Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

\Anon/

... Hmm, it's pretty below average today; I should have grabbed the thicker jacket. 

Guiding the buttons of my drab green jacket through the proper holes, I quickly try to trap some heat into myself as I walk to school. 

I've gathered a lot of courage for today, made sure I've showered, brushed my teeth extra clean, and, hell, even put on some of my father's cologne I nabbed from his drawer in the bathroom. I never expected I'd come to this realization; it hit me with its weight all too quickly last night: I'm gay. It's still shocking when I think about it. 

Luckily, the internet was all too kind to me-well, a few specific sites were. That's the forum for you; it'll either chew you up and spit you out into a million different places, or you may just find some comfort. I'm glad I found the latter. I'd have to thank a few people more than others, especially that Snootcord group chat I was added to. 

A soft whistle brings me out of my thoughts, and my eyes shift forward as I catch a few blades of grass wafting away in the lightly howling wind before me. 

A subtle chill rises at the base of my spine. 

Reaching into my jeans pocket, I manage to fish out my phone. An older model, as Father is a staunch conspiracist about newer phones being listened to by foreign countries. I can't say he's all wrong; Snootgram definitely sells my data. 

Before I get sidetracked any longer, I thumb the abused screen to the weather app... 

55 degrees... in May of all months? This is North Dakota; you've lived here more than in any other state in your life, Anon. You should know it can get worse. 

I’ve definitely come to love this state more than the others, and fathers contract literally had him here for all of my High School life. I’ve found a comfortable rhythm here; if we stayed in Old York I would’ve definitely gone insane, wasn’t even the city it was closer to Canada; at least it gets warm over here. 

—Simple walk, trying not to overthink—

Rock Bottom High…

Once, I thought this place to be a one-stop shop—do a year or two and leave, like every other one before it—but it lasted longer, longer than most schools. Hell, I’m about to do my senior year here once summer ends. 

Now, hopefully, I’ll have someone to spend it with.

Walking the halls, seeing familiar faces, students and teachers alike, I was never much of a socialite, but there are a few waves from lab partners and some English peers too. There’s a smirk passed onto me by my last year's science teacher, Mr. Edwards, as he passes by with tons of papers in his hands. 

No doubt I made a lasting impact there; the railgun incident…

Rounding myself to the first period, which in today's case is math. Honestly, I need to sue whoever thought it’d be a good idea to start school with math at 8 in the morning; finding my seat at the back of the class, I unceremoniously sit down and un-pocket my phone. 

Scrolling, scrolling… there we go! Found some goober to bait on the electrical panel forum. This’ll last me until the bell. 

—A few more mind-numbing classes—

Stealing my breath, I try to hone in on my thoughts: how I’ll come out today. Just to the few friends I have, I know this town is a bit sketchy for teens like me, given the backwardness of it all. Triumph, North Dakota, the Deep South part of it, is as red as hell. 

My eyes gaze over the hordes of peers shoving themselves into the cafeteria; a few cheers and rowdy yells break the atmosphere. Honestly, I’m thinking of skipping today’s Midwestern slop; the fear of throwing up is growing very present. 

I instead make my way to the table with the three others I’ve befriended over the years. First spotting Mike, he’s a short guy, definitely shorter than me, but he’s got Tony by a head, so we all rag on him the most. Speaking of Tony, he’s approaching from the left to slap his hand onto Mike’s back. 

“Hey guys, what’s the word?” 

Keeping the tone casual as I take my usual seat across from Tony, his greasy black hair stops shining as I block the light behind me. 

“Not much, man, just waiting for Friday; we’ll have all summer to fuck shit up.” 

Mike answered first, pumped up, of course. He brushes a loose strand of his long blonde hair away from his face. Damn Kurt Cobain look-alike... Tony joins in on the light tone by nudging Mike on the shoulder. 

“Yeah! Aye, Anon, you still got that dirt bike?”

Oh yeah, that old thing. I remember when Father bought it for me a few Christmases ago; I haven’t used it in a while. Hopefully, Mom hasn’t finally let the air out like she always threatened when I came home with bruises. 

“Sure do, it’s sitting in the garage collecting dust.” 

“We can’t let that keep happening, can we?” 

A heavy hand is slapped on my back, making me wince lightly; Johnny… Suddenly I’m extremely aware of my surroundings. Johnny placed his bag on the table, took his spot next to me, and tuned into the conversation. 

“Yeah, man, gotta show those fag’s we got something to brag about too!” 

“It’s decided then, Anon; you better get that bike up and running.” 

Mike and Tony both give me an impatient look of anticipation; they want a quick answer, something to satisfy them, but all I’m stuck on is how fast my heart is beating. The rapid thumps caused my brain to crash slightly. 

“Guys, plant your asses in those seats; Anon looks like he’s having a misfire.” 

What would I do without this man, Johnny? He’s been there since freshman year for me. 

“And what do you all plan to do with his bike anyhow? Play jackass?” 

A few chuckles passed around the table; it was funny, I have to admit. I’ll share in the laughter for now. I’m still a bit worried about what’s to come today, especially if that “fag” comment was any indication; granted, we all talked like that, a few hateful words, but they don’t mean it. I trust them.

—Casual conversation moment—

“Then I said, ‘It’s around the corner and up your ass, and the guard chased me all through the mall.’”

The table laughs at yet another one of Tony’s weekend escapades of aggravating local authorities wherever he may be. 

“Tony… one of these days, we’re going to see you on the news, man.” 

Johnny snorts as his comment fails to derail the smirk planted on Tony’s face; he’ll never learn, I suppose. Mike is just thumbing his phone for a bit, giving a few light sighs, then a big one as he slaps his hand to his forehead. 

“Awww, come on! Yo, they just pushed out that there’s going to be a presentation for the juniors on Friday—some ‘future senior’ bullcrap”

Really? On the half-day of all days? Wait, that’s actually not that bad; it’ll probably be the only thing we do all day. 

“If that’s the only thing we do all day, then there’s no use complaining, Mike.” 

Mike eyes me like I just stabbed him in the back and became a teacher… Ouch, man. 

“Anon’s right, bro; it’s a half day; I doubt they’d make us go to class after such an ‘important’ slideshow.” 

Thank you, Tony; you finally said something that makes sense today. Maybe stick to that critical thinking and less cop baiting. 

All eyes turn to me as a chuckle from Johnny lights up the table; I definitely said that out loud, huh? A hand is once again slapping my back as Johnny slightly leans on me with little to no pressure, laughing… I can get lost in it. 

“Damn, Anon, that was great, man.” 

“Yeah, yeah, make fun of me all you want, but I’ll eventually make one of them fall.” 

Tony points fingers at us, mean-mugging the whole table in a half pout. Sorry, bro, guess I’ve got humor. 

All my thoughts flow back to the real point of today: coming out. This is the perfect time to do it; everyone’s laughing and enjoying lunch, and Johnny just vouched for my accidental humor. I feel my hands intertwine on my lap, scratching my palms slightly as I begin to steady my breath. 

“Hey… before lunch ends, I have to tell the table something, something important.” 

Tony and Mike stop playing punchies with each other’s shoulders and side-eye each other before casting confused gazes at me, while Johnny has been staring at me this entire time with a look of concern. 

I feel my throat hitch, an awkward cough-like noise flows out of my mouth as I feel my chest tightening. Okay… okay, like we practiced. 

“I’m… I’ve been struggling with this for a long time. Confused and frustrated, not really understanding myself at all throughout my life. I just kind of feel like I’m floating in an empty ocean… but I found my island with you guys, with my electrical stuff. I haven’t been this social in years, and you guys know that. So I’ve got to be real with y’all. I’m gay.” 

Mike and Tony both snort, leading into a fit of laughter. Their looks of disbelief turn into smiles and tears, like my admission was a joke—a practical way of making them die on the table. I’m sure I poured my real emotions into that; there’s no way they think it’s a joke. I find myself turning my head, staring at Johnny, who’s looking disgusted and confused. The strangely entrancing hazel eyes of his dull into the same heat his frown indicates. I’m finding my heart beginning to pound at painful speeds, a deadly sweat developing and dripping from every pore. 

“He’s not joking.” 

Harsh, blunt, and angry are all words to describe Johnny’s tone. It’s beginning to frighten me a bit, especially with that football player physique he has. 

Shortly after those hate-filled words, the laughing stops. All eyes turn onto me, all seeming to go through stages of disbelief, confusion, realization, and then the final stage of hate. 

“You’re not lying, Anon?” 

“He’s not.” 

The table-wide confusion stops any amount of words I’d like to say, biting my tongue as I just shake my head up and down.

A cold and slimy substance makes its presence known on the side of my face; quickly I wipe it off as I side eye the culprit, its… oh god it’s Johnny.. 

“Can’t believe I was a friends with a closet fag” 

If Johnny had fangs, the toxin would be already dripping.

Another flash of cold is presented to me, this time by Tony splashing his remaining cup of soda all over me. Staring at me like I killed a family pet. A laugh I’m all to knowing of, now sounds horrible..

“W-why…” 

I can only manage the one word before a heavy shove. I’m knocked out of the bench seat and onto the cold linoleum floor; my backpack thankfully landed below my head. 

Mike stands over me, fists clenched… I get it. I get that you may not like this, but why begin to harm me? Fuck. I can feel my eyes welling up, salty tears streaming. Looking around, I’m met with stares from onlookers, all just standing and waiting. 

“Thought you were normal, man. Truth is—” 

A hand is leveled to my jacket collar, Mike’s hand white-knuckling around it; his ice-blue eyes turning deadly. 

“We all thought you were weird, maybe a bit out there, what with all the 4chan shit and anime rambling. Go figure you're a faggot too, disgusting. Isn’t your dad in the army? Clearly didn’t beat you straight enough.”

THWACK! 

