by two dark straps that crossed beneath her chest and around her middle. Secure, balanced, not too tight. Her satchel hung close beside.

There were few things more embarrassing than having your board slide sideways mid-flight. Only a few. Actually no, there were many things more embarrassing. Though it was definitely up there.

She tugged once more with her tail, testing the clasp until it gave a slight creak. The board stayed still.

Sofia watched from the kitchen, still leaning on the counter with a strawberry between two claws.

“You’re going now?”

Catalina glanced toward the open balcony door. The curtains blew slightly with the ocean air. “Yeah.”

Sofia popped the strawberry into her mouth. “But you just ate.”

“I’ll be fine.” Catalina walked closer to the balcony.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine then, don’t blame me when you get a cramp.”

Catalina smiled and nodded. The feeling lingered as she took another step closer to the balcony.

The apartment always looked so calm from this angle. Morning light stretched across white cabinets, a glass table, and the couch blanket she folded earlier. For a second, it seemed so peaceful, just enough to stay in.

Only a second, though; her eyes met imperfection soon after. A knife and a cutting board both lay unwashed in the sink.

Catalina went to turn around when Sofia cleared her throat and spoke. “Go. I’ll deal with them.”

She glanced over slightly. “I wasn’t even going—"

“You were.”

“…”

“You were about to clean the cutting board.”

Catalina’s tail flicked once. “It would take ten seconds.”

“Yeah, ten seconds I'll spend on them. Me. You go to the beach.”

Catalina held her gaze a moment longer, then gave a small sigh like she had suffered greatly. “Alright, you win.”

The balcony waited patiently.

Beyond it, the city had already begun moving. Cars slipped through the streets, a bus screeched to a stop, and two dragons crossed the skyline, their wings cutting clean shapes through the morning haze. Farther out, the ocean flashed white where the sun had touched it.

Catalina stepped through the door. Warm concrete pressed against her paws. The wind slid under the edge of her wings before she even opened them. Impatient yet familiar.

She breathed in her surroundings. Salt, sunlight, car exhaust, coffee from a café nearby, someone’s laundry detergent. All of Santa Hidalgo, mixed together, alive before eight in the morning.

She spread her wings.

For one quiet moment, all of the thoughts in her head lined themselves up. The podcast. Sofia’s face when she asked about the nightmare. Mateo’s text. The cutting board in the sink. The folded blanket. The fact that she wanted another slice of avocado toast.

The wind pressed harder, and everything loosened.

Catalina pushed off the concrete. The balcony dropped beneath her. For a few seconds, she was falling. Her wings caught.

Woooooooosh.

Air filled beneath her like hands pushing her up from below. The apartment fell away, the street opened, and the city widened.

Catalina was between buildings, low enough to catch the smell of breakfast from open windows, high enough that no one had to step around her.

A human on the sidewalk looked up, shielding his eyes. A little dragon on a neighboring balcony waved their tail. Catalina smiled and dipped a wing in greeting. The child waved harder. She couldn’t help smiling.

Her neck turned toward the beach.

The surfboard stayed steady against her back, shifting only slightly whenever she angled her wings. The straps pulled at her shoulders with familiarity. A reminder of where she was going.

Below, Santa Hidalgo unfolded into many pieces. Rooftop gardens, landing pads, traffic lights with dragon-height signals, a dragon carrying a package, a street vendor arguing with a customer while flipping something on a grill, and two students jogging together, one human, one dragon, both equally as miserable.

The dragon was pretending not to struggle. The human beside was pretending not to notice. It was kind, she thought. Or prideful.

She banked right. The ocean came fully into view. Blue upon blue upon blue. A kind of blue that made every problem seem smaller and made one remember that problems were usually patient. They waited.

Catalina tucked her wings lower and dove. Wind rushed over her scales.

The warmth of the sun spread across her back, settling into the lavender. The board shook faintly against her spine. Waves rolled toward the shore in long, foamy, white lines.

Her breathing slowed. Up here, nobody needed anything from her, no one asked if she was okay, no one watched her too closely, and no one expected an answer. There was only the rush of air against her wings and a sea waiting below.

Catalina continued diving.

The beach rose slowly at first, then all at once. Circles became umbrellas, and moving dots became people. Nets stretched across the sand, while humans and dragons alike played volleyball on them. Most of the time, a dragon would raise a tail to block a human's shot.

The landing zone came into view near the south end of the boardwalk, a wide square of reinforced concrete painted with yellow wings.

She angled herself toward it. The wind changed immediately. Up high, it had been smooth, generous, and easy to trust. Closer to the ground was a different story. Heat lifted from the pavement as ocean air pushed inland. A bus rolled by below, throwing a pocket of hot exhaust into the mix.

