Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A rising tide and a bright sun woke me up. A thin layer of sand covers half my body, and my head feels as though someone struck it with a hammer multiple times. I look around, trying my best to recall how I ended up here. My memories are fuzzy and messy, but clear enough to get a rough idea of what happened last night. Doing my best to focus, I piece together the string of events that led me here and the climax of a colossal fuckup. 

With my inhibitions dulled by the alcohol and my accumulated frustration getting the best of my patience, I ended up making some rather unfortunate comments. 
And Fang broke up with me. 

 Huh.

I lay on the sand, taking my time to breathe in the chilly morning air, uncertain about the reliability of my memory. Echoes of each word replay in my mind.

Would I say something like that?... maybe not sober? I wasn't sober. Dammit. It got past my filters. 

Another five minutes pass; the background noise of waves assists my scattered brain in recollecting itself. 

Maybe this is for the better: one less headache.

"Anon, Trish was right about you."

Sure thing. I can't believe I apologized to that cunt after the doxing.

Bitter thoughts take shape in my mind, but the annoying feeling of sand on my skin stops them. I shake my head and do my best to get rid of all the small silica particles on my clothes and body. After fifteen minutes, most of it is gone. I look down at myself and, satisfied enough with my level of cleanliness, I start walking. 
And so begins a hungover hike back to a shitty apartment in an even shittier part of town. 

Twenty minutes of smelling the acrid smell of rotting garbage turns out to be better than any coffee at waking me up and fully bringing me back to my senses. Opening the door to my apartment, I'm greeted by the usual, simple room. Sighing, I walk over to the bathroom after locking the front door, praying for some semblance of lukewarm water.  

Goddammit!.  
Cold, ice-cold.    
Now I'm definitely awake.

Shivering, I dry myself with an old towel and put on a clean pair of jeans, a simple white t-shirt, and a green shirt. 

At least this makes buying in bulk easy. 

I walk over to my bed and drop myself on top of it. Lying down, I stare at the ceiling, considering my options after what happened last night. Checking my phone, I see a couple of messages, some from people I would rather not see again. Catching myself before I can thoroughly read any of them,driven by a weird determination to leave them be. As if they didn't matter. 

Maybe repeating that line enough times will make it true.

But as my phone sits on my desk, my curiosity grows, and I decide to skim over the last message under each name, not reading a lot, but enough to confirm my suspicions. This is a giant can of worms. Insults, questions, rants. Noise. 

When the semester started, I just wanted to be invisible, to disappear without making a fuss.

I toy with the idea, considering why I even interacted with Fang or her circle. Thinking of her stings a little.

Was it simply because Naomi got involved?

I try recalling what happened after the incident in the auditorium; it was awful at first, but after a couple of days, the snarky remarks and jokes died down to almost nothing. Students are quick to forget and move on to the next novelty; the conclusion is obvious. If she hadn't gotten involved, this would not have happened; my original plan would have worked once the novelty of a human in the school had worn off. 

Maybe that’s not such a bad approach after all.

I try recalling my interactions with everyone else to try and understand where things went south. But I can't quite put my finger on it; I was there for Fang as best I could, maybe I'm just not equipped to deal with issues like hers. Apologizing was an option, or at least it was until I heard that last comment from her back at the beach; now it felt like admitting something I wasn't ready to. Somehow, that was all the unconscious part of my mind needed to reach a decision, a final one. I could have heard that from anyone else, and I wouldn't have cared, but she had to be the one to say it. 

I stay on my bed for what feels like ages, only getting up to grab a glass of water and snack on some stale, sugary cereal once in a while, too focused on brooding over last night's events.

As I linger atop my mattress, my mind begins to wander toward the future, thinking of what I will do next. With a couple of months left until graduation, I still have to go to class, and most likely cross paths with the band and Naomi. I really don't like that idea; something tells me that Trish won't react in a good way to what happened at the beach.

"College or the army, I don't care which one."

My father's ultimatum pops up in my head, offering me a solution. College is out of the question, especially taking into account how long I would have to endure an awkward environment in class, something that would absolutely have a negative effect on my grades. But the army, on the other hand, only requires a high school diploma or something similar. I'll get food and a place to sleep, plus a meager paycheck. All in exchange for risking my life and living in frugal conditions, the last part I'm already doing. 

Such a big commitment scares me; just stopping to think for too long about what could go wrong makes me doubt myself. So I try my best to avoid dwelling on the possibilities, on the "what ifs", specially when death is a likely outcome during deployment. If I waver, if I remain as passive as always, I'll lose this perfect chance. 

If my dad made it through, then so can I.

Fuck it, we ball.

An idea finally crosses my mind; turning toward the old computer next to me, I exhale and get up to turn it on. Thirty minutes of research gives me exactly what I am looking for. 

A GED means no more classes, and I don't need permission to sign the paperwork to drop out — bingo. This is my way out.

A rather extreme option, but doable for sure. Keeping it from my parents should be easy enough; it's just a matter of convincing Spears and avoiding everyone else. I hesitate for a moment, but a little voice in the back of my head pushes me forward. Most likely, a mix of stubbornness and tired acceptance.

People don't change. 

What's left of the day passes by in the blink of an eye. I eat a miserable dinner, play some games on my Xrox, and go to bed.

The next Monday, I go directly to Spear's office, armed with an odd resolve to get things done today. I try my best to avoid the eyes of other students and somewhat succeed; there is no sign of my acquaintances — perfect.

Now, in front of Spears's office, I take a deep breath and knock on the door. The knot in my stomach tightens.

"Who is it?"
A loud voice asks from the other side.

"Anon, sir. There is something I want to discuss with you."
Getting those words out proves more difficult than expected.

"Come on in."

Spears seems taken aback by my sudden, unscheduled visit, but a brief explanation of my "plan" seems to be enough for him to get it. 

He frowns and crosses his arms after hearing that I want to drop out. But the mention of going for a GED seems to calm him down enough to reason. I don't say much, trying to avoid the messy details of my drunken stupor, but enough for him to understand that I want to leave, get away; that I'm done. His expression shows a conflict of emotions: pity... and understanding?. 

Spears huffs and grabs a fancy fountain pen from one drawer. Following a brief back-and-forth to clarify the details, he finally relents and signs the necessary paperwork. Something inside me smiles; it's finally done. 

He hands me half a dozen documents, his gargantuan hand making mine look like chicken wire twisted into the shape of one. I reach forward to grab them, but before I can, he speaks.

"Anon, I understand the situation can be tough, but I'm glad that you're still pursuing your academic goals. If you need help with studying, I know great private tutors."
I consider the proposal for a moment, but I'm quickly reminded of my financial situation by the feeling of a very thin wallet in my left pocket. This is something I have to do on my own.

"No need, sir. I'll be taking the tests in a week. The sooner, the better."
He raises an eyebrow and leans forward on his desk. 

"The sooner, the better? And why is that?" 
Why is that? A good question, but not one I can really answer, even if I ignore who is asking. 

"I'm joining the army; I've got to make it in time for the next deadline."
I say, with as much conviction as I can muster, trying to convince him and myself. He looks at me while tapping the desk with his fingers a couple times.

 "I see... well, the door to my office is always open. I wrote down my phone number on the back of one of the papers; call me if you need assistance with your studies."

"I will, sir."

 "It seems like you've already made up your mind. Good luck."
He says it in a solemn tone. The man might be a wall of muscle, but there seems to be some genuine care for his students there. Maybe one day I'll give half as much of a damn.

I shake his hand as I grab the paperwork and head out. Peeking back at Spears, I get a glimpse of his face as I leave; he seems a bit sad. 

Me too, big guy. But it is what it is.

The following week is hectic, to say the least. I devote most of my time to studying, and I carefully budget my grocery money to pay for the tests. The beauty of being an army brat. 

At least it will toughen me up, he says. Let's hope so. 

At some point in my feverish academic pursuit, the buzzing of my phone proved unbearable, and I went out to buy a new SIM card, giving my parents a bullshit excuse and my new number before throwing away the old one. 

I stop for a moment to consider how I am going to cover this up. With graduation not that far away, I think of just telling them I plan on joining the Army, a half-lie that should work well enough. 

It's not like they check on me often. 

Before I know it, it's time. I'm nervous, almost nauseous; a week certainly wasn't enough to build up the necessary confidence. But I'm already there. 

Somehow, I make it through every single exam with more than decent scores. After getting the final result, I called Spears to relay the information. A part of me felt bad about leaving him in the dark about it. The prehistoric man seems satisfied with my results and gives me some words of encouragement, most likely taken from what would be his speech at graduation, for sure. A small smile creeps its way onto my face.

 Thanks.

Now that the tests are done I'm more than sure of my choice, mostly because of the complete lack of options. I've lit a fire under my ass; the only way is forward. I might be afraid, and if I stopped to think about it for too long, chances are I would go back on my decision if I could, but that's not a possibility anymore. It's done. I got my golden ticket.

With the equivalent of a high school diploma in hand, I find the nearest recruitment center and enlist without a second thought. The recruiter makes it very convenient. Of course, they have a quota to fulfill. 

I sign on the dotted line, and that's it. A few days later, I'm off to basic. 

My lanklet body is pushed to its limit during the following eleven weeks; the food is too much, to the point where I can barely keep up. The training is torturous, but apparently effective; the numbers for sure go up. Slowly but surely, I adapt, as a human should. And before I know it, I've gained a decent amount of mass, learned how to use a rifle, and made some "friends", or rather, battle buddies. I find the feeling odd, but reassuring in a way, a nice structure to my disinterested way of life. 

We have no access to our phones, something that helps me deal with that other annoying voice in the back of my head telling me I should have at least tried to clear things up before leaving. I'm quick to kill it, not willing to get distracted when I'm barely holding on.

You dated for, like, two months—no big deal.

While in training, I quickly learned to shut up, actively doing my best to stop my mumbling by literally biting my tongue. A necessary sacrifice to avoid extra work for talking shit about command. 

Basic is over faster than expected, and the rather complicated situation in northeastern Africa forces us to deploy. No time to reconsider, do or die. Twelve months of pure fun await me. 

I let my parents know with a quick phone call, doing my best to answer the incessant stream of questions from my worried mom. My dad, on the other hand, seems slightly proud of me; an odd sight. 

"Write to us as much as you can, okay, sweetie? And don't forget to take your malaria pills.”

"I will, Mom. And I don't think there is malaria there; I'll be fine. We'll deploy for a year, give or take a month.”

"Be careful and come back in one piece."
Her tone is sad, almost pleading. It makes me regret my decision a little, but there is nothing I can do. 

 "I will, Mom, promise... But in one piece? I don't know; having a robot arm sounds cool.”

"Anon, don't joke about that!" 
I hear the muffled voice of my father in the background.

"Sorry, sorry. I gotta go, Mom. Goodbye, love you.”

"Love you too, sweetie. Goodbye."
I hang up and prepare myself to leave the country I was born in to go God knows where.

The twelve months of deployment turn out to be not as awful as I expected. My baptism of fire had no casualties on our side. Engagements are numerous, but not catastrophic; an IED here and there, an ambush once in a while. But not enough to take many lives or resources. I suffer a couple of minor injuries, but they heal fast and leave behind scars that will make for good stories. 

As we move around we take every chance we get to visit local markets and collect trinkets from the different locations we visit, things like small ornate knives, jewelry, doodads, and accessories; I even got myself a vintage hand warmer to deal with the cold desert nights.

The hostile environment and strict routine gradually help me shape my mind and body. I like this; I know what to do and when; there is no need to waste time wondering. The adrenaline rush is also a nice perk.

I sort of get it now, Dad. 

The old man was partially right; I did need to toughen up a bit more. But maybe this wasn't the best way to do it; a bit too drastic.

One morning, while transporting some supplies, we're ambushed by a large group of enemy combatants. Too many for our squad. Things get too ugly, too fast, and I'm forced to rack the gears in my brain, desperate for a solution to our dire situation. In the blink of an eye, the leading vehicle disappeared; nothing but warped metal and pink clouds of organic material left behind. The smell of burnt plastic and sulfur assaults my nostrils, accompanied by the deafening sound of bullets hitting steel.

Knowing that RPGs are five hundred bucks cheap and that more are on their way, I make a drastic decision. I yell at my buddy on the wheel to go off-road and around the destroyed Humvee. I go up to man the MG, laying suppressive fire on enemy positions. Multiple rounds fly past the turret's armor and hit my plate carrier, but I don't relent. The gun continues spitting lead almost as fast as I can spit curses. 

The next four minutes prove to be the most difficult of my life, making previous experiences pale in comparison. Iron keeps crashing against the armor on my chest, some shrapnel twisting and biting into my flesh; somehow, my lungs don't collapse, and I keep firing. After what feels like an eternity, we finally escape enemy fire. With barely any ammo left, we manage to peel away from the destroyed vehicle and drive back to the base. As soon as we reach it, as if knowing we are on safe ground, I pass out.

A day later, I lay on a bed as a doctor explains how they had to dig shrapnel out of my body and how many blood transfusions were necessary to keep me alive. I'm thankful that my plate carrier caught the worst of it.

As he talks, I look around and see the other mechanics in the distance; they seem to be working on the Humvee, or what's left of it; it's completely trashed and riddled with bullet impacts. I'm sure my body doesn't look much better. That sure was a big fight. 

The incident surprised top brass, who were not expecting such a well-organized and bold attack from the enemy. They considered our survival a miracle. Maybe we'll getting some medals for making it out alive.

 Easy.

Apparently, our borderline suicidal actions drew enemy fire away from the rest of the formation long enough to keep the rest of my squad safe. 

The following week, with nothing else to do, I just killed time playing cards and talking with the other soldiers in the infirmary. It seems like their injuries will take longer to heal for them than they would for me. Having a slower metabolism must suck; at least their scales are a bit tougher than skin. 

At night I take advantage of the silence to think about what happened. Many of the survivors seem really affected by it; I'm saddened as well, good men died that day, but I'm not as shaken. I question myself; should my feelings about this be stronger? Is this something that hits once you get back? Have I gotten too used to it after twelve months in the field? I meditate about it; we are soldiers; isn't this part of the job, a risk we all accepted?. I can't reach a concise answer.

Is this just how my mind works?

At some point during my second week there, the same doctor who woke me up shows up and starts talking to me using  terminology that a corporal has no chance of knowing. The meds they must be pumping into my bloodstream make following what he's saying an arduous task — too many tough words spoken too fast — but I get the gist of it. The damage is severe enough to require a longer recovery. 

"Mr. Mouse, this will take time, at least six months for a full recovery. And since your deployment would have ended in less than a week, were it not for this incident, they will send you back home in two days."
The doctor, a Carnotaurus with an air of authority, speaks. I nod, too shocked to muster a response. I had already gotten used to being here. And now I'm going back home.

 Home?

The flight and drive back feel surreal, as if someone is going to pull the rug out from under my feet at any moment. My first choice was Volcadera. And as I get off the bus, I'm hit with a sobering realization: too distracted by what had happened, I forgot to look for an apartment and call my parents. I scramble for my phone and call my mom; she's quick to pick up.  

"Hey mom"

"..."
She seems surprised by the sudden call. Taking a second longer than usual to answer.

"Hi honey, you're coming back soon, right?"
There it is. Something tells me she has been counting the days while hoping for the best. 

"Uh, yeah, about that, I'm already back in the States."

"What? What do you mean? Don't you have two weeks left?" 
Surprise and confusion, sort of what I expected. 

"I got injured and honorably discharged. I'm in Volcadera."

"Volcadera? What are you doing there? Do you have a place to stay? Wait, what do you mean, injured? For Christ's sake, send me a picture; I want to see that you're not missing any limbs" 
She hits me with a stream of questions, and I can barely keep up.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, really. I sort of answered without thinking when they asked me where I wanted to go. And I'm figuring out that last part. Look, Mom, don't worry. I just wanted to let you know I'm back and in one piece."
I quickly take a photo of myself and send it back  to her to give Mom some peace of mind. Good thing I'm wearing a long-sleeve shirt and a jacket.

"That's good to hear; you kept your word. When are you going to visit?"

"In a week or two, for sure" 

"Perfect! we'll be waiting for you—hold on, your father wants to talk with you" 
Now I'm the one who's confused; Dad is rarely this proactive. 

"Hey kid. I overheard the conversation, so I thought I should let you know. We’re retiring soon, and your mother and I will be moving to a small town near Volcadera. I don't know what business you have there, but that's very convenient; you'll be able to swing by often." 
He says, almost stating the last part as a fact. 

"Sure thing, Dad, look, I'm in a bit of a hurry. Do you have the number of my old landlord? I need a place to stay, and fast." 

"Hm, I do, yeah. I'll send it to you ASAP. You'll have to tell us what the deal is with that medical discharge when we meet in person."

"I will for sure. And thanks for the contact."

"You're welcome. Bye, Anon."
I can hear Mom saying goodbye alongside my dad, and he hangs up. A couple of minutes pass, and I get a text message from him with the information I need.

After a quick call and some arrangements, I got my old apartment back, dirt cheap, with no hot water, and in the shittiest part of town; exactly like I remembered it. No wonder it was available, or maybe I'm just that lucky — as if.   

I called a cab and bought some food on my way to my place. I'm back. A weird sense of déjà vu invades me as I open the door; I drop my duffle bag and the groceries next to it and lock it.

No bed, so I'll be counting sheep on a sleeping bag for now. A bit of a downgrade, but good enough in my book. Can't be worse than sleeping in a ditch in the sand. 
With everything urgent taken care of, I relax, feeling the exhaustion from the day setting in and mixing with the dull pain all over my body. I need rest to recover. I roll out my sleeping bag, put the few groceries I bought in the fridge that came with the place, and lie down on my makeshift bed, once again staring at the same ceiling as a year ago.

"What goes around comes around. Huh?"

I say to myself before falling asleep. My first night of rest since I came back goes by with no dreams or nightmares. 

Chapter Text

   I wake up with a mild feeling of pain all over my body; rolling out of bed, I try to get up; my whole body hurts. Maybe sleeping like that wasn't a good idea.

I need a proper bed.

   Walking over to the kitchen, I spot two small plastic containers. I reach out to grab them, but my growling stomach reminds me that I haven't had breakfast yet. 

Can't take them with on an empty stomach. Dumb-ass.

   I open the fridge and grab some ingredients. In less than ten minutes, I fix myself an omelet and some Greek yogurt. Popping one pill from each bottle, I walk over to the table with my food in the other hand. Sitting down, I take a couple of bites before downing the meds with some water. 

Antibiotics and Oxycodone: breakfast of champions.

   I finish the food and walk over to the bathroom to prepare myself for the day. Even limited by my injuries, I still try my best to do as much as I can to keep my body from breaking down and going back to being the scrawny, skinny kid I was. 
   I get undressed and remove the few bandages left on me. My reflection in the mirror stares back. My biceps and forearms are covered in dozens of small lacerations; some have stitches, others are simply left as is. There is still some inflammation; the skin around the cuts is slightly reddish, a reminder of why I'm taking antibiotics. 

And to think this is all just because of spalling. Man. 

   A cold shower and half a bottle of disinfectant later, I'm sitting in front of my desk, looking for a mattress and a bed. Very few businesses actually deliver to this area, so my options are limited. Even then, I find some decent options and place an order.

Looks like I'm not sleeping on the cold ground again. Anon one, floor zero.

   With my order done, I decide to kill time until it arrives by watching some mindless action movie. Later that day, a message notification of the delivery being on its way brings me back to reality, and sure enough, an hour later I hear a knock at the door. After paying the delivery for helping me get everything up the stairs I get to assembling my new bed chambers, helped to push forward by the painkillers. Satisfied by my work I put some fresh sheets on it and lay down on my new bed; it's comfortable and probably won't make half my body hurt in the morning. 
   The next ten days consist of me trying my best to balance rest and physical activity. I survive on takeouts and simple meals, and as the days pass, the trash starts piling up in my room.
  After the tower of boxes next to the fridge collapses, I feel my tolerance for  clutter reaching a breaking point, so I grab a couple of black trash bags and get to picking up all the greasy cardboard laying around. Once done with my spring cleaning, I walk out of my apartment and down the stairs to the streets below, looking for the nearest container, carrying five thankfully light trash bags. The sound of my boots hitting the pavement feels distant; the numbing sensation provided by the drugs makes them almost irrelevant. I feel disconnected. Finally, I reach the nearest alleyway and throw away the trash. The crisp, clear air feels invigorating, so before going back to my place I decide to walk a bit and stretch my legs, staying inside for so long certainly didn’t do me any favors. 
   I continue putting one foot in front of the other, lost in my own mind; my improvised sightseeing eventually takes me to the edge of skin-row. Once I realize the scenery has changed, I decide to return before it gets too late. As I make my way back, a small restaurant catches my eye. It's not as run-down as you might expect for this part of town. Probably due to it being near the outskirts of this forsaken neighborhood. It looks old; it most likely is old; the furniture reminds me of what you would see in a late 70s movie. 
   There is a band playing for the surprising amount of clients coming in and out of the restaurant, their tune muffled by the glass. I cross the street to listen, and as I do, so a familiar figure enters my field of view. The girl on the guitar rocks a monochromatic look that I could recognize anywhere. I focus on her, not bothering with the other members of the band. I watch as she plays; it's slow, reminiscent of blues. The many patrons look uninterested, and she looks sad, almost miserable. Even at a distance, I can notice that she's thinner than she was in high school. Nothing but scales and bones. I can feel the sting of guilt hitting me; it's confusing. 
   My vision shifts from her to the glass in front of me; my reflection stares back. I look tired, beaten down, ragged, tired. Even considering my injuries, I shouldn’t look this bad. I take a step back, shaking my head and focusing on reality once more. Thankfully, she seems too distracted by the floorboards to notice me. And I take the chance to walk away. Even with my perception of the world muffled by the oxy, I can be sure of one thing.

I don't want to end up like that. 

   As I walk back to my apartment, many thoughts bounce around my head, some conflicting with the others. But my daydreaming is interrupted by the clicking of a lock. The walk wasn't that long in the end. I lock the front door after entering and sit down next to my bed. 

The hell happened?

   I feel somewhat responsible, even knowing that my limited actions couldn't have had such a strong effect on the poor ptero, or at least that's what I tell myself. I remain there, recalling past events and questioning myself until hunger forces me to get up.
   Dinner is uneventful, just another part of the routine. After doing the dishes, I decide to lie down to think about what I'll do tomorrow. My body feels strong enough to weather a trip back to Rock bottom. 
   Before falling prey to slumber, I muster enough willpower to drag myself to the kitchen counter; I grab the painkillers and stash them away. I'm done with those for now. 

And to think they gave me enough for half of my projected recovery. Saurian strength no less. Cutting the pills into small enough pieces was a pain in the ass.

   The next day I wake up still questioning what I saw, hoping that perhaps it was nothing but a bad dream. I take my usual cold shower, certainly not because it's the only option I have. My most serious wounds look and feel good enough to not need bandages anymore, so I don't bother beyond drowning them in iodine. I put on a clean change of clothes followed by my weathered army jacket. 

I should get a new one.

   Feeling ready to go, I burn some cash on plane tickets and stuff a week’s worth of clothes in my good old duffel bag.
   It's not cold enough for me to need a coat yet, so I decide to travel light. I call a cab that arrives unnaturally fast; the driver looks somewhat familiar, but I can't quite put my finger on it. By breaking some traffic rules, he gets me to the airport faster than I expected. With extra time to kill, I get myself an obscenely priced croissant and a coffee to make the wait a bit more bearable. Thankfully boarding doesn't take long.
   The flight is short, barely enough to catch a nap. The shock from the shift to colder weather wakes me up as I wait for my luggage. I call a cab and ring my parents to let them know I'll be there soon. 
   The man driving the cab takes his time, making small talk, ranting about one of the new steel mills near the town. As we drift across the snowy streets, I see my old high school. I expect a storm of negative emotions, but instead I'm met with simple indifference. Perhaps it’s  a different point of view that’s making it all look smaller.

I should have gotten into more fights; I wouldn't have had to move if I had. Hindsight sure is twenty-twenty.

   I’m surprised by my newfound willingness to resort to violence. Before I can finish that thought, the taxi driver starts talking while looking at me in the front view mirror. We arrived sooner than I expected. I pay him and leave a decent tip. Grabbing my luggage, I walk to the front gate; a tall two-story building stands before me.

Home sweet home.

 
I walk up the weathered oak stairs and knock on the door; my father is quick to answer. He opens the front door and walks toward me with a slightly confused expression. After looking me up and down, he nods and points at my luggage. 

"Need help with that, kiddo?" 

I shake my head slowly.
"No need, dad, besides it's just one bag... Quite some time since I've been around town, huh?" 

"Hah, yeah, go greet your mother, will you? She has been worried sick" He says nonchalantly.

As warm as always. 

I nod, giving him a half-assed salute as I walk past him and into the house. It doesn't take me long to find mom; she's in the living room sipping on some tea and reading a small book. She looks distracted.

"Who was it, dear?" She asks, completely unaware of my presence.

I drop my bag near the couch and stand in front of her.
"Hey mom"
She stops moving for a second, and then looks up; her face forms into a wide smile, and she gets up and walks around the table in the blink of an eye to hug me. 

"Hi, Mom." I greet her again, this time with a grin as I extend my arms sideways.
"Hold up, ouch—ow—I'm gonna pop a lung—ow—" 
I protest as she wraps her arms around me a bit too tightly. My father stands near the entrance, slightly shaking his head with a barely noticeable smile on his face. 

All things considered, the old bastard still has a heart. 

I weather through the mild discomfort and reciprocate my mother's hug. 
"Did you guys miss me? It’s been a while" 

She looks up with watery eyes.
"A while?! Oh, sweetheart" She says lifting her head to look at me before going back to squeezing me as if I were an almost empty bottle of ketchup. 
"How was your trip overseas?"

I stop to think for a second. I never really sat down to digest my experiences during deployment since I came back. 
“Tough” Is the only word that escapes my lips.

“You’re not there anymore, and I’m glad of that” 
She finally relents and lets go of me as my father walks over.

"So, what was that about a medical discharge?" He asks wasting no time, straight to the point.

I turn toward him. 
"Yeah, I caught a bunch of shrapnel, spall from the rounds that hit the armor plate."
I simply state. 

“We’ll be having dinner in an hour, make yourself at home, sweetie. Your room is just as you left it” Mom says with a smile as she walks over to the kitchen. Giving me and dad some room to talk.

He sits down on the couch and signals to me to do the same. I let out a sigh and sit on the opposite end.

"How bad was it? Let me see" He insists, pointing at my jacket.

"Sure" I answer while rolling up my sleeves, revealing the still slightly inflamed sutures beneath. He narrows his eyes and stares.

"Take off your jacket" He says, turning his hand to emphasize.

"Ugh" I grumble before obliging. 

"Damn" He exclaims, whistling as he looks at the many randomly shaped cuts plaguing my flesh. 
"How long will it take for a full recovery?" 

I shrug
"Six months, apparently"

"Nonsense, I'd say less than a one" He sates with all the confidence in the world. 

"And what makes you say that? Got any experience with this?" I ask, confused.

"Been there, done that. Plus, I was a medic, you know?. Let me guess, the doc was a lizard?" He comments with a cocky expression on his face.

"A liz- Yeah, he was a Carnotaurus;  why?" I answer, still trying to make sense of what he means. 

"Hah!  like clockwork." He shakes his head.
"Go see a hominid doctor while you're in town; I know a good one; you need a second opinion. Hell, I’ll take you there tomorrow"

"Sure?" I say, not very convinced. 

"We heal faster than them, at the expense of getting hurt easier; god giveth, god taketh, and all that" Dad answers, shrugging. 

   We continue talking for some time and I fail to notice my mom standing behind me, staring intensely at my scars. As I turn towards where she is, I'm instantly met by a barrage of questions and scoldings. Trying my best to calm her down, I promise to follow dad’s advice and go see that doctor the following day. That proves enough for mom to stop her verbal assault. And just to be sure I recall the diagnosis I got back in the field.

She looks at me as I explain and justify my injuries; once I’m done ranting, she speaks up again.
"Those scars seem pretty bad."

"It's alright, mom, it looks worse than it is; besides, it barely hurts. What’s another stripe on a tiger, right?" I say, trying to minimize the importance of my wounds.

She frowns as I finish that phrase. I can see my father grimacing behind her. It feels as if I made the wrong dialogue choice.
"No. It's not alright."

"Really, mom, it's fi-" But I don’t get the chance to finish the sentence.

"No" I'm interrupted. Her tone is firm, leaving no room to argue, similar to the one she used back when I was in elementary school to scold me after really messing up.
"Please tell me you're not re-enlisting" She asks, worry and disapproval are written all over her face.

"Well- I-  No, I'm not" I try to answer, but plans for the near future are something I never really considered. 

"You sure? Is that a promise?" She corners me again, this time with a compromising question.

"Promise" Left with no other option, I just accept it. The adrenaline junkie in me wishes I didn’t. 

"Great" Mom says as she lets out a big sigh and her shoulders relax. 
"Dinner is waiting, be a dear and help me set the table, please"

Her usual cheery demeanor is back. Thanks God.

   Dinner turns out to be quite pleasant, I feel calm, but it’s a different feeling from the  numbness of pills. Mom and Dad put me up to speed with what has happened in town while I was gone, sprinkling questions about my experience in the army and my last semester in high school. Somehow I manage to keep up my farce,  carefully avoiding the fact that I did technically drop out and never graduated by regular means.
   After a great meal, I help Mom with the dishes; once that is done, I walk up the stairs to my childhood room. The small bed feels way more comfortable than I remembered, if I ignore my feet almost hanging off one side.  Mom was true to her word, everything is exactly as I left it, embarrassing paraphernalia included. A weird sense of melancholy hits me as I drift to sleep, remembering that they will most likely be selling this place soon once they retire. 
   The following  morning I wake up a couple minutes before my alarm, I turn it off and drag myself to the bathroom. Savoring the opportunity to finally take a proper warm shower to start my day.
   As I walk downstairs, I’m greeted by Dad sitting on the couch, drinking coffee and Mom leaning against the kitchen counter, reading something on her phone. 

“Good morning” I say with a raspy voice.

“Mornin”
“Morning, sunshine” They both answer in unison. 

   As usual, they both skip breakfast, something about having no appetite in the morning, but they make up for it with a ridiculously generous lunch. I walk to the kitchen and grab myself some oats and a cup of coffee.  
   As I lazily finish my breakfast, I can see my dad glancing at me. 

“Is something the matter?”  I ask as I clean what’s left on my plate and down my antibiotics with what’s left of the coffee. 

“We’re going to the hospital, remember? Your mother insisted we take care of this early” Dad answers, emphasizing the last part. Mom nods. 

Of course she didn’t forget.

“Oh, right. Just let me grab my wallet. I’ll be back in five” 
I say, getting up to wash the cup and plate before I am stopped by my mother. 

“Don’t worry about that” 

She’s really hellbent on this, huh?

“Alright”  I answer, leaving the dishes behind. 
   In a flash I make my way to my room to fetch my jacket and stop by the bathroom to brush my teeth. In three minutes I’m back in the living room, ready to leave. I signal my dad with a sideways nod, pointing at the garage. That seems to be all he needs to get moving. Twenty minutes of driving later, we are at the doctor’s office, a tall simian with red fur covering half his body. Dad greets him with a handshake and introduces me. The checkup turns out to be more thorough than I expected, to the point of asking for a blood sample.

   Just as my father said, his diagnosis differs greatly from that of the old meteor dodger back at base. Assuming proper rest and diet I should be back on the field in less than three weeks. I can’t believe dad was somewhat right about that.

Amazing, now what?

   Doubt invades me, knowing that I'll be ready so soon is great, but the uncertainty of my near future is quick to kill that positive feeling.

   Mom is delighted to hear the news, and so is my dad, although they are probably happy for different reasons. 
   While eating lunch, dad invites me to go fishing with him that afternoon.  My body seems to be doing well enough, so I agree. Surprisingly, mom decides to tag along.

I missed spending time with them. Who would have thought. 

   A part of me is more than thankful for making it back, and both my parents seem glad to have me around. I reflect on it, thinking of my last few weeks before I left for Volcadera. In a way, I understand his reaction now that I’ve also served; looking back, it all seems so small and irrelevant compared to what I had to go through afterward. And mom, well, she tried to help me through that shitty situation, but was probably out of her depth.

Maybe they care more than I thought?. 

   I stop to consider why they sent me to skin row, perhaps it was due to the high concentration of humans, maybe the prices. There is a considerable chance they weren’t aware of how dangerous the area was. Not that far fetched considering how little time dad had to find me an apartment. The possibility of it being on purpose to “toughen me up” is also likely. I continue poking at the idea in my head, considering if just asking them outright is a good idea. 

“Anon, got a moment?” 
My thoughts are interrupted by my dad waving at me to walk with him to the other side of the pier. With mom staying behind watching over our things.
I walk over and he sits down on one of the posts. Seeing that there aren’t any other spots, I do the same and sit opposite to him. 

He folds one of his arms across his chest, using it as support for his other elbow while he scratches his chin.
“So, I’ve been meaning to ask. Now that you know it won’t be six months, what’s your plan? What do you want to do? College is still an option, service not so much, especially after seeing your mom like that. If you re-enlist we are both going to end up dead” 

I chuckle at his last comment, he’s not wrong. 
“Before I answer, I have a question of my own. ”

“Shoot” 

“Remember when I moved to Volcadera? Why did you send me to skin-row? It was, and still is, a shit-hole” 

He looks at me, nodding.
“That’s exactly why. I raised you, son; I know you well enough. You are capable of a lot, but you don’t act unless you’re between a rock and a hard place. I had to force your hand, and look at you, it worked”

It takes me a second to process his outright confession. Anyone passing by at the moment would have been able to hear my blood pressure rising. I haven’t been this genuinely pissed off in a long time. I try to keep my focus to avoid just strangling him then and there. 

“Look, Anon” He says, clearly trying to appease me. 
“I’m sorry, I know it was harsh. But it was necessary”

“Necessary? Fuck off!” I say, the frustration more than clear in my voice. 

“Look, if you want to be mad, you have a right to do so. But know that this was my idea and my idea alone. I kept it from your mother. She wouldn’t have allowed it, she’s always been soft on you” He comments, looking towards where she was previously sitting. 

I take a few deep breaths and can feel my emotions calming down enough to talk again.
“Why didn’t you just talk to me about it?”

“Would you have listened?” His tone seems genuine. 

Probably not

“Touché” Got me there.

“Yes, yes, it could have gone wrong, horribly so. Putting you in that situation was a gamble. But it worked. When it came down to it, when you had to make a difficult decision, you did. It’s not my business to ask what pushed you to do so. But not many kids that age would be willing to drop out and get a GED just to enlist ASAP”  He sounds proud of my rushed choice. 

It did go wrong. She—
Hold on, what?

The last part catches me completely off guard.
“How do you-“ 

“Your principal told me” He interrupts.
“Don’t hold it against him, he seemed genuinely worried. I saw your grades; you did great. Good job” Dad congratulates me, a rare occurrence. 

We sit there in awkward silence while I process what he just said. A couple minutes pass before he speaks up again.

“Well then, about the question I asked you…” 

More than willing to leave the previous topic behind, I quickly answer. 
“Mechanic, I was a mechanic while in the army. I liked it.”

“So you’re gonna look for a job in that field?” He seems pleasantly surprised.

I think for a moment; the monotonous boredom of civilian life feels bad enough to add working for someone on top of it. 
“No. I haven’t thought too much about it, if at all. But If you press me for an answer, I would say I want my own auto repair shop” 

“That’s expensive, you’re taking a loan? If you need help, your mother and I would be glad to lend you a hand” 

I consider his proposal for a moment, but quickly discard it, refusing to take the easy way out for a change.
“A loan? Who would give over seventy thousand to a kid with just a high school degree?” 

“Someone charging ridiculous rates” He retorts

“Bingo. And no, I don’t want your help, I’ll do it on my own” I say with a surprising amount of conviction. 

He smiles with ‘I told you so’ written all over his face.
“That’s really assertive of you”

Jackass

“So what’s your plan?” He continues

“No plan. As for money to start my own shop, well, after word of what happened at the end of my deployment got around I received a couple of emails from some private security companies. One stood out, from Constellis, they wanted me as a consultant in one of their new gigs. The pay is great, fourteen weeks contract, six days a week. Ninety two thousand after taxes. Just enough”

“Where” He asks, leaning forward. It seems like this really caught his attention. 

“South Africa. Apparently, they have been tasked with guarding some infrastructure in the country. I don’t know the details.” 

“Are you going to tell your mother about it?” Dad asks clearly concerned.

“I wasn’t planning on it, it shouldn’t be dangerous, but I don’t want to make her worry” A half truth, I wasn’t planning on telling him either. 

“Look, I can cover for you, but you can’t keep anything from her for long. If you get greedy and renovate the contract, you’re on your own” Dad says in his classic complicit tone. 

“Deal. I don’t need more” 

“Good, good. I think we’re done here. Let’s go grab something to eat.” 

We finish our ‘heartfelt’ conversation and get up to grab a bite. Mom is near the truck cleaning a large fish. At least fifteen pounds worth of meat. She has a beaming smile, slightly smug, as she turns around to address us. 

“Any luck?”  

Dad and I look at each other. 

“That’s alright, we don’t need more” She seems to be really enjoying boasting about her catch.

   Dad doesn’t say anything;  instead he decides to make some room in the cooler for what will be our dinner, courtesy of Ms. Mous. 
   A few hours later we drive back in comfortable silence. Mom is satisfied with how the day went, dad seems happy about my apparent determination to set up my own business, and I’m glad to have some semblance of an improvised medium term plan. 
   Dinner proves too much for just the three of us, looks like we’ll be eating fish for a couple days. I decide to stay until I’m fully recovered before returning to Volcadera, neither of my parents complains.
   Later that month I waved them goodbye and embarked on my flight back to the coastal city. Just like before, the trip was short, and after landing the same old taxi gets me to my destination illegally fast. 
   Back at my apartment I drop my bag next to my bed and turn on my dusty computer. I quickly write a simple email to confirm I’m interested in working as a contractor, they   respond shortly after, attaching two plane tickets to a different continent before even discussing the contract, economy class of course. I have little time to prepare myself, only two days, but it’s probably enough. 
   Once again I embark on a trip overseas; thankfully this time it’s a short one. And hopefully the last. 

Gotta risk it to get the biscuit, Anon, final stretch.

Chapter Text

I stare out of the plane’s window as we land; South Africa looks quite beautiful from the sky. After landing, customs turned out to be nothing but an afterthought. A car from my employer was already waiting for me in the airport’s parking lot, as you would expect; they are straight to the point. 

After a short visit to a small office, I got myself a proper contract, and a genuinely legal one at that, since we are "just security". Ninety days of work, ten hours a day, twelve hundred bucks per day. An insane amount for a regular job, and a great pay even for a gig like this. Soon enough I’m assigned to a small base near a power plant, with my tasks consisting of repairs, maintenance, and discussing different approaches to defense and engagements with higher ups. 

Most of my stay remains free of any incidents, minus the first week, but thanks to that little hiccup we got a psychiatrist on site; a nice perk on top of the gym, the on-demand cooks, free food, and clean lodges. While deployed there, I decided to pay them a couple of visits to see if I could get my ideas in line, which I achieved with some success.

My conversations in the chow hall provide me with some information; most of my coworkers seem to fall into two categories: either desperate vets who like the idea of feeding their families for a year with a few months of work, or men who seek the thrill of possible combat and the cash that comes with it. Lonely creatures, most of them. I found out, after one of my coworkers mentioned that he didn't make it in time for his mother's birthday, that missing dates, holidays, and similar things was the norm here; a crude reminder that the world doesn’t stop to wait for you.

Who would have thought. 

And like that the days pass; thanks to me not being one for fancy living, the money keeps piling up. Not the same can be said for many of my comrades who really like thinking “It’s just one day of work; one band is not that expensive"

We lack air support, POW laws protecting us, or any proper international support. But for me, it didn’t matter; things never got FUBAR enough for me to need any of those; someone must have been praying for me somewhere. 

Soon my days of excitement, free food, housing, and ridiculous pay end, much to my regret. The contract expires, and I decline to renew it, just like I promised. Boredom hangs over my head like a guillotine. With the second plane ticket, I return to the States, calling my dad to let him know I’m done with my little exploits and hoping that Mom remains clueless, or at least plays along. 