It feels like my nose is set on fire; I’m tasting metal and iron dripping down my throat. Blood puddles on Mike’s knuckles as he reels back his arm for another punch. My eyes are burning; I can’t think straight as I brace for another impact… 

“Get your hands off me! He’s got a few more coming!” 

Mike's voice is becoming strained. The impact never came; instead, through blurred vision, I see him, Johnny, dragging Mike off of me. Both his arms are holding him back, one draped around his neck. I stumble on my arms as I try to level myself into a sitting position, lightheadedness taking over as the excess blood pools out of my nose; quickly I clutch my hands to the bleeding nostrils, covering my palms in my own iron. 

“All of you get to class! Nothing to see here, or do you all want to go where Mike’s going?!” 

The quick shuffling of feet catches my ears; the familiar voice of Mr. Edwards floods the room. Speaking of my ears, the sound of what can only be described as rushing water fills them. I messed up badly… But why did it blow up so quickly? 

I don’t know… I just don’t want to be me right now. 

I feel a pair of hands gently latch under my left arm, helping me to my feet. Getting to my feet is easy enough; my pounding heart and headache, however, are no help. I am still holding my nose until a thick napkin is shoved into my face by my helper. 

“Use the towel, tilt your head up slightly, and pinch the bridge of your nose.” 

The calm, level-headed voice of a command allows me to focus, if only for the necessary seconds to comply. My eyes finally decide they want to open as I feel the hands guide me away; it’s the nurse helping me, the radio on her waist buzzing with activity. 

—the taste of iron lingers—

Sat on a white mattress, my blood-sprinkled jacket is set on the chair beside it as I stare at my palms; the image of those disgusted and hate-filled stares is ever present in my mind. It’s not fair! I was a social outcast throughout middle school, hell, even in freshman year, and then I’m taken in by such an outgoing guy, Johnny. Now that same guy is the one who looks at me like some alien or meteor dodger… 

What’s worse is that I still care for him… 

A slight rattling from beyond the privacy curtain makes me shuffle nervously as I hear a familiar voice: my Mother. Before I can even think, I’m swept up into a tender hug, arms tightly snug around me, one roaming to my head, cradling it with motherly affection. 

“My baby boy… who did this? I’ll give them the same treatment.” 

The authentic authority makes no room for error in her statement. She’d really break Mike’s nose, or worse. 

“Mike? You’re telling me Mike did this!?” 

Her voice pitches up an octave. Her arms unwrap me quickly, a face of confusion and still frustration flooding her expression as she holds my hands in hers. Goddamn mumbling… 

“Why would he ever do such a thing?” 

An analytical expression crosses over her already concerned face. I can’t even look my mother in the eyes; I’m much more intrigued by the white brick walls surrounding me. I… I haven’t told her how I feel, how I know I feel. It wasn’t supposed to go like this… Another hug is leveled at me, this time tighter; I needed this. I can’t stop my own hands either. Wrapping around my mother as I feel tears fall down my cheeks. 

“Let’s go home, my little Amplifier.” 

The affectionate nickname my mother calls me would usually make me roll my eyes and scoff, but today, it’s a source of comfort.

—Felt seats of a sedan, warm and smell of home—

It’s been a few hours since arriving home, so I've opted to hole myself up in my room. Silently letting a few tears drop onto my chest as I sit at my desk, I stare into the empty text box, the past group chat messages blurring slightly as another round of applause turns to a million clouds in my head, a real cacophony burning into my frontal lobe. 

“Anon… It’s Mom again… won’t you let me in?” 

Quickly, I wipe my drying tears and take a few deep breaths; I can’t let Mom see me like this again. 

“C-come in.” 

The door creaks open, the wood crackling as the knob turns. Our eyes meet; she’s been worried sick, just by the look on her face, her flowing brown hair neatly tucked behind her as she closes the door while entering. 

Clad in that hoodie and sweatpants combination from last year's Christmas, I remember buying it with Dad; Mom really loves turquoise. She roams around for a few minutes, analyzing my room like it’s the first time she’s ever seen it. A finger trails across a shelf, stopping on one of my first electrical projects: a self-powered light switch. 

“I always liked this one; it’s my favorite.” 

Her voice is smooth and buttery as she flicks the mechanism on; whirring to life, the little stick figure passes the current to the light bulb, which in turn cuts the circuit, causing a repeating effect. Opening and closing, the bulb flashing. 

“It reminds me of you…” 

Mom’s voice droops a bit as she flicks the whole circuit closed. That motherly tone is ever present as she sits on the edge of my bed. The eyes that match mine land on me with concern… 

“As much as I’d like to chalk this up to ‘boys being boys,’ I have a feeling this is much more important.” 

There it is, the non-question-type question I didn’t want to have to answer so soon. Those deep-sea emerald eyes staring into me; that affection mixed with command. 

“M-mom… I…” 

Tears… my eyes sting again. I’m full-on sobbing as I begin to recount the events. 

“Sweetie! I’m here… Take your time.” 

Mom's hands find mine, the warmth of her skin seeping into my cold palms. She’s right by me now; my chair feels like a restraining force as I rack myself against it, nose flaring with reminiscing pain. 

“I’m gay!” 

I feel… I feel frustrated; my tears burn me as I begin to internally punch myself for thinking like this. Why am I like this? Before I know it, I’m on my feet, Mom’s hands no longer in mine as I pace around my room. Fists clenched, ready to just break something expensive, I finally grab hold of the repeating circuit build from the shelf. 

“Stop! Not happening.” 

A tight and deafening hug pulls me from the shelf. Mom pulls me into her embrace; I’m crying again, aching and sobbing as I sink to my knees; she follows to keep me wrapped up.…

…

“Anon, I knew. I could tell ever since sophomore year.” 

It’s probably been all of 10 minutes I’ve spent crying almost on the floor in my mother’s arms when she decides to drop a bombshell on me. My eyes widen, practically springing open as I register her words. A small smile spreads across her cheeks; a hand is leveled to my bald dome, gently caressing it. 

“It was easy to see how you looked at that Johnny boy; it was the same look I gave your father back in our heyday.” 

A light, bubbly laughter follows. 

“Then… then you can guess what happened, I suppose.” 

My throat feels clammy, stuffy even as I speak. I’m struggling to really understand how obvious I could have been to Mom but not to Johnny. 

“It’s unfortunate, and I think Mike took it way too far. I have half a mind to drive over and have a chat with his mom.” 

Immediately, I begin to shake my head as I break out of my mother's vice grip of a hug, lying with my back on the carpeted floor, watching the ceiling fan idle. 

“Let’s not do that, Mom… It’ll make things way worse.” 

I wipe my face on my shirt, pulling it up to reach. My heart settles as I steadily breathe; heavy footsteps announce themselves, no knock, and a push is thrust at my door. Father… 

“My God, I hope the other guy looks worse.” 

Dad chuckles as he outstretches his hand; I grab hold as he pulls me up. I always forget he works out half the time he works; I'm still not used to that monkey strength he developed. Covered in dirt from head to toe, Dad places a firm hand on my shoulder, leaning down to examine my face, specifically my nose. 

“Hmmm, a day or two, and you’ll be fine. Now, Mom hasn’t told me much; fill me in.” 

The tone is absolute, with no room for error whatsoever; glancing back at Mom, she gives a little nod. I start recounting the day to him, going over the morning, the first few periods leading to lunch. His face scrunches as he hears my continued words; his hand finds the side of his camo pants, twitching slightly. Recounting the spit, soda, and then the punch, the feeling of which lingered as I spoke about it. Mom's standing by Father's side now, her arm looped through his as I take a deep breath. 

“Dad… I’m… I’m gay.” 

Father's eyes widen, the dark browns of his irises almost turning to pinpricks as his pupils shrink. I see a frown developing on his face… 

He didn’t want to hear that. 

Mom's arm grips him, pulling him slightly. I see disappointment level across his face. 

“You're not lying. You really mean it.” 

I’ve never heard this tone from him before; it’s not only disappointing but filled with an emotion I haven’t experienced yet. It… it feels similar to how Johnny looked at me, only more rigid and hurt. 

“Paranon! You go downstairs. Now. Kitchen” 

Mother's voice breaks through my father's confusion; Mom never uses his real name unless he’s messed up royally. My parents filter out of the room, leaving me in a state of panic. Mom accepts me… but Father clearly doesn’t. Well, no, maybe he’s just confused; he doesn’t understand. He’s old school. Military brat, maybe after Mom talks to him it’ll be fine. Still, my heart is pounding. 

Pacing my room isn’t helping. 

Sneaking to the middle of the stairs, making sure I avoid that fourth rickety step, I peer into the kitchen. My heart is racing… 

“Your son, our son, is gay, Para. That’s what he feels; hell, that’s probably what he knows at this point.” 

A heavy thud is slammed against the kitchen counter as I catch a glimpse of Dad pouring whiskey into the glass. 

“Sierra… we’ve been over this. When was it? Freshman year? He’s not gay.” 

A defiant voice and a heavy finger are thrust toward Mother. I feel the need to intervene until said finger is grabbed and yanked down to the table with the gravity of the sun. 

“Don’t you ever raise a hand to me, Paranon! Our son is gay, and he just got punched by one of his best friends for it. Don’t you feel anything other than pity for yourself?” 

“Screw this, I’ve had enough with dog and pony shows at work! I won’t have it here. You may have just accepted this like it’s fate, but not my son. No son of mine will be some cocksucking fa—” 

SLAP 

Dad's hand quickly catches the cheek that has been assaulted by my mother. 

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence! Anon is finally trying to accept who he is, and you want to act just like your father; don’t you remember how he saw us? What does it matter if our child is gay?!” 

Dad picks up his glass and walks away; I hurry up the stairs and back into my room, my heart pounding out of my chest. 

He really can’t accept me… he thinks I’m confused or wrong. Locking my door, I fling myself onto my bed, gripping my covers as the familiar sting of tears begins to fall. 