Catalina adjusted without thought. Her left wing dipped as her right rose. Her tail swept behind her, making sure to keep the board steady. The surfboard tugged against the straps. She held herself level. Almost there. A seagull crossed in front of her at the last second.

Catalina stared blankly. The gull stared back, just as blankly. Neither changed course.

“Seriously!?”

Her wings spread wider. The bird finally remembered it had survival instincts and decided to flap out the way.

Catalina came down much harder than she meant to.

Thump! Her paws met the concrete.

The pad gave a tremble beneath her weight. A human glanced up from his phone, decided what he saw was none of his business, and continued scrolling. Good choice.

Catalina folded her wings against her sides and stood still for a second, letting the last bit of flight leave her body.

Flying always ended too fast for her. Even when she was the one choosing to land.

She reached back with her tail and unhooked the first clasp; the second and third followed close behind. The surfboard slid free with a soft scrape against the harness before her tail settled it beside her.

It was longer and wider than most human boards, shaped to carry a dragon’s weight without fighting the water too much. The front curved slightly upward. The back narrowed into a deep split that gave her tail room to move.

A human board asked for feet. A dragon board asked for a whole body.

Catalina quickly attached the strap on the surfboard to her ankle, hooked the board with her tail, held it against her body, and made her way toward the water.

The sand changed everything. Concrete held still, sand remembered every step.

Her paws sank slightly with each step, warm grains pushing against her paws and in between her claws. Around her, the beach had divided itself into its usual little worlds. Human surfers next to the pier, dragon surfers farther out where the waves came larger. Families rested under umbrellas, college kids pretended they weren’t hungover, and a pair of older dragons sunned themselves like they hadn’t invented the concept.

Catalina passed them with a polite nod. One nodded back without opening his eyes. Respect.

She slid off her satchel and advanced toward the water.

Near the shoreline, the water curled forward and around her paws. It was cold and sharp. If she wasn’t awake before, she was now. She smiled gleefully at the feeling.

“Okay.”

The first wave reached her ankles; the second climbed higher. By the third, she was moving.

Catalina pushed the board ahead of her, wading until the water deepened around her chest. She promptly climbed on, settling her weight evenly along the board center. Her front found their place near the forward grip. Her back was braced further behind. Her wings lifted slightly, just enough to where she could listen to the air but not catch it.

Most humans thought dragons surfing looked ridiculous. Catalina understood why. Humans controlled the board with their feet, pressure through the back foot, turned shoulders, small shifts, and quick corrections.

Dragons didn’t work that way. Paws held on, wings gave balance, and the tail steered.

Catalina’s tail slipped into the slit at the back of the board, the tip just touching the water. A small flick left, and the board angled right. Her wings hovered, catching every wobble before it became a wipeout.

A wave lifted beneath her. Not big enough, so she let it pass. Another rolled behind it. Much better.

The water gathered around the board, rising with a quiet force. Catalina lowered her front, wings stretching outward, tail steady in the channel. The wave pulled, the board trembled, and caught

For one perfect second, everything aligned. Her paws held firm, her wings adjusted, her tail cut through the water, and the board shot forward.

Catalina laughed before she could stop herself.

Wind rushed over her scaly face, spray kept along her sides, and the wave carried her toward the shore, fast and clean. She leaned further into it, now with her whole body. Her left wing dipped as her tail curved right. The board carved across the face of the water in one smooth line. The ocean pushed, and she answered.

Just ahead, a dragon wiped out with an enormous splash as the wave overtook them. Catalina swerved around the foam, laughing again.

“Watch your tail!”

The other dragon shouted back from somewhere in the water. “I meant to do that!”

Sure you did.

She rode the wave until it softened, until power became foam, until speed became drift. She stepped off into the shallows, water breaking around her legs and sunshine across her back.

For a moment, Catalina just stood there, smiling at nothing. Her thoughts were quieter. Not entirely gone, but quiet. That was enough. For a while, that was all she needed.

The sun slowly climbed as wave after wave passed. Catalina had lost track of time in the usual way. The ocean gave her much better things to focus on. The pull beneath the board, the angle of her wings, the pressure of the water against her tail, the sunlight that warmed her back every time she turned to the shore.

She rode one wave too early and lost it before it had any real shape. She rode another too late and had to bail sideways before the board slipped out from under her. A laugh escaped her both times. Saltwater filled her mouth, her wings slapped the surface, and her tail kicked foam everywhere.

A human surfer nearby raised a fist.

“Good shit! Ten out of Ten!”

Catalina coughed up seawater and lifted her tail in the closest thing to a rude gesture she could manage.

He laughed. She did too.