It’s not my first time returning to my homeland, but I’m still plagued by the dreadful feeling of impending routine. I try to focus on the fact that I’ll be doing something I like after landing, especially now that I've secured the funds to open a proper shop. 

My old apartment remains the same, reminding me that I should move out now that I can afford it. Thankfully, I won’t stick around this neighborhood for long. 

A quick call to some suppliers and local garages lands me all the tools and the location I need at a hefty price. For 10k a month, I get a medium-sized warehouse with a garage already equipped with two bays, an office, and a bathroom, located near a highway in what would be the city’s “industrial” zone close to the port, a generous term considering how little actual industry there is. While setting everything up, I make sure to call some of my old battle buddies to arrange a proper celebration once the auto shop is actually up and running. Unsurprisingly, most of them live near the West Coast, like almost all saurians. 

The shop I managed to set up is not particularly large or specialized, but it’s a solid start. The news of my little startup brings joy to my parents, with Mom’s curiosity about the origin of my starting capital appeased by Dad's bullshitting. 

Finally having something of my own feels strange; I'm all in, and the possibility of things not working out is ever-present, a constant looming threat. But I don't let it discourage me; it feels like standing at the edge of a cliff, but in a good way.

The first two weeks pass by in the blink of an eye as I’m buried under paperwork and shipment orders to get everything else I need. With that done, I burn some money and time to get a nice neon sign with my last name on it and some advertising in the local newspaper for the old folks, along with ads in snootgram for the younger demographics. 

Clients don’t start pouring in instantly, but they arrive in consistently higher numbers as the days pass by and word gets around. The work starts to pile up, and I do my best to measure up to the challenge. The hectic environment helps me fight the feeling of stagnation that has assaulted my mind since I returned.

 
A month in and I’m already in the green, if I ignore the cost of tools, of course. Way better than I expected. More than enough for me to move to a proper place closer to the shop and out of that shithole they call skin-row. Moving is first on the to-do list, followed by finding a proper gym nearby.

Can’t believe someone had the brilliant idea of building something in that valley, cold as the lowest circle of hell. No wonder it’s mostly humans living there. 

A few days later, while busy changing the brakes on an old shitbox, I’m surprised by a particularly feisty client who walks in almost screaming for a mechanic. 

Damn, chill. 

I wipe my hands and walk up to the red-scaled woman with my best businessman attitude, which only seems to annoy her even more.

“You work here?” she asks in a rather rude tone. 

“I own the place, but yes. How can I help you, miss?” 

“I changed the oil less than a thousand miles ago, and the light just came on; it has been making a weird noise every time I shift for the last hundred miles or so, too” she says and points at her car, a beat-up Plymouth. 

“Let’s get it on the lift” I say, nodding to my left. 

She obliges and moves the car with a permanent frown on her face. Before jacking up the vehicle, I decide to check the dipstick first, and as soon as I unscrew it, I’m met with a very odd sight.

Light? Huh?

Confused, I make my way over to the bottom of the car, and that’s when I see it: half the crankshaft cover is missing, along with the oil pump. Definitely not a regular repair. I relay the information to the para lady waiting impatiently near the door to my office; she doesn’t take it well. 

“What?! You have to be fucking kidding me!” she yells as she grabs her head in exasperation.

 
“I wish I were, but no, you can see for yourself; it’s pretty obvious and pretty bad” I retort, trying to calm her down.

“Ugh. How much will it cost? When can you get it done?” Her answer is sharp and to the point. 

“It’ll cost you three thousand or so. I can fix it in… two days” I roughly estimate.

Her eyes go wide at my statement as she starts muttering under her breath and pacing nervously from side to side. 

“Shit, I can’t…” she mumbles, biting one of her nails while deep in thought.

“Miss? If you don’t want to pay for the repairs that’s fine, but I’ll need you to sign a waiver to acknowledge that you chose to drive like this, despite the shop telling you the vehicle wasn’t in proper condition to do so”

She stops her muttering and looks at me dead in the eyes, which gives me a chance to get a better look at her current state. Based on what little I can gather, she looks slightly disheveled, and the car seems ‘lived in’ so to speak. Which means she’s not doing so hot; she probably can’t afford to pay for the repairs. For some reason I feel a pang of pity.

What's up with you?

“Can you help me out here? I really need it to be up and running” she pleads. 

“Even if I decided to do my good deed of the week and ignored the labor cost, I still have to pay for the parts. Sorry” I answer, almost apologetic. 

“Agh, I’ll sign. Goddammit! How long do you think I can go without it giving up on me? I know more than enough about mechanics to keep it running for a bit longer” she says, resigned.

“I have no idea; I’m not particularly familiar with this motor. Maybe five hundred miles? No idea.” I answer, the last part of her statement piquing my curiosity, more so after having to work ten hours a day for almost a month. 

“Shit.” The poor woman looks defeated, but before she gives up, I can almost see a light bulb popping up on top of her head as she focuses her eyes on the car. 

“I’ll work here to pay for it” she says with a surprising degree of confidence. 

“Hmm. Do you know your way around?” I ask, surprising myself with my quick response.

“Yeah, I’ve been working on this beaut for ages now.” She states with pride, but quickly returns to her brooding as a small piece of metal falls off the car next to her. 

I stop to consider that idea for a moment; a chance to focus on running the business a bit more rather than just working to keep it afloat feels tempting, assuming she doesn’t steal anything. I shrug and decide to give it a shot, considering that in a worst-case scenario I can rely on the shop’s cameras.

“If three thousand is too rich for your blood, then yeah, I can offer you a job. I opened this shop not too long ago, and a second mechanic would do wonders. Tell you what, grab one of those overalls over there, remove what’s left of that crankshaft cover, and clean everything up. If you do it well enough, I’ll hire you” I say, gambling with my words to try and get rid of the overtime I’ve been dealing with for the last couple of weeks.

She stares at me with a doubtful expression on her face. Her head turns to the side as she considers my proposition.

“What about the parts? Why bother taking it apart if I can’t change them” she’s quick to answer.

“They’ll come out of your first three paychecks, and labor is on you; how about that?”

She narrows her eyes, seemingly considering the idea. 
“…”

“What are the hours?”

“8AM to 6PM. Half an hour for lunch break, how does that sound?” I answer, making up the times to match my own schedule as best as possible. 

She remains silent for a long while, but eventually words escape her snout.

“Deal. And… thanks?” 

“Don’t mention it, I—uh—have been there; it’s not fun. You can start right now, as I’ve said; the uniforms are over there.” I say, glad to have someone to help around the shop. 

“Been there?” she asks as she returns.

“Long story for another time; get to work” Is what I answer as she just shrugs and starts looking around the cabinets for a 10mm socket. 

“I didn’t get your name" she mentions while moving to remove the broken cover. 

“Anon”

“Mia” 

The following days, Mia proved to be a good pick as she quickly dealt with her car and changed what was necessary in less than five hours. Once her wheels were turning, she left; I almost expected to get scammed out of the parts she used, but the following day she showed up on time. 

All things considered, that’s a decent work ethic, I guess?

Her car is still filled with bags and clothes, which leaves me to believe that the idea of an apartment is currently foreign to her, but her attitude prevents me from asking about it. 

A problem for future Anon. 

As the inexorable march of time progresses, I delve deeper and greedier into the idea of a new place. With a proper, consistent income, it doesn’t take me long to find a new lease—a better one. 

After careful consideration, I find the perfect option and go through all the paperwork. The move proves to be fast and efficient. And just like that, I get myself out of the worst neighborhood in town, a part of me letting out a sigh of relief. 

With a month left in my old apartment, I take the chance to swing by and clean the place, leaving Mia to manage the shop for half a day. Much to my dismay, taking into account how little I know her, what’s necessary is necessary. 

An afternoon wasted later, and my old place is squeaky clean, looking even better than the way I found it after I first moved in. I drop my backpack filled with cleaning supplies near where the bed was, and stretch before heading out. 

Did I miss something? What an annoying feeling. 

As I walk back to my new place, lost in my own thoughts as I consider what to buy for dinner, I see a peculiar figure walking in the opposite direction. Her gray feathers are unmistakable; she’s carrying with slumped shoulders what looks like a guitar case covered in stickers. 

As the saurian gets closer, my first assessment gains more weight. I know exactly who that is, and to avoid a confrontation, I straighten my posture and focus my vision ahead of me, trying to ignore the approaching presence. 

As the yards separating us grow shorter and shorter, my nervousness skyrockets, and I question my capability to uphold my disinterested facade. As she gets closer, I narrow my eyes, keeping them glued to a sign fifty yards ahead of me, not looking at her directly at all. As I get a better view from my peripheral vision, I can see that she’s looking down at the pavement. 

Thank God. Bullet dodged.

I continue, putting one foot in front of the other. And as I walk past her, claiming ‘victory’, I hear a soft whisper. Almost a whimper. 

“Anon?” The monochromatic figure questions as she passes by, turning her head to look at me. 

My body reacts instinctively before I can stop myself, turning my head towards the person who just called me out by my first name. We lock eyes for a moment that feels eternal; she doesn’t say anything, and I don’t say anything. We stand there, staring. 

I focus on her snoot; her lips look slightly purple, and it isn't because of makeup. Her skin is paler than I remembered, and her arms are stiff. She’s shivering; it’s barely noticeable, even for my sharp gaze, but it’s there. The freezing weather is not being kind to her.

“Anon York Mous. What can I help you with?” I answer, my automaton-like behavior taking over, remnants of my time in service. 

She looks at me with unblinking eyes as I add a second sentence to my greeting. 

“It has been a while, huh, Fang?” I say, desperate to get over with the interaction and get away from her. 

Even though this whole experience feels diminished, as if seeing it from behind glass, I still don’t like it. The awkwardness grows as she stays quiet, but before I can crumble upon myself, she speaks.

“It’s you” Her eyes narrow into thin lines as a multitude of emotions display on her face. Confusion, recognition, sadness, anger, curiosity.

Her hands clench into fists as she closes the distance; her jaw tightens, revealing a row of sharp teeth. My eyes widen in response as my sight shifts from her waist to her pockets to her hands, trying to gather as much information as possible before she has a chance to move.

Unarmed, still, those claws are no joke. 

After confirming that I’m not going to get stabbed, but scratched at worst, I relax a bit. That’s when the first fist hits my chest in a hammering motion, followed by another and another. Her strikes are not particularly harsh, either because she doesn’t want to hurt me or because she can't, betraying the poor state of her muscles. Each hit feels like an unpleasant reminder of a long-gone night. The little charade continues for a while, as I stand there trying to avoid reacting, lifting my hands and using my palms to cushion the blows and keep her wrists from bending in the wrong way and turning into splinters. Once she gets it out of her system, Fang lifts her head once more; she looks at me and asks an important question, one I would have rather not to answer. 

“Where have you been?” The sound of her voice is barely audible, but I manage to hear it, aided by the silence of the night in no man’s land. 

“Africa. The army” I answer with three simple words, feeling like she deserves some sort of explanation, but at the same time overwhelmed by how things unfolded, conflicted. Thankfully, it proves enough, and she seems to calm down.

 
“…” she doesn’t respond, looking too busy processing what I said, as little as it was. 

The situation is not what I expected; she’s not as dismissive as I thought she would be, which only makes me feel worse. For a second, my mind wanders as I consider my old wounds, but my long sleeves cover my arms, so I’m safe from questions regarding most of my injuries. As I ponder the best way to avoid future engagement, her incessant trembling catches my eye; she looks cold.

 
I let out a sigh, taking off the rags I call a jacket and draping it over her shoulders before taking a couple of steps back, which surprises her, but it doesn’t seem to bother Fang. 

“First time out here, eh?” I say in my more than practiced casual tone, the same one I would use with other soldiers on patrol to try to maintain a friendly interaction going. 

“Do whatever you want with it; I have to throw it away anyway" I say before she can protest, downplaying my gesture. 

She frowns, but her face softens shortly after.

“Can’t believe you still live here…” Fang says in an odd tone I can't quite distinguish. 

“I don’t, not anymore; I just moved out this week” I state. 

She looks at me, clearly surprised.

“Good for you” is what follows; there is a hint of disdain there. 

My attention shifts again to her current mild hypothermia, to try to keep my most emotional side under control by focusing on a real problem. Under these conditions, she probably won’t be awake for long if she doesn’t start walking to get home soon. 

“You should get going, Fang. It’s too cold for you out here” I say to try and get her to move.

“It was good seeing you, later” I follow and give a forced smile as I wave and continue walking.

“…” She doesn’t answer. 

As I stride away, she remains there with her legs glued to the concrete, and two pools of amber boring holes in the back of my head. My body feels sluggish and heavy as I force myself to move, ignoring the pit in my stomach. Eventually, her gaze softens, or at least it feels like it does since I don’t bother turning around to confirm it.  I can hear the faint sound of boots hitting the ground. The fading echoes of her footsteps feel like a balm on a particularly bad burn. 

Once she’s gone, I feel in control again, safe in a way. It seems like I only like very particular types of unpredictability, people from my past not being one of them. I'm surprised by my reaction, even if muffled by my previous experiences; it feels too close for comfort. I call a cab to avoid walking and head back to my new home. As I sit in the backseat of an oddly familiar taxi, I’m hit once more with the sensation that I’m forgetting something, racking my brain to figure out what. 

Shit! The bathtub’s tap! How long has it been running? Raptor Jesus. 

I almost jump out of the car after paying, swiftly making my way up the stairs. And sure enough, as soon as I enter I can hear the sound of running water echoing all around. The bathroom is half flooded; but thankfully, it didn’t get to the rest of the place, courtesy of a drain in front of the sink. I sigh and grab a mop, and twenty minutes later the mess is gone.

After dragging myself to the living room, I collapse on a cheap couch, not bothering to unpack, move, or assemble the rest of the furniture. This day proved to be a really long one. I take a deep breath and find some comfort in the fact that I’m going out with some friends in a few days to celebrate the inauguration of my workshop; the chance to unwind is a godsend. It doesn’t take long for exhaustion to take me out; and it's not physical exhaustion this time.

The next morning I pretend that nothing happened, and bury all the uncomfortable sensations that that unlikely encounter brought to the surface. I follow my standard routine, and although Mia seems to notice my shift in attitude, she doesn’t pry. Two days pass, and thanks to focusing on unpacking while waiting for what I hope will be a night to remember, the unpleasant feelings fade enough for me to ignore them. 

That Friday I closed the shop earlier and headed to a nearby town where my buddies and I planned to meet. What was originally meant to be a relatively chill drinking night out quickly spiraled into half a dozen vets driving a rental through a beach, losing five hundred bucks in a casino after an hour of betting pennies, and someone dislocating a shoulder after a bet. 

That joint popped right off. Gnarly. 

At the end of the night, we somehow end up back at the same beach from earlier, not exactly my cup of tea due to the parallels with a moment from almost two years ago, but I’m a bit too intoxicated to mind. And while one of us, a tall parasaur, is puking his guts out, kneeling next to the water, the same triceratops that drove us out of that ambush returns with a little jar filled with half a dozen blunts. 

“Check this out!” he says as he approaches the group, shaking his recently acquired narcotics. 
“Sweet. Gimme it!” 
“Where the hell did you get that from?” 
“I’m good, don’t wanna end up like our pal over there.” 
They all answer as the driver sits down, and we wait for the poor bastard who couldn’t hold his liquor.

 
“…I’ll pass” says the same parasaur who just insulted Poseidon’s domain as he comes back to lay down, this time with scales a little paler. 

“Sure… I could go for a spliff” Not feeling particularly in over my head, I take the offer and reach out to try and grab one, but my hand is swatted away like a fly before I can.

“Whoa, easy there. These ain’t all the same, I bought it from a dude on groglist, he gave me one specifically for you when I mentioned you weren’t a Saurian. Something about it packing an ‘extra punch’ and having no traces of carfe” he explains as he looks for the one blunt and hands it to me. 

“These are all just weed, though” he adds.

“Huh, thanks” I say and grab my piece of the pie. And so does everyone else. 

Stopping for a moment to consider what he said, I decide to examine the roll, but it smells just like regular pot and looks like it, too. I’m reminded of a briefing back in basic, when a tired-looking Lt. explained to us how hominids and saurians react to different substances. With us having a particularly high tolerance for stimulants, but also almost no resistance to most depressants and opioids, and saurians being the other way around. A good thing to keep in mind when you have both species working in the same group. 

Having a good memory is a nice thing, but there is no point in going on a tangent, and so without further delay I light it and take a hit; it’s nothing special. We stay there, relaxing, recalling funny shenanigans and talking about nonsense, like how we got our nicknames. 

Fucking ‘Mr Clean’. 

Around forty minutes go by, and we all notice that the triceratops who brought the weed doesn’t look too good. Acting on impulse and concern, I reach for what’s left of his blunt that he didn’t get to finish and, against my best judgment, decide to give it a try. The effect is instantaneous; I suddenly feel really awake. Although I have limited experience with drugs, I’m absolutely sure this isn’t just pot, nor is it carfe. I put it out and unwrap the paper, discovering the culprit, small particles of some white powder mixed with the plant.

“For fuck’s sake, this one was for me; it has blow" I state, alerting the group and causing the triceratops that’s sweating profusely to panic.

The rush of adrenaline is more than enough for us to sober up; we quickly grab our things and help our poisoned friend up. With no delay, the whole gang gets in the car and I drive us to the nearest hospital. After explaining the situation to the receptionist, a doctor is quick to check on the now almost hyperventilating man. By some divine intervention, the situation doesn’t get any worse, probably due to the small dose he ingested, the quick reaction of the hospital’s staff, and the way in which the drug was taken. Nevertheless, we all left with a good scare and a thorough scolding from the nurses. 

Once he gets the medical discharge from the hospital a couple of hours later we all go back, and now that we are in the safe zone, it turns into another anecdote to laugh about; but even then, that type two fun left an impression on everyone. Myself included. I swear off anything that’s not booze and cigarettes for the time being.

Driving back, I reminisce about it, and even though the last part sucked, it was overall a fun night. Certainly not one I’ll forget soon.

 
The rest of the weekend goes by unceremoniously, and just like that I’m back to the usual routine. But thanks to the new employee, the workload is way more bearable, her standoffish behavior aside. 

That Wednesday afternoon, a client arrives in a very familiar car; with Mia’s shift over, it’s up to me to deal with them. I slide out from under the car I was working on and go to greet them. What I’m met with certainly proves detrimental to my nerves: a short saurian woman in her forties with blonde braided hair steps out of the car.

“Oh, hi, Anon. I didn’t know you worked here; I almost didn’t recognize you.” She cooed with her usual cheery demeanor, as if the two years that had passed by were inconsequential. 

It takes me a moment to formulate an answer as I stand there, petrified, like a deer caught in headlights. 

“Uh- Hi, Ms. Aaron” 

Chapter Text

After my awkward greeting, I stand there, staring, hoping for a signal from the universe on what to do next.

“Oh, call me Samantha, dear” She corrects me.

“Right, Samantha, what seems to be the problem?” I ask, hiding my discomfort behind professionalism.

“Nothing serious, just a regular oil and filter change” She answers in that joyous tone that feels almost unnatural.

“Alright, it’ll take me forty-five minutes or so; you can give me your number and we’ll call you once it’s do-“ But before I can finish speaking, she cuts me off. 

“No need, I’ll wait” Samantha’s tone leaves no room for argument or an easy way out for me. 

“Okay” I resign myself, letting out a sigh and getting to work.

As I fetch my tools and roll up my sleeves, I can feel a pair of eyes following me around the shop, but aside from Samantha and me, there shouldn’t be anyone else in the shop. I try to focus my gaze on hers for an instant, without looking too weird or suspicious, and that’s when I catch something: her normally closed eyes are not, as a thin slice of amber peeks through her teal eyelids. She’s squinting hard. Watching over me like a hawk.

The revelation doesn’t bring any peace to my already confused mind, but I push forward, going through the motions. The first thing that gets my attention is the state of the oil; it looks almost new. Taken aback, I decide to ignore it and move to unscrew the filter, but it also looks as if someone had replaced it very recently. Which leads me to conclude that this is not a routine inspection and maintenance; she’s here for something else. 

Didn’t know I worked here, my ass.

What I thought was going to take over half an hour turned out to be just fifteen minutes, perhaps because of the pump I used to speed up the draining process, or maybe it was the pair of burning amber orbs staring at me. Regardless, I’m done with the job, and so I walk up to the woman waiting for her car near the garage doors.

 
As I approach Samantha, I put to good use the time it takes me to walk up to her, taking in as much information as possible in an attempt to unravel the mystery of her unjustified visit; her expression, clothes, stance, subtle movements, everything. But there doesn’t seem to be anything out of place, except for her slightly tired expression and a more aged visage. Odd for just two years worth of time.

Must have been a long day for her or something.

 
“It’s done, ma’am.” I state, wiping my hands clean of oil with an old rag before throwing it in a nearby bin. 

“Thanks, that was faster than I expected” She says as her vision turns down towards my arms, or rather, the scars covering them. 

She doesn’t take her eyes off them, unnerving me.

“I also did a routine check, everything is up to code” I add, trying to defuse the heavy atmosphere that had settled around us.

“Great…” 

“Anon, where did you get those?” She asks, with an uncharacteristic lack of tact. 

“The army. Combat” 

 Samantha tilts her head slightly. 
“So that’s where you have been?”

“For a year or so, before getting discharged eight months ago, yes” I stop myself before giving away more information. 

Her questions, although harmless at a glance, seem to be pushing me for answers that I wouldn’t give under normal circumstances. From my perspective, there doesn’t seem to be any ill intent behind them, but regardless, now I have my explanation as to why she’s here.

“And after that? I haven’t seen you around town until, well, today. This place is very new, too” Samantha follows, clearly not backing down yet. 

“I worked in the private sector to save enough to afford this garage” Is what my mind manages to piece together as I do a small gesture with my right arm to point at the shop itself.

“Private sector?” The small strips of black that I assume are her irises narrow even more as she says it.

 
“Security” A simple and dry response, hopefully enough to let her know she’s pushing me beyond comfort. 

“Hm. Good for you…”
“Have you seen my daughter since you came back? I know you had a bit of a disagreement with her” Is what follows. She seems to have decided to throw any semblance of social etiquette out of the window.

“I, uh, crossed paths with her once a couple of weeks back. We didn’t really talk much, if at all” I completely ignore her second statement. And the image of the ptero I used to know pops up in my head, followed by the now missing sensation of my jacket covering my arms.

I really should get a new one.

“Is that so? You know, she talked about you; even after you disappeared” Her comment causes the faint sting of shame to well up in my chest.

“She talked about me? I didn’t expect that” I say, oddly surprised. 

“Yeah, I can tell” She retorts, not adding anything else to the sentence, choosing instead to simply look at me. 

I find that last comment strange, and her gaze doesn’t dispel my doubts. So I decide to change the topic and move the conversation somewhere else.

“…”
“Well… uhm, if you don’t have any questions… the car is ready; you can go about your day, Ms. Aaron”

Great save, Mr. Asperger. 

“Again, just call me Sam” 

“I- uh- right.” I stutter out. 

“How much do I owe you?” 

“It’s on the house, don’t worry about it” I answer with a small smile. 

“Thanks…” 
Samantha grabs her keys, looking ready to leave. But before doing so, her eyelids lift ever so slightly, and her eyes lock onto mine.
“Anon, let me ask you a favor. Please be patient with her, ok?” 

That’s a curveball. She probably hates my guts; fat chance of us interacting ever again. 

Her request catches me with my guard down, almost knocking the wind out of my sails, but I’m saved by my now complete and utter confusion. 

“Sure thing, ma’am” My answer entices a nod from her as she gets in her car, leaving after a quick turn of the ignition. 

I’m left there to ponder the odd interaction, but thankfully more clients show up, granting me a temporary emergency exit. Dealing with this will be a problem for future Anon. I get to work to keep my mind busy, making the day fly by, before I even notice it’s already evening and time to close.

The following day, while I’m sitting down eating lunch with Mia and staring at the wall while reminiscing about that unexpected visit, she strikes up a conversation; I’m not sure if it's out of boredom or curiosity. 

“You seem focused” She says, biting down on a fry. 

“Guh?” I look up from my sandwich. 

“It’s just that you are acting weird today”

“I’m always acting weird according to you” She chuckles and goes back to eating. 

It’s always the same chain of events when we interact. Throughout the short time we had been working together, we established a tacit agreement: we wouldn’t pry into each other’s business too much, but we would still try to hold conversations beyond the weather and small talk. Drip-feeding information to each other. 

As I chew on a piece of turkey, boredom gets the best of me, and I decide to ask a more personal question. 
“Any luck finding a place?” 

Mia doesn’t answer right away; she looks at me, narrowing her eyes before reaching the obvious conclusion: yes, it’s easy to tell you’re living in your car. 

“Yeah, I’ll be moving in by the end of the month, finally. Relying on the gym’s showers sucks” She seems to be deep in thought as she reaches the end of her sentence.
“Remember when I showed up for repairs?”

“Ha, yup, you were mad. Big mad” I answer, shaking my head with a smirk plastered on my face. 

“Well, when you offered me this job and said it was because you had been in a similar situation before, what did you mean by that?” I hear from Mia what seems to me to be a genuine question with no malice behind it—a rare occurrence. 

Stopping to think for a moment, I put down my lunch and try to piece my erratic thoughts together before speaking, to save myself from making a blunder. 

“I don’t know. You reminded me of myself after I dropped out, sort of.”

“Hold up, you dropped out too? How did you even get into the army?”

“After I fucked up and decided to leave, I did some research; turns out that if you take a couple of tests and do well enough, they just give you something that’s legally the same as a high-school degree” 

“Huh, how much did it cost you? Did it cost you anything?” Her posture shifts forward as her eyes focus on me.

“Of course, but not a lot, two hundred bucks or so for all subjects. You should probably take them; it will make looking for a job easier if you decide to work elsewhere, or if I go under” I take another bite, chewing as I stare at a car to her right. 

“Noted”

As the conversation dies down, we sit there, eating quietly. Neither of us feeling particularly talkative, especially not about these kinds of topics. 

With most of her food gone, Mia decides to break the silence once again.

“How long did it take you to set up this place?”

“Huh? Hmmm, not long, I had it up and running shortly before you showed up; it took me… maybe two weeks to get everything?. It still feels weird; if I’m being honest, running your own business shortly after turning twenty is a lot” 

Mia stares at me as the last few words leave my mouth, both of her eyebrows shooting up in surprise.
“You’re twenty? What?” 

“Yes…?” 

“I thought you were like twenty-six or something” She says in an exalted tone. 

“Excuse me?” I feign being offended, putting my right hand on my chest in an exaggerated, theatrical gesture.

“Well, you do look old, and the baldness doesn’t help. Maybe it’s the beard” She shrugs. 

I quickly realize that she has returned to her regular shit-talking attitude, so I decide to strike back.
“That’s funny coming from a para that dresses up like she not a herbi” And with that, I hit the nail on the head, my mastery at pushing people’s buttons always making itself present. 

“Don’t test me, Mr clean” She resorts to a cheap attempt at an insult.

And I thought jannies had a short fuse.

“What are you gonna do about it, beat me up? Square up, then” I taunt.

She grunts and glares at me, but her tough attitude is something I learned to deal with rather quickly once she started working here, by never backing down. 
“You’re lucky you’re my boss”

“Aha”

 
“You are not used to people pushing back, are you?” I questioned, carefully judging her reaction.

“Maybe not, maybe I don’t mind you doing it that much” She says as her anger quickly dissipates. A common sight for me by now, but still an amusing one. 

With the short banter session over, I finish my own lunch, clean my hands and mouth with a napkin, and get up from the table to throw away the trash before turning my head back toward her.

 
“Let’s get to it; I’m gonna need your help to change the transmission on that truck” 

“The diesel one?” Mia asks as she follows closely behind. 

“That one” I tell her as we get back to work. 

The rest of the day flows as usual, with arguments here and there as we efficiently deal with each vehicle. Mia and I turned out to be a very effective team once we got used to each other’s modus operandi. Having two bays also helps. 

Throughout what remains of the week, I can’t shake off the same annoying feeling of a pair of eyes looking at me that I felt back when Samantha visited. Not wanting to become an easy target, I pay a visit to a local gun shop to get myself a new piece of iron. I decide to buy a simple old-school 1911, a holster, and a decent amount of ammo. As I’m going through the checkout, I can hear the imaginary voice of my Dad saying ‘It won two Human-Saurian wars’, a fact that he would always remark on when discussing handguns.

Am I really going to burn cash on this specific weapon because of a silly joke? You bet. 

Now, with some proper insurance on me, I feel comfortable enough to walk around town without constantly looking over my shoulder. 

While making my way back to my apartment, I stop by the gym Mia frequents and sign up for it. With everything I had to do for the next couple of days taken care of, I start making a new list of tasks for the following week while I walk the few remaining blocks left to reach my destination. 

I need a car, something reliable. 

Before I can delve more into that thought, my ideas are cut short by the fact that I’m already opening the front door. A nice dinner and a shower later, I collapse on my now assembled king-sized bed, sinking into the mattress and letting exhaustion sing me a sweet lullaby.

The following morning I wake up half an hour later than usual, and text Mia to let her know I’ll be coming in ‘late’, getting just a thumbs up emoji as a response. She’s always ready to give a masterclass on interpersonal relationships. 

I walk into the shop, greet my only employee, and go to my office to sort out some paperwork and orders for parts. I sip on a cup of coffee while swimming in piles of paper; after a couple of hours, I’m done with most of it and decide to take a short break. I go downstairs and look over the parked cars; one of them catches my eye, an old jeep painted with a very familiar shade of brown. 

I'm infatuated with its color as I stare, losing myself in old and unpleasant memories from my time in the sand, one after the other. My trance would have continued if it weren’t for the fact that someone was screaming my name. 

“-non!”
“ANON!”
I hear Mia calling out to me from the other side of the garage; my line of sight is obscured by the lift and another car, but she seems to be standing in front of the door, blocking it. 

“Mous, there is a goddamn tweaker over here!” 

Oh shit.

I sigh and straighten my back before walking over, doing my best to look imposing.

“She is saying she knows you!” Mia yells, still raising her voice, either unaware or uncaring of the fact that I’m already close enough to hear her speak at a normal volume.

 
I’m greeted by Fang standing in front of Mia, after apparently trying to explain herself to no avail. She’s holding a piece of clothing I thought I wouldn’t see again while looking around the shop, past the parasaur in her way. 

Two familiar pteros showing up in such a short time doesn’t feel like a coincidence. But I decide not to make any assumptions just yet.

Her gaze locks onto me as soon as I come into view, not saying anything but giving my only mechanic a quick glance before turning back to me with a pleading expression. 

“It’s all right, Mia, I’ll handle it. Just go back to work, please” I tell her as I put a hand on her right shoulder, prompting her to move.

“Sure, sure” She says before turning on her heel and disappearing behind the tool cabinets.

I stand there for a moment, blinking a couple of times and breathing in fresh air before opening my mouth.

“Hey…” I say while rubbing the side of my neck.

“Fang, why are you… here?” 

She just gives me an unamused look as she lifts my old jacket in front of my face. 

Yeah, I get it.

“Uhm, thanks. You didn’t have to, really” I shyly reach for it to grab it and realize it feels heavier than expected. 

Perplexed, I check its pockets, and in the inner one, I find something I thought lost. My old vintage hand warmer, one of my favorite souvenirs I got while on deployment. I let the emotion get the best of me, and my face lights up.

“Sweet! So that’s where it was. Thanks! You didn’t have to, but I’m glad that you did” I’m smiling like a dumbass. Completely forgetting how mixed our last interaction was.

“Don’t mention it. I figured you would have wanted it back” She says, smiling back. 
But that grin quickly fades and turns into doubt as she looks to the side. 
“Hey, can we… talk for a moment?” 

Fuck me.

I look at her, then back at Mia as I pocket my hand warmer and toss the jacket over a chair.
“…Sure, let’s go to the parking lot” 

Regret makes itself present faster than I would have liked as the situation quickly turns awkward. We stand there, I look like a mannequin, and Fang is hugging herself; I’m not sure if it is only because of the cold morning air. 

“Uhm, so, what did you want to talk about…?” I can feel my social skills reverting back to the state they were in when I was a freshman. 

“I’m… it's about the other day, sorry for hitting you”

“It’s good to see you’re back” Fang displays a degree of meekness I hadn’t seen many times before, reminding me of the elephant in the room.

“Don’t sweat it; I didn’t really mind, and I get it.”

After I’m done speaking, I feel compelled to add something else to my response.
“Good to see you..too” An uncomfortable truth for me. 

Come on, Anon, you already got over this.

“You get it? Right…” She seems slightly annoyed, but her expression returns to normal as she continues. 
“Why did you walk away?” Straight to the point, that’s more like her. 

I scratch my chin, pondering the question and if I should give an honest answer to it.
“Fuck. I just—I just panicked. Felt like I had no idea what to say. I wasn’t really expecting to ever meet you again” I admit, which earns me a pained expression from her. 

“If you weren’t planning on ever seeing me, why come back to the city? Th—” But I interrupt her.

“No, that’s not what I meant” 
She raises an eyebrow. 
“I didn’t think it through; the possibility didn’t even cross my mind.” I shrug. 

“…” She remains quiet.

“After I got discharged, they gave me a plane ticket to anywhere in the country; for some reason, I went for Volcadera, don’t ask me why”

“Oh” 

Sepulchral silence sets over us, only interrupted by the casual gust of wind. I watch as the current of air ruffles her feathers and short hair. It seems to be my turn to ask the questions.

“How have you been?” I break the stillness with a simple inquiry, trying to express as much of my honest concern as I can with words.

 
Fang looks taken aback by my question. She opens her mouth to speak, but stops herself. A few seconds pass until she finally starts stringing words together. 
“I’ve been… holding up just fine. Playing guitar and whatnot” I get the feeling she’s withholding information, but I refuse to push it. 
“And you?”

“I’m doing fine, I guess, a bit bored, but this job is still enjoyable. I’m barely starting to get used to the change of pace” Half a truth; I doubt I’ll ever get used to such a quiet life.

As I’m finishing the sentence, I can see Mia playing a game of charades thirty yards away from us, trying to get my attention. I’m not really sure of what she’s trying to say, but it probably has something to do with the bent torque wrench she’s holding. I turn back to Fang with an apologetic expression.

“Shit—Uh, duty calls. We can keep talking later, if you’d like” 

“Uhm, yeah”

“I lost your old number” She says as she turns the screen of her phone towards me, prompting me to input my contact information. 

“Doesn’t matter, I changed it before even enlisting” My tongue slips as I type my current phone number. Fang doesn’t react to what I just said, or at least not enough for me to notice. 

I give her back the phone, and she starts typing something, my phone buzzes a moment after. 

Unknown: [test]

Mous: [added]

I quickly save her contact as ‘Fnag’ after a typo, but I don’t feel like bothering to change it as I turn toward the shop again. 

“Again, thanks for returning the pocket warmer… I wish you hadn't returned the jacket, though”

“What? Why?”

“I wanted to buy a new one; now I’ll feel guilty if the old one is still hanging around, you know what I mean?”

Fang chuckles 

"Are you that stingy?”

“Hey, I’m not used to not being broke, this is unexplored territory” 

She shakes her head.
“I can take it if you want; I’ll throw it away or something”

“Deal” 

We walk back and I hand her the coat after making sure I have my hand warmer; Fang says her goodbyes and leaves. After that is done, I quickly discover why the red para was so vehemently calling me over as I see her lighting the oxyacetylene torch to cut some seized bolts. Today is going to be a long day. 

It took us half a day, but we managed to deal with that rusted pile of steel. I return home tired and beaten, and lay down on my bed with my phone ready to doomscroll a bit before hitting the sack. A single message interrupts me.

Fnag: [Hey]

Mous: [Sup]

I can see the three dots signaling she’s typing pop up multiple times, but ultimately I’m the one who writes first. 

Mous: [Are you free this Friday? I want to finish today’s conversation]

Why did I tell her that? 

Fnag: [Yeah, I have time. Does the afternoon work for you?] 

Mous: [It works, we can grab a bite; it’s on me. I’ll text you the location in the morning]

Fnag: [Okay, see you then]

Mous: [Night]

Fnag: [Gn]

Another problem for future me, poor bastard.

I set my alarm and leave my phone on the nightstand to the left of my bed. Hoping that insomnia won't be a problem as I stare at the ceiling, considering where to go eat with Fang. 

As I rise the following morning and my brain restarts, I check the notes on my phone left behind by Anon from the past. 

Right, the car, I need a shitbox to get around town. 

Chapter Text

The morning is still cold, but spring is starting to creep its way in; soon, people with allergies are going to have an awful time. I take a warm shower to wash away my grogginess before finishing off with ice-cold water for that extra boost in awareness.

As I sit down to have breakfast, I take the chance to check local dealerships and scrapyards while eating an omelet. The options are not numerous, but they are enough. I save the ones that catch my attention, put on a pair of sneakers, and head out, determined to return home on wheels and not on foot. 

NO project car. NO project car. NO project car. You need something usable, Anon. Focus. 

I preemptively scold myself to make sure I don’t buy a rust bucket from fifty years ago just because I think it looks cool. 

The first dealership didn’t have what I wanted; one of the scrapyards did have a nice truck, but it was sadly damaged beyond salvation. It’s at the second dealership I visit that I find a decent vehicle. Not too cheap, not too expensive. Used, of course, but with a not-so-awful number of miles on it. 

After checking the body, the mechanics, and taking it on a short test drive with the AC at maximum, I decide that it’s worth what they are asking for it. I pay in cash, which earns me a nice discount and a tank full of gas. More than enough to do what I had planned for the day. 

I take out my phone and search for a decent enough food joint, spending half an hour or so checking out the nearby options until I settle on one that has a very nice and varied menu. A small family-owned coffee shop that also doubles as a restaurant, depending on the time of the day. I fire a text to Fang with the location and drive back to the shop to do a more thorough inspection of my latest purchase.

Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary, aside from the casual comments from Mia, who apparently can’t fathom not burning too much money on a muscle car from the early '70s. She reminds me of some old pals from the army and what they did with their enlistment bonus. 

At the end of the day, the angry para and I swing by the gym; I take the chance of finally having a spotter to almost decapitate myself on the bench while she is distracted. Overall, a very productive day. With my routine finished, I go upstairs to do some cardio.

Not a single hominid; no wonder there isn’t a soul on the treadmills. 

Taking the chance to look around the place while running, I try to identify every single species of Saurian present to keep my brain busy.

Trigga, T-rex, Brachio, Stego, Raptor, Spinosaurus, another Raptor, Ankylo, a very familiar Para, Therizino, Ptero.

I stop myself for a second as my eyes drift towards an orange and cream-scaled Saurian. My face contorts into a grimace as my brain connects the face to a name. I instantly straighten my back and focus on the wall in front of me, hoping to avoid drawing her attention, not feeling like dealing with a walking, sentient pile of aspartame. 

Twenty minutes pass, and I don’t even bother trying to see if she’s around, opting instead to unfocus my vision and be oblivious to my surroundings to save myself a headache.

My feet carry me downstairs as I wipe the sweat off my brow with a small towel, ready to leave. Mia's car is gone, meaning she must have left while I was running. I walk up to my truck, and as I insert the keys into the front door, a voice twenty feet away from me calls out my name. 

“Anon?” 

Oh, come on! 

I sigh internally, closing my eyes for a second to mentally prepare.

I’m not going to waste a month of membership over this. Bring it.

 
“Yorkshire Mous, yes?” I spit, without even looking her way as I turn the key and open the door. 

“I barely recognized you” Her face shows a mix of surprise and weariness. It combines perfectly with the shocked tone of her voice. 
Right, this is what I get for wearing a tank top. 

Naomi doesn’t seem outright hostile or verbose, a welcome surprise. I let go of the key and turn towards her to properly address the para without being too rude. 

“It’s been a while. I didn’t expect you to frequent the same gym I just joined” Again, I let too much information slip. 

“Tell me about it, I’m usually here in the morning, but college got in the way. Quite the coincidence” She says with a half-smile adorning her snout. 

If she holds any ill will towards me, she’s either very good at hiding it, or it isn’t that bad to begin with. Based on how she used to be back in high school, I put my money on the former. 