—Like A Rolling Stone— 

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP—

Slamming my alarm clock, turning in my covers to face the red-lit numbers, an hour until school starts. Do I really even want to try going? I have to; the last day is in only four more days. I just have to survive until Friday, and I’ll be fine. 

Shuffling out of my bed, I hit my closet door with my forehead before yanking it open and pulling out the drab green jacket from yesterday. The blood has stained the collar; it’s dried now, and I can barely see it. What does it matter? Throwing it to the bed, crouching down, I pull open the drawer and take out a clean black tee and some blue jeans. Spotting a black hoodie; some punk band I liked a year or two back..

‘Guttermouth’

Sure, maybe wearing a blood stained jacket would be a bad idea; let’s go with the hoodie then.

I really don’t want to do this. 

The rest of the house isn’t awake; well, Mother isn’t. Dad’s already gone to work by this point. Heading to the kitchen, I grab a pear that’s been set on the counter. 

Strapping up my boots by the front door and checking my pockets for the house key; as always, it’s in the same place in my jeans. Heading out the door, I begin my usual route. Only this time I feel way more on edge, like I’m being watched or pressured by something. The lingering smell of pennies wafting to me from yesterday's events repeating in my mind. 

It’s a bit warmer today, still a cool breeze leaves stabs of cold on my face; promptly I pull the hood over my head, damn curse of having no hair. 

I can’t get those looks from my ‘friends’ out of my mind; the instant switch that was flipped, from laughing and making plans for the summer to spitting, shoving and eventually that punch. 

Was being open about myself such a bad idea? And why did it look like Johnny was afraid right before I came out? 

Am I wrong for feeling like this?

—Do I deserve what’s coming?—

Moving forward up the few steps to the entrance of school, that big looming sign now looks as frightening as freshman year….

Breaching the threshold, I’m met with the usual hustle and bustle of the early morning chatter, teachers dodging gaggles of students, and said students laughing and jeering with each other. 

No time like the present; first class should be English today. Mike’s in that class… He wouldn’t be here, would he? I’m sure they gave him a suspension or something. Hopefully I won’t have to encounter that conversation or another punch. 

As I reach my locker, inputting my combo into the lock, I hear low snickers from behind me; turning my head slightly, it’s a few classmates from English, their eyes focused on me, speaking low but audibly enough.

“Hey, queers looking at us.”

“Sheesh, hopefully he doesn’t get any ideas.” 

“Ewww, don’t even think that, man; it makes me want to puke.” 

I feel my blood pressure going up, into a burning sensation. I’m angry, angry at myself; if I didn’t feel this way, none of these people would speak to me like that, and I’d still have my friends, the few I had. 

Opening the locker, I’m greeted with a few polaroids pinned up by me and the group. Most of them were from the camping trip last year. Johnny took me down to the lake while everyone was sleeping. We tried to catch fish with our hands for hours. 

Tears… 

Quickly wiping my sleeve over my eyes, taking a deep breath. I can’t get like this; it’s not even the first period yet, and I'm already crying. Fucking pathetic, Anon. 

…

The first few periods went by easily enough. Mike wasn’t at English class; I gathered that he was on out-of-school suspension for what happened. The next few classes I was isolated; stares were leveled at me with extreme prejudice; many just ignored me, even a few teachers. 

Is this how the whole week will go?

A bell rings through my thoughts. Math is over finally. I push my way out with the rest of the class as the lunch rush begins. A lot more people seem to shove me as they rush past. 

“Hey, don’t get too close to Anon; you might catch something.” 

“Heh, yeah, you’re probably right.” 

It’s just words, Anon; tune them out. Nothing to be afraid of, just turn it out. Stick to the walls and blend in. Yeah, become invisible; no one should bother you if you don’t bother them. 

SHOVE

The sounds of metal colliding with my back, my spine crying out to my brain for help as a heavy hand is placed on my upper chest. 

“Thought you’d get out this easily, man!”

Looking up, I’m face-to-face with an enraged Tony; his usually neat and slicked-back hair is disheveled, the shine of grease still present. The corners of his mouth twitch as his eyes search for something in mine; all I can do is wince.

“W-what do you even mean?”

“What do I mean!? Mike got his ass suspended for handling your ass, and I don’t think he did enough.”

What’s with this hate? I understand, Red South. I took a leap, and I failed miserably and caused a rift, but it’s my feelings! My worth—why is it such a big deal if I’m gay? Why would they try to make me hate myself for it? And why is it working?

“Stay silent, what do I care, but know this, Anon. Stay away from us from now on, yeah? Don’t try anything; you’ll get what’s coming soon anyway.” 

Tony pulls his hand back, wiping it on his sweats before walking off down the hall. A few stares and laughs are aimed my way by other students, some offhand comments as well. 

What did Tony mean by that shit, ‘what’s coming’? What the fuck are they planning? 

—Get Up!—

The days began to blend into each other from Tuesday onwards. 

The nights at home became filled with silent arguments from the kitchen or living room, Mom trying her best to get Dad in line with how I feel. Awkward dinners were hard and ended even faster when Dad looked at me for more than a few seconds. 

School wasn’t any better either. Wednesday I somehow became the target of bullying in the gym, being called names and even shoved occasionally during any free time activities. Eventually on Thursday I opted to just hide in the locker room, waiting out the storm. 

Mom tried to make me feel better every night, calling the school when she could to voice concern for my health. All it did was cause even more problems when peers found out; I had to completely replace my jeans after being shoved outside of school into a puddle of mud. 

Although the last day has finally come, Friday, I’ll have all summer to hate myself and probably do something stupid or just rot in my room. 

Standing before the school, same hoodie today, new jeans. 

I just want this day to end already. If Raptor Jesus is real, hopefully he’ll answer this one prayer I have. 

…

Leaving science class I stopped dead in my tracks as I saw him, Johnny, leaning up against a water fountain, staring daggers at me. That look of pure disgust spread across his face. 

I can’t take it anymore. I want to say something, and I’m going to. 

Approaching Johnny, I see that twisted look of his falter, those eyes I once saw light flickering on me. I'm getting an answer one way or another today.

“Johnny! You owe me an explanation. I just want to know why. Why hate me so much? We’ve been friends ever since freshman year! You brought me out of my shell and provided me with a unique opportunity to be someone I never thought I’d be! And now that I know what I am, you want to make me hate myself for it?” 

Johnny pushes himself off the wall, staring down at me with an expression of exhaustion. 

“You don’t get it. I knew there was something up with you, man; you looked at me all weird sometimes. And that day you confirmed my own fear. Fuck, man, I feel disgusted even being around you.” 

My heart hurts; the slight tears I feel rise, I quickly stop as I listen to him speak bitterly. Like he never wanted to be around me in the first place. 

“Anon, did you really think we all became friends because we liked you? Fuck no, you're easy to make do shit. Remember the camping trip. Catching fish with our bare hands. Yeah, man, when I ‘accidentally’ pushed you in. Or hell, even a month ago when Tony bet you couldn’t steal that shirt from Hot Topic. We were using you.” 

Johnny thrusts a finger to my chest, making me back up on instinct as I take in his hurtful words… 

Fuck, he’s right. All those times I did stupid shit for the group. Risking my future by betting for nothing but laughs to be had at my expense. 

“You being a fag just gave us the escape route to getting rid of you. And a lot more. I never liked you, Anon. And I sure as shit wouldn’t ever accept no queer as a friend. The internet may protect you, but I won’t. So stay the fuck out of my way.” 

Johnny pushes past me, slumping against the wall behind me, staring down at my hands. Shaking lightly with burning up anger and resentment again for what my heart feels. 

Noticing shuffling of feet, I’m brought back to reality. Everyone’s heading to the auditorium for that presentation. It was delayed a bit due to some shit I don’t care about right now. 

…

Entering the auditorium, quickly finding a seat, and tapping away on my phone as I see others fill up the worn-out felt seats around me, a lot of them avoiding my area. 

“Alright everyone, let’s settle down now.” 

The hundred students' voices die out as the principal begins to go through the mundane classic speech about the future and how we’ll go on in life, blah blah blah and all that. 

The projector flashes slightly as the slides boot up onto the giant screen on stage. Grabbing my attention as laughs begin to fill the room…

“Turn that projector off! Now, dammit!” 

“I’m trying!” 

A chaotic exchange between principal and student is echoed between laughs and now jeers aimed my way; looking towards the screen… 

Pictures from the camping trip, sleepovers, and everything in between edited to have me in… compromising positions with pride flags of all sorts photoshopped in with speech blurbs… 

“I ALWAYS KNEW HE WAS A FAGGOT!” 

“Coming out in an explosive fashion, I see, huh?”

“Damn, I wonder if he’s caught anything.” 

Eyes, hundreds of eyes, are all staring at me; the only pair I can focus on is Johnny's. They pierce through the crowd with a twisted smile, not cartoonish but just a smirk that strikes fear into me. 

My body moves on its own, making a beeline to him. 

Without much thought I tackled Johnny to the floor. All I can feel is resentment and frustration, a whole shitty mix of emotions. 

“Get off me, you fag!”

“Fuck you!” 

I’ve grabbed Johnny's collar; I feel his hands begin to grab at my hoodie, trying to push me off. Not today; I won’t be put down easily. 

CRUNCH 

I feel a warm sensation on my hand; I let my body get out of hand. I cracked Johnny right on his nose, echoing my past injury onto him. It felt right. Felt needed. 

I’m then met with equal pushback, thrust off him and into the metal side of a seat. 

“Fuck!” 

I scream out as my already bruised back connects with cold metal. My chiropractor would kill me if I had one. 

Hands are placed on my arms, thrusting me up, two teachers holding onto me like I’m a threat. A nurse kneeling by Johnny, tending to his injured nose. Yeah, how does it feel to be on the receiving end, dick? 

As I’m being hauled off, I continue to hear jabs and jeers at my expense. Now more heated than before, screw them, a bunch of country bumpkins. 