The next wave came cleaner. Catalina caught it just as it broke, paws firm, wings spread, tail dragging a smooth curve through the water. The board obeyed, imperfectly. That was the way she liked it. Perfect things got boring once one knew how they worked.

The ocean didn’t care how prepared she was. It just rolled out waves, one after another. It constantly changed. So she had to change with it. Again, and again, and again.

By the time she finally stepped into sand again, her legs felt heavy and warm. Her wings dripped with seawater in uneven trails. Sunlight shimmered against every scale of lavender until some looked almost silver.

She shook her whole body once. A couple sat beneath a tent as ocean water sprayed their direction.

Catalina froze.

“…My bad.”

The woman wiped water off her sunglasses. Her boyfriend slowly lifted a now damp potato chip out of a bag. Catalina’s ears lowered.

“That one’s on me.”

The woman stared for a second longer, then snickered while shaking her head.

Catalina laughed softly in relief and backed away before she could ruin anything else.

The beach had gotten much louder while she was out. More towels, more music, and more kids running in places they should absolutely not be running. A large volleyball game had formed: humans on one side, dragons on the other. It was either going to get incredibly competitive, or someone was about to get absolutely humbled. Most likely both.

Catalina unhooked the ankle strap from the board and dragged it farther up the sand with her tail. Water dripped from the split at the end, leaving a dark trail behind. She found herself an open spot near the boardwalk and lowered herself carefully onto the warm sand.

The warmth welcomed her like it had been saving the space. She stretched one wing out. The other followed after.

Warmth settled over her back as she loafed, slow and heavy, soaking into the places the water had cooled to quickly. The world softened around the edges. Gulls cried overhead, a kid laughed so hard he hiccupped, and somewhere behind, a speaker played a slow, reggae song.

Catalina closed her eyes. Just one minute, she told herself. Just one.

Ten minutes later, her stomach disagreed. Loudly. Her eyes opened.

“…Mmm,” she groaned.

She lifted her head and craned it toward the boardwalk. A row of seaside restaurants sat facing the water, glass windows, outdoor umbrellas, and hosts pretending they weren’t melting in the heat. The furthest one had a patio large enough for dragons. She remembered the place had bomb breakfast burritos.

That decided it.

Catalina stood, sand sliding down her scales in little streams. She shook out her wings again, much more carefully this time, and pulled the surfboard upright. The harness was still attached near the front, dipping into the sand.

She considered flying home first.

Her stomach grumbled in response.

That had decided her next course of action.

She crossed the beach toward the restaurant, board tucked against her side, and harness straps hanging over her tail. She passed a collection of shops before reaching the location. The hostess saw her approaching and immediately grabbed a larger menu from beneath the sand. Catalina appreciated that, just another reason she liked this place so much.

“Just one?” the hostess asked.

Catalina nodded. “Yeah.”

The hostess smiled politely and led her to an outside patio where the dragon seating faced the ocean. No chair, obviously, just a low, reinforced platform with enough space for her to fold her legs beneath her and keep her tail out of the walkway.

The hostess placed a menu on the table. “Someone will be right with you.”

“Thank you.”

Catalina watched her walk away. Shoulders relaxed, real but polite smile. Probably new, but not terrified. Catalina liked her energy.

She leaned down toward the menu. Breakfast burrito, avocado toast, eggs, and bacon. All with a dragon-portion upgrade. She smiled; Sofia would’ve commented on the avocado toast.

Her tail reached instinctively toward the satchel on her side with her tablet. And her wallet.

Nothing.

Catalina paused. Her tail reached along her side again.

Nothing. Gone. Zilch.

Her smile dropped instantly. Her neck turned down so fast it could’ve given her whiplash. No satchel. No tablet. No wallet. No keys. No, nothing. Just scales, the surfboard, her harness, and a deep disappointment in herself.

“…You’re kidding.”

The waiter arrived at exactly the wrong time.

“Can I start you with something to drink?”

Catalina slowly looked up, a very weak smile strewn across her face. The waiter's smile stiffened a little. He knew. Not exactly what happened, but something he should not have walked into.

Her weak smile stayed weak when she spoke.

“Water would be great. I’ll be right back actually.”

“Of course.”

She stood way too quickly, then stopped when the surfboard sifted against the railing. Right, it’s a public sidewalk.

Her eyes met the board, and she glanced toward the boardwalk. She alternated between the two. A human would probably have carried everything. She was not human, now was she.

Catalina carefully tucked the surfboard and harness under the patio table, angled so it wouldn’t block the way of any passerby, and gave the waiter another weak smile.

“I forgot something.”

“Take your time.”

His voice said, "No rush." His eyes said, "Please don’t leave unpaid equipment here forever." That was fair.