“Naser said you were back in town; I didn’t expect to meet you so soon, though” She adds.

I didn’t expect to meet you at all. Any of you. And why does the FWR know about me?

“It’s a small world.” I stare at her, wondering how much my patience can take.

“Well, it was good seeing you, but I need dinner and a shower. Later” I state and climb up into the driver’s seat. 

“Hold up, I wanted to ask you something” The saccharine creature closes the distance in a very short amount of time. 

“Sure, ask” I don’t close the door but put on the seat belt to make sure she gets the message.

 
“Mind giving me your number? We are organizing something for an alumni meet” Her question is as subtle as a brick. 

“You too? I—never mind, sure” She raises an eyebrow, and for an instant, I can see a glimpse of something grim hiding behind that oddly casual approach.

Grabbing a pen and some paper from the glove box, I write down my contact and hand it over to her, and as I do so, an idea crosses my mind.

Let’s see what that is about. 

“—Isn’t it a bit early for that? It has only been two years” I hand her the folded piece of paper, along with a question. 

It takes her a moment to speak.
“It’s just to make sure that as many people as possible can attend. And also so we can do it before Spear retires” 

The caveman is retiring? Bullshit. 

“It’s good to plan in advance. Take Naser and med school, for example; he prepared for the entrance exams months in advance and passed with almost perfect grades” She boasts, justifying what in my eyes is unnecessary.

“Are you two still dating?”

She narrows her eyes at the end of my sentence, but she's quick to answer. 
“Yes, almost four years now!” Naomi almost squeals in excitement, with what I find to be an unfounded amount of pride. 

Of fucking course. That explains it. 

“Balancing academics and a relationship must be rough” I remark while stashing away the small notebook and pen I used. 

“We are trying our best” She flashes another one of those practiced Cheshire grins. 

“Well, again, it was good seeing you. I gotta go” Finding the conversation rapidly approaching such engaging topics like the weather or traffic, I swiftly disengage. She doesn’t seem to want to drag this out any longer than necessary, either. 

“See you around, Anon” Naomi waves as I close the door and pull out of the parking lot.

Are all paras like this? 

The image of Mia’s ever-present resting bitch face pops up in my mind, and although it isn’t exactly pleasant, at least it is genuine. Unlike Naomi’s weird plastic mask.

Hopefully, not all of them.

 
With another amazing experience under my belt, I drive back home for the first time, feeling comfortably numb thanks to the soreness of my muscles and the exhaustion clouding my mind; enough to forget part of that interaction and move on to have dinner in peace.

The next few days turn into nothing more than routine, much to my delight. Which proves to be the first time I have ever enjoyed the stillness of an average life in a while.

But my serenity doesn’t last long, as the fated day to meet with Fang and talk about a topic that has been a thorn in my side for a while finally arrives. 

We haven’t texted much, if at all, save for me sending her the location of the place and she confirming she got it.

 
I send her a short message, so we can decide on the time.

Mous: [Hey, does 5PM work for you? I’ll be out of work by then]

Fnag: [Yeah. Don’t be late]

Mous: [Same. See you there.]

I don’t bother answering beyond that point, and put my phone down. 

As my day at the shop ends, I say goodbye to Mia and take the chance to wash my face and hands, changing into a fresh set of clothes while I’m at it. 

I leave the garage after making sure every door is locked, and the CCTV is working. Jumping onto the driver’s seat, I adjust the rearview mirror and turn the key, causing the engine to roar to life as it starts. My trip through the scenic route takes enough time for me not to arrive too early, but ten minutes before five. 

I park and get out of the car, resting against its side for a moment, trying to hype myself up. While there, my eyes move to focus on the interior of the restaurant; it doesn’t take me long to find her; looks like she arrived earlier. I take out my phone, checking the time to make sure I’m not running late, and sure enough, I’m not. 

Lightly slapping my face to wake myself up, I get away from my ride and start walking toward the entrance. As I open the doors, the chime of bells makes my presence known, and Fang turns toward the door, waving me over. 

“Hey” I greet her as I plop myself down on a chair. 

“Hey” She smiles back. 

“…” 

Well, what a great start. 

“Did you check the menu?” I ask while trying to scan the QR code on the table. 

God, I miss paper. When did I get old? 

“It took me a while to open; they should learn a thing or two from Uncle Moe and just use physical ones” Fang says as she calls over a waitress. 

“Damn right” Finally, the app opens a website that lists all the available options. I quickly scan it and settle for some potatoes and beef. 

“Alright, got it. I’m going for something with meat; I’m starving.” 

“I trust your judgment; I’ll have the same” Fang leans against the back of her chair, stretching her wings.

“Can you? I mean, it’s from the omni menu” I tilt my head a few degrees to the left, trying my best to remember the average diet of the carnie soldiers in my old platoon. 

“It has beef, right? It should be fine; we only need like sixty percent of our food intake to be meat” 

The more you know, I guess. That’s still a really expensive diet, though, Raptor Jesus.

One of the employees shows up shortly after and takes our order; I consider asking for booze but decide against it after remembering what happened last time. With the waiter gone, we are left alone with a basket of bread, water, and an uncomfortable silence again.

I take a deep breath, preparing myself to start the actual conversation, but Fang beats me to the punch. 

“You wanted to continue where we left off the other day; what did you mean by that?” Although she’s making a question, her expression betrays the fact that she knows exactly what I meant.

“We didn’t part ways on the best of terms, did we?” I take a bite of a breadstick to calm my nerves. 

“No”

“Do you… remember everything?” Fang inquires. 

“Was I that shitfaced?” 

“Yes” 

“…”

“No, I don’t really remember everything, but I remember enough” I take a sip from the glass of water in front of me before continuing. 
“One of the few things I’m genuinely really good at is getting under people’s skin, and that night I for sure did” 

Fang doesn't speak, but shyly bows her head, averting her eyes. The memories might be old, but they still seem to have some effect on her. 

“I was drunk enough that my filters just didn’t work; mix that with frustration from what had happened and you get that nice rant. Look—I—this is not meant to be an excuse, but an explanation” I stop my tongue before digging myself an even deeper grave. 
“My—my point is, I didn’t mean those words, honest”
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry” 

Fang lets out a ragged breath; she looks at me, her face going through a wide range of emotions: anger, sadness, confusion, relief. 
“I’m—it’s fine, Anon; I get it”
She looks down.

“Well… I don’t have much else to say; that was all I wanted to address” 

Saying that turned out to be easier than I originally expected, maybe due to time numbing the experience. 

“Do you remember what I said? Did you… did you hear it?” Fang asks out of the blue.

It takes me a moment to interpret what she meant, but I quickly remember a phrase that was more of a murmur than anything else. Still, even if barely audible, I got the message loud and clear.

It’s the only thing I remember clearly. 

“…” I nod, choosing not to give voice to my thoughts.

“She… wasn’t right about you; I didn’t mean that either” 

An unexpected sensation of relief washes over me. Maybe we still have something to work with here. 

"She wasn't right about a lot of things" Fangs says under her breath, frowning while looking at nowhere in particular. That last comment most likely wasn't meant for me to hear.

We both stay quiet, stealing glances at each other while waiting for our dinner. The atmosphere is still awkward, but not as dense and oppressive as it was the first time we ever saw each other.

 
Soon enough, our food arrives, and although we might have other things to discuss, hunger takes precedence. Fang and I eat in comfortable silence, taking our time to enjoy the meal instead of eating like prison inmates. Fifteen minutes later, both our plates are clean; I wipe my face with a napkin and drink some more water.
With our voracious appetite satiated, we return to the topic at hand, unsure of who should go first. 

“Do you want to know what happened after?” I ask her, to try and get the ball rolling once again. 

“Mhm” Fang agrees while wiping her hands.

“Long story short, I went back to my old plan: going unnoticed. First, I got rid of my old phone number as soon as I could. Then I dropped out, got a GED, and joined the army two weeks later” I shake my head as I recall my harsh decision-making process back then.
“That’s it” I shrug. 

Fang rubs her face with both hands in frustration.
“God dammit, Anon, just like that?”

“Just like that”

She looks at me, annoyed.
“Some people thought you died” 

“A bit dramatic, don’t you think?” I raise an eyebrow.

“After a stunt like that? Not really” She shakes her head. 
“Ugh—let’s just move on” 

“Right” I give a simple nod.

We seem to be running low on breadsticks. 

Her displeasure dissipates after she makes an effort to collect herself. 
“What’s your plan now?”

“You saw it the other day, my own shop; there is not much else”

“And you? I remember something about guitars” 

“Yeah, I still play; now I get paid for it” 
“Not a lot, though” She adds, it’s almost a whisper.

 
Our conversation continues as we eat dessert; it slowly turns more pleasant as we catch up. I can see glimpses of our old interactions and the few times we hung out resurfacing. It’s a rather pleasant sensation, and Fangs seems to share the feeling. As she continues explaining what she’s currently doing, I gather enough hints and clues to figure out that the bandmates I ignored a few months back were actually Trish and Reed, who seem to have stuck around even after graduation. The memory of the trigga almost ruining the moment for me, but I refuse to give her that much power. 

“You know, Anon? This was nice” Fang says as we get up to leave. 

“Yeah, it was a good evening” I give her a soft smile. 

“Do you want to do this again?” She asks as she puts on her cropped black leather jacket. 

“Sure” I yawn, this day took a toll on me. 

“Want me to drop you by your place?”

“You got a car?” 

“Truck, actually, I got it like two days ago”

“Then yeah, I don’t want to walk around Skin row this late at night”

I check my phone; it’s already eight. I cringe at the idea of being out in that ghetto so late. 

We walk towards the vehicle at a moderate pace; I jump in and open the passenger seat from the inside for Fang to get in as I put on my seatbelt. She does the same and looks at me while closing the door, signaling that she’s ready to leave. Seeing that we probably won’t be doing much talking, I take the chance to turn on the stereo and pick my favorite playlist. 

Deep Purple starts playing just in time. 

Hell yeah. 

Fang looks at the radio, then at me, and back at the radio. After a few seconds, she starts crackling like a gremlin.
“Really Anon?” 

“What? I told you I like boomer rock” 

“That’s something my grandpa would listen to; you're such a dork” 

“So, where to” I ask her as we get closer to the highway. 

“Right”
Fang takes out her phone and shows me the location. I quickly make a mental map for the fastest route as we set off. It turns out to be a very short trip, thanks to the fact that the apartment is on the outskirts of Skin Row, one of the nicest parts of the neighborhood, but still a shithole. 

I park right in front of the place, and Fang gets off the truck, waving me goodbye. I wait until she closes the door before driving away. 

The following weeks, we meet up to hang out almost every other day; it turns out that her routine almost perfectly matches mine, quite conveniently. We slowly start to get to know each other again, but still keep a safe distance for our own sake.

On the third Thursday, we decide to keep it simple and go to a park near her place. Exchanging anecdotes and other light-hearted experiences as we stroll. I try retelling a story from my time in the barracks while at the same time trying to eat a hot dog with way too many toppings. 

Halfway through my explanation of how another private ‘accidentally’ waterboarded himself, she interrupts me. 

“Anon, I’ve been meaning to ask for a while now. Do you think we could go back to the way things were?” 

Her question puts me off my game.

That came out of fucking nowhere.

“…”

"Oh, hell no” 

“…” Fang blinks a couple of times at my dry answer. 

“We are not in high school anymore; it has been two years; a lot of things changed”

“That’s not what I meant”

“I know what you meant; still, I don’t think so” She looks disappointed. 

“But we can still start over, try to be friends again; we're sort of already doing that” I add. Her frown turns into a small smile. 

Just as she’s about to speak up, the ringing of her phone interrupts her. She looks exasperated as she takes it out to answer. 
“Yeah?” 
“No, what? Look, I told you I was busy; it will be fine”
“At the park in little Troodon, like ten blocks away. Yes—we'll figure that out later”
“Aha, aha, fuck off”

She hangs up; whoever that was, they definitely pissed her off. Fang takes a deep breath before turning back to me. We continue chatting about nonsensical stuff, which seems to be enough to get her mind off things and erase any remnants of annoyance.

After I finish eating, I ask her to wait for a moment, and walk up to a trash can to throw away the greasy cardboard. As I do so, a small van parks near us; someone jumps out of the passenger’s seat and makes a beeline for Fang. It doesn’t take me long to recognize who it is. 

Taking a deep breath and cracking my back, I walk towards them; even from a fair distance, I can hear their arguing as clear as day. Once I’m close enough, I catch Fang’s attention as she sees me out of the corner of her eye; she stops yelling and looks at me, which subsequently also draws the attention of the short bundle of anger in front of her. With the driver just now making his way towards the two women, he doesn’t seem to be all there mentally, barely reacting to my presence. 

“You! I should have fucking known!” She roars. 

Good to see you too, Trish. 

Chapter Text

“Hey” I greet them. Trish doesn’t change her expression, but Reed squints as he tries to recognize who I am, looking confused at first and then shocked before the carfe haze settles over his mind again. 

“ ’Sup bro” The pink raptor says to me with a lazy smile on his face. 

I cross my arms and look at her, trying to think about what to do. She takes a step forward, and then another. The pale ptero looks at her, now slightly concerned. 

“Don’t ‘Hey’ me, skinnie!” 

“Why are you even here?” Trish says through gritted teeth. Her voice is dripping with poison.

“I’m here hanging out with Fang, which, let me remind you, is none of your damn business” I tell her as firmly as I can without raising my voice.

“Hanging out?! What for? Just so you can fuck off again after talking shit about them?!” 

Although I know she’s trying to mess with me, I still find that remark hurtful.

Bitch. 

“Patricia, please don’t make a scene. Look, I told you we can practice later” Fang tells the triceratops while pinching the bridge of her snout, trying to appease her, but the purple menace is unrelenting. 

“You’ve been missing our practices for this? For a skinnie not worth a damn?” Trish rubs her face in frustration. 

“Trigga, she’s free to do whatever she wants. Fuck off!” I interrupt their conversation, now clearly frustrated with the triceratops’ comments.

Something in what I said seems to have really pissed her off as Trish turns to face me. Both Fang and Reed look at us, worried. 

She lowers her head, pointing a shiny set of horns in my direction. The way the sun reflects on the ivory thorns gets my undivided attention, forcing my mind to really focus on what now seems to be a genuine threat. Muscle memory guides my right foot behind me as I take a more stable position and try to reduce my cross-section to decrease the area she can impale. Slowly, my right arm slides to my side. 

Why am I so tense?

As her body readies to attack, my hand crawls under my shirt and onto the side of my waist until it rests atop a holster. An empty holster. 

Fuck. Of course I left it in the truck. 

Trish is staring at the ground as she prepares her charge, and Reed is staring at the space between the atoms in front of him; but Fang notices, reasonable, taking into account she’s the daughter of a cop. Her eyes widen, and she rushes forward to grab the triceratops arm. 

Too late to back down now. 

“Go ahead, trigga, give me a reason to defend myself; make my fucking day” 

Adrenaline rushes through my system as I invite her to attack. Every single muscle in my body feels ready to spring into action, my breathing is slow and deliberate, and my senses are hyper-focused, trying to take in as much useful information as possible. Without a weapon, I’ll have to be quick to dodge and push her down to avoid a second lunge. But just as it seems that she’s going to attack, Fang speaks up, her eyes darting between the triceratops and me. 

“Trish, stop. Trish, stop” 

She sounds panicked, which finally alerts Reed. The raptor looks at me and then down at my hand; I can see on his face in real time how he sobers up. The red feathers on his tail stand up; he looks startled.

“Trish, dude” He moves, grabbing her other arm. 

The trigga finally decides to listen, looking at the other two saurians at her side. She raises an eyebrow in confusion before finally lifting her head and turning back to look at me. The anger on her face quickly melts away and is replaced by what I can only describe as terror. 

Did I take it too far? 

I blink a couple of times, frozen in place. They don’t move, and I don’t move, which gives my mind enough time to start working again. 

Taking a moment to consider the situation, I try to put things into perspective. Although she might have horns, she is still way shorter and lighter than me, and I’m wearing boots, which means kicking her, although still risky, would have been an option if necessary. My whole body was ready for a serious fight; I instinctively prepared to go pedal to the metal against a chick with probably no serious experience in combat, almost a given due to the fact that she decided to look at the ground instead of her opponent. From an outsider’s point of view, I’m not the one in danger here.

The trio of almost emaciated-looking dinos stands there, gawking at me, unmoving. Realizing my blunder, I take a few deep breaths to calm down, which proves harder than expected. 

Come on, Anon, you’re just in a park; chill out. 

Finally, I raise both my hands, trying to calm them down before grabbing the sides of my shirt, lifting it to reveal the holster on my side. 

“I’m not carrying; take it easy” 

Fang lets out a breath of relief as Reed puts one of his hands on his head. 

“Anon, what the fuck!” Is the first thing said by the ptero. The triceratops assumes a normal posture, but she still looks shaken. 

“Sorry about that, uh, force of habit” I awkwardly say.
“She shouldn’t have tried to gore me” 

“I wasn’t going to!” Trish yells, perplexed. 

“And how was I supposed to know?! You were pointing your horns at me!” 

She groans in frustration.
“You think I want to end up in jail or something?!”

“Enough. Both of you” A pair of gray wings ruffles in the wind as they extend, catching our attention and ending our back and forth; I haven’t seen her that angry in a while. 

I shrug, not sure about what to say. The situation is tense and awkward; the previous jovial atmosphere Fang and I were enjoying is now gone. 

The seconds stretch into minutes, and no one says a word.

Unsure about what to do and panicking a bit, I decide to try something silly in hopes of defusing the situation.
“You guys wanna talk this over a drink? My treat?” 

Fang looks at me absolutely and utterly confused, with a face that yells ‘What?’. And Trish is in a similar situation, albeit a bit more annoyed. But the pink raptor gets the message loud and clear.

“Duuude, great idea, I’m in” Reed answers first; he seems to have completely forgotten about what just happened. 

“Anon, it’s five PM, on a Thursday” Fang says, raising an eyebrow at my nonsensical proposition. It seems like that stupid idea worked; my absurd question proved enough to distract them from my feud with Trish.

“It’s happy hour, bro. I know a place nearby” The carfehead turns around, dragging both of his bandmates away as I follow, walking next to Fang. Time might have passed, but he’s still really good at avoiding a problem and not addressing any conflict whatsoever.

Lucky me.

Our short trip takes us to a small bar a few blocks away; the place is not crowded, but there are some people around. We find ourselves a quiet booth in a corner next to the front window and sit down, Reed next to Trish on one side and Fang and me on the other. The walk an change in environment seem to have been enough for them to calm down a bit.

I order some tonic, without the gin, which seems to please the monochromatic woman. The tricera goes for a sweet cocktail with way too many ingredients, and Fang gets herself cider; meanwhile, Reed asks for plain water.

“So you’re back in town, eh, amigo?” He is the first one to break the uncomfortable silence again. 

“Yeah, back from my second tour” I go straight to the point, unsure of what to improvise. 

Meanwhile, Fang and Trish seem to be having an argument by staring at each other and making the occasional gesture while furiously texting back and forth. Whatever it is, they are obviously trying to keep it quiet. 

“Tour? Hold up. You enlisted, dude? No way”

“Yes way. I started boot camp before you even graduated” I scold myself after hearing the string of words that had escaped my mouth. 

Mind your opsec, Anon.

“Ohhh, so that’s why we didn’t see you anymore, crazy” He snaps his fingers. Fang glances at me for an instant before going back to dealing with Trish. 

“Pretty much. But yeah, I’m back now. For good” I frown.

For good…

“What are you doing now? Like, are you on leave, bro?” Reed leans back, downing half of his glass. 

“No, no. I got discharged over injuries on my first tour” He gives me a confused look.

“Huh? On the first? How did you get back in then?” 

“I didn’t. My second trip consisted of working as private security in Africa” I avoid mentioning the company, the country, or the pay; carefully measuring my words.

Fang is still texting, but her posture gives her away; she is paying close attention to what I’m saying, much to my dismay. 

“Whaaat?” Reed seems genuinely surprised, but that’s most likely not a high bar. 

Our conversation continues as I delve deeper into how contracting works; the raptor seems dead set on keeping the conversation going and avoiding any chance of me interacting with the triceratops again.

Yeah, good call. 

As I explain some of the details of the job, the topic of commodities comes up after I mention the on-site gym and the free food.

"Can't believe you guys got even private chefs and everything, rad”

“They were not really—Uh—‘Chefs’, more like cooks. They were still good, though. We also got a psychiatrist after an incident” 

My comment earns me a raised eyebrow from the Raptor as he leans forward, clearly interested.

“Long story short, it happened after a guy broke through the outer wall. The madman had old ordnance strapped to a rudimentary detonator; once he got close to the inner wall, they went off. A bit earlier than he expected” 

Reed frowns and looks down for a moment, but still looks focused on what I’m saying; the attention of the other two Saurian women switches to our conversation as I continue telling the anecdote. Going from almost fighting to talking about nonsense feels like a great upgrade in my book. 

“And you know how pressure works; the explosion pushed in, and that has to go somewhere. So, a chunk of him flew like fifty yards northeast, breaking a window and landing on the lap of a chick working on comms. We got a doc after that; sucks for her, but it was beneficial for everyone else.” I state nonchalantly as I continue recalling the strange event. 

The three of them are staring at me now, much to my surprise. My little story doesn’t strike me as particularly interesting, but they seem curious.

“It happened—I think a week after I got there? Thank God I didn’t have to clean it up, it was a mess” I empathize by shaking my head, making sure to get the point across. 

“A…mess?” He asks, cautiously. 

“Yeah, you know, it gets everywhere. And in that heat? It goes foul fast. Even if you’re wearing the proper equipment, the smell sticks to your skin for days. Nasty stuff” 

He doubtfully nods, his face showing an odd hint of concern. I take a sip from my drink, signaling that I’m done telling my story. Their blazing stares are starting to annoy me.

“What about you, eh? Fang said you are still playing?” My question takes them out of their stupor. The ptero blinks a couple of times while looking at me before going back to ‘talking’ with Trish, Reed just looks taken aback, but answers after a few seconds.

"Ye—Yeah, we are, dude, playing in some bars. Trying to get the name out there, you know?” He says with a half-assed smile. 

“Right. Word must have gotten around after two years, for sure” His pained face indicates otherwise. The other two band members, although not really participating in our conversation, don’t look too happy either. 

That didn’t come out right, dammit. Tact, Anon, be tactful. 

The combination of their reaction to my little tale and my question combines, bringing back an uncomfortable atmosphere, which leaves me in an awkward spot. As I’m racking my brain trying to find a way to keep things going, a familiar silhouette passes by the bar; I try waving to catch their attention, and after a moment, the figure turns toward us and walks in, nodding upward to greet us. 

I interrupt the conversation with Reed to say hi to the new arrival.

“Hey, how is it going?” I greet the para. 

“Hey”

“Hi”
“…”
“Yo” 

The trio all answer in their own way. Mia doesn’t pay them much attention.

As polite as always. 

“What are you doing here?” I ask, more than glad to have a way of closing the can of worms I just opened a few moments ago.

She takes out some keys from her jeans’ back pockets, jingling them in front of me with a shit-eating grin on her face. 

“Did you?—Nice! Congrats” I reach out to give her a fist bump, which she reciprocates.

My old schoolmates look at me again.

“Right, this is Mia; we work together” I say, nodding towards her. 

Trish raises an eyebrow, Fang nods, and Reed goes back to dissociating. 

“Little troodon, huh? Not bad” I add. 

“I wasn’t going to rent in Skin Row, fuck that” I chuckle as she insults my beloved old neighborhood.

“Hey, it’s not that bad" A fat lie.

"So, when is the housewarming party?” She looks at me, tilting her head. 

“I wasn’t planning on doing that?”

“Oh, come on, you've got to celebrate” 

She crosses her arms, pondering the idea. But makes up her mind rather quickly. 

“Fuck it, sure, see you tomorrow night. I’ll invite some friends. Bring your own booze” 
I nod at her.

“Well, I have to get settled and buy groceries; catch you later, Mr. Clean” Mia says as she turns around to leave while giving us a quick wave. 

“Fuck you” I can hear a soft chuckle escape her snout.

“Where were we?” I turn back to the table with three perplexed-looking Saurians.

But that surprise doesn’t last long for Trish, as her face contorts into a cheeky expression. 

“Didn’t know you were into paras, Anon” She says with a cheshire grin adorning her snout. 

Oh you piece of shit. Are we slandering now? Low blows like that? Really?. 

Fang looks genuinely annoyed by her comment, staring daggers at the triceratops, as if looks could kill. 

“Oh, hell no, nah ah! Don’t shit where you eat, I told you we work together” I haphazardly move to defend myself from such an insult. 

“Riiiight” She teases, with that awful smirk still on her face. I frown, her behavior pissing me off once again.

“Easy dude, it was just a joke” Reed adds with an apologetic smile, trying to defend Trish. His eyes dart towards a seething Fang for an instant before returning to me.
“You’ll be busy tomorrow, right? What about Saturday, man?” 

“What?” Another one of the pink raptor’s evasive maneuvers cuts short my train of thought. 
“Uh—No, I don’t have anything planed” 

“Perfect, bro. We're going to play at a pizza joint; you should swing by” My eyes turn toward Fang, who now looks very attentive, waiting for an answer to a question she didn’t ask.

“…”
“Sure, I’ll be there” The ptero’s anger seems to have dissipated; now in its place, there is a small smirk. Miss purple cunt, on the other hand, looks mad as hell. 

Cry about it.

Reed makes his classic finger-gun gesture, accompanied by that ever-present lazy smile.
“Coolio” 

“What are you gonna play?” I ask him, looking to resume the previous flow of conversation. 
He starts talking about his usual nonsensical song names and lyrics before Fang chimes in to mention some written by her, and the names of a few covers they had planned. Our little chat continues for a few more minutes before Trish interrupts to remind them that they should practice, almost dragging Reed out after finishing her drink, with little to no resistance from him. Fang is hesitant, but a comment about the fact that I’ll be there seems to be enough to finally convince her that it’s a good idea. They say their goodbyes and leave in the same van. Looks like the purple menace’s habit of manipulating people hasn’t gone away. 

With them gone, I pay my tab and leave. As I’m walking back towards my truck, my phone buzzes. 

Fnag: [Hey]
[Sorry about Trish]

Mous: [No, it was my bad, sorry for reacting like that]

Fnag: [You almost gave me a heart attack. But it’s alright; I know she can be a handful sometimes :v]
[Location ▼]
[Be there at 7pm]

Mous: [You got it. Should I dress formal or..?]

Fnag: [Three-piece suit or they won’t let you in, ofc]

Mous: [Yeah, right. Well, see you]

Fnag: [Cya]

And with that, our little conversation is over. I open the link she sent me, and sure enough, it’s the same place I first saw her playing at right after I got discharged.

What are the odds? 

Pocketing my phone, I start the engine and head home to catch some z's; with my current schedule for the weekend, I’ll need all the rest I can get. 

Friday at the shop goes by without a hitch, and before we leave, Mia gives me her new address with that same proud and happy grin on her face. 

“So, what time?” I ask her while locking the door to the garage behind me. 

“I don’t know, nine or so”

“Roger that”

“By the way, what are you bringing?” 

I signal for her to follow me back to the parking lot, making my way towards the truck’s bed. Once in front of it, I extend my right arm, revealing a cooler and a couple of bottles I got during lunch break. Mia moves to open the lid and check the contents, before turning to me with a dumbfounded expression. 

“Mous, this is enough for like five people to get plastered”

“Hey, better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it. It’s like a gun or a fire extinguisher” 

She looks at me for a moment, pursing her lips. 
“It’s… just going to be us. Oh, and my sister is probably going to swing by at some point” 

I stare at her, confused.
“Weren’t you going to invite some friends over?” 

“That didn’t work out as I expected; they wanted nothing to do with me. I don’t want to talk about it” Her words seem final, and her expression is somber, with hints of regret. 

“Okay, I won’t bring it up”

“…” No answer. 

“Do you still want to, like, hang out, or should we cancel?”

“You already bought the booze, so…” She shrugs.

The conversation stalls; we say our goodbyes, and I head home to shower and get changed before heading to Mia’s. 

Since it’s not that far away, I take the chance to stop by a convenience store to buy some ice, maybe too much. After that, it doesn’t take me long to find the place; the peculiar car parked in front proved to be a helpful landmark. 

Convinced I can carry everything in a single trip, I almost end up falling backward down the stairs, but alas, I make my way up unscratched. 
Now standing in front of the door and with both my hands occupied, I decide to knock with my elbow. 

“One sec!” A familiar voice shouts. 

“I’ll get it” A second, more muffled voice says; it sounds rather familiar. 

After a few seconds, the door swings open.

“Yo” I say before even looking at the person in front of me, but it’s not Mia who’s standing there. 

We lock eyes, and my brain short-circuits. It takes a while for the rusty gears in my mind to start turning again; I curse my luck as it makes the connection.

“Naomi? The hell are you doing here?” I don’t wait for her answer, opting instead to almost barge in to put down all the things I was carrying on a nearby coffee table. The place is nothing to write home about, but it’s decent and more than enough for a single person. The woman I almost pushed out of the way cuts my observation short.

“I could ask you the same, Anon. Where are your manners, walking in like that?” She says, feigning indignation. 

“My bad, but my arms were killing me; I had to carry these up five floors, you know?” I point with my thumb toward the pile of ice, alcohol, and food behind me. 

Naomi blinks, and her eyes focus as she adjusts her glasses.

“How many people did Mia invite?”

I shrug. Before she can ask me another question, Mia shows up, walking back from what I assume is the kitchen. 

She whistles after seeing all the supplies. 
"We're not going to need that much ice”

“Hey, it was cheap. What’s up?” 

“Nothing much” She looks at the other para next to me. 

“By the way, that’s my sister, Naomi” 

“I figured as much” I tell her while trying to ignore the pair of blazing eyes staring at me. 

“We better get all of this in the fridge before it starts melting” 

“Shit, you’re right” 

We quickly set to work, trying to fit everything in the refrigerator. For now, it seems I have avoided the elephant in the room. Naomi stays silent as we move from the living room to the kitchen.

This is going to be a long-ass night, isn’t it? 

Chapter Text

With the last six-pack now safely stored in the fridge, we turn toward the living room, where Naomi is waiting. Her posture is prim and proper, and her outfit screams corpo drone. As we walk back to check if we missed anything, the humanoid sugar cube speaks up. 

“Hey, when is everyone else going to show up?” She is as insistent as always. 

Mia looks at me for an instant; a quick gesture is enough for me to get the memo: ´Play along´

“Well… about that, looks like it’ll be just us. Their car broke down; I got a message like fifteen minutes ago”

It takes me a moment to formulate an appropriate reaction.

“Talk about ironic” I force a chuckle. 

“Should we cancel?”

“Nah, I wasn’t going to do anything to celebrate to begin with; I don’t mind just chilling” Mia shrugs before turning around and walking back to the kitchen, most likely to get a drink.

I’m left alone with Naomi; she looks at me and then at the TV. The situation quickly turns awkward; she crosses her arms and starts tapping her fingers; her face shows both annoyance and a hint of doubt. 

“You are going to stay, Anon?” Her expression tells me enough; she doesn’t want me to stay alone with her sister. I almost find it offensive.

“I mean, yeah? Why not? It’s a nice excuse to have a few glasses and watch terrible movies”

“Right, right” She squints her eyes and takes a deep breath, filling her lungs with air. 

“Do you mind if I crash here, sis?!” She raises her voice enough for Mia to hear. It’s the first time I’ve heard her use that kind of phrasing. 

Speaking of the devil, the red lady returns with a few beers, some ice, and a few bowls of different snacks. She hands me one of the cans and then holds another one in front of Naomi. She hesitates for a moment before grabbing it. 

“I got an inflatable mattress; if you can sleep on that, then sure”

“Do you mind sleeping on the couch, Anon? I know it’s kinda small” Mia asks as she sits down on the sofa and grabs the TV remote. 

I raise an eyebrow, amused. 

“I’ve slept on a pit in the sand; I’ll sleep like a baby. Or maybe I could just drive back home, a bit of booze cruising, you know?” 

She frowns, scolding me with her gaze.

“Hell no, you’re staying” A particularly responsible thing for her to say. 

I shrug. 

“In…the sand?” Asks the smaller para that until now had only been nursing her drink. 

“Huh, I didn’t tell you, right? I was in the army for a bit”

“What? When?” She doesn’t seem all that surprised.

You already know this, don’t you?

Not wanting to delve too much into old news, I quickly go over my time abroad; Naomi appears focused on my little story; meanwhile, Mia is fighting with all the live-streaming services available, looking for something to watch. 

“Any ideas for some decent background noise?” 

I signal with my hand, reaching out for the remote. And after a quick search, I finally find a saga of horror B films.

Perfect.

The conversation starts flowing along with the alcohol, nothing too interesting aside from small things that happened throughout the week; and of course, Naomi doesn’t waste the opportunity to talk about her major. But I tune it out, not particularly interested in what she’s doing. 

While we are only two beers in, the topic of my encounter the previous day is brought up by a clueless Mia.

"You're gonna be busy tomorrow, right Anon? Hanging out with those people you were drinking with the other day?"

“Who were they, anyway? I recognized that ptero from last month”

“Told ya, people I knew from high school” That seems to be enough to fully get Naomi’s attention; she may be holding a beer, but I could swear to raptor Jesus she’s actually taking notes. 

“Huh?” The tone of her voice betrays the fact that she’s a bit tipsy; there is no way she can keep up with either of us, but she’s trying. 

“She means Fang and the rest of the band” I give Naomi a flat statement, something I hope is enough to shut her up. 

“Ooh, I didn’t know you got in touch with them again, Anon. That’s great!” A genuine smile forms on her face; she seems delighted. Mia, on her part, is now listening to the conversation with a lot of newfound curiosity.

“I didn't get in touch with all of them, just Fang. I ran into the other two by… coincidence” 

“Hmm, that makes sense, I guess. You didn’t seem too close to either of them back then”

“How did you get in contact with Lucy?” She’s digging for information with a teaspoon, but she is still digging.

“We stumbled upon each other and have been sort of hanging out”

“Hell, I’m even going to go watch her play tomorrow” I catch myself sharing too much once more.

The para seems happier and happier to hear about me reconnecting with my ex.

“I’m glad to hear that, Anon; she could use the support”

But before she can ask another question, her sister interrupts. 

“Dude, we’re out” Mia shakes an empty can. 

“Your turn to refill” 

I gladly get up to go to the kitchen, hoping that a simple interruption is enough to keep the plastic princess quiet for now. But her face tells me she’s not dropping the subject for good. 

As if by divine intervention, once I return, the two of them are talking about the area and absentmindedly watching the so-bad-it’s-good movie, taking a bit too long to get everything proved fruitful. I’ve dodged the bullet, at least for now. 

I set another six-pack on top of the ice, grabbing one can for myself and choosing to relax while I can. 

Now that I’m safe from questioning, we keep drinking. While Mia continuously glances with concern at her increasingly drunker sister throughout the night. 

At some point, the topic of work comes up, and we start telling Naomi about our different misadventures in the shop, reminiscing about difficult clients and that one time we almost burned down an old diesel truck, a truly concerning event taking into account that the business has been operating for a few months at best; she looks amused, showing a degree of honesty in her reactions I hadn’t seen before. Courtesy of the drinks, judging by her uncoordinated movements and now louder voice. 

Her head rests against the coffee table, and her upper body is leaning against a beanbag while her legs lie on the carpet, with her snout pointing up at an angle, barely enough for her lips to reach the can when she tilts it; she looks wasted already. 

Why did you try to keep up, miss light weight? 

The first movie ends, and I grab the remote to choose the next one; Naomi takes the silence as an opportunity to speak again.

“Sooo… Anon, speaking of Lucy” And there it is; it was obvious that she wouldn’t ignore it for too long. Although this time it seems there is something different about her way of addressing the topic, it’s more intense. 

“It’s good to hear that you two are talking again, but…”

“Lucy? What are you on abo—”

“DID you know… what happened after you left?” Her words are slurred, but her tone still seems vaguely accusatory, catching the attention of the red-scaled Saurian next to me. 

“What?” My utterly confused question gives her the false impression that it was, in fact, an answer, triggering a spew of words from the para.

Just let it go, dammit, I was almost having fun. 

“She did NOT take it well, and MY poor Nasie got so stressed he could BARELY focus. Prom? A disaster; I couldn’t even enjoy the coronation ceremony” She raises her voice when saying certain words, as if trying to make a point.

“Naomi, I don’t—” But she cuts me off again; it looks like her drunk tirade is not over. 

“She started doing that whole preening thing again. The feathers were EVERYWHERE; and the smaller ones stick to hair like glue. It would take me twenty minutes to get rid of them after visiting my pookie bear” She takes another sip. 

“And THEN, because of the wounds or whatever on her wings, they started giving her vicod-”

“I think that’s enough” Mia stands up and interrupts her sister, grabbing the half-empty beer from her hand. 

Naomi slumps down against the beanbag, looking at me through half-open eyelids.

“At least you’re here to deal with it now…” She mumbles, before clocking out for good. 

What the fuck was that?

“Sorry” Mia says to me with an apologetic expression. 

“Shit, I’ve never seen her drink this much before, if at all” She looks down at the snoring figure before her, then back at me.

“Help me carry her”

“…” I’m dumbfounded. 

“Sure”

Mia grabs Naomi by the arms and I grab her ankles; we quickly carry the sack of potatoes to bed, leaving her lying on her side with a bucket and a bottle of water right next to the intoxicated Parasaur.

We return to the living room without saying a word and sit down on the couch.

“What was she talking about? You two know each other?” She finally asks. 

“I mean, that’s kinda obvious”

“Yeah” 

“We went to high school together” 

“She was sort of my wingwoman; mind you, I wasn’t aware of it”

“She is the one who set me up with my now ex. All to get her boyfriend, Fang’s brother, to not worry so much about his sister”

“That sounds convoluted, but not surprising” Mia looks deep in thought.

“…I’ll talk to her later”

“…” Not sure about what to say, I decide to drown my sorrows instead.

“I’ll get started with the rum. Want some?” 

“With coke?”

“Mhm, fifty-fifty"

“There is a large glass on the top-left shelf"

“Roger” 

It doesn’t take me long to find a big mug of at least forty ounces. I don’t skimp on the ice or the rum, for that matter. 

We pass the drink back and forth, focusing on the TV while not uttering a word, as if finding comfort in the silence. Thirty minutes pass, and I’m already feeling too tipsy; I sigh and close my eyes for a moment to think about what Naomi said, that last comment before getting cut off worrying me. 

Mia makes small talk while I try my best to follow her constantly changing the topic; she drinks more and more of the noxious alcoholic concoction, and before I know it, it’s gone. 

Her glassy eyes fixate on me. 

“Do you think she bought it?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“What I said about my friends’ car breaking down, do you think she believed me?” 

“…”

“Hard to say; I sure hope so”

“Do you know why only you and my damn nosy sister showed up tonight?” Her expression looks familiar. And knowing what’s about to happen, I prepare for the second drunk para-rant of the night.

Looks like it runs in the family. 

“Because my friends hate my fucking guts! One apparently never liked me to begin with, and the other one is dating the guy that used to be my boyfriend; the bitch took the first chance she got! Ugh” She goes for a swing of the rum, but lets out a frustrated grunt once she realizes it is empty.

“And you know what the worst part is? They are not the ones in the wrong; it took me being homeless to realize that I fucked up” I can see small droplets starting to form on the sides of her eyes.

“The hell am I supposed to do?”

This is the first time I’ve seen her show any hint of vulnerability, which brings forth a single thought to my mind.

I’m not equipped to deal with this. 

She’s full-on sobbing now, and with not many options, I go for an awkward hug that she returns with a bit more enthusiasm than I expected, making me fear for the well-being of my ribs. 

“Hey—chill, I’m gonna pop a lung” I tap on her shoulder a few times until she relaxes her arms enough for me to breathe.

“Sorry, sorry” She apologizes, pulling back by a few inches to wipe her tears with her sleeve. 

It takes me a moment to gather my thoughts and give her a sensible response.

“You said you fucked up”

“Yeah” 

“Did you… apologize?” 

She shakes her head.

“Who should I apologize to, anyway?"

“To the people you wronged?” I get the feeling that this is a new concept for her; not surprising. Making a few assumptions and extrapolating information, one could easily reach the conclusion that she can be a mean and cruel bitch. 