—Far Behind—

“Thank you for coming out here on such short notice, Mrs. Mous.” 

The principal sat with his hands clasped together tightly, so tightly I could see the veins pop from his hands. 

“Of course, now please explain to me why my son is being treated like a criminal.” 

Mom's voice is cold, icy even, as she hones her eyes into the twitching principal's eyes. 

“Anon here caused substantial harm to another student. I understand what happened in that situation may have provoked him to do such an action, but I can’t allow it to go unpunished; Johnny's parents want to pursue legal action. To prevent this from happening and circumvent a nightmarish legal suit, it’s in the schools and Anon's best interests that we expel him from next year.” 

Shock—that’s really the only emotion I see on my mother’s face until it becomes a seething anger rising to her reddening cheeks. In a rare occurrence, I see her actually get mad. 

I’m extremely confused about this, though. Why would they avoid pressing charges if they expel me? Is Johnny just trying to erase me entirely… Might not be bad, go somewhere new, do senior year quickly, and this time, no more social shit. 

“Mom. Don’t fight this, please…” 

I plead with her, grabbing her hand tightly. I can’t avoid this, and I’m starting to not want to.

“Anon…” 

“You should listen to him, Mrs. Mous; there are plenty of schools for him to finish his senior year in.” 

The principal exits his chair, finding a file cabinet to the right of the bland office; a blank folder is pressed to my mother. 

“This is his transcript; once you leave school grounds, Anon is officially expelled.” 

Mother harshly grabs the papers, stealing my hand as she pushes herself up from the chair. Pulling me out of the office without so much as a sigh. 

…

A fan, bland and white, covered in dust as I lay on my bed. Staring up at its dull blades. Constant thoughts of what my future may hold, how I’ll commit to being just another figure in the crowd of many at a new school; it’s not the first time I’ll be starting over again. Moved to many states just to uproot. 

“Get your ass up, Anon, now!” 

Dad bursts into my room, my door creaking in distress as it slams into the wall. Dad approaches me as I quickly make my way off the bed, meeting his angry face. His poor excuse for a mustache is staring at me as an exhausted and extremely disappointed face is leveled at me. The lingering smell of alcohol wafts over my face as he breathes. 

“You want to play games? Get expelled over some dumb internet fantasy!” 

Dad grabs my shirt, twisting the black tee into a ball, his alcohol breath now reeking out as he speaks with spit.

“Fine! We’ll play games. No school in all of Triumph County wants your ass, so guess what? I had to look out of state. And so help me God, if you fuck up this one, I’ll do a lot more than mess up your shirt.” 

Fuck this shit, getting drunk and yelling at me. And what do I fucking care if I have to go out of state? We never had a real home anyhow!

“Keep that fucking mouth shut! Don't ever talk back to me; remember who you're speaking to! Lucky Sierra is such a doting mother, but she’s not here right now; she’s making calls.” 

I’m thrust to the carpeted floor, then without warning a kick is jutted to my stomach. I can feel my empty stomach begin to swell as I want to throw up. 

Kneeling down, Dad gets close, that pungent stench of whiskey drenching me. The voice of pure hatred began from his heavy sighs.

“You aren’t leaving this house all summer. I’ll beat the gay out of you for three months until you leave. Don’t test me, Anon. Now get up and stop being a bitch.” 

With the finality of those words, a flick from his index finger is pressed against my cheek as I watch him leave the room, slamming the door, from the ground. Once again leaving me to stare at the fan above, the blades rotating slightly from the door's impact on the walls. 

Forcing myself up from the ground, I peel my shirt off, limping a bit towards the mirror at the corner of my room. Black and blue formed on my stomach where the kick impacted me. Damn drunk… 

There's nothing better to do than sleep now and pray these months go by fast

Chapter Text

\Sierra/

Coffee… One of my favorite things in life makes sure I’m awake and fuels my mood as well. Maybe that’s the old lady in me coming out finally, but today it feels horrible.

The patio, which used to be my sanctuary, is now host to Anon and his father, the latter making my poor little Amplifier push himself to limits that I’m afraid will break him sooner rather than later. It's already deep into August, over 3 months into a cool summer. North Dakota’s warmth is fleeting, at best.

I’m…. I’m worried for my family.

Anon, more specifically, he’s been and is currently being subjected to Para’s rough military training. Para won’t lay a hand on him; he wouldn’t think of doing such a thing, but he sure is pushing him to an extreme limit. On more than one occasion I’d catch Anon with a few bruises; some have this terrifying deep black and blue, others have a jaundiced yellow. I’ve told Para to turn it down a notch, that Anon doesn’t need to be a trained killer. It’s great that he wants to whip our son into shape, but it’s taking its toll on our son. 

I feel the corners of my lips twitch as a heavy sigh leaves me, the once warm cup of coffee now cold as I stare into the brown liquid; the swirling cream capturing my eyes for a moment. 

Cup meets sink, wasted fuel poured down a silver drain. A picture leans up on its leg, facing towards me from the counter, a family plastered with smiles, 4 eyes look lively, and one pair just blank, stuck in thought. Instinctively I grab the frame, overanalyzing those two emerald eyes. My little boy didn’t know who he was then, ostracizing himself all throughout middle school; even before then he was lost. 

“Get back here! We aren’t done yet!” 

The sound of heavy feet, a glass door marking against its under railing, and a distinct yell I’d recognize anywhere. 

“Well… I’m done, Dad! I’ve had enough; I haven’t done anything else but this all week!” 

Anon’s voice is strained, hoarse, and filled with a nervous trembling. Like he really didn’t want to speak like this, as if he’s afraid of voicing himself. 

Drying my hands quickly, tossing the towel onto the counter, I make my way to the living room. Para’s mere inches away from Anon, towering over him, stanced in a defensive posture. 

“Para, go back outside.” 

“Not without Anon de-“

“I said go.”

I’ve had to do that a lot lately, really use a tone of voice I was never comfortable with. Hated using it during work and certainly never wanted to bring it home. It works great but leaves a sour feeling in the room. 

Para leaves the situation without much resistance; Anon, on the other hand, looks like he just learned to breathe for the first time. My baby boy: rushing over to him, my hand on his shoulder, firmly holding him to reality as I see those eyes wander inward. There’s a glum look in his eyes, something holding his heart behind. 

“My little Amplifier, are you sure you want to continue going on with this… training?” 

The straight lines of his expression flicker slightly; he wants to give way. I want him to say what he really wants, to give in. I’ve seen what these lessons are doing to him. Cooped up in his room, darkness only lit up by the dim computer light. 

“I’m fine, Mom… I’m fine; I’ll be gone soon anyway,” like he wants.

With a light thrust, Anon pulls back his shoulder; it’s sudden as I lose grip on him. Dull eyes still stare back, his lips tightening, fists clenched; without warning he storms off upstairs, seemingly heading to his room. That mumbling he inherited from me, those words… 

“A-Anon! Wait.” 

Silence…. That’s all I get back, besides the creaking of the floorboards. 

Damnit, this has been going on for freaking 3 months, and all that’s happening is more and more of Anon’s reclusive behavior escalating; bruises that I see when he thinks no one’s looking, building muscle that means nothing if it hurts his health. 

Paranon… He’s pushing our boy too hard. 

Making my way towards the patio doors, pausing as I watch Para clean up the weights and various exercise equipment strung around the grass. Usually a sight I’d be enamored with, but every passing day my growing distaste festers. Finally I slide the glass door, stepping out carefully onto the deck. Para’s eyes narrow onto me with a crude frown; he knows he’s in trouble.

“Let’s not start already, hun; I can tell by that frustrated expression that I’ll be having a drink earlier rather than later.” 

What… This man is seriously starting to piss me off this month. The constant snark and blunt comments, not to mention his alcohol consumption. 

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t beat on the dead horse right now, but when you get inside, try not to drown in whisky in the living room. That stain you left last week was a pain.” 

Curtly I feel a gust of wind forced out of my nose; I can’t with him. I’ll just go check on Anon. 

Clearly Para has lost his maturity. 

“You still like to mumble, hun.”

A warm tingle rises up my neck, that sickly tone of superiority mixed with him catching my bad habit, a swelling feeling of frustration bubbling in my throat; quickly I stomp off the deck, right up to my husband, grabbing his collar. 

“I know why you’re doing this; you aren’t slick, you… you greaseball!”

Twitching… a twitch in my left eyelid as I finally let a bit of anger out.

“Acting like a warden, forcing Anon to push himself to the point of hurting himself! You call what has happened these excruciating few months progress!? All you’ve done is prove to Anon you don’t love him for who he is!” 

Suddenly I feel the air get knocked out of me, my feet struggling to catch ground. My left foot levels as I find my balance once more; Para’s push leaves a heated feeling on my chest. A scoff is pushed out of his horrible expression, those browns staring at me with almost pin-prick irises. 

“Sierra! You are the one who’s clearly forgetting who’s keeping this family together!” 

Para steps closer, blocking out the lowering sun, and a cold shadow is cast over me… A finger pressed against the middle of my chest, burning. 

“This is for his own good; he’s confused, that’s all, and now he’s gone and ruined himself and me! Do you know what people say at work? Even my higher-ups. How the hell did they find out!? Well, this town is small; shit goes round. So don’t you go and question me! N-Not today, not ever!” 

His breath reeks of desperation, whisky, and cheap cigarettes. 

“Now fuck off, I’m done arguing with you. That’s all we’ve been doing ever since that day. Blah blah blah, don’t you ever s-shut the fuck up?” 

His speech is starting to slur, that stench of alcohol growing with every breath. I feel myself backing up, eyes darting to the workout equipment. 

A green flask is laid upon a disk weight. 

“You're drunk! It’s fucking six in the afternoon on a Tuesday, Para! Drunk, and you think it’s a good idea to mess around with weights with our son! Put your hands on me? I have half a mind to take our son to my father and ditch you here!” 