She stepped away from the patio and made her way toward the beach at a pace that was absolutely not a panicked walk. It was purposeful if anything.

Her claws clicked slightly against the wood. Wood turned to cement, as crowds shifted around her. A boy with a dripping ice cream cone stared up at her in fascination. His mother tugged him gently, ushering him somewhere else.

Catalina smiled at the kid. He hid behind his mother. A second later, peeked out again. That’s too cute. The smile stayed until she reached the stairs down the beach. At the bottom of them, she saw it, her satchel, exactly where she had left it.

It was half-buried in the spot where she had been sunning herself, one strap curled in the sand like it had given up on her.

Catalina stopped. Relief came first, then embarrassment, then irritation. Mostly at herself.

“One job…” she muttered to herself.

Of course! One routine changes and suddenly I’m forgetting everything.

She crossed the sand and grabbed the satchel with her tail, shaking it once to free the sand from the strap. Her tablet was inside. Wallet and keys too.

Nobody stole it. She’d just simply outsmarted herself.

She slung the satchel through her neck and across her shoulder and turned back toward the boardwalk.

The beach hummed behind her, with waves, laughter, and seagulls complaining about something that was most definitely their own fault.

A sharp clack echoed somewhere ahead.

Her eyes wandered to see the sound. A human stood outside, skateboard tucked under an arm, wrestling with an oversized door that refused to cooperate. He pulled once. Not a budge. He frowned and pulled, now with more of his body. Still nothing.

Catalina slowed without meaning to. The poor guy was genuinely committed.

He pulled once more. The door stayed exactly as it had been for the last three pulls. Eventually, his sight drifted to a piece of paper taped near the glass.

CLOSED FOR RECONSTRUCTION

His shoulder dropped a little as he muttered something loudly and unintelligible.

“Yeah,” Catalina muttered quietly to herself. “That’ll do it.”

The human stood there for another moment before dropping the skateboard onto the sidewalk with considerably more force than necessary.

Clack!

He whipped out his phone. His thumb hovered over the screen without really doing much. Maybe waiting for something? She couldn’t tell.

He seemed tired, not exhausted, though. His shoulders were relaxed. His jaw wasn't. That wasn’t a normal combination.

Sweat had darkened the collar of his white soccer jersey. His dark curls look like they had given up staying neat a while ago. His hair was paired with an eyebrow slit and a goatee-and-mustache combo. One earbud remained in his pierced ear while the other hung loose down his torso. His foot rested atop his skateboard almost absentmindedly, like he spent so much time riding on it that it felt strange standing on the ground. He couldn’t have been much older than her. Twenty-ish.

Her gaze lingered a moment longer than she meant to.

Huh. Kinda—

…

No.

Before she could finish her thought, the human had looked up. Their eyes met.

Catalina stopped walking. She hadn’t meant to stare. Apparently neither had he, because it looked like he was caught with his paw in a cookie jar. Though a hint of surprise rested on his face, maybe at the fact that someone else was looking at him.

Neither of them broke away. One second passed. Two seconds. Three. Too long.

Catalina knew perfectly well she should break eye contact. Instead, she found herself wondering why he seemed vaguely familiar. He didn't; she had never seen him before, so why did it feel like she had? The thought vanished as quickly as it arrived.

The human suddenly broke eye contact. Very decisively. His phone appeared in his hand almost immediately. Catalina watched him stare at a screen with an intensity that suggested he wasn’t reading a single thing on it.

She almost smiled. It looked suspiciously like he was pretending to be busy.

So she continued walking. There. Problem solved. No more awkward staring.

…

She had taken perhaps eight steps when she heard a voice call out.

"Shit—"

Catalina turned instinctively. The skateboard had somehow lodged itself between two uneven slabs of pavement.

The human pitched forward. One hand slapped against the sidewalk, while his legs shot outward in an attempt to prove to gravity that he had won the battle. Catalina flinched.

A couple nearby started as they passed. He stayed in that position while looking up at them. He gave a nod and a smile.

“Street performance… Got any money?”

The couple continued walking.

Catalina bit her tongue.

Don’t. Don’t laugh.

A tiny snort escaped before she could stop it. Oops.

The human rose to his feet; he climbed back onto his skateboard with impressive commitment to pretending his dignity remained intact.

He pushed away, noticeably more careful this time. Catalina watched him roll down the sidewalk for another few seconds before reminding herself she had somewhere to be. Her stomach grumbled at the thought.

Right. She turned forward.

…

For reasons she couldn’t explain, she glanced back over her shoulder. At exactly the same moment he looked back too.

Their eyes met again. Both immediately turned their attention somewhere else.

Catalina faced forward so fast her satchel swung against her side.