“As if that would fix things” She huffs. 

“Maybe not, but it’s the first right thing to do. At least that’s what I would do; it’s what I am doing to try and patch things up with Fang, even if by a little”

“…”

She looks conflicted, even afraid, while pondering the idea.

“Alright”

I slowly pull away and get up; she looks at me and then at the empty glass, then back at me again.

“Wanna drown your sorrows too?” She nods.

The rest of the night goes by in a blur; I wake up the following morning on the living room floor next to the couch, feeling like I've been hit by an 18-wheeler. My neck hurts, so I try to move, but something heavy and pointy stops me. Looking down, I see a tail on top of my chest. I turn to my right, following the scaly appendage, only to see Mia sleeping on the couch in a position that would give a cat back pain. 

“Hey, wake up” 

She mumbles something. 

“Mia, wake up. You’re poking me in the ribs”

“Wha—?” She turns, falling off the couch and landing on top of me, with her knee nailing me in the stomach.

“Son of a—” I whine.

Realizing what she did, she lifts her knee and extends her leg, losing balance and falling flat on her snout. 

“Ow!” 

“Can you move? I want to get up” I tell Mia, shaking her and hoping that bothering her is enough to get a reaction. 

“Wait a bit, baldie. God, my head hurts”

We’re lying down on the floor in the shape of an ‘X’, all things considered, the carpet is quite comfy. 

“I’m sure you’ll be fine by Monday”

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’m not skipping work” 

“…”

“Do we have a micrometer, by the way? I need to check some brake rotors” Her muffled question throws me off. 

“What? Micrometer? We have two…uh—I think they're in my backpack”

“Anon, I’ve never seen you with a backpack” 

I lay there, confused, and while screening through my memory, it finally hits me. A mental image of my backpack resting against the wall of my old apartment. 

I knew I was forgetting something, fuck. 

“God dammit. I left it at my old place” 

I reach for my phone and send a text to my old landlord; he answers almost immediately. Surprised by his quick response, I check the time; it’s already 1PM.

Huh. We overslept. 

Looks like today is my lucky day as I get a picture of my old backpack along with a text saying that he didn’t know to whom it belonged, and that I can pick it up any day of the week. 

“I got the tools back; I just have to go get them. Can’t believe I’m saying this, but my old landlord is pretty chill”

“Cool” Mia gives me a half-assed smile, a testimony to the nice hangover she’s enjoying right now.

“By the way, thanks for hearing me out yesterday; you’re patient for a vet”

I think a more appropriate word would be ‘numb’. 

“..." I don't say anything. 

Mia doesn’t seem to want to move anytime soon, so I start poking her repeatedly on the side.

“Fine, fine” She rolls off, freeing me.

I get up and crack my back; the muscles in my neck already have that weird sensation of tension that you get after sleeping wrong, and my mouth is as dry as a desert. My stomach growls, forcing me to march toward the kitchen. 

“I’ll be raiding your fridge” 

“Huh? Ah, sure, make me something” 

“Make it yourself; don’t be lazy”

“Hey, it’s my food you’re eating”

I roll my eyes and walk way. 

Now in the kitchen, I’m quick to find the panacea I was looking for, a couple of sports drinks bought the day before in anticipation of this exact scenario; I down a whole bottle in one go before checking the fridge for any palatable ingredients to make breakfast.

The early bird gets the blue alligatorade. 

No meat, milk, or eggs, but there are plenty of veggies and fruits, along with a few grains. I ignore the tofu and make a big bowl of fruit salad. As if on cue, a figure shyly creeps through the doorframe.

Naomi stands there, her eyes fixed on the food. It's the first time I’ve seen her with no makeup and with her hair looking like a bird's nest. I grab one of the bottles, peach blitz flavor, of course, and offer it to her. 

“It’s got electrolytes” 

She blinks a few times before grabbing it.

“Thanks”

“No problem, want some?” I ask her, pointing at the bowl; she nods and sits down. 

I grab three smaller bowls and serve a healthy portion of salad in each one.

“How long am I going to feel like crap?” 

I raise an eyebrow.

“For a few hours? Wait, first time getting wasted?”

“Yes”

“Well, you only had four beers; you’ll be peachy in an hour if you drink enough water” She looks equally relieved and frustrated as she rubs her temples. 

Mia is quick to show up, summoned by the sound of cutlery and the smell of food. She takes a seat and eats half of her bowl in one bite. 

“I have some ibuprofen if you want, Noom” 

“Please” The cloying para pleads.

Someone looks completely out of her depth. How grumpy. 

The red Saurian turns to me, as if asking the same question; I shake my head. 

We finish breakfast-lunch, and I pick everything up; Naomi washes the dishes while Mia and I tidy up the place. It takes way less time than we originally expected; everything looks squeaky clean. 

I grab my jacket and check for my keys before heading to the door. 

“I’m gonna bounce. See you on Monday, Mia. See you around, Naomi."

“Later ‘Non”

“Bye” 

The door closes behind me with a click. I walk downstairs and drive home with no radio, pondering what they both said while plastered. I decide to leave the issue be for the time being, as I really can't afford to waste energy on it today.Once home, I take a shower and eat a decent lunch, preparing myself for the night. 

Get your head in the game, Anon.

Before I even realize, it’s already 5PM, whatever little time I have left is spent pacing around my place like a caged tiger. My phone buzzes, taking me out of my stupor. 

Fnag: [You there?]

Mous: [Sup]

Fnag: [Remember, 7PM]

Mous: [I know, I’ll be there]

Fnag [You better >:v]

The chat ends; it seems she wasn't so confident in my memory. By 6:20PM I jump in my truck and drive to the joint. The old building gives me a weird sense of déjà vu. 

Once inside, I’m hit by a dense atmosphere, as if everything were frozen in time. It’s like a throwback to five decades ago. The furniture, the lighting, even the patrons, all look stuck in the past.

I can see the band is already setting up; I wave at them and find myself a nice table close to the stage. Trish has her usual resting bitch face, Reed is Reed and hence high as a kite, but Fang looks nervous and way more energetic than the last time I saw her here. I catch her occasionally smiling and humming a familiar tune that I can't quite recognize. 

A waiter takes my order, three meat lover's pizzas, and disappears behind the counter as quickly as she showed up.

All things considered, tonight’s show looks promising. 

Chapter Text

From my privileged spot near the front, I see Fang tuning her guitar. She looks at me and flashes a nervous smile, which I return, trying to encourage her. Reed disappears backstage and materializes back carrying two amplifiers and a bunch of cables. He expertly connects the main mic, Fang's guitar, and Trish’s bass. The cables on the stage twist and turn in random patterns, threatening anyone not familiar with his esoteric cable management with a quick trip to the floor.

Another five minutes pass while I sip a drink I don’t remember ordering. The carfehead makes a weird hand sign to someone I can’t see, and the lights dim. Not long after, small spotlights land on each band member. Fang grabs the microphone; looks like the show is on. 

“Good evening, everyone. We are WWURM DRAMA. Enjoy”

She is dry and straight to the point, almost sounding annoyed. As soon as the short presentation is over, her guitar comes to life, and so does my nostalgia. I’m transported back to us strumming in her room. My first ever real contact with music. The thought reminds me of the many times I would try to play guitar while on deployment to pass the time.

What did I do with that old acoustic? Dad is going to kill me if it goes missing. 

The first song is new and doesn’t seem to be a cover, but I can identify a certain style. They have improved, but there are still some old mistakes hanging around. As if they had chosen to turn those errors into a part of their style. A bold choice of which I’m not sure.

They play without pause; some pieces are original, some are from other artists, all executed decently.

The monochromatic ptero looks to be very energetic tonight; she’s going all out.

In the blink of eye the show is already near its end, Fang announces the last song, and three minutes later it’s over. I check my watch, only thirty minutes have passed.

Mesmerized by a short yet surprisingly good performance, I subconsciously start clapping, cringing the moment I realize what I’m doing. But then, another client follows, and then another. We pick up momentum and soon enough the twenty or so patrons in the restaurant are congratulating the band. I steal a glance at the waiter who took my order. The perplexed and confused expression on her face is enough to tell me that this is a novel event. 

“Thank you, thank you. We’ll be here next Friday” Her beaming smile compels me to show my own. Looks like coming here tonight was worth it.

The band waves at the small crowd and wastes no time picking up their instruments and equipment. Their movements are well-practiced; packing up is routine. I look down at the table; there is still one pizza left.

I don’t stay in my seat for long. Quickly finding my way to them, holding a box of Italian cuisine. I nod up towards Reed as I make my way to Fang, who’s almost done putting her guitar away. 

“Nice show” I tell her with a wide grin, not even bothering to hide how happy I feel to see her play. 

I hold the now half-open pizza box in front of her face. 

“Want some?” 

“Thanks” Fangs answers with a smirk, grabbing two slices and folding them on top of each other. 

Barbarous.

“Yo, bro, I could use some muscle over here” Reed calls out as he takes apart his drums. 

I nod; Fang looks at him and gives me a thumbs-up. I walk towards the pinkish raptor to help him carry the drum set. It doesn’t take us long to clean the stage.

Why does he have so many cymbals?

As we return, I can hear Trish congratulating her friend for the performance, a well-deserved praise in my opinion. As I get closer, her attention shifts to me, an unwelcoming expression adorning her purple face. She looks at me, almost dropping one of her usual comments, but seems to bite her tongue at the last second. Either our first meeting was enough to keep her in check, or Fang is holding her at metaphorical gunpoint.

Reed pokes Trish with a drumstick, drawing her attention away from me. 

"We're done packing, dude; let’s bounce”

“What? Already?” The trigga looks at him, confused. 

“Another pair of hands really helps?” Reed shrugs. 

“Right, well, let’s go” 

“I’ll stick with Anon; you guys go ahead” Fang interjects. 

I raise an eyebrow at Lucy's comment, curious as to where she is going with that.

Funny how nobody asked me nothing. 

“But we have practice tomorrow morning” Trish, again, protests.

“Yeah, we’ve been skipping those a lot” Reed is quick to back her up.

“I’d say we did pretty well, and the next show is a week away; we have plenty of time” 

She turns to me, almost dragging me off the stage. Trish is about to say something, but clicks her tongue and stomps out. Reed waves at us and follows after her. Looks like that’s it for the night. I’m more than happy to cut that interaction short. 

Fang ´guides´ me out of the restaurant and towards the parking lot. 

“Hey, hey, slow down—“

“Shit, sorry” She shakes her head and lets go of my arm. 

“She has been very insistent lately; it’s really getting on my nerves” 

“It doesn’t surprise me, honestly. Trish still hates my guts”

And Reed is still a sentient doormat.

“She’ll get over it. Soon, I hope”

Fang leans against the hood of the truck and takes out a cancer stick, the same brand of menthols she used to smoke back in high school. She offers me one, but I decline. The gray ptero tries lighting the cigarette with a pink disposable lighter, but after a few tries all she gets are a few sparks. I reach into my jacket and grab my own lighter. Without asking, I flip it open and carefully bring the flame closer to the cig.

“Thanks. But I thought you didn’t smoke”

“Rarely, it’s a habit I picked up during guard duty; you have to stay wide awake somehow” 

“Huh” She takes a drag. 

“I’m glad you came today; I was so fucking nervous. Last time we played here, it was as lively as a funeral”

“It turned out great this time around, though, didn’t it?—” Something catches my eye mid-sentence.

“…” I spot a few suspicious-looking Saurians fifty yards away; after studying them for a moment, I conclude they’re not a threat. Just a bunch of teens wasting time.

“Anon?” Fang leans a bit closer, putting herself directly in front of my line of sight. 

“Huh?” 

“You did it again”

“Did what?” 

“Zone out. You act weird sometimes”

Yeah, that’s because I’m bored out of my mind most of the time. 

“Oh, that. I just saw someone doing something odd. Don’t worry about it” 

“…Right” 

She doesn’t seem to buy it. But I don’t want to delve into an uncomfortable topic right now, so I push the conversation forward. 

I put away the lighter that I was still holding for some reason before locking eyes with her again.

“I liked the guitar in that first song”

It takes Fang a fraction of a second longer to answer. She's looking awfully smug.

“I wrote all the tabs. I can teach you that part”

“That would be cool, but didn’t they take your guitar and amp?” 

“Oh, right. Do you have one?”

“Not an electric one, no”

“But you have one; an acoustic is enough. Do you mind if I crash at your place tonight?”

“Do you mind sleeping on a couch?” 

“Nah, that’s fine. I will steal all your blankets, though”

“What are we having for dinner, by the way?” 

“Dinner?”

“My lessons are not free of charge”

“You drive a hard bargain, but sure, deal. As for what’s on the menu? Uh... I don’t know. I think there are some chicken breasts in the fridge. How about that with some grilled veggies?” 

“Works for me, let’s go” 

She swiftly moves to the passenger side before I even unlock the doors, displaying a degree of familiarity I didn’t expect.

Once back at my place, I swing open the door and Fang invites herself in without missing a beat. 

“Nice place” 

“Sweet, right?” I say as I make my way to the kitchen, opening the freezer and taking the chicken out. 

“This is going to take a while to thaw, like thirty minutes”

“Go get the guitar then; we can kill some time” 

I nod, leaving the meat on a plate and setting an alarm. I head towards my room to find the instrument. Now standing in front of the door, I start going back through my memory to recall where I left it. Until I see a vision of it hiding under a bag in the closet. And sure enough, there it is, old and out of tune, but with all of its strings. 

I return with Fang, lifting the six-string over my head in triumph before handing it to her. She takes it out of the case, strumming all the strings at the same time and grimacing. 

Yeah, even I know that it sounds awful. 

“When was the last time you used this thing?” 

“I don’t know, like… eight months ago?” 

“It shows” 

“Cut me some slack, I forgot. Besides, I got it from my dad, that thing is like two decades old. The neck is all fucked up” 

“You should take better care of it” 

She scolds me, but I have no rebuttal; I probably should. 

“Sit” She nods to the spot next to her on the couch. 

I oblige. Fang gets to tuning each string before finally playing a short riff.

“Alright, here, play something” She hands me the guitar.

“What?” 

“I don’t know, something. You said the last time you tuned it was eight months ago, so you do play”

“I’m rusty” 

She looks at me unamused and pushes the guitar towards me. I grab it and get into a more comfortable position. 

I rack my brain to recall a tune. The larper in me comes up with an idea, and I start playing a short song from an old post-apocalyptic game. Much to my surprise, I remember each note. Muscle memory takes over, and I continue playing. Fang attentively watches me, looking at my hands dancing across the fretboard. As I finish playing the sound of the last string vibrating slowly fades, and I look at her. 

“So, whatcha’ think?”

"You're better than you used to be”

“That’s not saying a lot, but thanks”

“I think it won’t take you long to learn the tabs; let’s start with…” 

Fang explains in detail the whole piece while we swap the guitar back and forth. I try my best to copy what she shows me, and after a few minutes, I start getting the hang of it. This might not take that long. 

Our little session is cut short by the timer on my phone ringing, it has been half an hour already. 

“Crap. The chicken” 

“We can pick this up after dinner. Mind helping me out? The sooner we eat, the better” 

She agrees, and we both get off the couch. Thanks to the menu being simple and having few ingredients, it takes us less than forty minutes to prepare and cook everything. 

The food, however, disappears almost as soon as it's ready. I clear the table, not bothering with the dishes, and go back to the living room, dropping myself onto the sofa.

Fang gets ahead of me and makes herself comfortable. Her wings fully extended, falling lazily atop the cushions behind her. She’s playing the same few chords I had heard her singing before.

“I recognize that”

“You remember?” 

“Yeah, you were humming before the concert. But I know it from somewhere else; can’t quite put my finger on it” 

“You came up with this the first time I taught you guitar”

“…”

“Can you play it again?”

She does, and I focus on listening. It does sound close, but not the same. 

“It’s similar, but it’s different”

“Of course it is; this is not an electric guitar. And I made a few additions” 

“Huh”

“Show me” 

She nonverbally signals for me to get closer, putting the acoustic on my lap and sitting behind me, just like she did back then. 

“Relax your arms; follow my lead”

As she moves my hands around, I pick up the few things she added. They are subtle and bring some novelty to the few basic notes I had improvised. 

“I forgot how fun this was” 

“What part, in particular?” 

“Teaching you music” 

“I’m gonna assume that’s a compliment and that I’m a great student”

She chuckles.

“You’re a solid B- student”

“Oh come on, that’s too harsh; I’m not that bad”

“I have high standards, Mr. Mouse”

We both laugh and keep practicing, bantering back and forth while at it. It's not long until I can already feel myself shaking off the rust. 

By midnight, we are already yawning. With our batteries almost depleted, I get up to get some bedding for Fang. On my way back, I turn up the thermostat, which makes the apartment feel like a terrarium, but the winged rockstar seems to like it. 

“Two pillows and enough blankets to cover half the state. You think you’ll be fine with that?” 

“Yup”

“Well, I’m going to crash and hit the sack. G’night”

“Night, Anon” 

I go back to my room and collapse on the mattress. The last two days seem to have taken a toll on me.

The following morning makes itself known by assaulting my eyes with sunlight. I roll off the bed, landing face first.

“Ugh” 

I make my way to the kitchen, stumbling down the hallway like a zombie. The smell of coffee piques my interest. 

Looks like Fang is already familiarizing herself with my groceries.

“M’ning” I mumble.

“Want some? Sounds like you need i—”

“Raptor holy Jesus!” 

Her reaction wakes me up enough for me to realize that I’m not wearing a shirt.

Right, the scars.

“Gnarly, eh?” I retort with a sleepy smile.

“I—No—Sorry, it just took me by surprise”

“These are the reason why I got discharged; I caught a bunch of bullet fragments while manning the M2”

"Shit—that's a lot of cuts”

“I know, right? But humans heal fast” She keeps staring at me, concerned. I ignore it and grab a banana from the counter to get some easy-to-digest carbs in my system. By the time I throw the peel into the trash, Fang seems calm again.

“…”

“Want some coffee?” 

“Absolutely” I nod enthusiastically. 

We eat breakfast in comfortable silence. She leaves shortly after. And I spend the rest of the day rotting and playing xrox. 

By Monday I already feel rested enough to rise up for the grind. Mia ‘kindly’ reminds me of the micrometers I was supposed to pick up. Right after work I drive to the edges of Skin row, parking the truck and walking the rest of the way there. 

My old landlord stays true to his word and hands me my old backpack. I check, everything is still there. 
By the time I’m walking down the stairs of my old building, the sun is almost gone. Only a few rays can be seen reflecting off the clouds on the horizon. I take a deep breath and start walking. 

Halfway through the trip back, an angry voice calls out to me. I turn to see three Saurians coming out of one of the many alleyways. They are not wearing much, which makes it easy for me to tell that they’re not carrying any weapons. One of them gets a bit closer while the other two move to get behind me. I’m not carrying my gun today, an oversight on my part. I weigh my options; getting away from them should be easy enough. 

“Your wallet, drop it” The leader, a raptor, growls at me as he extends his claws. 

I blink a few times, considering what I should do. Running away or giving them the twenty bucks I’m carrying would be the logical answer. But the chimpanzee on Xanax inside my mind disagrees. It thirsts for entertainment. 

The voice of reason tries saying something, but the monkey rushes it and rips its face off. Looks like I’ve come to a verdict. 

I can have a little violence, as a treat. 

“Wallet? Back in the day, we used your kind to make those” I flash a shit-eating grin.

It takes him a moment to process the insult, but he gets it, and his face twists in anger. I reach down and grab a piece of the broken sidewalk, a decent chunk of solid concrete, at least two pounds. I move closer, repositioning myself to avoid being surrounded. 

The adrenaline starts taking effect, and I’m the first one to make a move, swinging the rock at them.

Hell yeah.

Chapter Text

The air is humid and heavy; night dew is starting to condense on the many cold surfaces around me, but I barely even register the shift in the atmosphere.  I’m laser-focused on something more important. 

I’ve gotten myself into an unnecessary fight, and so far I have the advantage. I watch in slow motion as my arm travels in a wide arc; the rock I’m holding makes contact with a dry crunch. The raptor that demanded my wallet recoils, stumbling backward and falling down flat on his ass, surprised by my preemptive attack.

One of his two accomplices, an Ankylosaurus, is the first one to react and try to hurt me to defend his friend. He swings his tail at my side, but I’m quick to react, dashing forward to reduce his leverage and avoid the bony tip. I grab the appendage and follow the same direction of his attack. He loses his footing, and I put as much strength as I can into capitalizing on his momentum, swinging him at a nearby dumpster. The moment I let go, he flies against the rusty container, crashing and leaving behind a big dent.

And another one bites the dust.

I look down at the now neutralized pile of scales in front of me. 

Huh… None of these guys are triceratops; are my stereotypes outdated?

While preoccupied with the second attacker, I fail to notice the third saurian, barely moving myself out of the way to dodge the Baryonyx's hands. Something grazes my arms and chest, but I reincorporate myself quickly. My muscles contract. I swing the piece of concrete down like a hammer. He lets out a stifled scream as I hit his clavicle and falls straight down while clutching his right shoulder.

The raptor leading them finally gets up and tries clawing at me again, scratching my clothes. I lift my arm in a parable, and the chunk of concrete nails him just below the ribcage, cutting his breath short.

Motherfucker, that jacket was brand new. Now you’ve done it.

I take a step forward, waiting for their next move and hoping to avenge my poor, now ragged clothes. But they instead look at each other, unsure. They get up and limp closer together. Before I can attack again, the trio is already sprinting away as fast as their injured bodies let them. I wait, watching them get away, just to make sure it isn’t a bluff to get my guard down. Once they are a few blocks away, they turn a corner and disappear. Looks like victory is mine.

I take a moment to bask in the feeling of euphoria, taking a deep breath of the cool night air. I throw my head back and drop the now useless piece of sidewalk, enjoying the warm sensation covering my skin.

Wait, warm?

I catch myself mid-thought, confused. But as I look down, my eyes open wide with surprise. My jacket is indeed damaged; the left sleeve and upper part of the chest are torn, but that’s not all. And as I focus on the dark green of the fabric, I notice certain areas near the cuts getting darker. They got me. My mood switches in an instant as I’m hit with the consequences of my rash decision. 

There's the excitement you wanted.

Taking a moment to compose myself, I identify each crimson spot and assess the extent of the damage. Patting myself down and checking each wound and their depth. Not exactly a pleasant process, but it's necessary. That Baryonyx had sharp claws. The slashes on my skin are not that bad, but they are numerous and add up to turn into a small faucet through which my life is leaking out.

Fuck me. No, never mind, I’m already fucked.

I try calming myself down, focusing on the current task at hand and letting my training take over; I press down hard on the biggest lacerations, applying pressure to slow the hemorrhage. My mind races as I consider what to do; I pat my pockets looking for my phone, but it’s nowhere to be found. As I look around, I see it lying near the dumpster that caught the second dino. The screen is smashed to bits and the casing is bent in a weird way. It’s destroyed beyond repair.

A sharp, frustrated exhale escapes my nostrils; I cannot call emergency services, so I’m on my own. I pick up and pocket the now destroyed device. 

Considering my situation, I reach a dreadful conclusion. The moment I relax and the fight-or-flight hormones wear off, blood vessels that right now are contracted will dilate, and the bleeding will get worse. I ponder screaming for help, but in this place, that will be more counterproductive than anything.

It’s already dark, and people around here get skittish. Risking getting shot after knocking on a random door is also not a possibility I want to gamble with.

All of this leaves me with only one option to win this race against time: I need a hospital. Closing my eyes, I try to recall a map of the area, plotting the fastest route possible before moving. 

Skin Row is not that big. Fang’s place is not too far away, but Reed might not be there to drive me to the ER. But that won't be a problem; if my memory is to be believed, I’m six blocks away from medical assistance. That sounds like my best shot.

Without wasting any precious breath, I start walking at a moderately brisk pace, mechanically putting one foot in front of the other, moving like an automaton. The first three blocks are almost what I would call easy; my legs obey my orders, propelling me forward. But slowly and surely I start to slow down. The tips of my fingers are starting to feel numb.

I don’t let my worsening situation discourage me, marching with my willpower at the head of this crusade. Even if I pass out, chances are my blood will clot and keep me from biting it. I might get stripped down to my underwear, but I‘m guaranteed to survive even in a worst-case scenario; or at least that’s what I can deduce with the information I have at the moment. Regardless, being unconscious is a fate I’d like to avoid.

With less than two hundred yards left, I can already see my objective; the hospital’s silhouette looms in the near distance. But just as I’m starting to feel a vague sense of relief, a sensation like that which haunted me after Samantha visited the shop returns: someone’s intense stare and diligent stalking. Something similar to the reason why I went out of my way to buy a gun has caught me unarmed and wounded, a rather ironic turn of events.

Give me a break.

I lean against a wall to prepare, clenching my teeth as I push myself to my two feet after that short break. I quicken the pace until I'm at a full sprint. But even then, the noise behind me keeps getting closer, concerningly so. The rustling of clothes and plastic at my six is enough to finally force me to turn and assess the threat.

What I’m met with is a most surprising figure. What looks like a crude mockery of an angel lurks thirty yards or so away, hidden in the dark. And it’s shortening the distance between us by the second. As it draws near, I can make out more details. White feathers and black robes. I chuckle internally; it doesn’t have enough armor to be a valkyrie and is not scary enough to be a seraph.

Shouldn’t you have a scythe?

The light of a nearby streetlight reveals the mysterious creature as it approaches. She’s holding what looks like groceries and is wearing her usual clothes, black leather jacket included. A sense of familiarity puts a stop to my thoughts, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

I shouldn't have run like that; I feel all lightheaded.

“Anon! It IS you!” She calls out my name, eyes like saucers. Dropping the bag she’s holding and rushing towards my side, food spills all over the sidewalk. She wraps an arm around my torso to keep me up. 

My blood is going to ruin your clothes if you do that

.

“Hey, Fang” I say with a half smile, apologetic but relieved.

“What happened to you?!” She sounds panicked.

I don’t look that bad, do I?

“A bit of an altercation” She doesn't look all that convinced by my lackluster explanation and uncharacteristic vocabulary.

“I just need a few stitches. Can you give me a hand?” I point towards the nearby hospital. She nods enthusiastically, with concern written all over her face; it makes me feel guilty.

Maybe that fight was, in fact, not a good idea. Hindsight is 20/20, I guess?

We make our way up the stairs with some effort. I swing open the door and walk toward the receptionist; the moment she lays eyes on me, her bored expression turns into one of mild surprise. She alerts someone, and a nurse appears out of nowhere to assist me.

As a doctor checks my wounds, I’m sure to insist, multiple times, on only local anesthesia. I'm not confident enough in myself to go under full-body anesthesia anywhere near Fang. Only God knows what I could end up saying while high. The doctor argues with me, but I manage to somehow convince him by mentioning my previous injuries.

The surgeon is quick, surprised by my lack of reaction as he works on my wounds. I get the feeling that they might have gone overboard with the localized sedatives. It takes him a bit under an hour to close everything up, but the final work is clean, thorough, and tidy. I’m rolled over to a different room, with Fang not leaving my side unless directly told to do so.

Fuck, now I owe her.

I'm moved to a regular room instead of the ICU, which means I was right on my original assessment. I’m given a quick summary of my condition: my blood loss was more or less a pint, and I should be able to leave tomorrow morning. 

I let sleep embrace me and take a short nap, reincorporating myself half an hour later. As my eyes open, I spot a teal-colored saurian sitting on a chair next to my bed and resting her head against my stomach; she looks tired, so I try to move as little as possible to avoid waking her up. 

Carefully, I reach for the remote and try to find something watchable on TV, with little to no success.

Some time later, Fang starts moving and mumbling slightly; she's probably dreaming. A few minutes pass until she opens her eyes, stretching her grogginess away before looking at me. She smiles and draws closer; I return the jovial expression.

“Morning” I say; the clock on the wall marks 10pm.

“Hey. Are you okay?”

“…” Making her worry bothers me for some reason.

“Yeah, just a few cuts; the doc did a great job. And thanks for lending me a hand. I still can’t believe I ran into you back there"

“…” I turn my eyes toward the clock again; it’s really late, especially by Skin Row standards. 

“You should go home, and uhm— again, thanks for helping me out”

“I’m not leaving”

“I really appreciate the gesture, and I’ll make it up to you, but seriously—“

“Anon” She hits me with the patented mom glare, shutting me up.

“What happened?”

“...” 

She's not letting that go, huh?

“I went back to my old place to pick up some things I forgot. And when I was walking back to my truck, some bums tried to rob me. I didn’t give them what they wanted, and it led to a fight”

“That’s it” I shrug.

“…” Not a word, as if she's waiting for me to finish the story.

Fuck it, honesty is the best policy.

“Alright, I might have instigated the fight”

“What, why?” 

I shrug.

“Didn't feel like running, I guess?” 

"That was stupid”

“Yeah, I'm not planning on doing it again"

“Good”

“Sorry for making you drop your groceries, by the way”

“Oh, don't worry, Trish went and picked them up. I called her while you were under the knife” The mention of the trigga makes me frown for a moment. 

“So you're just going to stay here until they give me the OK?” 

“Yes” 

“I can't talk you out of it, can I?”

“No”

“Dang” 

She chuckles. And leans against the side of the bed again.

“What were you even thinking? Dumbass” 

Wish I knew. 

The conversation steers toward my destroyed phone after I show it to her to change the topic. We kept chatting to kill time until Fang left to get some food after I insisted she should at least let me cover dinner.

A doctor visits me by while she’s gone. The old para-medic leaves two bottles of pills, antibiotics and very strong painkillers, saurian grade of course. He warns me about proper dosage and gives me some simple instructions for recovery before walking out.

Why do they always give me so many? I'm not a saurian, dammit. 

Fang returns with two sandwiches from God knows where, handing me one. We start eating with some chit-chat in between bites. I finish my food and grab the bottle of painkillers, shaking my head while chuckling after reading the label. 

It seems to catch her attention as she turns to me and raises an eyebrow at my reaction.

“Another one for the collection”

“What?”

I lift the bottle up to her eye level.

“Look, they gave me antibiotics and some percs. I have a stash of the latter from when I was discharged; I never used them” 

“I should probably throw them away” 

“I can keep them” She says a bit too quickly as her eyes dart from me to the bottle.

I look at her, confused. But Naomi’s words echo in my mind; I shake my head.

“Uhhh. No. I don't think that's a good idea”

“Right, nevermind” She instantly drops the subject and goes back to eating what little food she had yet to finish; she looks somewhat disappointed.

That odd reaction confirms a hypothesis I had about what the peach parasaur said. I don't like the implications.

Minutes of waiting and half-sleeping turn into hours; by the early morning of the next day, the hospital lets me go after some paperwork. Fang looks really tired, and with good reason. I walk her home and remind the ptero that she can claim the favor I owe her anytime, preferably ASAP. That last remark gets me a snarky comment before she walks in, looking ready to collapse from exhaustion. 

I take the day off to recover, as per the doctor's orders. 

I can't hit the gym for the rest of the week either; this sucks. 

Now lying on my sofa and snacking on some beef to get back those crucial red blood cells, I remember something: my phone is dead and Mia is none the wiser about me not showing up today. I sigh and check the time on my laptop; more than enough to get to the shop before she does. 

A short drive later, I park the truck and get out only to see a red shape nervously pacing from side to side in front of the garage doors. She seems to be trying to call someone, probably me.

“Morning” I wave. 

“I’ve been waiting for you for half an ho—!” Her rant is cut short the moment she turns to face me. 

I knew the tank top was a good idea. 

“Sup” I throw a shaka with my damaged arm.

“The fuck happened to you?”  

“I got the micrometers” My answer is accompanied by me lifting the backpack up. 

“Also, some fuckers tried to rob me; keyword, tried."

“At this rate, you’ll end up looking like a topographic map”

“Harsh”  

"Anyway, sorry for making you wait; my phone got KIA. You can take the day off; we’ll be back in business tomorrow”

“Don’t you need to rest?” 

“Yeah, for a day, you’re not getting a paid vacation that easy” 

“Pfff, killjoy. See you tomorrow, then."

“Later, gator” Mia makes a sad expression for an instant and walks away.  

Odd.

After swinging by and putting her up to speed, I took the chance to get a new phone; thankfully, my old SIM card still worked just fine.

I return home and collapse on the couch again. I have had my fill of strong emotions for now. 

What a way to start the week, son of a bitch. 

My smartphone buzzes.

Fnag: [Hey]

[Hey]

[Hey]

[Are you alive?]

I sent her a selfie of me doing the Blue Steel face and showing my new sutures. 

Mous: [And kicking]

Fnag: [Huh, it doesn’t look that bad]

Mous: [See? told ya]

Fnag: [That still doesn’t excuse doing something that retarded >:v]

Mous: [I know]

Fnag: [U free this weekend?]

Mouse: [Yup]

Fnag: [K]

[Perfect]

[I'll call you later]

Mous: [Aight]

She doesn’t send any more texts, leaving me feeling more curious than anything. I shrug and go back to chillin' before eventually clocking out.

Chapter Text

Wednesday, the perfect day to finally start the week after getting partially turned into minced meat. 

If my morning grogginess was bad enough before, now it feels like waking up from stasis after twenty years as a human popsicle. I tactical roll out of bed, landing on my hands and knees instead of my face. I stumble up and towards the bathroom. At the end of the hallway one of the new bottles of pills I left on the kitchen table tempts me. I shake my head and lightly slap my face.

No, no comfortable numbness. Fuck. Why do I still get that itch. 

I make a quick dash to grab the meds and return to the bathroom. I open the cabinet to grab my razor, and while I'm at it add the new painkillers to my stash. A perfect pyramid of plastic and narcotics, never to be disturbed. 

I wonder when the old ones will expire, it has been a while. Whatevs.

Foam, blades, and five minutes get me a silky smooth face. A quick shower and I'm ready to eat and bounce. 

Ugh, I don't want to cook. Fuck it. Bananas, milk, whey. 

I throw all the ingredients in a blender with some ice and secure my first meal. It may be lazy, but it's efficient. I chug my food and proceed to brush my teeth. Throwing on some proper, socially acceptable clothes, I grab my keys and head for the door. 

Another day of following my usual route to work. Another twenty boring minutes of commute. 

The shop is just as I left it, a single day wouldn't have changed much, but it's reassuring to know everything is still in place. Looks like I'm the first one here today.

I grab my backpack from the back seat and walk inside, leaving the tools that Mia asked for on a nearby table. With everything set up I make some coffee for her and myself and get to work. My sole mechanic arrives ten minutes later, her eyes downcast, she doesn't say much beyond the usual greeting before getting to her tasks. 

I shrug and focus on my own job, only a day closed and work is already piling up. At least three cars to work with for major repairs and half a dozen that need basic maintenance. 

At this rate Jeep and Chevy will be paying for my rent until they go under.

By the time lunch comes around I’m expecting her usual demeanor to be back to normal, but she’s still tense. Mia sits down across from me and takes out a container with a mix of fruits and leaves. The Para seems to have noticed my stare as she turns to me. 

“Hey, Anon, do you mind if I leave earlier on Friday?” 

I put down my drink. 

“Uh? Sure, how early?” 

“Like…an hour?” 

“Yeah, no problem” I nod. 

“Cool, cool” She goes back to poking her salad instead of eating. 

I raise an eyebrow. 

“Are you alright, Mia? You’re acting weird” 

Her eyes shift from her food to me a few times before she speaks again. 

“I— shit. Remember what you said last weekend?” 

Straight to the point just like that?

“Yeah? It’s not like I was blackout drunk” 

“That’s not what I mean”

“You’ll have to be more specific, blondie” 

“Sure, baldy” Mia's usual snarky attitude shines for an instant, but she seems to hesitate.

“What you said about… making up to people, all that”

“I’ll go talk to them this Friday, see if I can at least apologize”

Hearing those words makes me feel a hint of pride for her. 

“Nice, it’s a good first step”

“First?” Confusion replaces her previous uncharacteristic meekness. 

“Yeah, I mean, if you’re still acting like a bitch after saying sorry it sort of defeats the purpose” 

“Oh… right” 

“Hold up… you said 'them’, as in, plural? Multiple people”

A fast nod.

“It’s not everyone, but still”

“Is this why you’ve been looking like a deer caught in the headlights all day?” 

“Well, yeah, I still don’t know what the hell I’m going to say” Her tone shows both annoyance and worry. 

I shrug, not sure of what to tell her. 

“...”

“Do you think you could come with me, Anon?” It's the first time I’ve seen her doing puppy eyes. 

“What for? I'm not good at talking with people” 

“No, no… You can wait in the car or something. I just want someone there, you know?” An awkward half smile follows her explanation.

“Mhm. You, like… want me in your corner of the ring?” 

“Yeah” 

“I get it. Sure” Her request seems agreeable enough.

“Thanks” A genuine smile adorns her face. 

Those are an oddity. Nice.

We go back to eating, looks like she got her appetite back. And most likely her usual attitude as well.

Halfway through my second tuna sandwich the ringing of my phone interrupts me.

God dammit. Please no more rust buckets. 

I wipe my hands and turn the screen towards me. 

[Fnag]

I press the big green button to answer the call, thankful for it not being another client with an awful set of wheels. Mia looks at me with an amused expression as I excuse myself and walk a few feet away.

[“Hello, hello. How is my favorite ptero doing?”] I cringe at my own corniness.

A chuckle can be heard at the other end of the line.

[“Hey, 'Non”]

[“Why did you call?]

[“Because”]

[“Remember that favor you promised?’]

[“Yeah?”]

Oh boy.

[“Well. You're going to help us with a song”]

[“...”]

[“You know I have no idea about music, right?”]

[“But you do have a good ear. And you know the basics. That's just what we need”]

[“Uhhh, sure? If you say so”]

[“Have some more faith”]

[“How about next Saturday morning? Can you make it?”]

The idea of having to deal with her bandmates that early is already making me feel grumpy. But a promise is a promise.

[“Yeah… I think so. Sounds like a plan”]

[“You know where we live, so see you there. 9AM”]

[“Got it”]

[“Cool. Later”] 

[“Later”]

I hang up and walk back to the table. And as I make contact with my seat, Mia drops one of her usual comments.

“She got you fast, huh?” 

“What?”

“That was your girlfriend, right? The ptero that showed up a while ago looking for you?”

“It was her, yeah. But we're not together”

“Really?” The way her head turns towards me reminds me of a demonstration they did back in deployment by lighting a cigarette and holding it in front of a missile's IR tracking system.

“She's my ex and we're cool, sure. But we ain't dating” 

“So you're just… hanging out?”

“Pretty much”

“Huh. Do you hang out one-on-one with your army buddies, too? I thought that was a navy thing”

“Oh, fuck off”

She laughs, seemingly satisfied with her awful joke, before finishing her meal in just a few bites. Her rapid eating reminds me of the last piece of sandwich I was holding. I finish lunch, wipe my hands, and just like her, get back to work. 

The rest of the week goes by normally, and we manage to catch up on all the work that had piled up during my short absence. 

Finally, Friday arrives, and the red herbivore spends the whole day acting like a Chihuahua until it's time to leave. After a short discussion about logistics, we agree to use her car and drive to my place so I can leave my truck and hop into the passenger seat of hers. 

She drives us to a small coffee shop, parking as far away as she can from the windows. The place is one of the many locations of a local restaurant chain. 

Mia doesn't leave her seat; her eyes fixated on a tree a dozen or so yards in front of the car, while her hands grip the wheel tightly. I look at her, and she meets my gaze with concern spilling out of her blue eyes. She holds up her stare, as if waiting for something. There is fear, but I can see determination hiding underneath. I turn my eyes to the only table inside the restaurant with more than one person, and then back at her. I give her a sharp nod without breaking eye contact. A nonverbal 'you've got this’, or at least my best attempt at it. 

She returns the nod and unbuckles her seat belt. Her ribcage expands as she takes a deep breath and opens the door to get out. With slow but steady steps, she makes her way to the front door. Deciding that this is as far as I need to see, my hands reach for my phone to get the doomscrolling going.

I don’t hear any screams or loud arguments, nor do I see particularly fast movement from the corners of my vision. The meeting turned out to be really civilized. I wonder what kind of people she’s talking to, but I shake my head and focus my attention on social media to drown my curiosity. As much as I'd like to stick my nose into someone else's business, I know better than that. Getting over-involved could turn into an unexpected headache.