My throat burns; a yell I never thought possible escapes me as I lay into him. The man I pledged my love to was treating me like a possession, treating his body like a landfill, and torturing our son. 

“Screw this.” 

Para walks towards the flask, retrieving it, and subsequently downing the rest of whatever was in there. I can’t help but look at him, disgust mixing with an urge to slap it out of his hand. 

“You can lie to y-yourself all you’d l-like… Say Anon is not normal. I won’t! And I’ll beat that shit out of him before he leaves… for Dinofornia… ugh.” 

He rushes towards the patio doors, sliding them open as fast as possible before tumbling inside. Following him, he’s somehow nowhere to be found. 

Snoring…

You have got to be kidding me… He’s passed out on the couch, flask in hand, as he snores like a leopard rumbling. 

This is a losing game, and I’m on the receiving end.

\Anon/ 

Stepping back from the half-curtained window, my heart rate rapidly increases as I take in what had just happened outside. 

He put his hands on her… Hurt Mom…

Before I can even think, I’m thrashing my hands against my desk, pounding the wood; my fingers feel nothing, only rage floods my mind. The desk proves to be a formidable target as I finally break skin against the chipping wood, letting my knuckles crack and bleed into the mahogany. 

Ahhh… fuck, bad decision… shit…

Holding my palm to my forehead, I feel a pulsing vein throb against my hand. I hate this. My whole summer I was subjected to constant stress and bodily pressure, Dad beating me behind the scenes as well. Mom thinks these yellow and black spots are just results of muscle stress…

I can’t bring myself to tell her, but maybe now she’ll believe me, seeing as that prick finally snapped at her now too. Dad has always been quick to anger, maybe a bit too quickly, but now it seems all he does is drink, yell, hurt, and destroy. 

Flopping down onto my comforter, staring at my hands resting, droplets of red sweat blend into the carpet. Squeezing my hands into fists, scraping my palm with my nails, trying desperately to ground my racing thoughts. 

Was being gay such a catalyst to Dad's increased hatred? To the point my bones ache, stomach and ribs bruised every other week? Am I the problem? It’s so hard to tell…

Even if I have backup in the form of Mom and online friends… I can’t help but see how Dad reacts, the way his eyes fill with such disdain when faced in my general direction; his breath reeks of alcohol, and his tone bleeds distorted and disgusted. 

Johnny… Why do I even think about him anymore? 

Snatching my phone from its charger, thumbing the recently cracked screen, I “fell down” on the patio a few weeks ago… 

Gallery: Albums: Friends

An instant regret fills me as soon as I browse through the past couple of years of photos, occasionally stopping. A lot are of me and the crew, but I have an abundance of me and Johnny; I liked him, crushed on him hard without even knowing it, and when I did… I screwed it all up, to the point of probably being the cause of my parents' divorce; it’ll eventually happen… I know it will now. 

Shutting it off, tossing the old thing to the back of my bed. I can’t look at that shit anymore. 

A bullet of pain shoots up from my spine to my neck, causing me to crash to the floor on all fours… fuck… I hate deadlifting. 

KNOCK… KNOCK 

“Honey… It’s Mom. Are you doing okay? You want to talk a little?” 

Shit, I can’t let Mom see me like this; I can’t. Her “little amplifier” can’t be seen like this. 

“M-mom! Not now, I’ll… I’ll talk later, okay? Just leave me be.” 

It’s way harsher than I thought it’d come out, but then again I feel as if I can’t stand. My arms give out, slamming the side of my face to the floor. The subsequent thud is enough for Mom to see fit to barge in, the intense look of concern as she quickly helps me sit up. 

“I’m f-“ 

“No, you’re not, Anon; you’re in no way the definition of fine.” 

There it is. That authority of which I can’t deny, no talking my way out of this today; I’ll either have to make up a convoluted lie or break my parents’ marriage more than I already have…

“What’s going on? And I want a real answer.”

Her arm finds its final resting place around my shoulders, holding me close to her; her free hand cupping my cheek, gently rubbing my skin. Those inherited eyes pierce into my mind. I don’t want her to know; I can’t let her know, no matter how much it hurts me. To save whatever broken pieces I’ve smashed…

“I’m… just overworking myself, Ma, pushing too hard, trying to live up to Dad's standards...”

It’s a half-truth. I really am just trying to prove to him I’m not weak, that I can be what he sees, although I heard that argument… He’ll… he’ll never see me as normal again…

“Honey… You’re crying…”

Mom wipes my budding tears; I can’t tear my eyes away from hers. It stings, not just my eyes but my body. Old bruises return, cuts from equipment feel reopened, and memories of Johnny flood into my mind—the way his smile shined upon me when we first met in freshman year. The days we spent trespassing the abandoned mill and running from Tony’s father after a ding-dong ditch. All the moments I wish never stopped… 

Then, a warmth washes over me, pulled from my reminiscing; I’m currently being embraced by my mother’s arms, a damp sensation on my left shoulder, dripping down my back. She's sobbing with me. 

My knuckles find carpet, the deep red of my cracked skin matting it. 

I let go… I can feel my eyes water; pushing my head onto her shoulder, I just shudder from the contact. 

“It’s… going to be alright, baby… I’ll… a-always be here.” 

Her voice pains me, the cruelty I’ve brought upon my own family, even if she accepts my… my deviance; I’ve learned I can’t. Maybe I'm not really normal. Dad could be right. I made a mistake? Haven’t I…

Placing my hands on Mother's shoulders gently, I push softly as I relinquish her hold on me. The warmth I cherished so much dying as I do such; her tear-drenched face finds mine. 

“A-Anon…” 

“I’m going to be okay, Mom. I’ll do right, finish senior year, and be something. Please… don’t worry so much for me.” 

I’m lying. Big time. I have the faintest idea of what I want to do in life; my electrical interest is just a hobby, and with how it’s looking, I know trade school would be a bitch to get into without the financial backing of Dad. Plus I’m getting sent all the way to Dinofornia; college or the army, that’s what’s allowed to me. 

“Anon, I believe in you, sweetie… Just promise me a few things.” 

Her hands find my bloodied ones, her fingers lightly brushing back and forth over my cracked knuckles. Smearing my red onto her own hands 

“Anything, Mom?” 

Her eyes find mine, a tight line forming on her curling lips; a wry expression of a smile.

“That you continue to be you, that you make friends who care for you as you; that you continue on the path of becoming what you want to be, who you truly are inside, no matter what Father says, he’s just… ignorant as all.” 

I’m sorry to disappoint you, Ma, but I’m going to once again lie to you today. 

As the thought passes, I feel my body trembling; my heart aches. My mind and body don’t agree; they haven’t agreed since the start of summer. I’ll die to this one day, whether that’s in some desert with a bullet or by suicide… What? Why the hell did that pop into my head? I’m not… 

“Anon?” 

Shaking my head slightly, being brought back to reality is always somehow scary. 

“I… I promise, Ma, I won’t let you down. I promise.” 

I lean forward and wrap my arms around her once more. This time starting the embrace, I think she needs it more than I do, honestly. Even if I’ve been subjected to beating and screaming, she’s been watching the surface, seeing her husband become an angry drunk. 

“That’s my little amplifier. Mother’s always going to be with you, okay? Remember that when you leave, 

—Hugging felt like the weighted blanket of God—

“Fuck! How in the hell do you always snipe me, man?”

The headset crackles as I slam my mouse against its pad, once again being sniped from halfway across the map by StegoStar; she’s somehow a crack shot in Rock Ring 4.

“Git gud, Fleshbag.” 

A cocky but somehow equally funny quip is thrown my way as her character T-bags me while I’m floating in the leaderboard.

“Take the sniper out of the equation and I’d own your ass.” 

“Bold words for someone going, ermmmm, negative.” 

All I can imagine is the nerd emoji.

“I’m only going negative because… uh… screw you!” 

A laughter fills my headset, a close-to-snorting and bubbly one at that. I think I can even pick up hints of cocky richness to it, like how those nepo-babies laugh on their yachts. 

I alt-F4 as I alt-tab back to the SnootCord call, a Naruto profile pic staring back at me as I continue to hear a laugh. 

“No way! You rage quit!” 

“Nuh-uh! Wrong yet again, weeb. I’m just… done for the night.” 

I indeed did rage quit, but she will not be getting the satisfaction of me admitting it, especially not after going negative today. 

I’m just not in the game. 

“You’re telling me, do you… maybe want to talk about it? I know how hard it’s been the past few months for you…” 

Mumbling, always at the worst times. Anytime I just don’t want to get into that conversation at all, it’ll creep up; it’s Raptor Jesus’s way of getting back at me for not being born with a tail and horns or something.

“I guess it’d be good to let it out a bit, yeah.” 

“We’ll go on then; I’m a great listener!”

Stupid, how is she always so giddy?

“It’s just, I feel like I’m the problem… Like me, coming out had caused so much trouble for my family. Dad seems to almost completely hate me; he doesn’t speak to me unless it’s to conduct training or drunkenly yell at me at the dinner table.”

A silence fills the call, taking this opportunity to catch my breath before continuing.

“Earlier today, Ma and Dad got into an argument… again; but today it got physical.”

A gasp is pressed into my ears.

“Yeah, I know. It wasn’t like punching, but Ma caught Dad day drinking and pressed him about it. Grabbing his collar, he pushed her off of him, nearly knocking her to the ground.” 

“That’s horrible! How could he lay a hand on his wife!? I couldn’t possibly imagine my dad doing such a thing; I think I’d have to beat his behind.” 

She speaks quickly, wanting to get her opinion out; her voice is shocked, and I think I hear a tone of appallment.

“I can’t help… but think I was wrong.” 

I hear her mic spike, like she wants to say something. 

“That… maybe Dad’s right. I’m not normal, that I’m not really gay, or that I’m just confused. If anything, I just feel like I’m ruining my parents. Dad has been drinking more than usual, and Mom… Mom's just been struggling with maintaining herself.” 