“…Why did I do that? ” she asked absolutely nobody.

The ocean breeze carried away the thought before anyone could answer.

Ch.3 -A Tale Of 2 Citiez

Rubber wheels hummed as they caught every groove in the pavement.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

Marco decided to let the sidewalk determine where he went for a while.

The city blurred together into familiar pieces. Apartments and cafes: cafes turned to murals, and murals became intersections. The music in his earbuds drowned out traffic until everything around him became rhythm and noise.

The dragon popped into his mind.

“...Dude.” He shook his head and muttered to himself. “Get over yourself.”

She was just some dragon. A weirdly pretty dragon. Which made no sense.

Marco decided he wasn't dealing with the problem at this moment. So he shoved every thought of her into the same corner of his mind where embarrassing stories from middle school lived.

The board rolled onward. Ahead, the city had transformed into smooth concrete and painted rails. The familiar sounds echoed to him before the place did. Wheels scraping metal. Someone landed hard enough to rattle plywood. A chorus of “Dude!” and “No way!” filled the air. The skatepark. Now this was heaven.

Marco picked up his board near the entrance, giving a quick scan of the place. Same graffiti. Same stickers. Same chipped quarter pipe. Same kid trying to ollie the same three stairs he’d been attempting since June. He almost landed it too. Almost. His board launched forward while the rest of him stayed behind. The kid sucked air through his teeth and spoke. “...Ow.” Marco laughed under his breath and approached the boy and squatted on the ground.

“You’re getting closer.”

The kid looked up, rubbing his head. “Yeah… I almost had it.”

He smiled. “You definitely almost had it.”

Marco got up and walked away. His board dropped onto concrete. Clack! One push. Another. The bowl welcomed him as it always had.

Momentum carried him down the drop. His knees bent naturally as the concrete curved naturally beneath. He climbed up one wall, crossed toward the center, climbed the opposite side, and snapped a lazy kickturn near the coping before gravity pulled him back down.

Every fear dissipated as the board pulled him down. Money. Classes. Expensive tacos. The closed record store. Even the dragon. There was only speed.

He pumped once more through the bowl, launched himself over the spine, and landed with a satisfying crack against the concrete.

“Yooooo!”

Marco lifted a hand while rolling away.

“Thank you. Thank you.”

Another skater rolled beside him. “You trying the handrail today?”

Marco glanced toward the rail. “Yeah… How about fuck no.”

“What happened to go big or go home?”

“I’d like to be able to skate back home. That's what happened.”

The skater laughed. “Fairs.”

For nearly an hour, Marco drifted from obstacle to obstacle. A kickflip. Missed. Another try. Landed. A sloppy fifty-fifty grind. An accidental shove-it that counted because no one could prove otherwise. He spent ten minutes with that same kid, helping him figure out why his board kept turning sideways on an ollie.

“It’s your shoulders.”

“...My shoulders?” The kid glanced toward them in confusion.

"Yeah." Marco stepped beside him. "You open them too early.”

The kid rubbed his neck. “What does that mean?”

Marco chuckled and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t either when someone told me.”

He moved the kid’s shoulders square with the board. “Just pretend there's a camera pointing at your chest. Don’t let it look anywhere but forward.”

The kid nodded seriously and tried again. Pop up. Slide. Land. Not perfect, but improvement. His eyes lit up anyway. “I DID IT!”

Marco patted the kid on his back. “What’d I say?”

The kid grinned before skating off to show someone else. Marco smiled to himself. Maybe he wasn’t completely useless.

He pushed toward the edge of the park to catch his breath. Right now, he wished he had brought a water bottle. Like bad.

“...Awesome.” Guess the water fountain it was.

He rolled to the fountain near the entrance. Bent down. Took a swig. Three more followed. The cold water immediately worked its magic.

His hand wiped across his mouth. Much better.

That was when Marco noticed something: lavender crossed the sidewalk beyond the fence. His eyes followed automatically.

“...”

No way bro.

It was that same dragon. Again. She wasn’t looking at him. She simply walked past the skatepark with that same burlap satchel, yet now carrying a surfboard on a harness strapped to her back. The sunlight caught her golden earrings before she disappeared behind a row of palm trees.

Marco stared blankly. “...Huh.” His eyes lingered. A small laugh escaped him.

“Guess this city is smaller than I thought.”

Marco pushed away from the skatepark with slightly tired legs and a much lighter mind. The city felt slower now. It wasn’t the city, though; it was him.

The board rolled lazily beneath him as the sun climbed slowly overhead. He passed a mural of two dragons painted across an apartment complex. His eyes drifted toward a tiny observatory built into the roof of the university’s physics department. The building sat along a lonely hill, far from the university.