Mia comes back around twenty minutes later, looking like a complete mess. Her eyes look red and puffy, with mascara running down her cheeks, but a small smile tugs at the corners of her lips. The sight, as conflicting as it seems, inspires a sense of relief in me.

She closes the door and collapses on the driver’s seat, but doesn't say a word. Her breathing is slow and steady, and although she is not jumping with glee, she looks content.

Something tells me she got what she came here for.

As much as I don’t mind, and even enjoy the silence, curiosity is driving me insane. I need to confirm my hypothesis. 

If she's not going to talk…

“You should have gone with waterproof makeup” 

“...” The para chuckles.

“Probably” 

I offer her some tissues and she starts cleaning her face using the rearview mirror.

“How did it go?”

Her hand stops as she looks down. 

“That was… tough. But they accepted my apologies after I explained why I wanted to make up. I still can't believe it” 

"We're not all buddy-buddy, obviously, but at least…” 

“Feeling lighter?”

“I don't know if lighter, just not as shitty” 

“Still an improvement. Nicely done”

“Wanna go eat something? Consider it a reward for being a bit less of a cunt”

“…” She stares at me as a smirk forms on her snout. 

“Fuck you too” 

There she is.

“Sure. That’s not a bad idea. But I'll pay, Anon. As a thank you for helping me out”

“I didn't do much. But free food is free food. I'm not complaining”

A turn of the ignition starts the engine. Without uttering a word, she makes an illegal maneuver and takes us to a nearby ice cream shop. A small cozy place with what I would call ‘rustic’ touches. 

I’m the first to start walking towards the door, fueled by my hunger for mint choco chips. A big sign on the wall surrounded by fake plastic vines lists many exotic-sounding flavors. 

Algae and sweet potatoes? Who the hell eats that? 

I ignore the part of me that’s considering asking for the most esoteric thing on the menu and go with my original plan. Mia, on her part, picks strawberry and vanilla. 

As much as she puts on the tough gal act, she for sure is Naomi’s sister. 

“Sweet. Literally” She rolls her eyes.

“I didn't know herbies could eat dairy” 

“We can, just not a lot” 

So not that different from Fang. 

“Cool”

Going back to the usual tone of our casual conversations in a relaxed environment seems to help her deal with the emotional exhaustion. She looks tired, very tired, but in a good way. It's the kind of weariness you experience after doing something that you felt was worth the effort.

Halfway through the banana split I ordered on a whim, something I thought was more of a myth than food, I spot a familiar green figure in a car on the road. She sees me and waves; the driver notices and also greets me from afar. I react with a smile and a lazy two-finger salute. Although we never interacted much, Stella and Rosa seemed like good people. Even if the former was a bit cringy and unjustifiably confident. 

Huh, what are the odds? It's not like the city is small.

A part of me regrets recognizing them, knowing that if the stego walks in and starts talking, Mia won't let me hear the end of it. But that dumb sense of worry quickly dissipates as the traffic light turns green and they drive away. 

The blonde woman sitting with me notices them, but doesn't seem to care much. 

Fuck it, I’ll ask Naomi for their numbers later. 

Not long after, as the sun starts to set, we drive back to my place. Mia says her goodbyes and thanks me again before leaving. If her constant yawning is anything to go by, she will collapse as soon as she gets home. And I'm not too different; moving my body feels like walking through molasses.

Long ass week. And I have to get up early tomorrow. Fuck me sideways. 

I drag myself to bed. And let sleep claim me after a light dinner, not even bothering with a shower before sinking into the abyss of dreamland. 

The next day my alarm wakes me up at 7 AM to face the day and the consequences of my actions, in the form of a carfehead and a temperamental trigga. I let out a long sigh as I roll out of bed and fall to the floor, wrapped in my bed sheets. It takes me a moment to untangle myself amidst my confused half-awake state. 

After a quick shower, I take some Amoxicilin to fight the bacteria trying to settle in the new cuts on my skin. I lazily walk to the kitchen to make myself an omelette. As I stand there staring at nothing while keeping an eye on my food, my phone rings again. I grab it from the counter; it’s ten minutes to 8AM. And of course, the message is from a monochromatic woman, probably texting me to remind me of the time. 

And I’m the one who should have more faith? Sheesh. It’s not like I’ve ever been late.

Fnag: [Morning ‘Non]

Mous: [Morning, Fang. Before you say anything, yes, I’ll be there on time]

Fnag: [I know :v]

[Can you bring your guitar?]

Mous: [My dad’s old acoustic?]

Fnag: [Do you have another guitar?]

Mous: [Right, sure I can. But what for?]

Fnag: [To play? Dweeb]

Mous: [Hold on. You said you just needed my, and I quote, “good ear”. Nobody said anything about me playing]

Fnag: [Just bring it along]

Mous: [Fine, fine]

Fnag: [What are you doing rn?]

Mous: [Making breakfast]

Fnag: [What are you eating?]

Mous: [Just an omelette, you?]

Fnag: [Uh. Coffee and a cig]

Is she a fucking Russian security guard? Or Churchill? 

Mous: […]

[That’s not good for you]

Fnag: [I know]

I’m not sure how to answer, but her comment gives me an idea. I reach for a can of sardines from the cupboard and quickly make and pack a simple sandwich for her. Doing so might have taken time and forced me to rush to get there in time, but it’s probably the right call. She can’t play on an empty stomach. 

Mous: [I’ll be there in 30]

Fnag: [Cool, cya soon]

I put down my phone and eat my meal way too fast, risking choking. With my body fueled, I rush to the bathroom to brush my teeth. On my way out, I grab the guitar and the tupperware with Fang’s breakfast before making my way down the stairs. 

Sure enough, I arrive just in time, five minutes before 9AM. Instead of knocking, I text Fang as I’m getting out of the car. 

Mous: [Outside]

Fnag: [omw]

I quickly pocket my phone, constantly looking over my shoulder to avoid getting mugged. I’m taken out of my stupor by the sound of keys jingling before the door opens.

There she is. I smile and nod up to greet the ptero. Fang has a grin on her face as she moves out of the way to invite me in. I walk in while my eyes thoroughly scan the place. It looks like a repurposed warehouse. The main door leads to a relatively large room that doubles as a kitchen and living room. To the right, I see a single hallway; as I move forward, I get a glimpse of where it leads to. There are four doors, two to the left, two to the right. One is clearly marked as a bathroom; the other three I assume belong to the wannabe rockers based on the decorations adorning each door. 

A fiery gaze reminds me of the plastic container I’m holding; I turn my eyes back toward Fang and extend my hand, offering her the food. 

“Breakfast” I tell her, with a small smile. 

Fang looks at me, surprised, before taking it and opening the food container to examine its contents. She perks up at the smell. 

Hah. I knew you guys were piscivores.

“You didn’t have to” A whisper of a phrase, both surprised and barely blushful. 

Objective achieved. The ptero has been fed. 

She sits down on a couch to have what I assume is her first meal of the day. The decent state of the place makes me think that these poor eating habits are not a matter of resources, but of habit.

I spot both Trish and Reed talking close to the would-be kitchen on the opposite side of the room. They seem to have noticed me, but also appear to be waiting to talk, giving us both a curious sidelong glance as they chat. 

I approach them with my usual, casual but firm demeanor.

“What’s up” 

“The ceiling, bro” 

“Hey, skinny” 

“Hey, my trigga” I can almost hear her blood pressure rising after hearing me speak. 

Ahh, ragebaiting, one of life’s small delights. 

I fist bump the pink raptor and give the now angry triceratops a wink. Aggravating her further.

If you’re going to keep up that attitude, then I’m at least going to have fun. You still owe me an apology.

Fang seems oblivious to our little social competition as she devours her sandwich. 

“Dude. You’re gonna vibe with what we’re working on, like…” Reed interrupts my thoughts with talk about their new song. Looks like he’s already been briefed on the situation. 

“Fang didn’t tell me much” 

I look back at the Saurian currently wiping ketchup off her face. 

“…Mind filling me in?” 

“It’s one song, brah. The plan… is to release it on yousnoot and stonify” He talks of it as if those were lofty goals. Maybe so. I’m out of my depth here. 

“Right…”

“What’s my role here?” I raise an eyebrow. 

“Fuck if I know” Trish is quick to answer. 

“I think it’s perfect; I don’t know why she wants you, of all people, to check it out” Her tone dismissive, nothing new there. 

“Ain’t nothing perfect in this world, sis” It’s the first time I’ve seen him directly contradict her. 

“O-kay?” As I’m trying to make sense of the whole situation, I can see the guitarist walking up to us before making a sharp turn to the right. 

She disappears in one of the rooms down the hallway and returns with a laptop. By what I can see, she has an audio editing program open. Without mediating a word, she holds up a pair of headphones in front of me. Trish looks at her; I just shrug and put them on. The moment I do so, she clicks on the play button, and my eardrums are greeted with what I would call indie/alt rock. 

I focus on the sound, trying to surgically separate each component of the melody in my mind. The aggressive chord progression is in tune as the drums kick in. The bass is always there closely backing the guitar, just like eyebrows on a face, only noticeable when missing. I follow the vocals and note their inconsistent level. There are certain parts where something is too loud compared to everything else, but those mistakes are an easy fix.

I catch myself subtly head-banging to the beat; it needs some work, but the base is solid. As the song ends, I look up to an expectant Fang. Reed, on his part, has a hopeful expression on his face. Even the purple menace seems curious about what I have to say, even if she may never admit it. 

“That was… pretty good” I nod, reaffirming my words. 

“It needs some polishing, but damn!” Fang looks proud of herself. 

Both her bandmates smile in agreement, satisfied with my opinion on their performance. 

“Polishing?” My ex asks. 

“Yeah. Take this with a grain of salt, but…” I start carefully and thoroughly explaining what, in my humble opinion, could be improved. They don’t interrupt me as my rant moves forward. I do my best to give an objective and unbiased impression on their art, even if this genre isn't really my cup of tea. And based on their reactions, my hang-ups are reasonable. A few volume adjustments, certain parts needing a cleaner recording, a specific instrument being slightly out of phase. Small things. But alas, the devil hides in the details. 

I start to familiarize myself with the software while we make a hundred small edits and tweaks. Ignoring for the time being the bad blood between me and Fang’s friends.

“The bass is on point in that part. The drums are iffy; you missed a few notes, Reed” I comment. 

“Whoa, you’re precise, amigo. Wait, play it back…”

“Yeah, you’re right, good catch” Reed seems dumbfounded, as if hearing those slips wasn’t possible.

“And what about the guitar, dork?” Fang asks, her snout resting on my shoulder as she stands behind me. 

“Nah, that is fine. There is some weird distortion thirty-something seconds in, but we already went over that” 

We start this constant back-and-forth to fix every error before moving to re-recording. They have a small cubicle-looking thing with acoustic foam near Trish’s room, large enough to fit the drum set and one more person. 

I’m surprised by the amount of hardware and microphones they use. Reed’s cable management is nothing to scoff at. 

As we set to work, the old grudges are muffled by drinks that seemingly appear out of thin air; not for me, though, the last thing I need is a DUI. 

We add the new files to the track and finish exporting the song late into the night, just a few minutes before 8 PM. Time flies when you’re having fun. It took much longer than I expected. Taking an hour trying to explain what I meant by playing a specific section with my acoustic might have contributed to that. 

After uploading the song, both Trish and Reed excused themselves. The pair looks completely beat; I might have gone overboard with my nitpicking and perfectionism. 

But Fang wants to keep the party going at my place, insisting on finishing a six-pack of god-awful beer she has. I shrug, not really minding the implication; mostly due to how I’m approaching the relationship for the time being.

We drive back to my apartment, and sure enough, drink the alcohol after ordering some pizza from Moe’s, meat lovers', of course. As per usual, Fang crashes on my couch, hoarding all my blankets and turning the heating way too high for comfort. 

80-fucking-degrees Fahrenheit. What a nice sauna. 

I wake up the next day, feeling like a newborn doe with an awful hangover. 

‘Just one pack’ she said.

As I drag myself from my room to the bathroom to wash my face, I spot Fang waking up and pass her on my way to the kitchen. 

“’Morning ‘non”

“Morning”

“Do you mind if I take a shower?” 

“Go ahead, there are new towels to the right of the medicine cabinet” 

“Thanks” She says with half-open eyes that haven’t adjusted completely to the light yet. 

Sunday is NOT a day for elaborate meals. So I just grab a few frozen hamburger patties and throw them on a frying pan along with some sliced bread.

A still half-asleep-looking winged lady drags herself to the table as I set down two plates. She thanks me but barely picks at her food, maybe having dinner at 1am wasn't the best idea. A part of me is starting to enjoy this kind of routine. 

As I’m lost in my usual daydreaming, her voice brings me back to reality. 

“Hey, just so you know and don’t freak out, I threw some of my feathers in the bathroom trash can. It’s routine preening, not excessive or anything like that” 

That came completely out of left field. 

“…”

“Uhhh” 

“It’s just—I don’t want you to worry over nothing” 

“Al…right?” 

I look at her wings and arms; they don’t look bloody or messy. The fact that she felt like she needed to tell me that makes me doubt, but there is nothing to indicate she is lying. I change the topic as we eat, focusing on our jam session from the previous day.

Fang leaves on foot not too long after we’re done with the dishes, still looking slightly nervous. As soon as she’s gone I go to the bathroom to take a shower and get rid of the oily feeling on my skin. Some warm water later I open the bathroom cabinet to reach for my usual dose of bacteria-annihilating antibiotics. Feeling thankful that the treatment will be ending soon. I carefully read the labels of all the bottles before grabbing the correct one and taking a pill, leaving it next to the sink. As I’m closing the little door to use the mirror my tryforce of opioids collapses, and the bottles fall and scatter all over the place. Lucky for me not a single one opened. Sighing internally I get to gathering them and putting everything back in place. 

Nine, ten, eleven… hold up. 

As I pick them up, I start to second-guess myself. One is missing from the pyramid. I scan the floor, in case I didn't see it somehow, but it’s nowhere to be found. 

As I look around the bathroom and check the bathtub, I see a single feather stuck to a tile thanks to a few water droplets; there is a hint of red on its tip. I stop to think for a second. I live alone, and this bathroom is rather small; there are no crevices or unnecessary clutter for the absent bottle to disappear into. The only person asides from me who has been here is Fang.

My brain makes the connection between what Naomi said and the events of this morning. She was acting shifty, maybe for a reason.

God fucking dammit. 

Chapter Text

I stand in the bathroom, paralyzed and still as a statue while thinking of what to do. On an almost knee jerk reaction, I grab the many RX bottles and throw them in the bathroom's bin, taking the bag with me as I leave to get rid of it. I curse myself for not seeing it coming. Hindsight may be 20/20, but this was rather obvious from the start. I could have avoided it had I been more cautious and attentive rather than willingly clueless. 

As I walk through the living room my mind makes a few quick calculations. Twenty minutes since she left. Roughly another ten minutes to get there if I take the truck. Assuming she didn’t straight up run back to her place I should arrive fifteen or so after her.

Good, I’m still on time. 

I check the many bottles in the garbage bag I’m holding to try and deduce which one she took. 

One of the olds oxycontins, not percodan. Alright. 

I throw on the first set of clothes I can find and make a mad dash down the stairs, disposing of the meds in a nearby dumpster. As I reach my car I check the medkid under the seat. 

Compressed gauze, chest seals, tourniquet, celox… narcan. Just what I was looking for.

Now sure that I have everything I might need, I set sail for Fang’s apartment, taking a few pages off the driving book of that one taxi driver who almost gave me of a heart attack a few months back. 

I ride like a madman, laser focused on getting to her place ASAP. A few insults from other drivers later I park in front of their place, slamming the brakes and stopping with a squeal of the wheels. 

I rush towards the front door, first aid kit under my arm, and start frantically knocking. Someone answers after a few seconds. Trish.

“Is Fang here?” I don’t give her time to even open her mouth to ask me why I’m here before moving.

“Yeah, what are you—“ I walk past her, invading their home, completely uninvited.

“How long?”

“What?!” Now she’s clearly annoyed and flabbergasted, and justifiably so. 

“When did she arrive? How long has she been here?” 

“They have been here for like five minutes. The fuck is wrong with you? Who said you could just waltz in?!” 

“Pills, she took a bottle of pills from my apartment when she left” I give no detailed context, only a crude and straight to the point explanation. Trish looks confused, her eyes darting between me and the floor as she frowns. 

“Eh?” 

“But I thought they…” I barely manage to catch the first part of what she whispered.

“Which room is her’s?” 

She almost tries to correct me again, but stops herself.

“First one on the left, past the bathroom” 

The purple chick follows behind me as I contain myself to not break into a sprint to reach my objective without wasting time. I nervously knock. Too anxious to wait for a response, I decide to open it. The latch turns with no resistance, no lock. I swing the door open, surprising the ptero on the other side. She’s laying on her bed, staring at the roof while strumming her unplugged guitar. 

My eyes scan the room from left to right. It’s messy, with a few clothes laying around, but I can see a method to the madness. I spot my old jacket hanging on the wardrobe’s door, for some reason she still has that old rag, I would have expected her to have thrown it away by now. 

The rest of the place is oddly familiar, very similar to the room she had back in high school. A guitar stand, cables, and an amplifier sit in a corner. Posters line the walls along with some pictures of family and friends. What looks like Christmas lights hang from the ceiling, giving the room an cozy atmosphere.

As my irises move I spot a small orange plastic tube on her nightstand, opened, and with a good portion of its contents missing.

She turns to me in surprise, looking like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. 

“Anon?” 

“Fang” 

“…”

“Did you take something from my bathroom?” 

She doesn’t answer, her brains seems to be processing what I've said after barging in. She looks down, adverting her gaze. I stare at the pterosaur as she tries to articulate an answer. It doesn’t take more than a few instants for her snout to start quivering and spewing words.

“L—Look, I’m sorry. I—I was looking for rubbing alcohol to clean after plucking a feather that was in an inflamed follicle… And the pills were... just there, I saw them, and you said you were going to throw them away. I ran out of my own supply, and I though you wouldn’t mind—“

Her excuses and apologies mean little to me right now, I’ve confirmed what I feared, and so my priorities have changed. As pissed off as I am for what she did right now, I still care more about her well-being than my own need for retaliation based on a vague definition of justice. I focus, approaching the problem with my warped version of surgical precision. 

I take a few steps to close the distance as she repositions herself to sit on the edge of her bed. Her ranting explanation not stopping as she does so. My right hand moves forward. With index and thumb I grab the point of her beak mid sentence, preventing it from opening and stopping her stream of explanations. She looks at me with mild annoyance as the confusion wears off. 

“Lucy, how many did you take?” The intensity of my gaze pierces into her, hopefully eliciting her mind to reconsider the situation. I let go of her snout, not wanting to push my luck. 

“How do you kno—“

“I can see the bottle right next to you, that’s how”

“How many? And how long ago?” I ask again, as firmly as I can without raising my voice.

“Twenty? Less than five minutes? Anon, I promise I’ll get even with you, listen to me for a second” In her rush to understand what’s going on she seems to think that this is a problem of me being mad at her for taking something that belonged to me, which is partially correct, but she’s completely missing the mark.

I grab the plastic container and count the remaining capsules after checking the label to get an accurate idea of the total.

“Fang, that’s not the problem. It’s half empty” I point at the plastic tube on my hand. 

“It’s okay, really, human dosages are waaay lower” She raises both her hands, palms facing my way, as if to appease me. 

Now I know without a shadow of a doubt that she’s not aware of what’s going on, or of how much she took. I’ve got another problem.

If I panic she’s going to panic, focus, Anon. Think it through before you speak.

I remain silent for a moment, looking at nothing in particular as my mind formulates a reasonable sentence to communicate what is happening without scaring her too much.

“Listen to me, I need you to really listen, OK?” I take another step forward, standing closer to her and leveling my face with hers as I kneel down.

“Okay…?” The suddenness of my approach puzzling her. 

“Those are not human grade. They gave me saurian meds because that’s all they had” 

I can hear Trish, who followed me and has been standing near the door this whole time, gasp. An almost imperceptible sound. 

Fang’s eyes widen as she looks down at the bottle I’m holding.

“They are extended-release, so you’re fine for now. But we need to get them out of your system. Alright?” 

I turn the label around and hold it in front of her eyes. Her alluring amber pupils widen. 

I might have fucked this up. 

“I—“ She interrupts herself. 

“Shit. Shit. Anon what do we—”

I grab her hand, both to calm her and to urge her to follow me. Fang understands the assignment almost instinctively as she rises from her bed and trails behind me. I whisper to the triceratops as I pass her by, asking her to fetch us a bottle or glass of water. Amidst the ruckus something alerted Reed, as he is now standing on the hallway next to the open door to his room. I stare daggers at him, assuming the worst and most likely scenario. He had always struck me as an enabler. 

The pink raptor gives me this confused and half-apologetic look, as if he’s completely unaware of the situation, but still feels sorry somehow. 
Fang and I make our way to the bathroom. The door swings open, and she walks in, kneeling next to the toilet, but never letting go of me. 

She doesn’t give me time to excuse myself and leave. And so, the gruesome ritual proceeds without glory. By the time the monochromatic woman finishes, Trish has already left and returned with some water. She hands it to her friend before retreating a few feet back, Fang eagerly takes it and washes her mouth. 

I exhale in frustration as I gaze down to check the contents of the bowl. 

And on an almost empty stomach, no less. 

Sure enough, after a short visual inspection made easier by the lack of food, I count about twenty barely digested white tablets. The number of pills in the toilet bowl matches the missing amount. 

Thanks God. 

I feel relieved, at least partially. Aware that’s it’s better to be safe than sorry. I drop whatever remaining pills still in the prescription bottle that I have been holding with an iron grip this whole time, and flush the toilet; forever banishing the intoxicating compounds. One less danger to worry about.

As the sound of rushing water fades, I glance at Fang beside me. The other two saurians stand near the door, looking worried and dumbfounded. 

“Reed, or Trish, call 911. Now” I tell them, a clear order.

“No!” Her loud voice almost bursts my eardrums due to how close she is. I instinctively jump back to distance myself from the source of the sound, but I’m stopped by her hand, currently wrapped around my wrist. 

"No cops. Please. I don’t want my dad to get involved” 

I figured they had a strained relationship, but not to what degree. 

“Lucy, you need proper medical attention. Look, if you don't want an ambulance that's fine. I’ll drive you to a hospital, alright?”

I don’t think I want to get too involved in this.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. You saw it; I puked out all of them”

“That’s not—“ Her eyes plead, but the left side of my brain stands strong. 

“We need to be sure that—“ 

“Please. Just— Call Naser” Fang holds her phone in front of her, screen facing towards me. Both Trish and Reed seem as surprised as I am by her adamant stance. 

The first-year med student, really?

Her demeanor doesn’t change. I know well that reason won’t get me far today, so I grab the device from her hands and quickly find his contact before making a call. 

The line remains silent, only interrupted by the dial tone. A few seconds stretch for way too long. Until finally, he picks up. 

[“Fang? Hi, how's it going?”]

[“Hey, Naser”]

[“…”] 

My voice kills any and all sound from the other side. It takes some time, but finally, he speaks again. 

[“Anon”]

[“Yes. Look, man, I won’t beat around the bush. Fang told me to call you after she refused to go to a hospital or have emergency services involved”]

Those last two words seem to trigger the sleeper agent code in him as he frantically starts asking questions and demanding more information. 

[“What?! What happened?! Is Fang okay? Why do you have their phone?”]

[“Naser calm down. Yes, she’s fine for now. She gave me her phone, as I told you, and is standing in front of me right now”]

I hold the phone closer to her, urging Fang to say something. 

“Hey Nas” 

[“Do you believe me now?”]

[“Yes; yes. What happened? You didn’t answer that”]

[“I know, sit down for a moment”]

[“Sure”]

[“…”]

[“Go ahead”]

I start recalling the events of the morning and how the grey ptero got her hands on a considerable amount of prescription drugs. He’s understandably angry at my lack of oversight, and to be honest, so am I. After a quick rundown of what just transpired, and why I’m calling him, he tells me to wait for his arrival. My mention of the medical supplies I have at hand gives him enough of a guarantee that she won’t OD for him to relax, if ever so slightly. 

I end the call and hand over the smartphone to Fang. With him on the way, we decide to wait in the living room. I carefully monitor the state she’s in to be able to react in time as we sit there. The color of her scales, her breathing, small movements, her eyes. The lack of proper equipment is really limiting what I can do to diagnose if anything is wrong. 

I have little faith in Naser’s ability as a medic, but maybe he can talk some reason into her; a quick visit to the ER won’t kill anyone. It generally does the opposite. 
Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for her brother to show up. We hear the sound of another car pulling up, a door slamming, and then a violent knock—not too different from my own when I arrived. 

Reed, being the closest one to the door, moves to open it. The figure that walks in is indeed Naser, but he looks different, beaten down. Uni has taken its toll, and this difficult situation is not going to improve those bags under his eyes. For an instant, I can almost understand Naomi’s borderline sociopathic behavior. 

He makes a beeline for Fang, kneeling in front of the couch, and starts examining her. Not even bothering to say hi. Naser takes out a small flashlight and flashes the eyes of his confused sister, checking her pupillary light reflex. He nods lightly to himself and moves to use a blood pressure monitor that he just took out of his backpack. Fang simply follows his instructions for the short duration of the tests, astonished more than anything. 

He seems to be done as he stands up and lets out air through his nostrils. Naser’s eyes turn to us and then focus on me in particular.

“Everything looks normal”

I nod in response.

“Anon, you said those were extended-release, right?” 

“Yes” 

“How much time passed between Fang taking them and hugging the toilet bowl?” 

There is a certain air of professionalism to his question. I stop to think for a moment, trying to make sure that I get the details right and add anything that might be useful. Five seconds of me just looking at him while my brain works seems to be making him impatient. I waste no more time, and I finally answer.

"Allegedly, less than five minutes. In a worst-case scenario, thirty-five or so”

His eyes narrow, studying my face, looking for any signs of deceit before finally accepting my word. 

“You could have asked me, too” She protests, but he ignores her. 

“Fang should be fine for now, but I’ll have to monitor them, just to be sure” The young man sighs.

“You can’t do things like this. I have a test tomorrow; I shouldn’t be here” He says to his sister while rubbing his face with one of his hands. 

“It was an accident” Now that the rush from the initial scare has worn off, she sounds meek. 

“Even then. What would have happened if Anon didn’t realize? Would your roommates have reacted in time? Did you even tell them what you were doing?”

“…” She lowers her head, as if the right words were scattered on the floor and waiting for her to find them.

“They didn’t know. I'm sorry” 

Naser lets out a shaky breath.

“God dammit”

“…” Silence.

As understanding as he can be, I can get why he’s a bit fed up. 

I shake my head and approach Naser from the side, putting my hand on his shoulder to get his attention. 

I need to know exactly what’s going on. 

“…?” He gives me this puzzled look as both of them turn to face me. 

“I want to talk to you for a moment in private” 

His eyes dart from me to Fang. But I think he knows what I’m getting at. 

“Sure, lead the way”

“We’ll be right back” The three punks all acknowledge what I just said in their own way.

I walk out the door and get into my car, unlocking the passenger side for the brown-scaled saurian. 

He gets in, but doesn’t speak. Based on how our call went, I expected some anger or frustration, but all I see in him is resignation. Now seems to be the chance to ask the question that has been bugging me. 

“What’s going on, exactly?” 

Details; I need details. 

“You don’t know?” 

“Not really, not for certain, I pieced together a vague idea of the situation with whatever clues I had. But I’m still out of the loop”

He blinks a couple times. 

I’m not speaking in tongues; come on.

“Fang got into this mess shortly after high school. It started with regular medication for her preening” 

That part I knew.

“That’s… not surprising; I know from personal experience that docs here are very liberal when prescribing painkillers. Was it after she moved out?”

“No. They moved out after a fight with Dad; he caught them trying to buy drugs under the table”

“Have you people tried to get her help? Treatment?” 

“Tried. Yeah”

“But they’re stubborn. Mom barely acknowledges the situation, and Dad is as confrontational as ever”

“…”

“Well. What do we do now? I couldn’t convince her to go to a hospital. Wanna give it a shot?”

“I won’t even try; they won’t agree no matter what I say”

“Then?”

“Then… we’ll have to keep an eye on Fang for the rest of the day. I don’t think they will get worse, but it’s better to be careful”

“Didn’t you say you had something college-related to do today?” 

“Yes. I’ll have to pull an all-nighter, but it will be fine”

His sorry state doesn’t inspire confidence. 

“You don’t have to do that”

"Yes, I do”

My eyes turn from Naser back to the apartment’s front door. I could walk away and leave things to him; I could go home and enjoy my Saturday; cutting contact and leaving them to their own devices. 

I don’t want to. 

I feel a similar sensation to that which compelled me to deploy a second time and to get into an unnecessary fight. One rash decision was beneficial; the other not so much. But a question remains. 

Will it be for better or for worse this time?

“I can take care of it. Go home, Naser; you look like shit”

His mood switches from gloomy to defensive as he frowns and his eyes start to analyze me.

“And why should I leave this to you, of all people?”

I don’t lie. I don’t try to convince him. I simply state my truth as I see it. It has been a while since the last time I didn't filter my words. 

“Because I’m here. For no reason other than the fact that I was worried about what could happen to her”

“…” He stares and scrutinizes, again looking for hidden meanings that simply aren’t there. An uncomfortable number of seconds later, Naser reaches a verdict. One in my favor.

“I’ll need you to keep me updated”

I catch the hint and give him my phone so he can add his contact. Sending a message to make sure I got the right number.

Mous: [.]

His phone buzzes. 

“Anon, I want you to do a thorough check every hour for the first four hours, then every two hours. I’ll leave the equipment with you for that. Always keep an eye on Fang in case she starts acting lethargic” 

“I know. If things really go south, I’ll hit her with the naloxone to counteract the oxy”

He raises an eyebrow. 

“That’s…yes, do that. How do you know?”

“One of my friends from the army is a bit of a junkie. And I did some research in my free time” 

“Huh”

Neither of us seems to have anything else to say; I wait a few moments before opening my door; he follows shortly after. We return to the apartment, and the future doctor gives me a quick explanation of what and how to check before saying his goodbyes and leaving. In a way, I feel happy that he trusted me with this. 

With the first crisis averted, my attention focuses on someone else; it will be a bit under an hour before I have to see how Fang is doing, more than enough time to get answers out of a pink raptor. 

He’s in the kitchen grabbing something to eat. I lock eyes with the carfehead and he freezes on the spot. But I’m not a tyranosaurus, I don’t need movement to see him. 

I wonder if that myth is actually true. 

I walk up to Reed, not even bothering to hide my less than friendly intentions. My right hand grabs his nape as I guide him to a different room with no resistance. It's time to have a little chat. Trish and Fang are on the couch facing in the opposite direction, too focused on talking with each other to notice us. I catch a glance of the triceratops before walking down the hallway; there is an expression of distress on her face, as well as disappointment. 

She really didn’t know what Fang was doing?

I’m glad that Saurians' nonverbal communication is more exaggerated and easier to read than that of humans.

The disadvantage of not having a flat face. 

We walk into a room and I close the door behind me, careful not to make too much noise. I let go of the pothead as I push him a few feet away. I cross my arms and block the only exit with my body. He turns to me with a mix of shock, confusion, and irritation. 

Yeah, you’re not going to weasel your way out of this one. 

“I’ll go straight to the point. The fuck is wrong with you?” I ask while trying to keep my voice down. 

“What? Dude, what’s going on with you?”

“Don’t play dumb; come on. Why do you sell to her?”

His eyelids rise as he looks at me with surprise, finally getting why we’re having this conversation.

“I—Bro, I don’t sell to them; I knew they had problems” 

“You don’t? Really? And where is she getting her supplies from?” 

“I have no idea, man. Look—no one sells percs to them; no one”

“No one? Explain yourself, bro” I add one of his pet words at the end of my phrase as my impatience grows. 

“When—Listen, a year ago or so, they asked me to get them some prescription medication; that was just when this whole thing started. I refused and told their Dad”

He frowns as he confesses that last part. Acknowledging it seems to have left a bitter aftertaste.

I guess no one likes snitches. 

“After that, well, he and their uncle mobilized a few people. And now not a single dealer is willing to deal with Fang 

“Aha”

“…"

“Let’s say I believe you. Where is she getting the pills from, then?”

“I don’t know, really. I thought they quit” 

I look at him the same way Naser looked at me in the car, searching for any flaw in their supposed disguise, any mistake on what could possibly be a lie. But there is nothing. I don’t believe him, but I can’t call him guilty either. There is no reason for me to push anymore. I click my tongue and turn around to leave. As I grab the handle and open the door with one quick pull, I’m met with a dumbstruck gray woman. Trish stands a few feet behind her. 

So they did notice. Or maybe the walls are that thin. Probably both? 

“…” Two amber eyes stare at me.

“Hey”

“…”

“He’s not lying”

I choose to believe her, for now. And assume that they have both heard the conversation I had with Reed in full.

“Then, how? From where?”

“Just... online? Marketplace, telegram” 

Ain’t no way. 

“What?” Trish interjects, as confused as I am. 

“Aren’t those scams?”

“Y—yeah, a lot of them are. But some aren’t” 

I take what she says to the trigga at face value and decide to move on. I'm not too interested in the logistics of the problem.

“Fang did you ever try to quit, or has this been a constant thing?”

“I… have been trying to lower the dosage a bit” 

“You said you ran out. Did you order more?” 

“Mhm, they should have arrived a few days ago, but they haven’t” She says it as if it were normal.

“Is that why you took a bottle from my place?” 

“Partially. It was... convenient?. Again, I'm sorry”

Piece by piece I’m starting to put this puzzle together. I hate to admit it, but she found a really smart way of keeping it low profile; if you ignore the fact that she was doxxing herself. 

“Well, I was going to leave—“

“No, stay” She cuts me off with a hurried plea. 

What? 

I was starting to downplay the situation in my mind as I usually do. But her reaction brings back the memory of what happened less than two hours ago. That was a close call, a barely avoided tragedy. 

“I… will, that’s what I was getting at. I told Naser I was going to stay to keep an eye on the situation; that’s why he left his stuff for me to use” 

I look at Trish before she can protest. 

“I will be gone by the end of the day. So chill out”

“Oh. How often do you have to do the whole blood pressure thing?” Fang relaxes and asks a more mundane question, somewhat lightening the mood. 

“Every hour or so”

I check my phone; it’s almost 11AM. 

“We got some time to spare. What do you people usually eat?” 

We start planning the grocery list before going out for some quick shopping. The chance to return to a normal routine for the rest of the day feels more than welcomed. 

As the day progresses, I continue to inform Naser of the current state of affairs; by mid-afternoon it doesn’t seem as necessary anymore, so I take the chance to have a more in-depth conversation with him. 

Did he even know about the mail-order drugs? 

Chapter Text

I sit on the couch, thinking of what to do. Six hours have passed since Naser left, long enough for Fang to be stable, and I’m now pretty much free to leave. But what she said about her stash sparks an idea in my mind. 

I walk out with the excuse of going for a smoke and ring one of my buddies, the bona fide ex-junkie of our group. Funnily enough also the one with the highest rank and most years in service, and as far as I know someone who managed to successfully drop multiple substances before. With enough luck that list includes the one Lucy is dealing with.

Who would have thought that high stress situations could drive a man to substance abuse.

The tone of the call echoes through the empty street as I wait for him to pick up. The man takes his sweet time, but finally answers. 

[“Mous? Hey, man”]

Unsurprisingly, he’s taken aback by the call. 

[“Hey. Look, I could use some help”]

The line remains silent for a few seconds before I hear an audible sigh from the other side.

[“Dammit. Alright, how much is the bail?”]

[“What? No, there is— I’m not in jail. I’ve never been behind bars, man, come on”]

How common of an occurrence is that for him to make assumptions that fast?

[“Sorry, force of habit. Where’s the fire?”]

[“I could use some advise, I suppose. Friend of mine has a problem”]

[“Straight to the point as always. Can you be more specific?”]

[“She got a bit of an issue with pills. Oxy, percs, that kind of stuff”]

[“Oh. Well, at least it’s not tobacco”]

How are cancer sticks worse?

[“And this friend of yours, are you sure it’s not just you, Mous?”]

[“Pretty sure. I had a chance to get hooked on that garbage after getting discharged. But I didn't”]

[“Right”]

[“Have you ever dealt with it? Quitting and all that”]

[“Yeah, not a fun experience. You go from feeling warm and fuzzy to not being able to feel joy. Shit sucks”]

[“And how is the process, how did you get started?”]

[“Eh… I had to get clean, first. Those were like five days of feeling like I had an awful flu. Then six months or so to go back to normal for good”]

[“That’s a long time”]

[“Yup. Still, not the worst drug out there. There is a good reason why I’m not going past weed and the occasional mushrooms nowadays. The withdrawal varies a bit with the species. She a human?”]

[“Nah, ptero; my age”]

[“You’re back in Volcadera, right?”]

[“Yes, why?”]

[“Is that friend your bird from high school?”]

[“Aha, what about it? Can’t believe you remember that”]

[“I’m good with details. Talk about oneitis. Anyways, make sure she drinks plenty of water and keep the meals light. Not much else really, someone has to stick around, support helps a lot”]

[“Alright, thanks for the info. Anything else I should keep in mind?”]

[“Some people can be a bit erratic during the process, emotionally speaking”]

[“Noted. Thanks, and sorry for calling out of the blue”]

[“Don’t sweat it. Later”]

[“Later”]

I hang up and decide to do a little research before finally heading inside. A quick academic groogle search following that short call proves enough for me to get the few details I was missing. Detox and full recovery. The former is doable, the latter we’ll see. A thought brews in my mind, all I need is a green light sort of speak. I text her brother, hoping to get that moral approval. 

Mous: [Hey Naser, got a moment?]

Naser: [What happened??]

Mous: [Nothing, nothing. I wanted to talk with you about something]

Naser: [??]

Mous: [I assume you know Fang’s been getting pills from somewhere]

Naser: [Yeah. I know that now]

Mous: [Well, she told me she just bought them online]

Naser: [I guess that makes sense]

Mous: [You’re not going to ask anything?]

Naser: [I don't know what to ask, honestly. I’ll talk with my parents later]

Mous: [Fair. Look, she ran out and the next shipment hasn’t arrived yet. Most likely it never will]

Naser: [Good. Thanks for telling me]

Mous: [I’m not texting you because of that. I think this is a chance]

Naser: [A chance? A chance for what?]

Mous: [To quit. For her to get clean]

Naser: [And how do you figure they’ll agree to that? I know Fang well enough to know they won’t go to a clinic]

His tone betrays his bewilderment, like I told him how there is a way to get cold fusion to finally work. 

I’m not sure about the details, buddy, but I’m good at improvising. 

Mous: [Leave it to me, man]

Naser:[That doesn’t inspire confidence]

Mous: [I know. But let me work]

Naser: [It’s not like I can stop you, nor do I really want to, assuming you succeed. But please don’t push them too much]

Mous: [I won’t. I know better than that. And good luck on your test]

Naser shows up as typing like half a dozen times before finally answering with a single word.

Naser: [Thanks]

Regardless of his inner turmoil, I got a clear authorization to try and convince Fang to get out of the hole she’s in. She still thinks she owes me for stealing that bottle, and probably for what happened today. Some might call what I’m about to do emotional blackmail, but I see it as necessary leverage, a well applied tactic. 
Roughly eight to twenty four hours before withdrawal sets in, so it should be starting any time soon. It doesn’t take me long to find Fang. She’s in her room, sitting on the middle of her bed with crossed legs while listening to music. Next to her lay a small notepad and a red pen, she stares intently at both objects as I walk in and close the door behind me. The metallic click breaks her out of the trance she was in as her head turns a few degrees toward me. 

“Oh, hi Anon. Do you still have to do the blood pressure thing? I feel fine”

“No, no. We are done with that. I just wanted to have a word with you”

“Sure, hold on, let me make some room” She moves herself a few feet back so that her wings are resting against the wall, freeing the left side of her bed.

“Just take off your boots, I don’t want dirt on the bedsheets” 

I do as told. Even though there is carpet on the floor and I’m still wearing socks, I can feel the cold rising up from the ground as I walk to the bed to sit opposite of Fang. 