“Don’t you dare blame yourself; never do that! You deserve to know who you are.” 

I can feel the heat coming off her voice; she’s really trying to convince me I’m okay. 

“Only you know what you are. Your father has to accept it and live with the fact that his son is trying to find himself. You are normal, Emerald; that town of yours is not.”

I really want to believe StegoStar; I truly want to trust in her advice and the kind words she speaks to me for support, but I just can’t, not with what happened with Johnny still lingering and living rent-free in my head. The bruises down my body ache with all-knowing pain. I am the only person responsible for this. I’ve ruined it. 

“Thank you, Star… I really needed to hear that, as much as I try to convince myself I just can’t.” 

I can sense a track record of lying being added to my sins. 

“Of course! If need be, I’ll get my dad to beat up your dad.” 

I can’t help but let out a tiny snort at the thought. Highly military-trained human vs. the natural Saurian strength of a Stegosaurus… might pay to see it actually. 

“I’d pay to see that. You bring the popcorn, though.”

“Fine with me… Oh shoot, I have to go. I’ll text you soon, okay?” 

“Sure thing, Star, enjoy the rest of your night.” 

The call ends, leaving me staring at a row of messages sent back and forth between me and StegoStar: 4chan threads, memes, and the occasional argument on the state of modern isekai slop. Which is just now harems with extra steps all the damn time… ugh…

Opening up a FireSino tab; maybe doom scroll YouSnoot for some video essay about wars or something, actually, typing rapidly, I search for schools in Dinofornia, specifically by Volcadera Bluffs. 

Volcano High 

St. Hammond Institute

And a whole host of smaller schools—those two seem to be the largest and most populated by far. There’s also a super badly reviewed one: Reef City. Honestly, it can’t be any worse than those schools I’ve seen some kids come from on Scared Straight. 

Dad hasn’t told me where I’ll be staying yet, the only thing not said during the workout—more like torture sessions, but whatever at this point. He only told me the city I’ll be surrounded by. I haven't really lived in a city since I was a baby, so I can’t say I particularly like it; my dirt bike probably wouldn’t be the best option for transportation…

Hovering the mouse over the first school, I’m met with probably one of the most bland-looking website designs for a high school, especially one in such a colorful state. 

It’s a cream white, the borders the only thing containing a bit of design; palm trees acting as anchors holding the top search bar up, as it trails roots down the rest of the website, some of those roots branching off into embedded links. 

Scrolling down, I’m greeted with a sort of opening remark.

[Welcome to the Volcano High website! Here we have all students and parents alike needing to make the most of the school's known advantages, such as report cards, current assessments/grades, class schedules, and a whole host of parental admin.]

[Here at Volcano High, we take pride in our students, striving to make a positive impact and change. With a wide range of clubs and afterschool programs for freshmen through seniors. No matter where you are in this stage of your ever-growing education, there will be help and guidance!]

[Our school grounds are meticulously tailored to and taken care of by the students! So much so that our gardening club has won many awards throughout the past few years. The track club has also participated in cross-country competitions and won home court-hosted events.]

Geez… There’s even more to read here too, like wayyy more. Who sat down and wrote like a madman? 

Back-tabbing to the main search page, I hover my cursor over St. Hammond next; surely there won’t be another long-winded intro for this one…

Ding

A text? From whom? Literally all of my “friends” stopped contacting me ever since that damn presentation. Turning my phone over, I spot the person of interest. Oh, it’s Mom. 

(Come downstairs, honey; dinner's ready. <3) 

Placing my headset on the desk, letting my fingers linger across the subtle scratches and indents I’ve made over the past few weeks. I really made a mess of this thing; pocketing my phone in my shorts, I make my way down the stairs, smelling that signature home-cooked meatloaf. I don’t care if Dad loathes it, but I love when Mom cooks this heart attack in loaf form. 

Taking my usual spot at the table, positioned towards the back of the faux-marble table. Gazing into the odd patterns that the designers clearly ripped from Google Images, amateurs. 

“Here you go, sweetie; you deserve your favorite meal tonight. You’ve done a lot recently.”

Mom rests a gentle hand on my shoulder, gently brushing her thumb across my sleeve. The meatloaf placed before me wafts its scent down my nostrils, making that penny-like smell that’s been in my every waking moment pass. It’s a comforting bliss. 

I really love this meatloaf…

A light giggle as Mom goes to grab the rest of the plates. She definitely heard me think out loud there; I blame her for that. I know she’s the mumbler in the family. 

“So, A-Anon, you’re going to stuff yourself with that literal slab of carbs tonight?” 

Father… 

The chair across from me, the head of this now debased family, stares me down with eagle-eyed awareness; even if he’s slurring his words, the distaste in every syllable is palpable. 

“W-well, I want an answer, boy.” 

A finger is pointed my way, but as quickly as it comes, it’s deterred as Mom places his plate down before him; it’s not meatloaf but some off-colored pork chop, like the breading is clumped and poorly seasoned. Mother's expression is unamused and sour, making me feel guilty… 

I’m really tearing my parents apart. 

“Anon can eat what he likes tonight; you put him through some rigorous training for three months. I think a bit of leeway is deserved here.” 

No ifs, ands, or buts to be had with that attitude; finally Mom takes her middle seat calmly with her plate. The same bountiful meatloaf, but hers had a bit of salad on the side. Can’t be me. 

—“Remember when” is the lowest form of conversation—

Tonight’s dinner is filled with silence; only those memories of past dinners flood my mind. Where we’d laugh and share the events of our days; how I would come home with a new bruise from hitting a tree on the bike, or when Dad would bring up handling a new gun, or just Mom talking about wanting to put a garden in the backyard for the millionth time. 

A fork is firmly pressed against the table. My eyes catch my father's, and so do my mother's. 

“I’ve… I’ve had enough of this. I can’t ignore it anymore. He’s just shoving his face, ruining all the shit I had to beat into him.” 

A flask is withdrawn from I don’t even know where below the table, a swig so big I think he might’ve drunk the whole thing. The smell of the alcohol is so strong I see Mom wince as her nose scrunches, so does her expression. 

“Para, let’s not start an argument—“

“No! You stay quiet when I’m speaking to Anon. You’ve done nothing but e…enable his s-self-destruction since…. Since he decided to be a faggot!” 

Anger, frustration, regret coupled with resentment—I can’t pick one concrete emotion to describe what he just said, but I can feel one thing coming on: wrath. 

The table thrusts slightly as he pushes his hands against it towards me, like a child having an outburst. I want to say something, anything, yell, or just scream… I can’t… All I can do is stare at the heat coming out of his face.

“No! You won’t speak to him like that again, you fucking drunk asshole. How dare you act like such an immature child? What happened to that ‘military bearing’ you're trying to beat into him?”

Mom’s voice is hovering on the bar, almost full-on yelling at him; forks are dropped, and foods have been left alone as the argument grows from looks to growls. 

“Ohhhh okay… T-then let’s go after you then if you’re such a perfect mother! Oh wait… didn’t your mom ditch you and your father when you were young? So how in the… hell would you know how to be the mother he needs?” 

Mom is stunned, and so am I. What the hell is taking over Dad? It can’t just be the alcohol now; this is deeper. Is this really all my fault? 

“Then what’d you do? Waste your hard-working father's money on some college in Canada… I wonder why… What’s French Canadian for “I grew up without a mother”? ‘Sacre bleu, where is my mama?’”

A hideous chuckle is echoed out from my growing prick of a father's mouth; I feel my body move on its own, thrusting my chair behind me. I’m aiming to beeline for his head. 

Before I can make a move, a fork is flung his way. 

“How… How dare you, Paranon? You… fucking jerk, actual joke of the man I thought I knew.” 

There’s no yell, not even a tone of anger; a pure form of hatred is poured out from my mom’s tightly curled frown, expressions I would have never guessed to see leveled at my father. One swift movement, the cleared plates are taken by Mother as she tosses hers and mine into the sink; the jingling of keys can be heard. 

“I’m going to my father’s, and I’m taking Anon. Sober up and figure out what’s wrong with yourself.” 

I’m still standing, staring at my dad with a burning disgust. I’ve never wanted to put my hands on him more than right now; for some reason, I just want to ride my dirt bike. I feel the wind on my dome before going to my grandpa's. 

“Mom, I’m taking the bike to Paps… Just let me have this.” 

A set of keys is placed in my hands, as well as a pair of glimmering eyes, ringed with droplets forming. Mom’s trying her best not to break down; she leans forward slightly.

“Be safe, Anon.” 

Three simple words that carry so much weight in a multitude of ways: taking the keys, I give her a quick hug before stepping off towards the garage entrance. I hear Dad tossing his plate into the sink and the sound of the front door slamming shut—all these sounds, and now the lingering silence giving way to a long overdue headache. 

I grip the door handle, using a bit too much strength as I fling the garage door open. 

There it is. The last bit of connection to the past I have before I get sent away.

The dull orange hunting pattern is spread across scratched plastic, the engine is covered in dirt, and the exhaust tip is the only thing that looks like someone cleaned it. It’s not the fastest, but it’s mine. 

My arm is grabbed, stopping me from moving forward. Whipping my head around, I’m face-to-face with the drunk menace himself; showing force, I rip my arm out of his hands with a jerking motion, using my newfound strength against him finally. 

His stare is pointed and heavy, licking his lips slightly before he cracks his neck to the side. 

“You don’t have to love me, but you will respect me.” 

“Fuck you…”

The words leave my mouth before I can even think; a searing sting presents itself to my cheek. He slapped me, but it doesn’t hurt as much as the first few times; if anything, it’s weak. Dad turns around, stumbles towards the kitchen table to retrieve his flask; me? I press the garage release; the sputtering of the little engine lets the shutter door lift, the dark purple of the night revealing itself to me. 