One more day. Just one more day. He would return to arguing with professors over gravitational lensing and pretending tensor calculus wasn’t actively trying to kill him in one day.

He smiled longingly as his eyes lingered on the dome.

“Can’t wait.”

The thought alone gave him energy to push harder. Clack! Clack! Clack! The skatepark disappeared behind him.

A few minutes later, concrete gave way to grass. The city park stretched beneath dozens of old palms whose leaves brushed softly against one another as the breeze rolled through. Families occupied nearly every patch of shade. Kids chased pigeons with a confidence they absolutely did not deserve. A group of teens played hacky sack. A woman was lying peacefully in a hammock.

Near the center of the park… Someone yelled.

“MAN ON!”

Marco turned his neck instinctively. A pickup soccer game covered a chunk of the grass. Humans. Dragons. A couple who most likely wandered in a couple minutes ago. Just his kind of game.

A loose ball escaped the field and rolled toward him. Marco stopped it with the inside of his foot. A player waved over and spoke.

“You joining?”

Marco grinned. “Bet. What’s the teams?”

He hid his skateboard beneath a nearby bench along with all of his personal items before jogging onto the grass.

“Shirts.”

“Damn.” Marco looked down at his damp white jersey. “How convenient…”

Marco passed the ball toward the player he was talking to before. The player continued to speak.

“No slide tackles and no fighting.”

“...Now you're taking all the fun out of the game.”

A few laughs circled the field. The game had restarted.

Marco popped into midfield, and the nine immediately passed the ball towards him. Perfect. His first touch killed the ball cleanly. His second pushed it forward. His third—

A defender stepped. Marco rolled the ball behind his standing foot. He yelled, “Megged!” Then continued dribbling.

“Ohhhh!”

The defender threw both hands into the air. “No shot.”

Marco couldn’t stop grinning. “That’s one.”

He kept moving. Physics had taught him a lot about predicting motion. Soccer taught him how wrong those predictions usually were. Bodies accelerated. Momentum changed. Passing lanes opened and disappeared before anyone could notice. Marco loved that part. He wasn’t the fastest, yet he could act like he was thanks to those spaces.

A teammate made a run. Marco didn’t look. He simply flicked a ball to seemingly no one. Three seconds later… His teammate appeared right where the ball had been waiting.

“...Absolutely filthy!”

The teammate buried the ball into the corner. The entire shirts team erupted. Marco pointed at the player who scored.

“Good shit!”

The teammate pointed back. “Nutty pass, bro!”

The game continued. The ball moved back and forth. Someone slipped trying to defend a dragon almost twice their size. A dragon apologized after accidentally sending a human spinning with their tail. The human stood laughing.

By the time Marco’s lungs started burning, the score had reached five to four. Nobody knew who was winning anymore. Nobody really cared.

Someone blasted a shot over the crossbar. The ball sailed toward the walking path. Marco jogged after it before anyone else could. He stopped it just before it rolled into a flowerbed.

“Got it.”

He glanced up, past the bed. And froze.

Just across the path, walking calmly beneath the palm trees. Lavender scales. Gold earrings. Satchel. Surfboard. It was her. Again. Looking right at him.

He clutched the ball harder.

What the hell?

She quickly looked away just as he looked her way.

Marco pinched the bridge of his nose. “Seriously?”

He stood there, holding the ball much longer than necessary. One of his teammates yelled from across the field.

“White jersey!”

He turned. “Yeah?”

“You throwing in the ball today or next semester?”

Marco shook himself free and started his jog back. “Shut up! I’m coming!”

He launched the ball back into play. Yet even after the game resumed… His eyes drifted to the path one last time. She was gone now.

Marco scratched the back of his head.

“Okay…” Now it was getting weird.

The game dissolved in the way they usually do. Someone had to leave for work. Someone else claimed they were dying of dehydration. Another promised they would return tomorrow, knowing full well they wouldn’t.

Marco wiped the sweat from his forehead with the bottom of his jersey before grabbing his belongings from under the bench.

“Good runs.”

“You too, bro.”

“Same time tomorrow?”

“Maybe… If I can walk.”

A chorus of tired laughs echoed through the field as he pushed away.

The board carried him downhill toward the waterfront. The noon sun had mellowed, trading its white glare for something warmer. The closer he got, the stronger the smell of salt became until it overpowered the smell of hot pavement.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

The promenade stretched alongside the bay, lined with palms leaning slightly over the water. Tourists wandered the area without urgency. Cyclists weaved around them. Joggers trailed behind the cyclists, somehow looking miserable despite living somewhere so pretty.

Marco chuckled to himself. “...Idiots.”

His skateboard slowed naturally. He hopped off and popped it up before tucking it beneath his arm. He decided to walk instead.