I mirror her position, sitting with my back facing the end of the bed-frame. 

My eyes fixate on her hands as I weight my options, and my words. I must have done so for quite a while as she brings me back to reality by calling my name.

“Anon?”

I pull myself out of my stupor as fast as I can, looking up and making eye contact.

“Sorry, I zoned out. I really meant it when I said I wanted to talk”

“Okay?” 

“You said you wanted to make it up to me for taking the pills, right?”

“I—yeah, I do. You have something in mind?”

“Yes. You also owe me for what happened this morning, sort of” 

Her shoulder tense. She looks at me with well measured caution, apprehension, even.

“I want you to quit” 

Dead silence follows, as if she’s still trying to make sense out of what I said.

“Quit what?” 

“The drugs, what else?” 

“…” Both her eyebrows shoot up in surprise, looks like that wasn’t something she expected me to say. 

She takes a moment before continuing, a small frown quickly replaces the previous astonishment. 

“I want to. But, it’s not that simple, Anon. I’ve tried”

“What have you tried?”

“Not taking them. But after a day I felt awful, I couldn’t keep it up. And I’ve tried more than once, it’s always the same, it’s not easy to do”

“Did Trish and Reed help or…?”

“They never knew I was still taking them, you saw it”

She sulks. Lowering her head ever so slightly and making herself look smaller. 

“Naser was right, I should have told them”

“So the times you’ve tried you did it all on your own?”

“Yeah”

“Okay. I see” I wrap my left arm around my torso, resting my right elbow on top and grabbing my jaw with my free hand.

“That’s why I’m trying to lower the dos—”

“I’ll be there” I interrupt her with a firm statement. 

“You what?” 

“I’ll be there with you as much as I can, to help you through it. It’s seven days, give or take. The first three will be the worst of it”

She looks at me confused.

“And you’ll be here all the way? Why?”

“If you quit we call it even over you stealing from me. And I’ll help you after you go cold turkey so I can get even with you for helping me after that fight”

“That’s very convoluted—“

I cut her off by extending a hand, waiting for a handshake. 

“Do we have a deal?” 

She scowls as she looks down at my arm, instinctively extending her own, but stopping halfway through for a second, hesitating. She blinks a couple times until finally one side seems to wins in her internal struggle. Fang grips my hand a bit too tightly, her nails digging into my skin, but not enough to draw blood. 

“Deal. And after that? After I get it all ‘out of my system’?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it”

“…” She groans lightly to herself, letting go of my hand.

“Sure”

Awkwardness envelops us as we fall silent. A good part of me didn’t expect Fang to agree so easily, and so I’m out of ideas on how to proceed now. My brain scans the conversation we just had for anything to fill the air with noise again, until my eyes drift towards the fake leather cover of the notebook next to her.

“What’s that?” 

“Huh?” She looks toward where I’m pointing. 

“Songs and stuff” 

“Can I see?” 

Fang nods and hands it over to me. I flip through the pages, taking my time reading the lyrics. The first few have a bleak tone, but as I flip through to the most recent ones, they turn more energetic. I recognize the song we edited the other day; it's one of the newer entries. Next to each set of vocals, there is an entire page of strange symbols. Turns out I still can’t understand music scores.

“I like the last one; it doesn't have a name”

“I know, that’s Reed’s department” 

“You have to teach me how to interpret the ancient Aramaic these are written in one day” I say, turning to the page containing the songs' notes. 

“You still don’t know how to?”

“Nope” 

“You’re going to learn” 

“Maybe one day; I don’t really need to—“

“I wasn’t asking, Anon. You’re not getting out of this one”

“Fine” 

We spend an hour or so until I can finally recognize a MI without counting down and up the scales with my fingers. Fang seems proud of that little achievement. 

“Hey, Anon”

“Yeah?” 

“Do you mind staying tonight? I could really use someone to talk to. To distract from the symptoms”

“I get that. But don’t you have Trish and Reed here?” 

“Yeah… but they're not very… you know” 

Shit. Alright. I can shower tomorrow morning. 

“Where would I sleep, though?”

“The couch? We can watch some movies to kill time. I generally try to stay awake as long as possible; that way I’m asleep during the first few hours”

“Right. Okay, I’ll stay”

“Cool, thanks” 

I look down at the bed, thinking.

“Do you have popcorn or anything like that?”

“I… don’t think so?” 

“We gotta hurry up. The convenience store nearby is going to close soon”

I get up and put on my boots, looking back at Fang to urge her to get ready for a quick getaway to buy food. I will not have a movie night without snacks; that would be sacrilege. 

She gets my message loud and clear, quickly rising to her feet and throwing on her usual all-black attire. 

On our way out, the ptero lets her roomies know that we’ll be right back. We take the scenic route, bickering back and forth on our way to the store. After scanning the shelves for what we want, we go to the poor, underpaid clerk and pay before returning to the apartment. 

We prepare our setup on the small coffee table. Snacks of all kinds, ice-cold drinks, and enough blankets to deal with the lack of insulation in the living room. 

Thankfully, both her bandmates stay in their respective rooms, so I’m saved from dealing with either of them. The day has been long enough; I’ll take a good chance to relax.
We are two movies in when I notice Fang’s body showing the first signs of a chemical imbalance; she looks uncomfortable, shifting under the blankets constantly. She notices me staring and shrugs as if trying to say ‘it is what it is’. I don't press the issue and we keep watching the TV and chatting, losing sense of time, until eventually we both pass out.

I wake up the next morning thanks to the ruckus produced by Reed trying to make himself a ridiculous amount of food for breakfast. But as I open my eyes, I’m met with feathers instead of light. A wing drapes over and around me. We must have shifted a lot during the night to end up like this, as I clearly remember falling asleep on the opposite side of the couch. Fang lies between me and the back of the sofa, face down, arms to the sides, and half of her body pressing against my back.

Well, it's not like I mind.

I try getting up slowly to avoid waking her up, and succeed partially, landing on my ass next to the sofa as I roll out. I look back at her and feel a small smile tugging at the edges of my mouth. Even with the less-than-optimal conditions, that was a chill night. 

I’ve missed her. 

As I’m getting up from the floor, a soft, groggy voice reaches my ears. 

“I’ve missed you too, ‘non” 

My body freezes and I bite my tongue. Questioning how long I’ve been mumbling; that habit should have been dead and buried since basic. 

I look down to Fang, who’s yawning as the amber orbs that are her eyes find me.

“I almost forgot you would talk under your breath. Dweeb”

“How long have you been hearing me whisper to myself?”

“That’s the first time I’ve caught it since you came back, actually”

“Oh” 

“Are you okay? You look worried” She looks up at me, concerned.

“I’m fine; I’m just a bit tense; I must have slept wrong or something”

“Probably”

She pauses.

“You’re almost always tense…” 

Now it seems to be her turn to mumble to herself; I pay no mind to those words I was not supposed to hear, turning towards the kitchen to follow my original plan of stealing food from the carfehead. 

“Hey, Reed, what have you got there?”

“Fried eggs, bro. Like two dozen, I think” 

Ah, so you were prepared for this. Smart guy.

I scoff at the ridiculous amount. Turning back to Fang to see if she’s going to eat something. And sure enough, she’s already making a beeline for the kitchen. But not before grabbing a napkin from the counter and blowing her nose. 

Flu-like, Huh?

All things considered, the pink raptor is pretty good at cooking, managing to get all the eggs done with a single pan in under fifteen minutes, although it does take him multiple batches. The three of us sit down at the table to grab a bite, Trish joins way later, by the time we’re almost finished.

Now that everyone is here, it is time to drop the news; I look at Fang, urging her to speak with a nod. She takes a deep breath and explains the situation in very few words, as if trying to speed up the process by not delving too much into details. Both the saurians take the announcement that their friend is trying to drop a bad habit with surprise and relief; Reed, in particular, seems to have a serious expression on his face for once. We talk for half an hour about what could possibly go down during this week, so we can all prepare. With those little but important details sorted out, I wave goodbye and head home to get ready for the day, promising to swing by to hang out once I’m done with work. 

By the time I return, Naser’s car is already parked outside, even though I left the garage two hours earlier than normal. I knock on the door and, of course, he’s the one to open it, this time with a small smile instead of the morose attitude from yesterday. Fang is on the couch, turned into a ptero burrito due to a light fever. She still looks nervous and anxious, all within expectations; so far, so good. The pink raptor determination from yesterday is still present, surprisingly; he even helps me with some of the light food I had planned for Fang. This somehow compels her to join us halfway through the simple recipe. The kitchen is a bit cramped, but it's manageable. We prepare lean meat and fish, a very small amount of white rice, and other easy-to-digest things that hopefully won't put unnecessary strain on her body. It feels a bit insensitive for me to down almost half a chicken while she’s eating hospital food, but big dogs gotta eat. The rest of the day goes by without much change; casual chat sprouts here and there, mostly me and Naser catching up while Reed and Trish keep to themselves. 

The next morning rolls by faster than expected, Tuesday, already forty-eight hours in. I once again arrive after the wannabe doc. Fang’s fever is gone, replaced by a new symptom, goose bumps. I originally thought saurians couldn’t get them, being covered in scales and virtually no hair, but her wings and the pristine feathers on her forearms proved me wrong. They are all up, trying to trap air to give her better insulation; she looks oddly fluffy, like a baby chick. My constant bad jokes seem to annoy her, but every time she feigns anger I can clearly see the traces of a grin hiding behind a wall of soft plumage.

Wednesday, seventy-two hours and counting. I try following my usual schedule, the same as the previous days, but a call from an unknown number interrupts me. Figuring it wouldn’t hurt to answer, I pick up, even if it were to be a scammer I could still get a laugh out of it; but instead of an Indian accent, I hear Trish's voice. She sounds considerably worried. Right now it’s only her and Fang in the apartment, and apparently the latter has been hiding in her room for a while. The sudden change in routine is what prompted the call. Reed is at least forty minutes away, and Naser is in a similar situation. Leaving me as the last reliable option.

I believe her almost instantly; if it weren’t important, she wouldn’t go for me of all people. Jumping in my truck, I drive the short distance to their place, arriving faster than expected, a new record. I don’t really get a chance to knock; Trish is already outside, waiting. We give each other a quick nonverbal greeting as we head inside. There is no need for words as we march toward Fang’s room. 

The door is partially open. Putting my hand against it, I slowly push it. As I walk in, I’m greeted by a faint smell of rust. A small feather lands on my nose, making me want to sneeze. I sweep it away with a move of my hand. My eyes scan the room until they finally find the source of all those white and slightly red plumes all over. Fang is sitting on the ground next to her bed, tightly hugging her legs and nervously tapping her right foot. 

Well, at least it’s not a psychotic episode. 

I kneel down in front of her, keeping a comfortable distance of four feet or so to avoid startling her. Fang’s snoot remains buried between her arms, but her eyes shoot up, landing on me. 

“Anon?” 

“Hey. Are you alright? Did something happen?” 

“No” Her tone sounds almost like a whimper. 

No to which question?

“I feel awful. I feel awful, Anon. My body feels like crap”

I lean a bit closer, with Trish moving beside me, trying to offer her friend some support. 

“Muscle pain, stomach aches, shivers, that sort of thing?” 

“Y—yeah, nausea too, sometimes”

“All those are…normal. Bad, but normal. Anything else?”

“No, not really”

I close the distance and sit next to her, slowly. 

“This is it, Fang. It should be the worst of it; if you make it through today, it will get better”

“I’m trying”

“I know”

I pause.

“Why were you preening?” 

“It’s—to keep the cravings at bay, something like that… It keeps me distracted” 

“Well, then we'll stay here to distract you instead” 

She chuckles lightly, as if releasing some of the tension she’s holding. 

“Thanks”

The three of us remain there sitting on the floor, using the bed as a backrest. Thankfully, our presence proves enough to calm her down. Looks like she almost has this in the bag.

An hour later, the grumbling of the trigga’s stomach gives her reason enough to get up and go make herself something. She gives me a knowing look, and I nod to reassure her before she leaves. Another fifteen minutes fly by. I’m starting to feel a bit thirsty, so I let Fang know I’ll be right back and go to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, stopping by the bathroom on my way there. Trish is still busy making an abomination of a sandwich. 

That’s a lot of lettuce. 

I return a bit later than expected, and I’m greeted by a hyperventilating ptero, her pupils thin and sharp. 

“Hey, Fang? It’s me, look at me” I tell her in a calm but clear tone. 

“I’m scared” Her eyes lock with mine; all I can see is genuine terror. 

Crap. Panic attack. Am I supposed to know how to deal with these? 

You had a few therapy sessions while in South Africa, Anon; come on. 

“It’s okay, I’m here, look at me. I need you to breathe, alright?” A hurried nod is all she gives me. 

“In and out, slow, easy” I fill my lungs with fresh air, urging her to mimic me.

Fang does her best in following my instructions in her desperate state. I extend my arm, offering her my hand. She takes it, grabbing it with the same strength she used when we sealed the deal three days prior. I do my best to avoid flinching at the feeling of claws on my skin, slowly rubbing the back of her hand with my thumb. We continue breathing in sync as I tell her that nothing bad is going to happen, repeatedly. A good five minutes pass before she goes back to normal. As she does so, I sit next to her again.

Trish returns not long after. She looks at Fang and then at me with an inquisitive look. 

“I freaked out; I’m fine now” The mess of feathers answers before I can. And the purple menace doesn’t question me any further. 

“You sure?” I raise an eyebrow, not so confident in her statement. 

“Okay, maybe not fine fine, but I can handle it” She lets out a tired sigh.

“Thanks Anon”

“You’re welcome. By the way, you owe me half a bag of dino nuggets for that” I hope that my joke gets her mind off of things; and it does, a bit too well. She looks more than willing to take any chance to move past what just happened. 

“Half?! Absolutely not. One third, take it or leave it” It’s almost like she forgot the awful experience, perfect. 

“Fine, fine. But I get to choose the specific pieces I want” 

“Sure” 

Trish stares at us in bewilderment as we ‘negotiate’ over something mundane, but she seems relieved by seeing a semblance of a carefree conversation. I take a closer look at her face; her eyes look a little darker than usual. Maybe this has taken a toll on the triceratops as well, being someone who spends as much time with Fang as Reed, Naser or I do. 

Credit where credit is due, I guess. 

Reed returns not long after things have settled. We burn the rest of the day playing some awfully complicated board games the raptor picked up from his parents' place on his way back. The intricate rules prove to be another nice distraction for the gray girl.

I stay the night at their place and end up sharing a room with Fang. The sleep I got on Sunday on the couch was some of the best rest I had in a while, so I’m not complaining, nor do I really get a chance to argue. The faint smell of blood from her wings proves a bit annoying at first, but I get used to it rather quickly, or maybe the blood just dried up.

The next day I wake up fresh as a cucumber. And after struggling for a bit, I manage to escape from the cocoon of feathers I was trapped in, much to someone’s discontent. I take a quick shower and put on the fresh change of clothes I had as a backup in my truck before leaving for work. 

Thursday turns out to be almost boring, thankfully. The only thing to break the monotony is a call from my mom, telling me that they’re finally moving on Sunday and that I should stop by. I really like the idea of some brisket; there is also the fact that I don’t want my old man to slip a disc while moving boxes. So, of course, I tell her I’ll be there. 

Having something to look forward to adds some much-needed gas to my tank. By Friday, Fang is a bit more herself; more than ever, a good part of the fog that surrounded her has dissipated. Back are the snarky comments and attitude, but all in good faith. Everyone’s spirits are up, and apparently, Naser is planning something regarding their parents. 

The trend remains the same on Saturday, and we can pretty much consider the detoxification a success. But it has taken its toll; everyone feels tired as hell. The sight reminds me for a second of how important having a group of people who give a shit can be.

‘Slip by unnoticed’. Why did I have such a dumb idea?

I take a chance to hit the gym that day for a bit longer to make up for the time lost. And a red para decides to join me, arguing that I’ll decapitate myself on the bench without a good spotter, which, taking into account what I tend to do, is more than reasonable. 

I park in my usual spot, scanning the area for any signs of Naomi, but today it seems like I’m spared. However, I do spot a very particular muscle car with a blonde woman leaning against it, waiting for me. I jump out of my truck and wave at her. 

“You look like crap”

Ah, Mia, always so subtle. 

“Thanks for the compliment, and hello to you, too."

“No, seriously, are you okay?” 

“Just tired, that’s all. It has been a long week; trust me” 

“So that’s why you have been leaving early”

“Hey, I own the place; I can leave when I want”

“You owe me for those extra hours”

“Owe you? I’m paying you for them” 

“Spiritually, I mean”

“Aha” 

“Are you doing anything this weekend? Today, tomorrow?”

“Helping my parents move, I don’t want my dad to snap anything"

“Oh. And the next one?” 

“I don’t plan that far ahead; I’m probably free” 

“Perfect. I need to borrow you for a couple hours” 

“What?” 

“Remember what you helped me with the other week when I was freaking out?” 

“The uhh, not being a bitch thing?” 

“Yeah, that”

“I got in contact with the people I really need to talk with. Which includes my ex of four years”

“Oh boy” I end up saying the first thing that comes to mind out loud.

“And where do I fit in this plan of yours?”

“I need you to push me through the door”

“What do you mean?” 

“I know I won’t have the guts to just walk up to them and talk. I need you to give me that last push, literally. I’ll make it worth your while; I promise"

Huh, so it wasn’t that bad. Hell, it even sounds entertaining.

“So you want me to drag you? You know what? Sure, why not. I’d love to see some drama unrelated to me for a change. But you’re not leaving early on Friday”

“Perfect, thanks”

“Don’t mention it, or the extra hours” 

She groans in an exaggerated fashion and starts walking towards the entrance. Which leaves me alone with my thoughts for a short time. I’m still looking forward to tomorrow. 

Chapter Text

I arise way earlier than usual to a bright sun; its rays pierce through the window and hit me in the face. If I hadn’t decided to hit the sack early, I would be annoyed. Waking up so early on a Sunday feels wrong.

My regular routine follows my unusual awakening: shower, cook, eat breakfast. I put on comfy clothes that I don’t mind getting dirty, and pack a fresh change for when I'm done unpacking. I text my dad to make sure I’m there just in time; it’s not a long drive, but an hour is an hour. 

Mous: [Lmk when you’ll be arriving]

Dad: [lmk?]

Mous: [Let me know]

Dad: [Ok, I’ll call you]

Mous: [Cool]

I sit down on the couch and turn on the TV to have some background noise as I stare at the ceiling. The quick shift in pace from last week to now feels strange. I keep expecting something to happen, even though I know it won’t. I grab my phone and start scrolling through marketplace to see if I can find something rusty worth my time. 

An hour and a half passes before I hear the tone of a call. I rise up a bit too quickly, causing my head to feel a little dizzy. As always, Dad is precise and to the point, letting me know they will be arriving in around an hour and twenty minutes. The keys on the coffee table find their way to my pockets as I head out. 

I fire the engine and turn on the radio, tuning in to the most old-school rock station I can find. As I make my way out of the city, nature replaces the urban sights. The endless rows of trees are only interrupted by the occasional family-owned farm. I find almost no traffic and beautiful scenery: constantly turning roads that border the dense forests in the area. The little town my parents chose seems calm, clean, and well-kept. It may lack some of the conveniences of Volcadera, but it’s also missing the high flow of people and hectic environment. Lush gardens, local small businesses, and picturesque houses. A good trade-off for a retiree. 

Soon enough, groogle maps leads me to my destination. I park in front of a two-story house with two trucks and a car already waiting there; I don’t recognize the company of the former, but I sure do recognize my father’s old Pontiac.

How is that pile of rust still running? 

I get out of my truck and walk over to greet them. As soon as I set foot on the lawn, I’m met by my mother’s overly enthusiastic greeting and my father’s always solemn attitude. 

It’s not like we haven’t seen each other in months. Hah. 

I return the warm hug and firm handshake, deciding to get to work carrying the heaviest boxes that the movers left on the front as Dad points them out. We’ll have time to catch up during lunch.

Surprisingly, the whole deal doesn't take that long; the sun in the sky moves just a little. I check my phone; three hours have passed since I got here. As I’m getting the last boxes upstairs, Mom chimes in with her usual cheery tone. 

“Those three are from your old room, Nonny. I packed them in order so you could get everything back in place just as it was before”

Images of Saturnia paraphernalia flash through my mind, making me cringe a bit. I really hope she didn’t see any of the posters I had stashed away. But it may be a bit too late. 

“T—thanks, mom. You shouldn't have bothered, really” 

“Nonsense, we might have changed the house, but this is still your home. Your father and I will get started on the food, so take your time”

“You sure you don’t need any help?”

“You unpacked almost everything yourself; that's plenty of help. Don't worry. If you want to get rid of the dirt and grime, the bathroom is the last door on the right”

“Okay, thanks”

She smiles and turns around, heading to the kitchen. I open the door to my would-be room, holding three boxes of my stuff from high school. The fact that they went out of their way to get a place with an extra room for me to leave my old belongings in and crash once in a while seems like another good reason to visit often. I set up some of my posters and decorations, along with my old desk and computer. My few remaining clothes are already stashed away in the closet; I haven’t used most of them in ages, and chances are they don’t fit my not-scrawny self anymore. 

Now that what I left behind is organized, I stop and stare at the desk. Maybe I could set up a small soldering station to mess around with electronics or audio later. 

I wipe my hands on my jeans and walk out to grab the clothes from my truck and take a quick shower. I head downstairs ten minutes later.

Mom is cutting veggies, and Dad is nursing a beer while starting a roaring fire in the yard. I grab a can for myself and walk up to him, focusing on the flames. An upbeat song spills from the kitchen, adding to the all-too-familiar ambiance. 

“Don’t you think that’s a bit too much coal, old man?” I can feel the heat radiating from it four feet away. 

“What do you know, kiddo? I’ve been doing this longer than you've been alive”

I chuckle, raising a hand in mock surrender. 

“Right, right. So, what’s the menu?”

“Ah, asking the real questions, son. Sirloin, ribeye, and ribs. And what your mom is making, of course”

“Nice” 

“So, what have you been doing lately?”

“What? Uhh… not much, I’ve been keeping the garage running. That, and I also got into a nasty fight about a month ago” 

“Is that really not much?”

“I didn’t think about it before saying it”

“How was your second trip to Africa? I know we talked about it over the phone, but we never really did so face to face, Anon” I can see Dad looking over to the kitchen, checking to see if Mom is listening, but she’s too focused on subtly dancing to the tune while chopping bell peppers. 

“It was alright” 

“How so?”

“It was tolerable, I guess. Especially with how much I was getting paid”

“Right. Did you catch any heat?”

“Nah, I told you, it was mostly standing around. Way more boring than my first tour. There was a lot of theoretical risk, but nothing happened.”

“Boring?” He turns his head toward me, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. 

“Yeah, you know, because I didn’t see any action” 

“And how is that a bad thing?”

“It isn’t, it’s just… tame?” 

“Do you miss it?” 

“What? Miss what?” I don’t quite get what he’s getting at. 

“Combat, son”

I stop to think, staring at the grass beneath me. I down most of my drink while recalling that little brawl in Skin Row. 

“I guess? But not quite; it’s more about the rush” The sudden switch to a serious topic unnerves me. I know my father well enough to be aware that he has been cooking this for a while, grilling aside. 

“Hm. You need to slow down a bit” His voice is low, but firm.

“Easier said than done”

“I know” He tenses up for a moment while staring at the embers. 

Suddenly, my drink feels a bit bland. I’m still no good at this. 

We’re brought back to the material plane by Mom carrying a big chopping board with a varied assortment of vegetables for the barbecue. 

Changing the topic, we switch back to a more lighthearted conversation as we wait for the food, something about the house and mom’s plan to build a garden. Once the table is set and the meat is done, she is the first to start inquiring about my current life again. 

“How is work? Your new place? Did you meet anyone interesting?” Her barrage of questions shows me no mercy.

“It’s going great, Mom. Work is plenty; I’m already on the green. My new place is nice, nothing too fancy, but it’s homely, and it’s in a decent part of town. And I did meet a few people, yeah” I try to be swift to avoid dwelling too deep into my personal affairs.

“That’s it?” 

I swear to God this woman has direct access to my brain, as if she raised me or something. 

“Well, I, Uhh hired someone to work for me; she’s pretty skilled. And I also reconnected with a friend from high school”

“From Rock Bottom?” She's taken aback. 

“No, no, Volcadera. From when I transferred for my last semester” 

“Oh. That makes more sense. How were they doing?”

“Going through some personal stuff, but getting better” 

“And how did you meet?”

I stop to consider what to say; both of them are completely unaware that I dated Fang, which gives me some room to maneuver. I start recalling how we interacted in music and science class, keeping details vague and avoiding certain events. I keep it going until I get to campus beautification, which gives me a chance to steer the conversation away from me and towards Mom's plans for a garden. She seems more than happy to talk about the specifics, somewhat reminding me of Rosa’s enthusiasm for flora. 

Before we know it, most of the food is gone, and both Dad and I are tipsy enough to start arguing about cars. Our back-and-forth keeps going until we reach a stalemate when the topic of safety standards comes up. Trying to get my old man to understand that cars deforming in a crash to absorb the impact is a good thing proves to be an odyssey.

Now done with the meal and our family-friendly bickering, I help clean the table. It’s already early afternoon and the physical exhaustion combined with excessive calorie consumption gives me a good reason to take a nap before driving back to the bluffs. 

I open my eyes to an odd sense of deja-vu, rubbing my face before getting up from the bed. As I get to the living room, I can see Mom and Dad sitting down drinking coffee, a third cup sits on the table waiting for me, and I’m more than happy to take it. 

“I was going to go wake you up; you were out cold for almost two hours, buddy” Dad remarks, pointing at me with his mug. 

“Two?”

“Aha. It’s almost five PM” 

“Crap. I’ll have to get going soon” 

I sit down on the couch and spend another half hour talking with my parents before leaving. The drive back feels slightly surreal with how few cars I pass. By the time I get home, it’s almost seven, so I fix myself dinner and stay awake for a bit longer before calling it a night and starting my week of routine. 

By Tuesday, while I’m lazing around at home after work, I get a message from a familiar Ptero. She has been more proactive lately, and it betrays the fact that she’s putting in effort. That attitude so far has created a sort of positive feedback loop with the people around her. I don’t know if it will last, but I’m all for it. 

Fnag: [Anoooon]

Mous: [??]

Fang: [Watcha doing? :v]

Mous: [Rotting on my couch]

Fnag: [Perfect. I’ve heard there is a new restaurant downtown with ‘authentic’ human food. Wanna go check it out with me?]

Mous: [Any idea who the owner is? Are they a hominid, at least?]

Fnag: [I don’t think so?]

Now this I gotta see. 

The idea of a Saurian-run Homo sapiens themed joint in this city of all places sounds like one of Trish’s poorly thought-out jokes, and a very amusing one at that. 

Mous: [You had my attention, but now you have my interest. I’m in; when?]

Fnag: [Now, see you there in half an hour. Here’s the place. We have to hurry before they run out of tables]

I put the phone down on my chest and stare at the ceiling for a few minutes, trying to collect enough willpower to get up. That hot shower after getting home killed me. I roll off, fall, and stand up to send another text before changing clothes. 

Mous: [Can’t you make a reservation?]

Fnag: [I wanted to, couldn’t get any info or contact for that]

Mous: [No website, no nothing? How did you even find this place?]

Fnag: [By proxy, Naomi found it, and I heard it from Naser]

Mous: [Odd]

Fnag: [Yeah, maybe. You shouldn’t text and drive btw]

Mous: [I’m still in my living room]

Fnag: [>:v]

Mous: [Sorry, omw]

I check the location she sent me as I get up to put on some more publicly acceptable clothes; something better than old gym shorts and a faded hoodie. It’s not that far, and even with heavy traffic, I should make it on time. 

Rush hour is already coming to an end, which saves me five minutes or so of driving. The place has no parking lot, forcing me to take that extra time to find a nice spot. As I step out and walk toward the building, I can start making out more details. They seem to have gone with a European theme; it reminds me of the Alps. Above the entrance hangs a sign made out of a piece of wood with the restaurant’s name carved on it: Otzi. 

Fancy, I guess?

Through the glass windows, I can see parts of the interior. There is a giant indoor fire pit surrounded by all the tables, distributed in concentric circles. Four paths cut through the furniture, all offset ninety degrees from each other, facilitating navigation for waiters and patrons. Even though it is trying to be rustic, you can tell the whole thing has careful planning behind it. 

I sit down on a concrete planter near the entrance, partially resting my back against a small pine as I wait. No more than three minutes pass before I see a taxi turning a corner.

The driver uses the emergency lights to park in a double line right in front of the front doors; he waves at me, and I return the gesture with a lazy two-finger salute. I hear one of the doors open as the woman I was expecting jumps out. The moment her boots touch the sidewalk, the vehicle speeds off, leaving us alone.

“Hi, have you been waiting for long? I honestly thought you’d be late ‘Non” Fang says as she closes the small distance separating us. 

I look up as she approaches; she is wearing lighter makeup, and her usual top has been replaced by a sweater. Still, all black, of course. 

“‘Sup, I actually just sat down, didn’t even get the time to get comfortable. Also, me, late? Please” 

“I mean, you did say you were still at your place when I was already on my way” 

“Sure, but I live closer. And I might have ignored some red lights, but don’t tell anybody” 

“Anon, next time be late; I don’t want you to crash or get a ticket—wait, did you check to see if they have any tables available?”

Fang cuts herself off as she remembers why we even rushed here. 

I turn around, looking inside and scanning the restaurant. It’s not packed full, but it probably won’t be long before it is. Novelty seems to sell very well. 

“Uh, no?”

She grabs me by the hand and almost drags me inside. The brachiosaurus receptionist looks at her with a raised eyebrow before her eyes land on me. She extends her neck to get a closer look at my face and invites us in without asking questions other than ‘For two?’. A waiter guides Fang and me to a table near the fire and with a good view of the open kitchen. He takes our orders and leaves again after bringing us something to drink. Although her gaze seems oddly focused on me, Fang looks very sure of what she is ordering. I, on the other hand, had to choose the first thing that seemed reasonable among the many strangely named dishes, using only vague pictures as reference. 

Cuisse de chevreuil? What the hell is that? French? 

As I’m pondering the meaning of the scribbled words I saw on the menu, Fang lightly kicks my leg to get my attention.

“Huh?” 

“Look, to the kitchen, be subtle” 

I turn my head just enough to get a better view without being too obvious. A green-scaled Stegosaur is looking our way; he seems to be in his late forties, and judging by his uniform, he’s the chef de cuisine of this place. He looks familiar. Feeling bold, I turn and look his way directly, meeting his gaze. The chef smiles and waves at us before going back to ordering the other cooks around. 

“I wonder what that was about” I say, puzzled. 

“Do you know him?”

“No. No idea who he is”

I look around to infer what kind of people are in the establishment; the only other hominids are two simians and a Neanderthal.

First human, maybe?

Fang’s eyes narrow. 

“There” 

“What?” 

“You did it again” For a moment, it seems like she’s about to yell eureka. 

“…I did…what?” This random switch in our conversation does nothing but confuse me more.

“You were going to mumble something, but you didn’t”

Her observation is somehow correct, but I’m more than certain that I didn’t utter a word. I made sure to train out that bad habit a while ago, to the point that it became an almost Pavlovian response.

“How do you even know that?” 

“You bit the inside of your cheek. Every time you’re about to say something to yourself, you do it”

“Yeah…? I guess I didn’t know that. But what about it? I’m not getting your angle here”

“Why?”

"Why, what? Not mumble?”

“Yes” 

“It got me in trouble during basic. I may or may not have called my drill sergeant a dipshit by accident” 

“That’s the only reason? Because they made you run a few more laps?”

“A few laps? I wish. That bastard was ruthless”

“So how do you do it? Do you just pay attention all the time? Isn’t that annoying?” 

“Sort of, it’s like breathing manually. But you get used to it”

“But why keep doing it? You're out of the military now. I won’t force you to do push-ups, Anon” 

“I mean—I guess you’re right. I don’t know, it’s simply routine” 

“Sounds really exhausting. I don’t mind you muttering, you know? I actually kind of liked it”

“You liked it?”

“Yes. It was endearing, I guess” 

“Endearing? I’ll take your word for it”

“Maybe you’ll like not limiting yourself like that all the time? It won’t hurt to try” 

“Alright, alright” I make a mental note to stop myself from biting my tongue from now on, as a little experiment.

We continue our chit chat, and shortly after, they bring us our dinner; it must not have been more than thirty minutes of waiting. I’m greeted with what looks like a whole deer leg on top of a bunch of pine needles. Aside from the meat, they also serve me a varied assortment of grilled vegetables and a bowl of fruits and honey; complimentary, they say. All I’m given as far as utensils go is a knife made out of flint, with an antler handle.

They’re really committing to the bit; I’ll give them that. 

In that moment, I feel air escaping my mouth as my lips and tongue move unconsciously. It’s surprisingly natural, like taking off a wet shirt to swim more comfortably. The background noise is enough to muffle my voice so Fang doesn’t hear me. The monochromatic woman in front of me is focused on something else. She looks as surprised as I am by the dish on my side of the table. Unlike me, what she ordered appears pretty normal, multiple cuts of raw fish on a wooden board. 

“How the hell are you planning on eating all that?” 

“I have no idea; they didn’t even give me a fork” I point down at the sharp stone to my right. 

“Then wha—why did you order that?” She covers her mouth, trying not to chuckle. 

“I didn’t know what it was; I picked at random, I thought it was like a turkey leg or something. Not this”

I point at the food in front of me, indignant. My exasperation only aggravates her; Fang seems to be trying her best to avoid giggling. But it is to no avail; a snort escapes her snout, and soon enough we are both doing our best to avoid making too much noise and drawing attention. A good thirty seconds pass before we can regain control of ourselves. My abs hurts. 

“You’ll have to help me out here; I can maybe eat two-thirds of this. And that’s not counting the little extra they gave me”

She shakes her head.

“We can just ask them to wrap it up for us?”

“I guess it's better than wasting food” 

I grab the primitive knife they gave me and start carving the leg like a piece of ham. 

“You’re a natural”

“Right” 

I look up at her, unamused, and throw the strip of meat at her face, which she promptly catches mid-air with a quick snap of her jaws. 

“Thanks—It’s not half bad—gamey” Fang says in between chews. 

I grab a piece for myself along with some of the veggies. The smoky flavor is borderline invasive, but the meat is tender. 

“Huh. I think my ancestors might have been onto something”

“Right? Here, try the fish”

“Isn’t that raw? I don’t know if I ca—“ 

She cuts me off by almost shoving the fork in my face. 

“It’s like sushi. Don’t be such a picky eater, dweeb”

I roll my eyes and eat what she’s offering. It tastes like salmon with a bit of salt, but I’m not sure if it is salmon. Not exactly my thing, but not bad either.

“Nice. I have to convince my old folks to check this place out when they visit”

“Yeah, it’s worth a stop. How long is the drive from your hometown?”

“Like ten hours or so, forty minutes on a plane. But they are not living there anymore; I think I told you. They moved to a nearby town. I went to visit them last weekend” 

“I thought you had a bit of friction with them”

“Sort of did, yeah. Turns out I inherited my bad communication skills from someone. But we mostly sorted that out after I came back. What about you?”

“Uh—I still talk with my mom regularly, and Naser, of course. And my dad, well, he's my dad. You know how he is”

“I do. Remember when he threatened me with a blunt weapon?”

Not feeling like opening a can of worms, I try to change the subject.

“Oh come on, he probably wasn’t going to hurt you” 

“Probably? What do you mean by probably?” 

All I get as an answer to my more than justified concern is another chuckle.

The rest of the evening passes while conversation flows as we move from one thing to another. Slowly but surely, what I first thought was going to be an insurmountable task ended as a bone picked clean of any meat. We ask for the check, but instead of a hefty price, I’m met with something more than reasonable. 

We pay and leave a decent tip. I offer to drive Fang home and she gladly accepts, complaining about the recklessness of the taxi driver that got her here in the first place. If only she knew I’m not that different when on my own. I drop her in front of her apartment and get home a few minutes before ten. My body demands rest to process the excessive amount of animal protein I consumed. All I manage to do before collapsing is take off my shoes and brush my teeth. That improvised getaway felt like a good change of pace. 

But alas, I still have to go to work tomorrow.

The rest of the week progresses as it usually does, with the only thing noteworthy being Mia’s increasing levels of anxiety as the weekend approaches, just like last time, but now slightly worse. I lose count of how many times she has dropped something while distracted by her own thoughts. 

The fated date finally arrives. I drive to her place and park on the street so we can take her car. I lock the truck and sit on the side of the bed; five minutes pass until she walks out. I swear to God I can see her vibrating in place like a chihuahua on Adderall.

“Look who finally decided to come down”

My attempt at humor falls flat; she doesn’t shoot back and simply greets me. 

“Hi, Anon. Sorry, I couldn’t find my shoes”

I raise an eyebrow at the display. To say that she looks downcast would be an understatement. It’s not as intense as the time she got drunk at that party, but the underlying emotion feels more severe. 

“You alright? No need to do this if you don’t want to”

“I have to. And you were supposed to push me to do it”

“Right. Look, I’ve never seen you be so blue; that’s all”

“And I never had to do something like this—it’s…” She trails off.

I’m not so sure myself about encouraging her to engage, but we talked about it before and I’m already here. Can’t let stage fright stop her so easily. 

“I get it. Okay. Let’s do it; there's no point in stalling, right?” 

The Para nods and we walk towards her vehicle; she hands me the keys and I drive to the location she showed me on groogle maps. The same one from before. Throughout the whole trip, she stares straight ahead, focused on a small stain on the glass. I wonder what's brewing behind those blue eyes. 

After parking, I’m the first one to get out, but Mia doesn’t follow, so I make my way to the passenger side and open the door.

“We’re here; you’re coming or what?”

She blinks and finally stops staring at the windshield. 

“Y—yeah. Just give me a moment; I need to…”

“Hype yourself up?” 

“Sorta”

She answers with an uneasy side eye. Mia rubs her face and lightly slaps her snout with both hands before finally drawing in a deep breath and pushing herself up and out of her seat. Now out of the car, she stands still as a mannequin, her attention focused on the building. Her eyes fixate on a boot with three people already sitting down from what I can see. Two Saurians, one green and the other blue, and a human. The latter, surprisingly, doesn't have a single strand of hair on his head.

“Who are they?”

She clears her throat.

“The girl with the hoodie is Olivia; we had our... issues. The human I think is her boyfriend; we weren’t friends either. And the one wearing orange, well, he’s Ben”

Barely enough information for me to get an idea of who is who, assuming I don’t forget halfway through the conversation. Her meek tone tells me that she’s not being exactly thorough in her description of their relationships. 

"Understood. Well, go ahead, lead the way” 

She looks at me and then turns back towards the group, refusing to put one foot in front of the other. I shrug and put a hand on her back, pushing her.

“What are you d—“

“Literally what you asked me to do, Moretti. Get a move on” 

She marches uneasily towards the front doors, finally putting in some effort towards the end and opening them herself. The moment she does, the bells ring, signaling that a new customer has walked in. They notice, and what was casual conversation turns into murmurs and then silence. Their faces display many emotions, everything except sympathy. Mia freezes again as they look at each other; the atmosphere of unease condenses as seconds pass. At least until I walk in behind her, almost shoving Mia into one of the seats before sitting down myself. 

The tension is replaced by unexpected confusion from them the moment they see me. The Baryonyx’s eyes dart between me and the man next to her. Meanwhile, the Parasaur with glasses simply looks at me, arching an eyebrow and opening his mouth to say something but stopping himself. Inco is the only one from their group not baffled by my presence. The glasses make him a bit difficult to read, but he seems just as surprised by their reaction as I. 

“Hey, my name’s Anon. Mia already told me who you are. Don’t mind me, I’m here just to keep her from running away” I tell them with both my hands up. That clarification seems to have muddied the waters further. 

“Are you two related?” The Bary speaks up first, incredulous. Pointing a claw at me and turning to look at shades. 

“No? I don’t think so. What’s your full name?” He asks me.

“Anon York Mouse”

“Is your family from around here?”

“No, we’re from the midwest” 

He looks at Olivia and shrugs. 

“We don’t even look similar; I get that we’re both bald, but come on” I feel almost offended.