Hopping onto the bike, getting comfortable in the worn-down seat, kicking the clutch, and starting the engine, the little roar and rumble comforting me. 

—Nowhere Road—

The night wind is empowering, brushing against my bare legs as I gradually pick up speed. No real destination. I know I should be heading to Grandpa's, but I just need to escape for a bit. 

Hitting tight turns, nearly slamming into a few pre-dented trees I’ve come to know and love. They never used to be Anon-shaped at one point. 

Finally I’ve reached a stopping point… 

The abandoned lookout, the trespass sign graffitied to hell by a multitude of tags and crude drawings; said gate the sign rests on was bent and forced open years ago by teens of yesteryear, allowing me ample room to speed my bike right through. 

A sharp right into a screeching stop, the burning of rubber combined with a dust bowl of dirt and rocks sputters outward towards the edge of the cliff; the eroded wooden fence shakes lightly as it gets pelted by rocks. 

Kickstand in place, adrenaline spiked, and headaching; Stepping towards the edge, gripping the only part of the splintered fence that’s stable, tears beginning to stream down my face. 

I really am a screwup, aren’t I? Why do I feel like this? What’s my purpose in life? And who am I fooling by trying to justify my actions? I’m nothing but a tool for others’ enjoyment; it was proven to me on that day. I’m nothing but a clown, a fool. 

My hands grip tightly, forcefully, enough to hurt my calloused fingers; the pain means nothing—it’s well deserved for what I’ve caused. Even if Dad is completely in the wrong, and it’s probably a deeper issue, I became the last straw. 

I’ve ruined my parents… 

“Ruined way more than just that queer.” 

That voice; quickly turning around, my eyes meet Johnny… He’s leaning on the handlebars of my bike, decked out in a long-sleeved black shirt, blue jeans, and his white sneakers. 

“W-what are you… d-doing here, Johnny?”

Raptor Jesus dammit! I can’t control my heartbeat; my voice is calming. What the hell is he doing here?

“I heard a familiar noise and knew it was your bike. I thought I’d find you in the third tree before the turn up here.” A chuckle “Didn’t think you’d make it this time.” 

There’s no care in his voice, no real concern, but a forbidding sense of malice; something isn’t right. 

He’s approaching me, slowly and steadily. Hands poised at his sides, digging into his jean pockets. Eyes focused behind me, looking right through me to the edge of the cliff. 

“You… packed on some muscle? Didn’t expect that, but that won’t help you. You think I’d let you go after embarrassing me in the auditorium? Made me bleed…”

No sound, no hesitation, a full-on sprint is all I can see before I’m tackled to the ground. The wood fence splinters apart against the impact; Johnny and I are on the dirt, my spine colliding with pebbles and jagged rocks, a gasp escaping my mouth. 

“G-get off, you prick!” 

Shouting at him as I manage to grab onto his shoulders, trying my hardest to push him off, but the position he has on me is too much; he’s too big and way more muscular than me. 

“Not until I prove a point!” 

A punch is leveled at my gut, making me lose my grip; hands clutching at the dirt, more and more punches collide into my ribs and stomach. 

Glancing to the side, I spot a rather big rock; clutching it as hard as I can, I thrust it towards Johnny's head. He pulls back just enough for me to miss and hit his neck instead. He falls to my side, clutching it as he struggles to catch his breath. 

WHOOP WIIRRRR BURRR

Sirens pierce my ears; a dark wine-red and white state patrol pulls as close as it can get to the broken metal gate. The crunching of gravel is the only sound that breaks the sirens as they cut off. Reds and blues flash rapidly. 

A semi-balding man stands tall as he exits the car, gray hair and a nasty scar across the bald middle of his head. Dull pearl green eyes, years of law enforcement burned into them, and the most striking feature, a wild bear physique paired with a pure black prosthetic forearm. 

He’s here… Grandpa… Officer Boucher.

Without any hesitation at all, a weapon of a hand is gripping the back of Johnny's collar, yanking him upward to his knees. Johnny's eyes seem scared; actually, his body looks to be shivering. 

“O-officer… B-Boucher…” 

Grandpa cracks his neck both ways, a snap, crackle, and then a pop as his prosthetic hand rests heavily on Johnny's shoulder. An intense stare is presented to him before his eyes land on me. Flickering from my bike and back to me. 

Quickly getting on the bike, kicking the stand upwards, and bolting out of there. The gravel kicks up behind me as I speed past the patrol car and towards Grandpa's. 

—So You Want to Be a Cop?—

Screeching tires signal my arrival to the poorly paved asphalt of Grandpa's driveway. Mom's silver sedan parked to the right of me: killing the engine, kickstand up. I tumbled to the ground from the seat, knees on the ground. My hands firmly digging into my thighs, my skin aching under my assault. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck… Johnny was… what was he going to do? What was I going to do?

Turning my head towards the road, I spot the wine-red car once more; no sirens, no red and blues, just the engine and a clearly aggravated grandpa through the windshield as he pulls in. Stopping a few feet away from my pathetic groveling. 

“Anon, my son.” 

Quickly the mammoth of a man helps me to my feet, the cold of his prosthetic arm oddly comforting. This arm used to hold me when I was a baby…

“Your mom tipped me off, said you might head to that cliff to think. Didn’t know I’d be encountering that little prick…”

The frustration is dripping from his war-torn voice; his uninjured hand is guiding me to the front door as it gently rests against my back. Heading to the door, it swings open, and I’m swiftly swept up into a warm embrace of my mother. 

I missed this.

“I missed you too, sweetie. I’m sorry I had Grandpa come get you—“

On cue, Grandpa makes a snort as he’s clearly still roughed up from what he had witnessed. 

“Actually, that was the best thing you could’ve done; that little Johnny prick was trying to beat my grandchild here. Don’t worry, though… I ‘took him to the station.’ He’s learning.” 

That’s… that’s actually extremely scary. That voice mixed with whatever smug tone did not match his body language. 

“Well, I’ll leave you two to talk for a bit; I’ve got to clean a stain from the back bumper.” 

With that ominous comment out of the way, Grandpa closes the door as he leaves for that… “stain.” Leaving me in the clutches of my now terribly concerned mother, who is currently patting me down for any injuries. Little does she know my spine feels like it’s out of alignment…

“Good… You're looking fine, just a few scrapes. Let’s sit on the couch, dear; I need to update you.” 

Being hand-guided to the couch, sitting down on the cigarette-scented cushions. Also, just an observation, but Grandpa really has no right being in a furniture store if he picks the only piece of furniture that actually makes him look like a grandpa when guests are over… 

“What’s going on, Ma?” 

My voice is calm, even if I’m still a bit shaken from recent events; Mom just provides what I need at this moment. 

“It’s about the upcoming school year; we’re nearing the end of August already. So…” She leans over the arm of the couch, grabbing her purse to dig through. “I snatched this before we left home; it’s got all your school and travel plans. To Dinofronia next week. You’ll be on a GreyPtero, so it’s a straight shot to Volcadera Bluffs. Don’t worry about packing; I’ll be having Grandpa pack and ship everything. Just write a list down of what you need or want, and he’ll fetch it, okay?”

I nod quietly as I grab the thick orange envelope; it reminds me of a secret document folder. Oh… there’s a state trooper seal on the top left; guess I was right. 

“Thank you, Ma… I really appreciate that. I’m… I’m going to miss you.” 

Another full, warm embrace; I return it gratefully. This memory will become a motivation. I’ll become invisible, pass my classes, and just move on with life. 

Oh god… I’m crying on my mom’s shoulder for the hundredth time this month. It doesn’t even help anymore either; it just hurts and stings. That pain is elevated as I feel her tears match my mind, our arms tightening around each other. 

I finally break the connection, taking the envelope under my arm and heading to the guest bedroom off to the living room's side, giving Mom a glance. 

“I’ll see you in the morning, Mom. I love you.”

“I love you too, my little amplifier.” 

I snort at the pet name; it’s been some time since I truly found it nice to hear. 

Closing the door and throwing myself onto the bed, well, not before tossing my phone onto the nightstand. I wouldn’t want to mess it up more than I have recently. I have a week, one week till I’m shipped on a bus to… to… oh! Yeah, the envelope. 

Flopping my hand to my side as I adjust to a seated position, tearing the tabs on the top of the thick envelope. Multitudes of papers jut out; the one I actually care about is where I’ll be living and what school. 

Thumbing the two most important-looking ones, one with a border of palm trees and the other with a dark blue chain-link fence design at the top with bold “SR” letters

Accepted to Volcano High: Anon Y. Mous

Well, that’s that. The school with the bland but seemingly endless description is my new personal hell for the next year. Wonder what it’ll be like to be the only human…. Hot climate means Saurian territory; well, whatever next paper…

SkinRow Lease Form: Prepaid Full Year: BLDG 420: Room 215 B

Heh… 420… Wait, SkinRow? What an odd name. Is it, like, named after a human or something? 

Idiot, why don’t you search it up? Nahhhh, too tired; well, that settles what I really need to know for now. Tossing the papers back into the envelope and subsequently the whole thing on the floor, I slam my head into the pillow and let my hand flip the lamp off. Good night, cigarette-smelling room…

Chapter Text

\Anon/

The bus station… It’s a bit scary now that I’m finally here, like the severity of what’s finally happening just set in all at one time. The weight of my backpack feels like it just tripled onto my abused spine, straps tugging tightly against my worn-down shoulders, dragging my posture as I stare down the few passing cars zooming down the interstate, some blasting music, others blaring horns. 

“Anon” Cold steel meets my thick jacket, landing on my right shoulder. “It’ll be alright, son; your mother’s making sure of that, and so am I.” 

Grandpa’s voice is definitely not suited for comfort.

“Very true, son… I’m sorry Mother couldn’t come with us, but you know how hard she works; hell, this town only let me off ‘because of my reputation.” 