The ocean glittered beside him. Small waves slapped gently against the seawall. A ferry drifted lazily toward the harbor. He found an empty section of railing and leaned his back against it. There was something strangely entertaining about just watching people exist.

He craned his neck to look at the water. Below, a father attempted to teach his daughter how to skip stones. She threw the first one straight into the air. Both ducked.

“...Close enough, sweetie.” The father rubbed the daughter's head lovingly.

Marco smiled at the sight. He turned his neck forward again.

A dragon wearing an expensive-looking satchel briefcase held an ice cream cone with his tail while taking a phone call. The cone slipped. Splat… The dragon stared toward the fallen ice cream for a whole three seconds.

“Well.”

The call continued.

A pair of elderly women sat on a bench feeding seagulls despite several signs clearly depicting not to. The birds clearly appreciated the civil disobedience.

A teenage couple argued over directions while standing directly in front of a map.

Marco raised an eyebrow at the sight.

“...It’s literally right there?”

The couple didn't notice. They walked in the wrong direction, most likely because that way was a dead end. He shook his head, smiling, curls delayed as he moved. Cities fascinated him. Millions of lives moving independently. Everyone the main character of their own story. Everyone carrying on, somewhere to be. Everyone worrying about something no one else could see.

He wondered how many stories passed him today. How many celebrations. How many breakups. How many people were quietly having the best day of their lives. Or the worst.

The thought lingered longer than expected.

A breeze rolled through, ruffling his curls. Marco hopped onto the railing, hands grabbing the metal.

“...People are weird.”

A voice behind him answered immediately.

“They really are.”

Marco glanced to his left. An old dragon sat beside, on his haunches. A fishing rod was propped against the railing. Neither had noticed each other.

He chuckled. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

The dragon laughed in response. “I know.”

The two stay there for another minute in comfortable silence, watching the promenade unfold before them.

Eventually, the old dragon reeled in an empty line with a disappointed sigh.

“Nothing today.”

Marco shrugged. “Maybe they made plans.”

The old dragon barked out another laugh. “Yep, they usually do!”

Marco laughed softly before hopping off the railing and throwing his skateboard to the ground.

“Good luck, sir.”

“You too, kid.”

Clack! Clack! Clack!

The board rolled onward, carrying him farther along the waterfront while the city continued living around him, half-unaware that somewhere out there, a lavender dragon continued with an equally ordinary afternoon.

---

The rehabilitation smelled faintly of saltwater, antiseptic, and fish. Catalina loved it. Most people probably wouldn’t.

The building sat just a few streets away from the shoreline, tucked behind a weathered marina where pelicans constantly tried, and usually failed, to steal lunches from fishermen. A bell chimed softly as she stepped inside.

“Hi.”

A woman behind a desk looked up from a clipboard.

“Oh, thank goodness.”

Catalonia stared. “Should… I be worried?”

“Only if you're afraid of birds.”

“...I already am.”

“Perfect.”

The woman pointed to the back room. “Room three. You can put your stuff in the locker room.”

Catalina sighed dramatically. “I knew volunteering would become dangerous.” She promptly disappeared behind swinging doors.

The room exploded with noise, squawks, flapping, tiny chirps, and one extremely angry pelican.

“Good morning to you too…”

The pelican answered with a glare. Catalina wasn’t fully convinced birds had facial expressions, yet this one did apparently.

She sat beside a table where a volunteer was wrapping a seagull's wing.

“Need a paw?”

“Please.”

Catalina immediately held the bird gently while the bandage was secured.

“It's okay…” The bird fought for a moment before slowly settling. “There you go.” She stroked the bird very gently with a claw; its breathing slowed in response. “...Good.”

Across the room, another volunteer laughed. “I swear, they only calm down for you.”

Catalina glanced toward the gull, then back toward the volunteer, very confused. “They do?”

The volunteer snickered. “Every time.”

She glanced toward the bird again; it seemed much more relaxed. “...Huh.” She never noticed.

An hour disappeared as she cleaned enclosures, prepared food, and recorded recovery notes. She helped guide a rescued sea turtle into a therapy pool. It may have been repetitive, but Catalina liked repetitive. There was comfort in routines that helped something heal.

She paused beside an outdoor enclosure. A young pelican gazed near the edge of the water, a wing still wrapped, longing.

“...Soon.”

Catalina rested a foreleg against the fence.

“You’ll be back out there soon.”

The bird turned toward her and back at the waves. She smiled in response.

“I know.”

Behind her, someone called out. “Catalina!” She turned; an older volunteer waved a clipboard. “We’ve got another intake.” Catalina immediately trotted over and spoke out.

“Coming!”