“Your voice and eyes are different, sure, but other than that...” Ben looks as unconvinced as the woman to his left. 

“Dude, stand next to me for a second”

I get up from my seat and ask Inco to do the same. I don’t want to derail the conversation any further, but I won’t stand for this. Our facial features are completely different; I cannot even understand from where the confusion is coming from. 

"See?” I say while pointing with my index finger, alternating between our faces. 

“Anon, you’re two drops of water” Mia is nonchalant, as if stating the obvious.

Her remark cements the fact that this is a losing battle as the other two Saurians nod. I sigh and sit down again. That comment proved enough to remind everyone that she was still there and switch focus back to her. Mia’s attempts at making herself invisible proving futile. Olivia’s initial question might have lightened the mood, but the air around us is still dense. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see a red tail swiping nervously from side to side. She looks down at the table as she draws breath after clearing her throat. 

Finally. 

“I told you in text, I—just—I wanted to apologize in person for what happened, for what I did”

“Go on” The bipedal alligator urges her to keep talking.

“I’m sorry for the drawings and the competition…” She seems to sort of curl in upon herself as she goes through her regrets. 

Olivia’s gaze pierces through Mia; she leans forward, squinting. As if analyzing every minute detail of Mia’s appearance and mannerism. After a short moment, Olivia relaxes back to her neutral, almost bored-looking expression. 

“Why the change of heart?”

 “I don’t know. Life, I guess. I went through some rough months; it gave me some perspective. In hindsight, it all seems so… unnecessary. Maybe it was just easy, and that’s why I did it—look, it’s—I’m genuinely sorry, I mean it. You don’t have to accept my apology, but I had to tell you”

The green woman’s face remains static as she seems to be pondering what Mia said; after a moment, her snout opens again to respond. 

“No, it’s fine. I believe you. No hard feelings” Her voice is neutral, calm, and a bit raspy.

Definitely quicker to forgiveness than I am.

“What?” She looks perplexed. Perhaps expecting way more resentment. 

“I don’t see the point in holding grudges. We’re not in high school anymore. We’re not friends, but I don’t feel like frowning every single time I cross paths with you”

The human with the blue jacket nods subtly; he seems awfully positive. 

That makes two out of three. With not much resistance. However, my gut feeling tells me that won’t be the case with the scrawny-looking guy. 

Mia looks relieved to hear Olivia’s words, but I’m left wondering about how far she went and what she did to expect a bad reaction regardless of what she said. Either she’s exaggerating or the pair is kinder than most; if it’s the latter, I’m more than jealous.

She turns to her final proverbial adversary. The meek man stares at her, waiting. I can see him actively stopping himself from tapping the table with his fingers. She draws breath until her lungs can’t hold it anymore and lets it out as a barrage of words. 

“The meds, the winter dance, all that; I can’t… I didn’t mean to hit you” She covers her face with her hands, sinking her elbows into the table. 

The hell? 

“You beat him?” I ask on impulse.

A pause. Mia’s ex pinches what I assume is the bridge of his nose. 

“Once”

She weakly nods, but keeps her face covered. The silence stretches for too long until it's broken again by a quivering voice. 

“Ben, I’m sorry for wasting four years of your life” 

Inco, Olivia, and I make eye contact as we hear her. We all grimace. I nod toward the exit, and they seem to agree with the idea. This feels too personal for comfort. We quietly get up and leave the once couple alone. 

Now in the parking lot, I can see the two of them talking with way more energy behind their words and gestures. The amount of nonverbal mannerisms Mia is using would make an Italian jealous. 

“Nice scene”

“Let them sort it out” She pulls out her phone and starts scrolling; only now I notice she’s in a wheelchair. 

“Are you still using that site Damien talked about? Lizard…?” Just like Olivia, he looks completely unbothered by what's unfolding a few dozen yards away. 

“Lounge?” 

I answer without thinking, and in that moment Olivia locks onto me like a sleeper agent who just heard their activation phrase. 

"And from where do you know that name?”

Trying my best to avoid revealing my power level, I scramble to come up with a believable answer. Stellas’s face flashes in my mind, a perfect excuse. 

“It’s like an anime forum, right? A friend mentioned it to me before” 

“Aha” She doesn’t look all that convinced, but doesn’t push any further. 

“From where do you know Mia?” He is quick to throw me a lifeline so I don’t accidentally spill any spaghetti. 

“We work together; well, she works for me”

 “So you’re here because you’re her boss?” 

“Sort of? Like, yeah, I don’t want to lose my best employee; she’s a good mechanic. But it’s also because I might have given her the idea to do this to begin with”

“First time I’ve heard of Mia taking someone else’s suggestions” Olivia interjects.

“I won’t go into details. She spilled the beans and didn’t seem happy about her actions; I gave her my two cents” 

She hums, and Inco steers the conversation. He starts talking about the lighting of the place and photography. Olivia chimes in too, mentioning that she's an artist; the few pieces they both show me look pretty nice even to my untrained eyes. It’s interesting enough for me to get their contact info. The shop needs a proper logo, and good photos could help with publicity.

This afternoon is turning out to be a very fruitful one. I don’t really understand why Mia would mess with these people; they seem more than decent. 

We wait there talking for another ten minutes until Ben walks out, alone, looking as if he had lived through several years in the few moments he was inside. 

My alleged clone walks up to him.

 “How did it go?” 

“It was…OK. We got some closure” Ben slumps, tired. 

He takes out his keys from his jacket, and after a click, a nearby car unlocks. They all look ready to leave.

“I’m gonna assume we’re done here; see you guys around”

We say our goodbyes and part ways, not wasting too much time on pleasantries. 

Inside the restaurant, I spot Mia sitting with her arms crossed and her vision out of focus. 

“That’s that. You good?” I move my hand in front of her face to grab her attention. 

She shakes her head, not in denial, but to bring herself back to reality. 

“Y-yeah, mostly. Thanks for sticking around”

“Don’t mention it. Take your time; I’ll drive us back once you’re ready”

“Back? We still have something to do, baldie” She tries to put up her usual persona, but it's forced.

“We can leave that for another day, you know?”

She starts grabbing the fingers of her right hand with her left, one by one, as if checking if they're still there. Clearly trying to calm her anxiety. 

“I need to get my head off of things, alright? This is half to repay you, half for me”

I look at her and consider the implications. Being alone with her thoughts right now might not be the most pleasant thing.

“Right. What is it, anyway?” 

“I got us into a race, and you’re driving”

“A race? I didn’t know they had a circuit in the city”

“They don't; it isn’t really sanctioned by the council. There was one, but it was abandoned after some legal problems. The owner died, and he had no heirs”

Illegal racing, then. Great. 

“And when is this going to happen?”

“Tonight”

I wonder for a second how much of my willingness to go along with this comes from a sunk cost fallacy, and how much from my need to get my blood pumping. 

“It’s five PM; do we just wait?”

“Let’s go buy some food and booze first” 

Mia picks herself up with renewed vigor after making sure her old acquaintances have left. We march back to the car, and as I turn the ignition, she shows me the location. It’s on the outskirts of the city at the end of a long, lone road. With the current traffic, it will take half an hour to get there. But first, a quick visit to the nearest convenience store. 

We managed to stock up on supplies, and all it took was an hour and a lot of arguing about what to get exactly. Lager not stout; salted or unsalted peanuts; and so on—inconsequential details. But I get an idea of why she’s bringing them up. Mia seems more than willing to move from that conversation at the coffee shop. I wonder what kind of tangle of wires her brain must be in right now, trying to turn the page so quickly. 

I load everything into a cooler in the back seat and she takes the chance to down some liquid courage. We head out, and my companion doesn’t waste time turning on the radio to drown out the silence. 

Just like the map showed, the street is a long strip of asphalt, with a few perpendicular dirt roads merging along the way. The vegetation makes it difficult to see who is coming, forcing me to slow down to a crawl to check at each intersection. 

At the end of the road stands an eroded low wall and a damaged fence covered in vegetation. I can see a structure poking out behind them. There is no barrier in sight to block the entrance. I reduce the speed to a walking pace as we enter. Inside, the sight is pretty much the same. An overgrown parking lot, what’s left of a grandstand, and a heavily weathered track. It looks as if someone had taken the time to hit specific parts of it with a pick-axe. Dozens of little holes plaguing its surface. 

A couple of hundred yards to our left, I can see other parked cars and some people. I turn the wheel and head in that direction. As we get closer, I start hearing the faint sound of music and decide to turn off the radio.

I stop in a nice spot under a tree and open the door to see exactly what I got myself into. Much to my surprise, I recognize a few of the people present; some are my clients. 

I should have figured. 

Mia seems just as lost as I am; we look at each other, unsure. It seems to me like a perfect chance to be a social kamikaze. I smile and start walking up to greet everyone I can recognize with more confidence than necessary. The bold strategy pays off and breaks the ice; soon enough we’re arguing about mechanical specs.

The people present couldn’t be more polarized. Fifty percent know exactly what they’re talking about, and the other half are perfect clients for a snake oil salesman. Between nonsensical conversations and overly specific rants, the time seems to fly. Two hours pass, and the last of the competitors finally arrive. Signaling that’s time to roll.

Although there are like two dozen vehicles here, only six will be participating. Each with its driver and copilot. Whom I assume is the guy organizing the event, begins directing those present to where they should be. Two cars per row, three rows in total.

We jump into her car, and Mia grabs two helmets from God knows where, handing me one. I barely have enough time to put it on before the race starts with the signal of an air horn. 

As it starts, it quickly becomes apparent that neither the cars nor the pilots are the best of the best, which means we might have a chance. Mia briefs me on the details of the race as I try to overtake a blue Toyota Celica and get 3rd place. We’re doing thirty-six laps in total, and we’re already eight in. As we advance, I take note of every little imperfection on the track to make taking curves easier. 

Halfway through, the last two competitors have already been left far behind. But I still can’t get ahead of the car in front of me. Two-thirds of the race in, and I finally get us into 3rd place, sort of. We’re head to head; it’s a draw. But as time passes and the remaining laps decrease, I begin to consider a dangerous gamble. Every other driver has avoided certain parts of the asphalt so far because of its poor condition. But a good maneuver could make certain turns a walk in the park. And maybe get us into 2nd place if I time it right.

I grab the steering wheel with too much force and count the seconds to turn it and get ahead. But just as I’m about to apply my winning formula, my peripheral vision reminds me of who’s sitting next to me. One mistake and I could lose control. Wouldn’t be a problem if I were on my own, but risking someone else’s neck doesn’t feel like my right. I relax my grip and continue my previous and safer approach. 

Almost at the end, with only three laps left, my main competitor realizes the same thing and makes a bet. Turning hard right at the correct moment, it seems like they’ll get second place, but one of the tires hits a hole and ruptures. The car starts spinning on its four wheels and off the track until it hits some bushes. 

We secure third place, and with so little time left, there is not much else to do. The race ends, and people rush to the damaged car. Thankfully, there are no serious injuries, if you ignore a wounded pride, of course. 

As the race ends, I move the car to our previous spot and waste no time getting out to breathe fresh air. The motor is still hot, and I'm a bit sweaty, but being out in the sticks takes care of that pretty soon.

I feel a bit bummed out for ending third when there were only six places on the roster. Mia, however, is ecstatic. Celebrating with a drink and boasting about it. 

“That was great! I barely touched the motor and it still ran perfectly, don’t you think?” She almost jumps at me to go for an overenthusiastic toast, spilling some of her pint in the process. 

“Uh, sure. Very responsive” 

“Why are you so mopey?” She picks it up almost immediately. 

I scratch my head.

“I mean, we could have gotten second, maybe even first place”

“How, by doing what that dumbass did? Hell no, I like my bones, thank you” Mia points at the damaged car that’s currently being towed. 

“Fair. Maybe it's not that bad for a first race” 

She grins like an idiot and hands me a premixed cocktail, grabbing another one for herself, I think it's her fourth so far. I have to control myself to drive us back, but she doesn’t, and I get the feeling she knows it. 

Those sorrows won’t drown themselves. 

We stick around for two more hours, until eventually we run out of both snacks and alcohol. Somehow I only manage to drink four beers. Dew begins to fall as the temperature drops amidst conversations and casual out-of-place remarks. Mia starts complaining with slurred words about the chilly night air, sticking to me like glue to leech away heat. So we decide to head back and end the day. It has been eventful, and I can’t say that I got bored by any means.

I don’t feel particularly drunk, but I know I’m not sober. So I drive cautiously and at a reasonably low speed, even though the road is completely empty.

Mia doesn’t bother with the radio this time, choosing instead to talk my ear off. Raising her voice and always leaning in too close, making shifting gears complicated. She asks a question or makes a comment, and before I can process her drunken gibberish to answer, she starts talking again. 

Halfway through the trip, she stops spewing words for a moment to check her phone after hearing a notification. 

“Check it out” She holds out the screen for me to see and sort of kneads the side of my face with her free hand to get me to look.

I glance at it for an instant; it is her bank account, recent transfers to be more specific. A few hundred bucks have been added to her balance in the last hour or so.

“What’s that?”

“I bet on us. Give me your routing number and I’ll wire you your cut”

“You did it with your own money, right? I’m good, but thanks for offering”

Mia shrugs.

“Suit yourself. How long until we get back?”

“I don’t know, twenty minutes? I’m taking my time, don’t wanna crash” 

“Okay" She groans in frustration and sinks into her seat, looking at the ceiling. 

"How did you find out about the race, by the way? Now that I know there is money involved, I'm curious"

"I’m curious about something, too” Once again, changing the subject. 

I look at her and then focus back on the road. Her glassy eyes continue staring; she smiles in an odd way. But my peripheral vision isn’t good enough to make out the details. What I do see is the dirt road ahead. The dense vegetation and darkness combine to make visibility even worse. I turn my head to the left to make sure I don’t T-bone someone.

I see no headlights, but something leans against my right side as I turn to face forward. Almost instinctively, I look to the right. I’m met with a red snout closing the distance fast. I reel my head back on reflex, but I’m outmatched. Her face smashes against mine in a crude display that might resemble a kiss for an inebriated mind. But it’s sloppy, pushy, and overly aggressive. For a moment, I remember some facts I heard in middle school about how giraffes eat. The surprise bars me from reacting much; it’s more like she’s licking part of my face. I feel the wheels on the right side hitting dirt, and she retreats as quickly as she approached. I turn to make sure we don’t go off-road. 

“Hey watch it! I’m driving here; what the hell was that?!” 

“I just never tried that with a human before” She says it as if it's supposed to be obvious.

“What? Mia, that was fucking dangerous” 

“Relax, you’re going at like thirty miles per hour; don’t be a pussy” She taps the speedometer with her finger. 

I draw breath to start cursing, but I’m interrupted by a reflection in the rearview mirror. A decked-out cruiser emerges from the intersection we just passed and turns on its lights, signaling for me to stop. God knows behind what tree or bushes it was hiding, but it was for sure waiting. I use the turn signal to let them know I’m pulling over. Quickly, as the cop gets out of their vehicle, I use the sleeve of my jacket to clean the smeared saliva and lipstick off my face to the best of my ability, which gets a light chuckle out of the she-devil in the passenger seat. 

I look back again and the approaching figure looks familiar. Roughly as tall as I am, well-built, and with brown scales. 

When it rains, it pours.

He calmly walks up to us, giving me enough time to grab my wallet. I turn off the motor and put both my hands on top of the steering wheel after lowering the window. I’ve been through enough checkpoints to know how to avoid getting shot. He never struck me as particularly trigger-happy, but I’m not taking chances tonight; not any more. 

When he reaches my side, he looks in, flashing a light at us. His face goes from boredom to confusion for a brief period until it finally settles on recognition. 

“Good evening, Anon”

“Evening, sir” 

“License and registration, please” He’s professional, a bit too professional. 

I hand over what he asked for, and after reading through, he hands them over. 

“All in order, but your friend over there doesn’t look too good. How about you? Have you been drinking tonight?”

“Uh, a bit?” 

He nods and takes out a small breathalyzer, meticulously preparing it for the test. He holds it in front of me, not bothering to explain what it is.

“Take a deep breath and blow steadily until the tone sounds”

I do as instructed while Mia sits with her arms crossed. The machine finally beeps.

“Is that good?”

“Hm. Zero point zero forty-eight. Very close to the limit”

“So…?”

“I’ll let you go with a warning this time”

“Thanks, I appreciate it” 

“Before you go on your way, how was the race?” He grins.

I’m at a loss for words; his question already implies he knows. And I’m not sure what would be worse: playing dumb or confessing. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

“…”

“I told you, I won’t be detaining you. But there is a reason why that place closed down. If there is a big accident, ambulances can’t get there in time, and the city only has one chopper. Do you understand?”

I don’t quite get the point of his explanation. Or why the chief, of all people, is on patrol.

“I understand; I didn’t know that” 

“Rules exist for a reason. The thrill isn’t worth the injury. Stay safe out there; have a good night”

I’m not sure if that was a hidden thread or a genuine concern. He lightly taps the hood of the car twice and returns to the cruiser, driving back to his hiding spot. Ready to catch the next guy.

What’s left of our tour passes without a fuss, with Mia falling asleep a few minutes after Ripley lets us go.

I park in front of her building and shake her lightly to wake her up.

“Hey, we are here” 

“Ugh?” Mia opens one of her eyes and looks at me. She didn’t sleep for that long, but she looks ready to crash.

“We’re at your place. Now listen, text me when you make it to your apartment”

“Okay”

She drags herself out of the vehicle and toward the front door, disappearing inside with a lazy wave. I find my truck and wait until my phone buzzes. The message is a picture. It looks like her living room, and judging by the angle, she seems to be lying down on the carpet. The photo is followed by a simple misspelled text.

Mia: [maed iT]

Mous: [Cool]

The following morning, while I’m making breakfast, I’m surprised by a call. I pick up the phone, and of course, it’s Ms. hungover. 

[“Well, good afternoon”]

[“Hey, Anon, where are my car keys?”] 

Her voice sounds hoarse, like she just woke up, which is probably the case.

[“Jacket, left pocket”]

The line goes quiet for a moment.

[“Found them, thanks. How did I even get back, though?”]

[“I drove us back; don’t you remember?”]

[“Fuck no, I sort of blacked out after the race. Sorry about that, by the way; my head wasn’t in a nice place”]

I celebrate in silence, relieved to know that she doesn’t remember what she did. 

[“Don’t sweat it. Not much happened; we got stopped by a cop, but he knew me and let us go”] Half a truth.

[“Look who has friends in high places”]

[“Aha, I wish. Look, I’m cooking right now; catch you later”]

[“Later Anon”]

I hang up and finish making my food. But the moment I sit down to eat, my phone buzzes again. It's a message from Naser. 

Chapter Text

Naser?

I stare in surprise as I turn my phone and read the name. A few scenarios flash in my mind as I wonder if something happened, my pessimism getting the best of me this time. After the first few seconds of confusion, I open the chat to dispel my doubts.

Naser: [Morning, Anon. Do you have a moment?]

Anon: [Sure, what’s up]

Naser: [Remember what I told you the other week?]

Anon: [No, not really]

Naser: [That I’ve been talking with my parents]

Anon: [Oh, that. Yeah, what about it? Idgi]

Naser: [Look, I’ve been talking with them about getting Fang back home. Just giving you a heads-up.]

Anon: [A heads-up? Dude, no need to tell me that; I’m not that involved]

Naser: [?? Really, Anon?]

I'm not sure how to respond; I shrug and put the phone down to try and finally eat a bite. A few dozen seconds later, I hear a notification. Him again.

Naser: [Any input on the idea? Are you against it, are you cool with it? Neutral?]

Anon: [I didn’t want to say anything because it didn’t feel appropriate, but she’s in a bad environment. I’ve lived in skin row, it’s a shithole]

Naser: [Exactly. It makes me nervous to even think about the fact that she’s there]

Anon: [Stress is bad for your heart]

Naser: [I’m well aware of that]

It clearly doesn’t show. All this thinking can’t be helping this guy’s nerves.

Anon: [What’s your angle with this? There are some things you have to talk out with her. What about your dad? How is that gonna work out?]

Naser: [Mom has him on a short leash]

Sheesh.

I try to type something else and accidentally smear onto the screen ketchup that I didn’t know was on one of my fingers.

Anon: [Hey, I don’t wanna be rude, but I’m eating rn. We can keep talking in like ten minutes]

Naser: [K. Bon appetite]

French? Fuck you, Naomi, look at what you have done.

I curse the para I suspect of influencing him and get to chewing. Thinking about what he told me. If Ripley is gonna play along, they might have a chance at peaceful cohabitation. Regardless, his apprehension makes me anxious. I finish my meal and wipe my hands to avoid making the same mistake twice.

Anon: [Done. Anyway, based on what little I know, if your dad cooperates maybe she’ll agree. But I don’t know why she left in the first place]

Naser: [It wasn’t one big thing; she wanted to move out. The band, the friction at home, all that]

Anon: [Right. A bit risky to just try and get her to move back, then. Even if he plays along, that tension will still be there]

Naser: [Yeah. But I will test the waters first before really trying to convince her]

Anon: [Good call. How, though?]

Naser: [I’m working on it]

Thanks for the details.

Anon: [Ok]

I stare at the screen, not feeling like saying anything else to him. It’s logical, and with a minuscule amount of tact, it should be easy enough to handle. Fang doesn't seem to like her current cold apartment.

As I’m doing the dishes, I can’t shake off the feeling that there is something off with the brown Ptero, but can’t quite put my finger on it. Perhaps it's that bad part of my subconscious, always expecting an ambush.

The hours roll by one after the other, like droplets of molasses, until Saturday is left behind.

A nice day of rotting later and I’m back to work. Mia’s spirits are up, as if the events of the weekend were nothing but another story to tell when the morning comes. No mention of any details or comments from her whatsoever, just a lighter atmosphere that makes the workflow smooth. As relieved as I am by it, it’s dull. So, so dull.

An unexpected influx of new clients causes my workload to increase, forcing me to stay for longer than usual, but it’s unpredictable. Taking enough time to kill any hopes of plans after work, while leaving just the exact amount of dead hours to hit the right spot in my need for something to do.

I get back and sit there for the first two days of the week, trying to kill time with social media until I have to sleep. But it only goes so far; by Wednesday night I’m staring at the particles of dust suspended in the air in front of me, occasionally walking around the apartment like a caged tiger. Even increasing my time in the gym only goes so far. I could game, but I simply don’t know what to play, an entire library for nothing. The thought reminds me of my obvious lack of a proper hobby.

While strolling through my place, I open the door to my room and start reorganizing my clothes again until I stumble upon a curved wooden object: Dad’s guitar. It falls to the ground and the vibrations of the light impact are enough for it to produce sound. It's still in tune.

Aha.

I pick up the old instrument and try my best to recall how to write a score as I improvise a song. Eventually giving up and going with the tabs instead. It takes me quite a while and fills the void that scrolling couldn’t; probably not a permanent solution, but for now it’s a decent enough patch. Day after day I pour my free time into mindless artsy bullshit. It takes me many rehearsals to get it to be what I want. It’s short, no more than forty seconds, but it sounds decent, if a bit somber. I even manage to come up with some lyrics that don’t sound like the slurred and mixed words of someone having a stroke. Once I get all the notes to match the tempo of my voice, I send the final result to my friendly neighborhood rocker. At first Fang is confused by the flood of pictures, but then after a few minutes she gets to complaining about my messy handwriting. A short back and forth later to clarify the meaning of my scribbles and she finally understands the archaic Aramaic that are my notes.

She likes it, but her questions about the content are odd. To me, it looks as if she’s reading too much into what is essentially the result of mindlessly killing time. But one of her messages catches me a bit off guard.

Fnag: [We should get it on record]

Anon: [What?]

Fnag: [Your song, dweeb, I think it will sound good with some more work]

Anon: [I mean. It's under a minute]

Fnag: [So what?]

Anon: [It’s not that big of a deal to bother with it?]

Fnag: [Shut up, it’s good]

Anon: [Ok, ok, chill]

Fnag: [Btw are you free this Friday?]

Anon: [Tomorrow? Depends. I should be, in the afternoon]

Fnag: [Cool. Do you want to grab dinner?]

Anon: [Sure, where and when?]

Fnag: [At my old place, six PM. My parents, Naser, Naomi, and us]

I take a moment to re-read the message. Considering if I will have enough mental energy to deal with the Aarons’s. Before my pre-frontal cortex can consciously react, I’m already typing and sending an answer.

Anon: [Sounds like a plan]

Fnag: [Perfect. Are you going straight there after work, or do you wanna go together?]

Anon: [The latter is probably better. I’ll swing by half an hour before]

She answers with a thumbs up, sealing the deal. I look down at the pieces of paper on the table; there isn’t really anything else I can think of changing. I leave them all neatly organized in a single stack and head to my room. I check my closet and try to choose some clothes for tomorrow. Debating with myself for twenty minutes about what to wear. Fang made it seem very informal. At first, I consider picking something more business casual over my regular getup. But a better idea comes to mind: The kind of clothes I would wear at a bar halfway across the world while off duty. Something way too showy.

Magnifique.

I put them in my backpack and call it a night. The next day doesn’t surprise me with any unexpected work, so we wrap up just in time. Before leaving, I wash my hands to get rid of oil and grime and change into my fashionably questionable choice. Once done, I check my phone; I’m a few minutes late. In the parking lot, Mia is getting ready to leave herself, reorganizing some tools in her car’s trunk. She does a double check on me when she sees me, raising an eyebrow. I flash her a wide grin and get in my truck after waving goodbye.

Fang’s ready and waiting by the time I knock on her door. She looks a bit nervous, but it’s barely noticeable even for me; small movements of her tails and wings I wouldn't have been able to pick up before. I greet her roomies before we leave, both of them busy checking their instruments for a future show. We jump in the car, no radio this time; I’m curious enough to break the silence myself.

“So what’s this about? I thought you didn’t really visit them that much”

“I don’t. This is a bit of an exception. Naser suggested it, and I remembered what you said about your parents. So I went along with it”

“He’s been acting a bit weird lately; any idea why?”

“Weird how?”

“I don’t know, just off. It’s a gut feeling. You should try talking to him."

“I…”

“You?”

“It doesn’t feel like the right thing for me to do”

“But you're his sister”

She turns her body and her gaze lowers, little signs of avoidance floating right under the surface, like driftwood. I can’t quite decipher why she’s so shifty; nothing of what I’ve said was out of the ordinary. While I’m trying to figure it out, the car keeps moving, until we’re a few hundred yards away from our destination. I park behind the Nascar and take her out of whatever she’s thinking with a simple announcement.

“We’re here”

Fang wastes no time and seizes the opportunity to move, almost flying through the front yard, signaling for me to hurry up. I follow behind as she knocks. We wait for a few seconds until Samantha’s muffled voice is heard from inside. Naomi is the one to open the door. Her eyes land on Fang first, a small smile on her snout; it widens slightly when she notices me standing behind. Naomi greets us as she moves out of the way to let us in.

“Hi!” Cheerful, but not fabricated.

“Hey” Fang’s voice is almost monotone, but she doesn’t sound annoyed.

“Afternoon, Naomi”

She disengages and moves back to the couch as soon as we’re done with the simple exchange, as if trying her best to remain out of sight and out of mind. I don’t spot Naser anywhere for a few moments until I look through a window that’s facing the backyard. He’s carrying wood and piling it in a fire pit. Saying that the way he arranges the fuel leaves some things to be desired is an understatement. It looks like a deck, flat and with no center or way for air to flow.

Just make a teepee with the logs, dude, come on.

I turn toward the kitchen to greet the matriarch. Fang beat me to it, I can see them already chatting while Samantha prepares what I think is a meatloaf.

Did I zone out for too long?

“Ms. Aaron, hello, thank you for having me over”

“Hi, Anon. No need to be that formal; Samantha is fine, I told you”

And I had almost forgotten about your visit.

“Sorry, force of habit. Did we make it on time? I took a bit longer than expected”

“You’re early; it will be a while until dinner. There are some snacks on the table. Oh, and I made something specially for you, dear” The last part wasn’t addressing me.

She turns around and reaches for the electric oven to her right, taking out a tray with one hand and grabbing a bowl filled with some kind of sauce with the other. I don’t even need to look at it to know what it is. But these ones seem homemade.

"Thanks, Mom. Do you need help with anything here?” There it is, a genuine effort.

“No need, Lucy, I’m almost done”

“Okay, thanks again, Mom." She grabs the nuggies but doesn’t correct her mother.

I follow behind and sit nearby, not sure of where to put myself. Naomi glances at me, which doesn’t help my sense of unease. I take out my phone to check the weather or something and look busy, but Fang offers me a nugget dipped in the sauce. I’m already familiar with this game; I don’t know when we started it, but now it’s there every time she eats little dinosaurs made out of ground chicken. I pretend to reach for it, and she feigns trying to bite my finger off. In response, I distract her to steal one from the tray, succeeding after pushing her chair back with my foot. The walking peach silently watches our display with a face that portrays a weird mix of curiosity and expectation.

I feel a bit more relaxed as I acclimate to the environment. It’s not my first time here, but it isn’t familiar either.

We start exchanging words about what we’re doing after Naomi brings up her major. She really seems to like talking about it. Naser walks in a few minutes later; we lock eyes, but his slowly move down towards my colorful Hawaiian shirt.

Like a moth to a flame.

“Hey, man”

“Anon, it’s good to see you… I don’t think yellow goes well with those flowers” His greeting crumbles as he takes a good look at me.

“Maybe not. Guess I should’ve asked the expert, huh?” I tell him, smirking.

“I mean, yeah” He says without a hint of sarcasm.

“It’s kinda weird, seeing you wearing something like that” The Parasaur finally interjects. She doesn’t say anything else verbally, but her eyes seem to be pleading for me to stop giving her boyfriend ideas.

“Fashion police over here” Nothing else comes to my mind other than to keep the light tone I was going with.

“You of all people have no right to talk about style, Naser” Fang chuckles, shaking her head.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He’s shocked, offended, even.

The conversation quickly devolves into a debate, stemming from Naser’s apparent inability to recognize his odd choice. Perhaps to him, dressing like a 1980’s Miami detective is normal. It doesn’t take long for Samantha to go up the stairs and return with old albums with photos of him wearing some of the weirdest combinations possible. He carefully explains the reasoning behind each outfit; Naomi’s worsening expression makes me think that she has heard this before, more than once.

Color theory? That's his excuse?

Outnumbered three to one, Naser changes the subject. He brings up the few instruments Fang has in the attic after her mom points out a piano in one of the pictures. That’s when I hear the front door open after some rattling of keys. An old man in blue walks in, dropping a duffel bag near the door and walking up to the table to greet his wife. He moves through routine until he notices the outlier: Fang. Samantha glares at him before he can spill words. Ripley greets his daughter with a dry ‘Hello’ and starts to turn to go upstairs, but just then his eyes drift towards me. He knew his daughter would come, but my invitation was improvised. I would have preferred that he ignored me. His face goes from tired to confused; the way his eyebrows curl makes it clear that he didn’t expect me of all people to be here. For a moment he looks ready to do his usual Malboro man routine, but exhaustion gets the better of his will. He tells Samantha that he’ll go get changed and leaves after she answers with a kiss on the cheek.

The matriarch orders us to set the table, and we do as told, following the tacit social agreement. While we do so, she takes out the main dish from the oven, and a few salads and appetizers from the fridge. The food is swiftly placed on the table, a more than practiced procedure, efficient. Once she’s done, it looks nothing short of a small banquet, definitely more than enough to feed six people.

The chief comes down wearing his regular clothes shortly after everything is in place. He looks at me again, as if about to ask something, but remains silent. It’s not long before everyone is sitting down, ready to eat. Samantha says a little prayer, and we dig in.

It hasn’t been long since I visited my parents, but homemade food is always a treat. And everyone more than shares that idea; plates are almost licked clean in under fifteen minutes with very few words spoken in between bites, aside from many variations of ‘Can you pass me the salt’.

A pleasant silence takes over as we get closer to finishing the meal. Naomi breaks the ice and starts the after-dinner yapping.

“You know, Anon, I’ve been curious since we met back at my sister’s. How long have you been in Volcaldera, exactly?”

The large ptero sitting at the head of the table looks uninterested, but my intuition tells me otherwise. He looks at Naomi when she mentions Mia.

“Well, I did come back for a few weeks like… six months ago? But then I deployed again”

“Again? Why?”

“I couldn’t pass on the opportunity; it paid well. But it wasn’t with the army. Private employer”

“So that lasted until… two, three months ago?“ She appears to think and try to remember.

“Yeah, roughly”

Naomi puts her index finger on the tip of her snout, tapping lightly.

“You set up your shop really quickly; do you mind if I ask you more about the details later? It’s for a paper”

Yeah. I totally believe you.

My mind rushes through memories until I find what I think was her major.

“You’re in business, right? Sure”

“Thanks, I appreciate it”

A deep voice parts the chatter.

“You work with Ms. Moretti?”

"Yes, she showed up one day for repairs, and I hired her”

“Not a good idea to mix personal life with business” He reprimands me, but doesn’t look all that displeased.

I get what he’s implying, but I keep my response vague enough.

“I don’t?”

A frown. The old man sure doesn’t like my answer. Before he can ask something else, his face contorts into an expression of pain for half a second as a short woman digs her heel into his foot, shutting him up. Naser looks at me, arching an eyebrow.

“Leave work at work, honey. Don’t interrogate him like that”

“I wasn’t—“ And another hit, finally followed by sealed lips.

Throughout the conversation, Fang stays quiet, focusing too much on the piece of cake she took from the fridge as soon as she finished dinner. The gray saurian doesn’t look uncomfortable as she calmly cuts into the sweet dessert.

“Nas, how did you do on your exams? I, uh, forgot to ask”

“Pretty… well. How’s the band?”

“We published a song a few weeks ago; it did great” She smiles.

Sam butts in, asking for more details. Fang hesitates for a moment, but finally shows her their work. The more melodic music looks to be to her parents' liking. Even I have to agree that it sounds better compared to their old, overly distorted stuff.

The talks throughout the night are awkward. It’s like seeing an old machine that someone left to rot spring to life again, its rusty gears whining against the friction. I don’t think Fang is the only one making an effort. I look at Naomi; we communicate in glances, agreeing to take a step back in the discussion and let the family talk with each other.

An hour passes, a whole hour, without anything going sour. I think this is the first time I’ve seen such a long interaction between Fang and her family. They may be baby steps, but still, they walk.

As we move later into the evening, Ripley excuses himself, saying something about paperwork. I can’t quite decipher his expression, but that usual annoyance that he would show when dealing with his daughter is not present. He even seems to have forgotten about me being there.

Naser disappears shortly after his dad. Those of us still in the kitchen help to clean up the table. I offer to do the dishes, an idea that Samantha vehemently rejects on the basis of me being a guest. Naomi on her part goes to work on her laptop. And I, I am dragged by Fang to the backyard, where her brother is back to fighting with the fire pit. We sit down on some plastic chairs, next to a cooler. As brave as I may be, I’m not booze cruising out of the Chief’s house. Soda it is.

Before I can get too comfortable, the pale woman scoots closer. She takes out her phone, showing me the tabs I wrote with a mean expression on her face. I’m cornered. She patiently helps me ‘translate’ the tabs to a proper score. I’m not sure what the point of it is, but Fang seems to enjoy the process, so I’m more than happy to go along with it.

A saccharine entity emerges through the door after half an hour, looking for her boyfriend. I look up only to see a defeated Naser walking up to us and nonchalantly handing me a lighter and some newspapers. I stare at him, confused. He nods toward the pile of wood a few yards away.

“Sure” I tell him.

“Naser!” Naomi looks at him, at me, and then at the fire, making the connection and moving to lecture him.

“What? He’s better than me at it” He’s flabbergasted by the Para’s lack of understanding of what to him is an obvious truth of life.

I ignore their little argument, looking around for something to fan the flames. There is a large bucket near the garage, so I grab its lid. I take very little time to rearrange the logs and make donuts out of the newspaper so I can start the fire. Finally, I’m left with a hollow cone of fuel, with a neat pile of flammable paper circles and kindling in the middle. I ignite the tinder and provide oxygen to complete the fire triangle. In less than five minutes, it is roaring. I leave the lid where I found it and go back to my chair. The three of them are staring at me; Naser looks very happy with himself.

“See?” He tells his now exasperated girl, with a wide grin of vindication.

“I—Ugh” She rubs her face in frustration.

I sit down in my chair again, enjoying the show.

Someone doesn’t like to lose an argument.

“Nope” Fang says, answering what I just mumbled.

“Forgot I’m not biting my tongue anymore. You have some good hearing”

“You know, Anon, you’re not helping the stereotypes”

“They exist for a reason, hollow bones”

She shakes her head and pulls my attention back to what we were doing by grabbing my chin and turning my face. Whatever is left of the evening passes by without us noticing. Too focused on our little bubble of comfort as the warm flames dance a few feet away from us. Once dew starts to fall, Naser dashes inside and retrieves a thick blanket for him and Naomi. They look like the most conventional couple imaginable as they cuddle, like something out of a postcard. A more bitter version of me would have scoffed, but right now I’m almost happy for them. Maybe they worked out those little issues they had.

The wood burns until it turns to embers, signaling the end of the night. All things considered, I enjoyed it. It was fun in an unexpectedly calm way. Fang and Naser stay, and I leave along with Naomi. I make it home after a short drive, ready to snore until morning.

I’m woken not by my alarm, but by the incessant buzzing of my phone under the pillow. A string of messages, a Ptero reminding me about the recording we agreed upon. I don't even bother reading beyond the notifications and get up to start the day. Deep down I have my doubts, a product of a mixture of embarrassment and laziness. But I already agreed to do it, and a man is his word, or so says dad.

A little routine gets me ready. Drive, knock, wait. The door opens, but instead of glistening teal scales, I see nothing until I look down. The purple menace looks up at me, unamused. Before I can say hi, she instinctively cuts me off.

“What are you doing here? Fang will be back in an hour; you’ll have to wait”

“Oh, ok. Can I come in?”

I check the messages, and sure enough, she gave me a specific time. I rushed for nothing.

“Sure" She says and takes a step back.

I walk in and sit down on the couch; the lack of sound or light from the hallway lets me know that Reed isn't here. Trish plops herself down as far away from me as she can. Quiet takes over as she stares down at her phone.

I grow impatient, and decide to give a sound to silence.

“What's your deal?”

"What?" She spits out in surprise, like she didn't ever expect me to talk to her at all.

Chapter Text

Trish's annoyed expression quickly morphs into confusion. She puts down her phone and stares at me.

"What is your issue with me?" I repeat, a bit louder this time.

"Where did that come from?"

"I figured we could use the chance to chat a bit, since I'm already here, waiting" I gesture at the empty room with my hands.

"We don't really have to do this now" her answer is firm, but monotone.

"Now, in a week, in a year. We'll have to do it eventually if we both stick around" I shrug.

"Oh so you won't leave? Like last time?"  She does waste a beat and resorts to an effective low blow.

"Fuck off. Why do you always have to be so abrasive? I could understand it if that attitude started after what happened at the beach, but you've been like this from day one" I frown, feeling poison already bubbling up.

"I always had a bad feeling about you, Anon" Trish's face hardens, her wrinkled features are almost cartoonishly exaggerated.

"And that's enough to be wary? A hunch?" The shallow explanation leaves me dumbfounded.

"Why should I have to explain myself to you, skinnie? I don't like you. Period" She crosses her arms, as if defiant.

"There we go again. Hiding behind aggressiveness" a sigh escapes me as frustration builds up.

"Excuse me?"

"I don't buy it. Sure, I'm not mister charisma, quite the opposite in fact. But I never did anything to deserve that treatment from the first time we met"

"I have my reasons" bitter words that seem to come from deep within.

I'd like to pry, but my patience is already running thin, too thin to address anything with a modicum of tact or care.

"Again, fair and square after I drunkenly fucked up, but not before"

"Or after you almost pulled a gun on me"

"Oh, that was more than justified. We already talked about this; you pointed your horns at me"

"I wasn't going to attack you"

"And how the fuck was I supposed to know that? I'm just glad that I forgot my piece in the car that day"

Trish takes a deep breath.

"Let's just drop it"

"Yeah, probably for the better" my frustration reflects hers.

What would you call this? Being in hate?

She rolls her eyes, and then stops for a second, contemplating her words.