Without another thought, she disappeared back inside, where another frightened animal needed someone patient enough to convince it the world wasn’t ending.

"Done...Finally," Catalina groaned. Her shoulders sagged.

A familiar voice called from behind. “Heading out?”

Catalina turned. Miriam, one of the senior rehabilitators, smiled while stacking towels in a cabinet.

“Mhm,” she nodded.

“You worked through lunch again.”

Catalina froze. “I did?”

Miriam raised an eyebrow. “You forgot again.”

“...Oh.”

She genuinely had.

Miriam sighed with the practiced patience of someone who had witnessed this exact exchange at least twenty times.

“Go home.”

“I am.”

“And eat.”

“...I was planning on it.” Catalina offered an awkward smile.

Miriam seemed unconvinced.

“Hey, I actually am!”

“...Good.” Miriam pointed toward the volunteer hallway. “Now get out before I find another task for you.”

Catalina laughed softly and trotted down the hallway. “Yes, ma'am."

The door swung open as she was met with the locker rooms. Catalina walked along the metal lockers and stopped in front of hers.

Click.

The door creaked. Inside, everything she had left two hours ago stayed exactly where it was placed. Her satchel, her flight harness, and her surfboard, which leaned neatly against the back wall, still smelled faintly of saltwater.

She reached for her satchel first. Tablet, wallet, and keys all still inside. Good.

Her tail looped the strap around her neck and shoulder. Next came the harness. She lifted it carefully, checking each buckle out of habit rather than necessity. Nothing was loose. Satisfied, she slipped it over her body with practiced efficiency. Finally, she reached for the board. Her tail steadied the weight while her paws guided it along her back. The pressure settled against her spine. She fastened the harness. Click. Click. Click. Perfect.

She gave everything one last check. No repeating what happened earlier, she thought. Satchel, secured harness, surfboard, all good to go.

Okay, now she could leave. She nudged the locker shut as she turned to walk away.

Clunk.

The rehabilitation center began emptying by the time she stepped outside. The marina glowed yellow under the afternoon sun. Fishing boats rocked against their ropes; pelicans stood along docks like judgemental old men, and the air smelled of salt, diesel, and fried seafood from somewhere down the street.

Catalina stretched her wings one at a time, contemplating flying. It wasn’t even far, and she had already spent most of the day in the air today. Besides… The city was always nicer this time of day.

The boardwalk was just a few blocks ahead, much busier than it had been in the morning. Families wandered through restaurants, street musicians filled the air with guitar chords, and someone laughed enough for the promenade to hear. Catalina decided to walk down to the street once more and head home from there.

She was about to turn left when suddenly a familiar sound filled the air.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

Her eyes drifted to the noise automatically. There he was, that human from before. White jersey, eyebrow slit, earbuds, and a skateboard. He drifted slowly beside the seawall, one foot resting, while the other pushed every couple seconds. His attention stayed on the water, occasionally glancing at people passing by. He never once looked her direction.

“...”

Huh.

She’d seen him earlier. Outside the record store, and again near the park near the beach. Now he was here. Her eyes narrowed.

“That’s strange…”

It wasn’t suspicious, not entirely, but Santa Hidalgo wasn’t exactly tiny. She watched him from the street before the promenade. He smiled at something an elderly dragon had said before continuing on his way, completely unaware she was there.

Catalina’s eyes lingered for another second. Maybe he lived nearby. Maybe they both had similar routines. Maybe–

Ring! Ring! “On your left!” A cyclist rang a bell right beside her.

She moved instantly. “Oh. Sorry.”

The cyclist nodded gratefully before continuing ahead, and when Catalina turned her neck to look back…

He was gone. The human disappeared into the crowd. She blinked once.

Weird.

Her tail adjusted the satchel on her shoulder, and she continued her way back to her apartment. The thought should have disappeared there. Instead, it stayed with her for several blocks. Just quietly enough to be annoying.

---

Marco was swallowed by the city once again, another face wandering Santa Hidalgo’s sidewalks. Somewhere behind him, Catalina disappeared into the crowd just as easily, carrying her surfboard home beneath the late afternoon sun. Neither looked back; the city simply carried on.

Moving trucks continued unloading freshmen into dorms across campus. Parents squeezed in one last lecture before saying goodbye. Professors shuffled stacks of untouched syllabi across cluttered desks. Empty classrooms waited patiently for conversations that hadn’t happened yet.

There was only one more day before UCSH fully came alive.

One more day before hallways filled with familiar faces pretending not to be nervous.

One more day before Catalina would reorganize her backpack for what she insisted would be the last time.

One more day before Marco reunited with Di.

One more day before sophomore year starts. Before assignments. Before professors. Before, ordinary moments would become entirely unforgettable.