"You know what my issue with you is, precisely? You change things too much"

"I don't follow"

"The first time it was for the worse, and this time I'm forced to admit that it is for the better"

"What? That is a bad thing? It didn't end on a high note in high school, sure, but I'm not going to repeat that mistake"

"You don't get it, do you? You're... I don't know, unpredictable, and you have way too much influence on them. Do you have any idea of what happened after you dropped off the face of the earth?"

"I have a rough idea, yeah. For sure it wasn't exactly sunshine and rainbows, was it?"

"No, no it wasn't. Neither for them nor for everyone around"

"Figured. Sorry about that"

"Look, Anon, you're in a very particular position. If you wanted to hurt them, really hurt them, you could. And I don't like that" Trish moves closer and points a clawed finger at me, poking at my chest.

"And why would I want to?  You're just assuming the worst. And besides, you have no right to be this controlling. She's not a kid"  I react in kind, pushing on her hoodie with my index.

"We've been friends since we were in elementary school. They're like a sibling to me. I'll do my best to keep them from harm"  Her face moves closer and her voice rises, as if the short distance between us wasn't enough for me to hear her.

"So it is a control thing"

"No it's not!"

The sudden spike in volume makes me recoil slightly.

"Yelling sure proves you are right"

"You don't get it" Trish crosses her arms, closing herself off.

Her over-protectiveness reminds me of something one of my buddies used to say way too often, to the point of absurdity. So I vomit the same words back at her almost on reflex.

"Those willing to sacrifice freedom for security deserve and will get neither"

She raises an eyebrow, now with a hint of amusement instead of exasperation.

"Is that a quote?"

Yes it is.

"I don't know. But seriously, Trish, after all that has happened until now, do you really believe I have any intent of hurting her? Do you honestly think I would do that?"

"No, you wouldn't, not willingly at least" her features soften enough that she doesn't look pissed off, for a change.

"Willingly, huh? So, one day I'll hear my sleeper agent activation phrase and instantly move to cause as much emotional damage as possible. Is that it?" I get up from the couch and start walking around the coffee table as I make my point.

"No. It's just that— you're very aloof; you miss a lot of details"

I'd like to retort, but she's not far off. The worst person I know made a good point.

"Getting a bit too personal there"

"Aha. For example, they don't like you hanging out with the saccharine bitch's sister"

I almost scoff at her for holding a grudge against someone for so long, but it would be too hypocritical on my part.

"I'm surprised you still have beef with Naomi. I assume you mean Mia. Why is that?"

"I don't know, maybe they think you'll cheat" she says, casually, as if it were obvious.

"We aren't even dating. Besides, I follow the motto of 'don't shit where you eat' and all that"

"...You have got to be kidding me" Trish's palm quickly makes contact with her face.

"What?"

"You went to their parents' house yesterday.  You've slept at each other's places, for Christ's sake. How is that not a relationship?"

I stare at her, bothered by the oversimplification and misinterpretation.

"So, going by that logic, you must be together with Reed. Are you?" The gears on my head turn barely fast enough to give a coherent counterargument.

She frowns, not very happy with the idea.

"No"

"See?" I gesture with my hands, as if nonverbally stating that her answer proves my point.

"But back to the main topic. If your only reason to dislike me was a gut feeling, maybe you should reconsider"

"Reconsider what?"

"Your attitude. I'm not asking you to be my damn bestie, but at least don't treat me like a piece of shit that got stuck to your shoe"

"Ugh"

Trish groans in consideration.

"Like what you did back in the auditorium, try not to do shit like that again. That's all water under the bridge now, but still, a good example"

Trish's lips part to spill words, but she stops. Her face warps as she goes through a few emotions. Realization of what I'm referring to, followed by what could maybe be guilt. After half a second that had no right to be so long, her snout finally produces a faint sound.

"Sorry about that"

"That apology is a bit stale, but I'll take it. It's not like I hold it against you; falling down those stairs got Fang and me together. Worth it" I say almost mockingly.

"Look, I had time to think about it. You don't have to take it as genuine, but I mean it. Sorry"

Her voice takes me by surprise; it's softer than usual, almost melodic; and it doesn't seem dishonest. I try studying her features a bit more closely. Trish's tail is wrapped around her waist and arms, hugging her torso, protecting her from an imaginary threat. She looks even smaller than usual, reluctant and withdrawn. The sad sight makes me not want to give any kind of witty response. But before I even get a chance to reformulate, the front door opens and a familiar collection of scales and feathers walks in.

She sees us, her stare switching between Trish and I, scanning the scene for a moment. Her head tilts slightly.

"You two look ready for a party. Where is the funeral?"

I stare at Fang with a knowing look.

"You know the answer to that"

"Sort of"

The two pools of amber focus on the triceratops for an instant before making eye contact with me again.

"Why are you here so early, though?"

"I didn't read all your text, just the notification. So I took a shower and drove here" For a moment I feel like a kid explaining to his teacher that he forgot his backpack at home.

She smiles.

"Dumbass. Did you wait too long?"

"Not really, like half an hour?"

I  look at Trish for confirmation. She still seems under the weather, but nods.

"Well, let's get the equipment ready, dweeb. Get your ass over here"

"Straight to it, huh?"

"I don't like the idea of making you wait longer"

"A'ight"

I follow behind, giving Trish a sideways glance as I walk past her.  Lucy leads me to the good old recording booth and disappears for a few seconds, returning with a guitar and a sheet of paper with the tabs, all in very precise handwriting. I check it, trying to imagine the sound and the movement of my fingers needed to bring it to life. I set the instrument on my lap and lightly tap the strings with my digits, a ghost of a song, the exact amount of feedback I need. Fang watches over me for the few seconds it takes my mind to get into the zone. Her hand stops mine as she connects the cord to the guitar. I stare at her a bit too intensely for a second, surprised by the interruption.

"All set, you ready, Anon?"

"Yes ma'am" I nod.

"We'll do guitar first and then vocals. But feel free to sing if you want"

"Got it... You'll tell me when to start?"

"Yup. You can start as soon as I lower my hand" she lifts her right arm and places her left hand over the spacebar of a laptop connected to a mixer and what looks like a sound interface.

The moment she gives me the signal I start playing the short melody. As simple as it is, it feels slightly alien, certainly not something I wrote while completely sober. Once the meager forty seconds it lasts are over, she gives me a thumbs up.

"Alright. Got it. Do it again"

"Again?"

"We want multiple takes, just to be sure" Fang looks oddly professional, dedicated.

"Ok"

We continue for a few more tries until she's satisfied with the results. The moment the instrumentals are done, I get directed to sing. The silver-gray lady hands me some headphones that are supposed to play the guitar tracks and I get to it, trying my best not to sound like a cat in a blender. The music is just low enough for me to hear myself and control my voice accordingly.

Much to my surprise, my performance is met by an approving nod from the ptero; it even catches Trish's curiosity as she tries stealing glances from the couch without us noticing. A few more rehearsals later and we're done with the vocals.

The piece is short and simple but even considering that I'm surprised by how streamlined the whole process was.

I take off the headphones and walk over to Fang to check the recordings. They're all clean, thankfully. Part of me still can't understand how Reed manages to get such a clear sound with this kind of equipment and messy setup.

"Aaaand done. That was faster than I expected, 'non. No need for any more second takes"

"Hey, what can I say, I'm a natural"

"Singing maybe, you still need to work on that guitar"

"...I don't play electric?"

"Fair. Where did you learn to sing like that, by the way?"

"Mom got me in the choir when I was in elementary school. Spare me the jokes"

She chuckles, covering her snout.

"Alright alright. 'K, let's get to editing. That's your realm"

She grabs the laptop and leads me back to her room.

I get comfortable on a nearby beanbag as Fang hands me the computer, choosing to lie on her bed while I work. I waste no time in checking each take, each track, for any insignificant imperfections. The pile of feathers stares at me while I scan the fruits of our short labor. A few more replays later I finally pick the best sounding parts of the recordings, and set to work on the little mixing needed.

A minute into editing, Fang cuts through the silence, her interruption reminding me to blink.

"Focused?"

"A bit"

"Can you talk while editing?"

"With you? Yeah"

"Cool... You know, I had fun yesterday"

"Huh? Yeah, same, your old folks were surprisingly chill"

She pauses, turning her head away from me to stare at the ceiling.

"Hate to admit it, but I've missed that, you know? The whole familiar... ambience?"

"I get you. It's uhh— you know when you smell something that takes you back to when you were a kid? That" I try recalling my own parents and that weird homely feeling.

"Mhm. You know, Naser has been talking with me about moving back in; he probably told you"

"Moving back in? What for?" I ask, feigning ignorance about the topic.

"Safety, education , that sort of thing"

"Education?"

That one's new.

"College" she tells me in a weird tone, almost doubting her own words.

I squint and stare at the screen, looking at the editing program's menu, as if it had the right words for me to say.

"...Not a bad idea, to be honest"

"I want to test the waters a bit more, though, to make sure it wasn't a fluke"

"Mmm. Good call. Yesterday was a bit... Awkward? I guess?"

"Yeah. I just don't know if it's because I haven't visited in so long or something else. Gotta make sure"

"You got a game plan or something?"

"Sorta. I'll try and visit more often along with Naser for the next few weeks. Before I make a decision"

"Reasonable approach. And what if you do decide to move back in?"

"Well... I'll help Trish and Reed look for a smaller place outside of Skin row, first of all, and then move"

"Plenty of two bedroom apartments in Little Trodoon"

"There is one more thing I'm a bit iffy about"

It doesn't take much for my brain to put two and two together.

"Let me guess, the band?"

"Yes" her answer is crystal clear.

"Well, you can still play and record together without living under the same roof, can't you?"

"We won't get as many chances to practice; Trish probably won't like that"

"Maybe not. But you got plenty of practice already. The only thing I could see you missing is regular live shows. But that's not such a big loss"

"What?" The tone of her question is enough warning for me to carefully measure my next words.

"I mean... you guys got a great response from that one song you posted, didn't you? Way more exposure"

"Mmm. Can't argue with that. It still feels weird to consider changing our approach after so long"

"Maybe it's a matter of habit. It feels weird to do something new, right?" I shrug.

"Mmm..."

Our conversation ends as Fang takes a deep dive into her own mind. I can almost hear those gears turning. I get back to my task, and after forty minutes of comfortable quiet between us I'm satisfied with the end result. It's just a demo, but it's enough for now. I poke Lucy's wing to draw her attention. She stretches as she gets up; what little sunlight leaks through the windows gives her silver feathers a mesmerizing glow.

"How is it looking, dweeb?"

"It could need some more work. But I'm done for now" I nod toward the screen.

"Let's hear it. Here" she hands me an aux connected to the small amp that doubles as a nightstand next to her bed. I plug it into the computer and press play. Neither of us says a word as the sound inundates the room for less than a minute. Once the music dies down, I look at her, waiting for her opinion. Fang stares at me with a weird expression on her face.

"Hearing it completed is a bit different. What were you thinking of when you wrote it?"

"I don't know? But what do you think of the audio quality?"

"The mixing is great, Anon. It's just that the whole song feels a bit... Um, somber"

"Well, it's not like I listen to upbeat pop. My music taste probably had a hand in its tone"

"Could be that. You listen to divorced dad rock"

"Ouch"

"I'm not judging"

"Sure you ain't. Well, the song is done. What do you wanna do now?"

"How about just hanging out? Relax a bit"

"I'm in. Next week's gonna be a clusterfuck, again. I'll take all the rest I can" I tell her as I close the laptop and leave it under the bed, next to its charger.

With the main reason for my visit out of the way, we spend the rest of the day lazing around, watching movies and talking about anything that comes to mind. At lunch Fang almost burns a few feathers while cooking due to a grease fire, accidentally smacking me in the face with her wings as she turns around in a panic.  We're saved by a newly arrived Reed who throws the weird concoction from his thermos at the fire, somehow putting it out and producing an odd-smelling yellow smoke. I've learned enough by now not to question it.

The pink raptor takes the chance to listen to the song after eating, commenting on something about a reference to old blues and giving me a thumbs up, before leaving shortly after to eat dinner at his parents'.

We wrap things up a few hours later, with Fang seeing me off but not before giving me a USB stick with the recordings and the final result of our work; I thank her and head back home.

I'm back by early afternoon, feeling almost ready to deal with the packed agenda I myself chose. It hasn't been long, but the shop has gotten popular enough for Mia and I to be at our limit as far as workload goes. That's even more reason for me to put in the extra effort and get the money for the equipment needed for a third mechanic. The surplus revenue of three or so weeks of labor at the current pace should cover all expenses, or so I hope.

And so begins the arduous process of following a strict schedule to stay on track. The only way for me to keep up with demand. It just so happens to coincide with Fang's shenanigans with her family, so our contact is almost completely limited to texting and the occasional short meeting. Word from Naser lets me know that things are going smoothly for now, a relief.

Each day goes by the same way.

Get up. Eat. Shower. Drive. Work. Drive. Eat. Clean. Sleep.

Over and over I repeat the same mundane steps as the days blend together. Even the repairs start to look the same. Manufacturers might be many, but most parts are similar and points of failure tend to be not all that different.

Lunch with Mia and the occasional call from my parents combined with texting my old buddies and Fang give some flavor to each day. By the start of the second week I have my route to and from work memorized to the most minuscule detail, like an F1 pilot optimizing each lap to improve his time. I would like to speed to have some fun, but traffic makes it impossible. My bank account grows as my patience diminishes.

It's during Wednesday of the third and last week that an awful storm hits Volcaldera, resulting in me getting home twelve minutes later than usual due to some fallen trees blocking the road. The weather strikes almost without warning, going from a light drizzle to drops so heavy they sting. I stare out of the window with a cancer stick hanging from my mouth. It's hailing now; I barely manage to get the truck in the garage in time. I wonder for a moment if Mia had a chance to do the same as the smoke rises in front of me; just imagining her reaction at her baby getting all dented makes me shiver.

Absorbed in thought, I fail to notice a rhythmic sound in the background. I focus again, trying to find its source, perhaps just the ice hitting the ground. But no, it's knocking, at my front door. I put out the cigarette with my thumb and go check who my unexpected visitor is, a neighbor maybe.

Looking through the peephole all I see is dull silver.

What's she doing here?

I swing the door open, startling the soaked figure on the other side. I don't even bother with a greeting, inviting her in immediately.

"Come on in. I'll get you a towel. Give me a sec"

"T-t-thanks"

I rush to my room and grab a towel along with a hoodie and some loose jeans.

"A warm shower first wouldn't be a bad idea"

"A-aha"

She grabs the clothes and rushes to the bathroom, leaving a small plastic bag on the table.

Curious, I decided to take a look. Inside there are guitar strings and some custom picks with the image of a flaming dino skull on them. I mentally map the area until I remember a small store nearby with a bunch of old instruments on display. Pieces that have been on those shelves long enough to claim their own well-deserved thick coat of dust. But the business somehow stays afloat.

Fang comes out ten minutes later, her scales looking more teal than pale, their proper color.

"Better now?"

"Yup. That was awful. I didn't expect the storm to pick up like that. Sorry for dropping by without telling you. But I couldn't really use my phone"

"You can show up any time; it's no problem"

"Do you mind if I stay the night?" The way she sheepishly asks is surprisingly cute.

"Not at all. What were you doing out during a storm anyway?"

"It wasn't raining that badly when I left home. And I needed some new strings"

"It caught me off guard too; I barely made it in time to keep the truck's paint intact. I do not have insurance for that kind of damage"

She laughs.

"That's your main concern?"

"Duh"

It seems like Fang is about to say something but interrupts herself after she glances down at the pile of clothes she's carrying.

"Oh- crap, I forgot. Do you have, like, tools and oil to clean guns?"

"Do you really think that just because I'm a vet I have that?... I do, but not because I'm a grunt"

She rolls her eyes at the butchered reference and I go to the kitchen to get my range kit from one of the drawers.

"Whatcha' need it for?" I ask as I put it on the counter.

Fang doesn't say a word, instead producing a holster with a snub-nosed .38 revolver.

I whistle as she lifts the piece.

"Gift from your dad I take it"

"How did you know?"

"He gave you the most stereotypical detective gun. I feel part of a noir film already"

"Fuck off, Nonny. It's comfy to carry"

"Hey I'm not criticizing. It's pretty nice"

She looks down at it.

"And it's also soaking wet. That's why I asked for..." She points at the container in my hands.

"Help yourself"

She smiles at me and opens up the little plastic case holding all the tools I use for basic maintenance, quickly setting to work. She's surprisingly meticulous, even with such a simple iron.

"You've been doing this for a while?"

"Dad took me to the range for the first time when I was ten" the ptero explains, without taking her eyes off her hands.

"Neat" another positive point for her in my book.

It doesn't take her more than a quarter of an hour to finish, and the chunk of metal is back in its holster. Her damp clothes hang over the heater as we sit down to try and think of something to make for dinner with what little remains of the day.

Incapable of making up our minds we end up preparing omelets with extra cheese. Fang, of course, obliterates the half bag of nuggies I forgot in the back of the freezer. I'm still not sure how she managed to find them.

A few bites into dinner she says something out of the ordinary.

"I'll get going early tomorrow. I promise not to make much noise"

"Nah don't worry. I'm a heavy sleeper, and I wake up early anyway. Why the hurry, though?" I ask her after following my last bite with some OJ.

Breakfast at 10pm, what a life.

"Mom insisted I go with her to a neighborhood farmers market or something like that"

"Huh. Wouldn't have expected you to tag along"

"Me neither, honestly, but I agreed without thinking"

"And now you can't really back off?"

"I could, but it would be breaking my word. And mom looked really happy about it, too"

"So much for the all-black clothes; you're a softie at heart"

She squints and points her fork at me, menacingly.

"Watch it"

I just chuckle and get up, leaving my empty plate in the sink.

"Hey, not to be a buzz kill or nothing. But I'll go collapse in my bed"

"That rain zapped away whatever little will I had. I'll go to bed in a bit. G'night"

"Night"

The next day I'm dragged back to the land of the living by the tune playing from my phone. There has never been a faster way of hating your favorite song than setting it as an alarm.

I curse old me and carry myself to the kitchen, almost robotically, the same way I have been doing for the last twenty days.

Normally I would have stumbled or shoulder checked something in my half-awake state by now, but I've stopped leaving things out of place thanks to precise repetition.

Aside from the background static in my brain, there is a list of things to do today: first, eat. I make a simple PB&J sandwich and brew coffee. I start eating, standing in front of the sink, leaning my weight on one hand and using the free one to switch between my cup and the bread.

Looking at the couch I see Fang is gone. The covers and pillow I gave her are neatly folded and piled on one side. Seems like she wasn't joking when she said 'early'. But there is something amiss: a flicker of light on the TV stand catches my attention. She must have really left in a hurry and forgot her revolver in the process.

Pleasantly surprised by the change of my morning routine, I decide to check it out more closely this time to satisfy my curiosity and give my mind some kind of stimulus. I walk toward it, mug in hand, each step slow and sluggish as I recount my tasks for the day in the background.

Did I order those parts we needed? Fuck.

I take it from the little holster and carefully examine its surface; it seems to be stock, no modifications, and it looks slightly worn yet well maintained. Leaving my drink on the table to my left, I use both my hands to carefully pop open the cylinder.  Pushing the extraction rod with my left hand, I catch all the bullets and take a look at them. It's a rather odd array: three pairs. Hollow point, regular copper jacket and what looks like two steel core ones. I stare at the unusual combination, trying to puzzle together why you would load it like that. As my mind scans all my memories for movies to use as reference for my daydreaming, I load back one of the full metal jacket bullets, the most 'normal' one, without thinking. The action of my muscle memory takes me out of what would have been the plot of a blockbuster cop flick. I stand there with my eyes fixated on the little piece of brass, and an idea pops in my head. I close the cylinder and leave all the other five cartridges next to the TV. Carefully pressing it against the side of my forearm, I move the gun away from me in a crescent motion, spinning its cylinder.

In for a penny, in for a pound. That espresso wasn't strong enough.

I aim at my left hand, making sure that the line of fire aligns with the pillar behind it, so it can catch the lead if the gun does fire. Risky, but not deadly. Filling my lungs until they're about to burst, I pull the trigger; its movement feels painfully slow as a familiar sensation rushes through me, waking me up completely. For a moment I'm hyper aware of my surroundings: the faucet dripping because I forgot to close it all the way after cooking, the cold metal sapping away my palm's body heat, the faint sound of water draining; and then, click. Not loud at all but enough to drown everything else in my perception, a dry metallic snap, followed by nothing. Background noise again.

I let go of the breath I was holding, and the scale of my stupidity dawns on me. The reasonable part of my brain goes into damage control. I open the cylinder again and load it just like it was before. I thank whatever superior power that made that an empty chamber when I dry fired. As good as my relationship with my neighbors might be, I don't feel like explaining a negligent discharge to them, especially not at 6 AM.

Man I woke up retarded today, Jesus Christ.

I shake my head and put the little six shooter back in its holster, picking up the whole thing to store it in my safe until Fang swings by to pick it up. As I start turning, my peripheral vision sees something in the hallway, standing there without moving. I almost snap my neck as I turn to look, but it's just a familiar Ptero rather than a threat.

"Mornin'. Here, I thought you left it and decided to check its state. It might be old, but damn it still looks great" I compliment the chunk of metal and hand it over to her after closing the distance with a few casual steps.

She snatches it from me in an instant. Her lightning-fast reaction surprises me. She stares, intently so; her pupils thin, honey mixed with burning dirt. Her eyes focused on me and me alone; it's unnerving.

"Fang? You okay" I ask, now confused and a tidy bit worried.

She doesn't answer right away, choosing instead to let the silence linger for longer as her wings extend.

"Anon, what were you doing?"

"Eating breakfast?"

"After"

"Checking the revolver I thought you forgot? I promised I washed my hands, alright? There is no butter on it" I show her and she focuses on one.

"Don't play dumb, I saw what you did" she says in such a severe tone; it feels almost accusatory, but there is more concern than anger in it.

It takes me a moment but I finally realize what she's talking about. It's like I automatically defaulted to my usual day and ignored my little, and potentially colossal, fuckup. Before I can get a hold of myself, my face drops and I can feel my facial muscles moving unconsciously to reflect my instinctive emotional response.

"Oh. Shit. Uhh" Cornered, I'm left a loss for words.

Chapter Text

“Uh” I try to force words out, but I got caught with my guard way down.

Fang holds her gaze as she gets closer.

“What were you thinking?”

What was I thinking?

Questioning myself, I stop to consider what to do. On one hand, I could brush it off again, and although she might be relentless, I’m just as stubborn. But that option leaves me with a weird and unsavory aftertaste. I let out a sigh and draw breath again, deep enough to fill my lungs until they’re about to burst.

“Look. I— I don’t know. I sort of just did it. Out of the blue, with the momentum”

She looks dumbfounded.

“Are you serious? You thought it was a good idea to blow off your hand?” Now she's pacing around the room.

“No—no, I didn’t really consider that possibility—look, it’s fine. Even if it happened, the pillar behind would have caught the bullet. No one else would've gotten hurt” I offer her some of my logic for my actions.

“YOU would have gotten hurt, dumbass! You didn’t think about that?” Her exasperation is starting to bubble up.

“Yeah? It would have been just an injury, and it’s not my dominant hand” It seems obvious to me, but Fang clearly doesn’t agree.

“Just?!— I don’t want to see you crippled, moron. Even if it is your off hand. And I doubt your parents or friends want to, either" She rubs what would be the bridge of her nose if she were human.

"What’s going on, Anon?”

“Nothing is going on. I did it because of a stupid impulse, to wake myself up, maybe. Something like that” As I talk, the original question I asked myself is followed by another one; a good part of me doesn’t know what to answer when it comes to why I am always in such a hurry.

“If it were nothing, you wouldn’t be doing shit like that. Sit down, think” It’s not a suggestion.

I’m going to be late.

“You’re not going to work” A final sentence, impossible to appeal.

I curse myself for slipping.

“I have things to do; there is plenty of—“

“Is a client breathing down your neck? Is the shop going to disappear if you don’t go?” She scolds me with an angry yet reasonable interrogation.

Both are good questions. I’ve never had issues with customers, and we’re already ahead of schedule; not going today wouldn’t even set me back. She’s right; I’m not sure how I missed that. It's what I get for running the proverbial rat race.

A big blanket of feathers takes me out of my momentary stupor and pushes me down, forcing me to sit.

“Hold on. Let me call Mia first” I try to appease her with some compromise, accepting the de facto day off she ‘offered’.

Fang's eyes narrow, but she doesn’t stop me. I phone my only worker, and she picks up almost immediately after a single ring.

[“Hello?”]

[“Hey, no work today; take the day off”]

[“Oookay, did something happen?”]

The ball of feathers nearby looks at me with curious, cautious eyes.

[“No, no, we’re too far ahead and we have to wait for parts anyway; so there's no point in pushing it”]

[“Alright? See you tomorrow, then”]

[“Yeah, later”]

[“Later”]

I hang up and pocket my smartphone. The end of the call leaves me alone with a concerned ptero and truths about myself that I don't really want to know.

I try to speak first, but she stops me with a raised hand. Fang collects herself, closing her eyes for a moment to calm down before speaking.

“You’ve been doing this for a while” She says as if stating a fact.

“Doing what?”

“I thought it was a one-off, maybe you were still adjusting to being here, something like that” It’s not a question; she’s monologuing. “But it keeps happening. This, that fight, whatever you were doing with that strawberry tryhard outside of town”

Where the fuck did that come from?

“How do you k—“

She interrupts me.

“I eavesdropped on Dad talking with Mom about it; they’re not used to having me around. I didn't hear much, though”

“It was a race” I explain, which earns me a raised eyebrow.

“Potentially bad enough for the commissioner to get involved personally?” She adds.

Huh, so he did mean that about the accidents, shit.

“What are you trying to get to here?” I'm not sure where she’s steering the conversation.

“Anon, have you been to a doctor or something since you got discharged? You weren’t like this before”

“Yeah, who do you think patched me up?”

“Not that kind” She seems annoyed by my attempt at a joke.

Oh. Pot calling the kettle black over here.

“Me having problems doesn’t take away from yours. Just answer me, please”

Another mistake on my part after forgetting how close she was.

“After my first discharge, yes, we had a psychiatrist at my last gig. Smart guy”

“Ok, did he say anything to you?”

“We didn’t talk that much; he did suggest trying things like fishing and camping once I got back. Boring stuff”

“Calm stuff”

“Your point?”

“You’re always in a rush, under pressure; it’s odd. What have you been doing since you came to Volcaldera?”

“Working mostly, keeping myself busy”

“See, that’s what I mean. It’s not good for you, not all the time” She points at my face.

“And what do you want me to do? Quit? I own the place”

“No, I don’t know. But we’ll figure something out. For now, just try taking it easy. You could use a change of pace" She looks at me, then around my apartment, trying to find something as she stops to think "Let’s go shopping with my Mom"

“…” I stop to consider it, but don’t get a chance to articulate.

“It’ll save me from being her cargo mule” Fang smiles, trying to lighten the mood after confronting me.

Her idea is not all that bad; it certainly beats staying inside for the rest of the day. I can't think of what else to do with a whole free day.

“Alright, I’m in”

“We’ll have to stop by my place; I want to get some fresh clothes”

I nod and go to grab the essentials before leaving. Wallet, phone, keys.

We drive to Skinrow and then make our way to pick up Ms. Aaron. I keep recalling each step since I got out of that bus a few months back. At first, my frantic pace was reasonable for a new business, but that’s behind me now; we’re well established enough. It could be force of habit, but I’m sure a part of me enjoys the looming pressure of always sprinting full speed through life, even to the detriment of my health.

I look to my right at the monochromatic woman next to me; I like her idea; it wouldn’t hurt to try and at least take in the sights.

Fast-lane living. What an odd curse.

I mumble as we reach the suburbs and park in front of her parents' house. Samantha is already waiting outside with a big hat on her head to keep her out of the sun. She doesn’t seem surprised to see me there, nor displeased; quite the opposite. She makes a beeline for the truck before we can even get out, greeting us after opening the back door and getting in nonchalantly.

“Good morning, Anon” She looks ready to go, energetic as ever.

“Hi, Mrs. Aaron," I answer, looking at her through the rearview mirror before turning to Fang, who shrugs.

“I told her you’re coming with us on our way. It saves us time”

And I’m the one who's always in a hurry?

“Right. Well, point the way” Their uncanny coordination leaves me a bit awestruck, but there is no point in arguing here.

Fang gives me her phone with the maps app open and a marked location. I look at it for a few seconds until I can trace the fastest path from where we are and give it back to her.

“I’m glad Lucy convinced you to tag along on your day off”

“Uh, it’s no problem, ma’am. I’m generally free in the morning, anyway" A fat lie, but telling her the truth would turn the mood sour.

What’s left of the short trip is filled with a conversation between the two pale ladies as they chat about a rather long list of veggies, not exactly what I expected from carnivores.

As we arrive, I can see a small tide of people flowing across many stands. The place is a large field almost on the outskirts of the city. It’s well-kept, with wood shavings covering most of the dirt paths that separate the rows.

Once we jump out of the truck and walk what little distance remains, I get a better look at the details; each kiosk is simple, but decorated with small signs to let people know exactly what they’re selling or who they are. There are plenty of last names of nearby family farms.

I follow closely behind as they move from one booth to the other, picking something, buying it, and adding it to the ever-growing number of bags I’m holding. I get the justified feeling that they’re really taking advantage of the fact that I’m here to go big before going home. Regardless of how much they eat, it already looks like enough for a month, and it has been only twenty minutes.

My body goes into autopilot mode, and I start to think, to imagine. Nothing in particular. Disconnected ideas that go nowhere swarm my brain to fill the empty space left by passive shopping. I stare at two birds fighting in a nearby tree; it’s a very funny display of ‘violence’.

As we get closer to a particularly large table, a voice pulls me up from underneath the waves of daydreaming.

“—non. Anon, hey!” Fang flaps her wings in front of my face, and I look down.

“Guh?” My vision refocuses, and I scan my surroundings. A familiar shade of orange stands in front of us.

“She’s talking to you, dweeb”

“Oh, sorry. I was thinking about something” I look toward where Fang is signaling; it’s an aquilops.

“Rosa?” Recognition kicks in immediately.

“Hey A-non!”

It takes me a moment to react; she doesn’t seem bothered by my absentmindedness.

“Hey… Didn’t expect to see you here; sorry for being so… distracted?”

“It’s okay. I take it you didn’t get much sleep?” She asks as she puts whatever Samantha bought in a plastic bag, addressing me with surprising familiarity and a hint of genuine concern.

I don’t look that bad; give me a break.

“No, well, yes— It was a weird morning. What are you doing here, family business?” I try to change the topic; getting scolded once was enough.

“Si! Mama generally takes care of it; I’ve been learning the ropes”

“Neat, I honestly didn’t expect to see you again so soon. It was you at the ice cream shop a while back, right?”

“Stella and I, mhm” Rosa nods.

“You guys kept in touch? How is she doing?” Her enthusiasm is contagious; I had forgotten how friendly she was.

“She’s doing well, busy with college. Maybe we could catch up” She says to me and stares, waiting.

“Sure, uhh, I changed numbers, hold up” I take out my phone and hand it to her after waiting a bit too long to catch her cue.

Rosa types her digits and returns it to me.

“There, listo”

“Cool”

She hands me the bag, adding to the bulk.

“Yeah, we could do something this weekend” Fang adds, with a bit of urgency in her tone.

"That works for me, and probably for Stella too. I'll tell her" The Rexican answers.

Before I can add anything else, I’m dragged away by Sam to a nearby table covered in cabbages while Fang decides to stay behind to talk with Rosa. I stare from a distance, surprised by their chatting. I didn’t expect them to be on such good terms, but then again, they didn’t talk that much outside of campus beautification.

My vision shifts, and I stare at the spheres of leaves in front of me.

Cabbages. Cabbages? It's almost spring already?

“They’re a bit off-season” Mrs. Aaron comments.

Now I know that a keen ear runs in the family. Not having to limit my own inner monologue is turning out to be both liberating and slightly damning.

Oh well.

We get back to the house an hour before high noon, and I stay to catch a meal with the family. My pride is too weak to argue against Samantha’s cooking. Ripley is neither friendly nor antagonistic; Naser is in high spirits for some reason, and the remaining two pterosaurs look content enough.

By early afternoon I’m back at my place after dropping off Fang at her apartment. What remains of the day turns into a feverish swirl of thoughts as I deal with overdue chores.

Friday rolls around quicker than expected; the last day of busting my ass at work. The parts we needed arrive without an issue, despite the delivery being a bit rough. The day seems to unfold like usual, save for a few odd looks from a bright red Parasaur.

We finish an hour early and head home to enjoy the weekend. I grab a snack as soon as I’m through the door, a big bag of potato chips. Halfway through it, I’m interrupted by an overly enthusiastic knock at the front door.

“Coming, coming. Hold up”

Again, a show of light gray obscures my view of the peephole. It’s really becoming routine at this point.

Fang walks in without any verbal greeting, only a toothy smile. She is carrying a laptop and a box. My questions are quickly answered as she puts everything down near the TV and takes out a projector, a laptop, and some cables without uttering a word. I stare in amusement at what she might be planning.

Movie night?

“And good evening to you too, Fang” I say in the most obnoxious tone I can muster.

“Can it, dweeb. I prepared something for you last night” Harsh words with a playful tone.

“Where did you get that?” I ask, pointing at the box.

“I borrowed from Naser, not that he knows that”

“So technically, you stole it”

“It was for a good cause”

“That being?”

“Getting your head out of the gutter”

Curious, I sit down on the couch and wait for Fang to get done with her setup. After five minutes, she has everything ready. What looks like a slideshow is projecting on the wall near the window, opposite where I am, and slightly offset to the left.

Satisfied with the results, she turns off the lights, walks up to the couch, and drops herself next to me. After a few adjustments, she finds a good position for her wings, and with the projector’s remote in her hand, starts the presentation. It opens up with a map of the county, intriguing me even more.

“Fang?” I say, not knowing where she's going.

“Hush. Look. That’s the city on the left and these… are a few nearby national parks” She presses a button and advances to the next slide, with highlights over the names of a few places.

“What about them?” I still don’t get it.

“These ones allow hunting and fishing; the ones in blue you can camp in…” She starts explaining the details of what could only be called points of interest near the city.

A half hour passes as Fang goes through a couple of dozen images, each well annotated. In the dimly lit room, I feel compelled to focus and take in the information; she seems passionate about explaining it all.

Miscellaneous activities, places to do sports, camping locations, and a dozen or more things that I wouldn’t mind doing to fill the empty spaces of my routine. It’s all well cataloged, obsessively so, enough to remind me of a pair of pink-framed glasses.

“Remember what you told me that the therapist recommended? This is it. I prepared a list for you” She sounds proud as she grabs her phone and sends me a very long message with more details.

Huh, that's rather thoughtful.

“A list? Why?”

I scroll through the message, surprised by how thorough it is, to the point of listing prices for specifics like renting a kayak.

“For you to check out, instead of tempting fate” The way she says it highlights how obvious the answer to my question was.

“How did you put this together so fast? I told you about that yesterday”

“Yeah, it was more than enough; just a matter of focusing on it”

"Well, shit, thanks. I promise to check them out if I get some free time; I mean, I’ll make some time to go”

“That’s better. Good, do so” Fang says, staring with uncomfortable intensity as she moves her head a bit closer.

“I mean it, sheesh”

“You better. I'll be keeping tabs on you, Mr. Mouse” She relents, backing off and lazily extending her arm towards the coffee table to drop the remote.

“So, are you staying over or…?” Her sitting next to me reminds me of the fact that my fridge right now consists of eggs and a few onions, a testament to how little I’ve done outside of work these last two weeks.

“I don’t want to impose; I just popped in. Do you want me to?” She sounds somewhat self conscious.

I nod a bit too enthusiastically, and Fang lights up.

“We have to go get some food, though” I tell her, glancing at the kitchen.

“Pizza from Moe’s?”

“Sure”

“We could put that to good use. Do you want to connect your laptop?” She nods at the projector.

“Ehh… I have to find it first”

“K’, I’ll order while you search for it. What do you want?”

“Pepperoni, I’m a simple man”

She gives me a thumbs up as she makes the call. And I go to my room to try and find the computer among the chaos of messy clothes and random items. It takes me almost fifteen minutes, all for it to be in my backpack. I sigh and go back to the living room with it under my arm and the charger hanging from my neck.

“It’ll be here in ten, and I got us something extra” She says as soon as I’m out of the hallway.

“Neat. What do you wanna watch?” I ask as I open the browser after connecting the HDMI cable.

“Let me see” Fang goes from sitting on her side against the armrest of the couch to lying on her stomach, giving her a better view of the screen.

“That one”

“Aight’ “ I click on it, and while the movie is going through the names of the studios behind it, I get up and grab the side of the couch, lifting it enough to move it and get a good viewing angle.

“Did you end up texting Rosa?”

I try to recall, but I’m pretty sure I forgot.

“No, crap. I kinda feel like a dick now”

Grabbing my phone from the table, I shot her a quick message before going back to the movie.

Anon: [Hey Rosa, it’s Anon]

The food arrives in time, two pizza boxes, a smaller one with a calzone, and beer. I don’t even bother with plates, too tempted by the smell of food that hits me the moment I decide to peek to see which pizza is which. I straight-up inhale a slice; it tastes as good as ever. By the end of the movie we’re left with some leftovers that we couldn’t finish, so we wash down dinner with plenty of booze. A nice start to a relaxed Friday night.

Before I get up to grab another drink, Fang is already making her way toward the fridge; she comes back with two and opens them before handing one to me.

“Cheers”

“Cheers. So, what's next?”

“I picked the last one; it's your turn, Anon."

I shrug and start scrolling, looking for something suitable. It is taking longer than I expected; so much content, and most of it is either boring or already watched one too many times. I switch to another page, and something taps my shoulder; Fang is poking me with the can I left on the couch.

“It’s getting warm”

“Right, thanks” I grab it, take a long sip, and leave it on the table as I keep searching.

“While you’re at it, I wanted to ask you something. What was that about taking things slow?”

“What?” I half-turn my head toward her, switching between looking at her and the screen as I scroll.

“What you said at the park, remember?”

“That? Oh. I mean, it’s kinda obvious, right?” I tell her as I empty what’s left of my beer.

“No, not really”

I have had plenty of time to condense my thoughts on this, to be precise with my answers.

“Let’s be honest for a second, Fang. Sure, we had chemistry, but our first relationship wasn’t only short; it was a mess”

I can see her face going through a few emotions, but in the end, she softly nods a few times.

“So you wanted to test the waters?”

“Pretty much, I’ve changed; you too. I didn’t want things to go down the gutter again over rushed choices”

She chuckles.

“You’re one to talk about rushing”

“Yeah, yeah. I know”

“And what’s your verdict, dweeb?”

“Honestly, I don’t see a problem anymore, if there ever was one” I tell her as I finally make a choice and click on a mini series before getting back on the couch.

“Me neither” She stares.

I stare back, focusing on one of her diamond-shaped pupils. I keep forgetting that they’re not round, or maybe I just haven’t looked at her from this close in a while. Fang doesn’t stop drilling a hole through my head with her gaze, and I’ve stalled for time long enough.

I close the distance and skin meets scale. She doesn’t react instantly, making me think that I’ve misread the situation, but after a second she straight-up jumps me, dispelling any fears.

At this point we both know we’re past most formalities. I had forgotten most of the logistics needed for this, but just like riding a bicycle, it doesn’t take long for muscle memory to take over.

We break apart to breathe some air as the intro to the first episode ends; I lean back and Fang lets herself fall next to me.

“Do you think it cancels out since we ate the same thing?” I sperg out and speak my mind out loud.

She snorts.

“Gross. Not like we would care after all those drinks”

We find a comfy position to watch the show after some adjustments. I look at the clock on the wall; not even 10PM, the night is still plenty young.

Ten minutes pass before my phone buzzes a few times; I try my best to reach it without moving out of the sweet spot it took me so long to find. My fingers barely touch the corner of the screen, and after painstakingly sliding it my way, I finally catch it as it falls off the table.

“Who is it?” She perks up.

I look at the notification.

“Huh, it’s Rosa and an unknown number”

Fang rests her head back down as I unlock my phone.

Let’s see.