A low rumble of a chuckle is emitted from him; he definitely enjoys being a cop way too much. Removing his prosthetic hand, Grandpa adjusts his hands onto his hips, a very typical cop pose, as he eyes the surrounding area. Tossing a few stares at some delinquent-looking teens, definitely a bit younger than me; one’s got a killer Mohawk. 

“If you had a head of hair, kid, and did… that… I’d have to make you bald.” 

“Point taken.” 

“You scared? I see the shakes, son.” 

You have no idea. Pa… really no idea. It’s an entirely foreign country compared to here, on the other side of the states; hotter climate, fewer humans, shit, everything is so drastically changed from what I’m used to.

“A bit, just… I don’t know.” 

Grandpa moves around, coming to a crouch lightly before me, his flesh hand gripping my bicep. Those pale green pearls stare into my entire being; an expression of worry flashes across his scarred features before resting into a calm smile, something rare. 

“Take it from me, I’ve moved from state to state just as much as you; granted, never during my youth, but I’ve restarted plenty of times. Met your grandmother during one of those many troubling moments. Yes, she left when it got hard, and I resent her, but those years raising your mother in all these unique places taught me to cherish them and remember which one brought me the most happiness and joy. Just try to make the most of this year, be a kid, and do stupid shit with new friends. Just don’t get arrested.” 

My face scrunches, eyelids buckling as I try not to cry. It seems like all I can do is cry at advice nowadays. 

Managing to smush those tears back into the well, giving my grandpa a crushing hug, and actually hearing him make a grunt before returning it. Guess I did make good progress on the physical front, even if I hated working out and going by that devil's diet; after a moment or two I see the GreyPetro pulling up to the designated sign. 

Grandpa seems to realize this as well, even though he’s looking away from the street; he breaks the embrace with a slap to my shoulder, and if I didn’t brace myself, I'd probably be on the floor. 

“I love you, kid; now get going. Make sure to call your mother if you do pit stops, and if it’s just a straight shot, call her when you get to that apartment you hear?”

“Sure thing, Pa. I love you too.” 

Words of affirmation shared, heartache settling slightly, I make my way to the bus. A giant, grey-colored behemoth of a vehicle. A large logo by the bottom cargo bay: two spread black feathery wings, its namesake airbrushed in script on each feather. It’s actually a really cool logo.

Seeing as Grandpa already shipped my goodies, including my bike—I don’t know how he pulled that off; he said something about having some police connections down there, a commissioner, I think? Well, that's unknown. I'll worry about that when I actually arrive in Dinofornia. 

Stepping onto the bus, scanning for the furthest back seat I can, rushing towards it a bit nervously as I secure that sweet, sweet window seat. Letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. 

Suddenly a bag is thrown to the free seat at my left, jolting me a bit….

“Shit, my bad, I didn’t notice you; you’re very quiet. I felt that.” 

The low voice is sort of hard to pick up as I turn to look at my offender; a pair of light red irises meet me. It’s a Saurian! He's an extremely pale-looking shade of pink. Covered in a multitude of bright floral tattoos on their neck and seemingly hands, speaking of which he’s extending his to me, and I’m just staring like a deer in headlights… 

“It’s no issue, just lost in thought, as all.” 

Replying as quickly as I can to save the moment from becoming awkward. 

The… I think Atrociraptor… grips my hand back with a soft yet firm grip. He’s definitely got some muscle packed underneath that glaringly white leather coat; handshake exchanged, he moves to sit, grabbing that long black bag to place on his thighs. Expensive tastes, I think. Those black jeans look like some sort of rare fabric, plus those Cuban links on his neck. Also, those gold piercings on his snout are cool. 

“I’m Curtis, by the way.”

“Anon” 

A nod of approval is shook as Curtis runs a hand through his violet hair; his claws are trimmed and painted a matte black too. He’s definitely got to be in some sort of punk band, or maybe he’s just super alternative. His tone is very soft, though, so not a singer. Guitar or drums… 

The bus engine cuts off my thoughts as I feel my seat rumble and shake me slightly, the vibrations bringing my attention to what’s below me. Oh… I’m sitting directly on top of a wheel; the hilly-like bump boosting my right leg up slightly gives that away. I didn't notice it, too busy in my own head. This isn’t good… The highway here is full of potholes; I’ll feel every bump until Montana… 

—(Between A) Rock And A Hard Place —

“Hey, man.” 

Mmmm… Give me five more minutes, Mom... School won’t mind…

“I’m not your mom, bro.” 

My eyes widen as my half-sleepy mind registers what’s actually happening at the present moment in time; Curtis is laughing lightly as he pats my shoulder to stabilize himself, and his eyes and reactions make me think I’m making the most horrible expression. 

Of which I am, my face feels tight, and there’s a budding heat trailing from my neck to my face. How can I be so embarrassed? Oh yeah, it’s a total stranger on a bus. A bus that’s dragging me to the worst year of my life before becoming an adult. 

“S-sorry, man.” 

Now I’m stuttering! Great job, Anon. 

“You’re good, man; we’re stopped right now, something about the engine stalling.” 

Curtis scratches his snout, eyes leveling into an odd thinking look, then a small smirk. Grabbing the black bag on this lap, undoing the string strap, pulling out a pair of drumsticks—real gnarly-looking ones too, kind of like knives. 

“I’m a drummer; I’m nothing too special, but it’s fun, right? Have you got any musical experience?”

Curtis focuses his sticks on the empty seat in front of us, tapping a few times before finding a rhythm to steady in on. It's slow-paced, almost melodic for not having any real pitch. 

Palming my jeans, staring at the deep blue of my faded fabric. The dirt stains from falling off my bike one too many times are staring back at me with bittersweet memories. I had tried my hand at music before getting into electrical work. Mom had a piano when we lived in New York… I might remember a thing or two. 

“Can’t say I got talent, and I probably am extremely rusty, but I played piano for a little bit when I was younger.” 

A subtle chuckle, the sticks rhythm quickens pace. 

“You don’t look that old, man; you sure talk like it though.” 

W-what? Do I really talk like that? Is that how Johnny and them felt too, that I was old or out of the loop? 

My mind begins to race, the familiar feeling of a cold sweat breaking down my spine coupled with a shiver; then, of course, my heart spikes in my chest. I’m letting it get to me, the words, the hurt…

“Hey, shit, I pushed a button, didn’t I?” 

The drumming stops; Curtis’s voice is clear and consistent. A pale pink hand cupping my shoulder with a light shake. He’s trying to comfort my growing panic. 

“Y-yeah… just… I just remembered something I didn’t want to. Not your fault, I’m just overthinking, man.”

I have to give an apology. He’s been nice and calm and hasn’t even asked questions. Hell, I slept a good chunk, and for all I know, he’s been awake alone with his thoughts. Does he not have a phone, perhaps? 

Curtis takes his hand off, putting his drumsticks back into the carry bag; said bag comes to rest on his lap once more. 

“My bad still, though. I shouldn’t make light of someone I just met; it’s rude of me.” 

Another apology, I appreciate it. I’m glad he’s the first Saurian I interact with. Makes me a bit more comfortable with what’s to come after this trip. 

Speaking of which, where are we? 

“We just broke the border into Idaho; you missed some pretty cool Montana farmland. That state looks amazingly beautiful.” 

Fucking mumbling, even if I wanted to know that, it shouldn’t have just slipped so easily… How does Mother deal with her own mumbling? I’ve never seen her do it as badly as I have. 

Idaho, though? Glad I slept through all those potholes, sleeping through Montana is also a pleasant surprise too; fast travel is real, thank you Skyrim for teaching me the sleep method, praise Talos! 

“How long do you think it will be till they get the engine up and running?” 

Scratching the back of my neck, I try to calm my voice as I ask a pretty simple question, but for some reason I can’t help but be a nervous idiot at the moment. 

“Hmmm, honestly man, no clue; besides that, why is a teen like you heading to Dinofornia? I thought it’d be like music, like those get-rich-or-die-trying types? But I’m wrong.” 

Okay, maybe my opinion is changing on Curtis a little bit; wait, that’s stupid. How is he supposed to know I’m escaping a homophobic town, an abusive alcoholic father, and an ex-crush who wants to break every bone in my body or worse…

“I’m… I’m transferring to another school for senior year.” 

Curtis looks concerned and confused; seeing that look of concern from someone who isn’t in my family is kind of making me feel uncomfortable… I have to make up a lie here.

“My dad lives out there, doing computer stuff, and I’m into electrical stuff, so I’m interning at the company he works at. Deciding to finish my senior year there, in Volcadera Bluffs.” 

His expression levels, wiping that pity look off his snout, back to normal… Phew, I could feel my pores open up to just drench me in sweat. Curtis gives a smiling nod as we both turn our heads to the front as the driver enters the cabin; a thumbs-up is thrown, some passengers clap like cornballs… Hehe, cringe. Well, at least the bus is back moving. 

“Well, back to doom scrolling for me, man. Wait…” 

Curtis brings his phone out from his jacket pocket; what a case on it too. It's boxy and has a brown leather backing with a plastic border. Making the whole thing look like a brick. 

“Let me show you some band videos. I and the Swamp Babies have won several Battle of the Band competitions since high school and onward.” 

I can’t help but raise an eyebrow at him. Didn’t he say he wasn’t anything “too special”?

“Okay… I’ve seen that look. Yeah, I might’ve been downplaying my ability. Called my bluff before I can even show you a video…”

He actually looks a little disappointed… 

“You did that to yourself, bro; that ‘several awards’ thing did it for me.” 

I can feel a bit of a smirk coming on as I continue to just point out his bluff. 

“Damn, knew I shoulda just played the vid instead of gloating, well shit, imma show you anyway” 

The fancy cased phone is thrust in front of me; a pretty low-quality camera definitely captured the moment, but the sound is perfect; the impact of the drums creates a perfect harmony of background for the roaring alternative sound blasting from the speakers. 

“That master on the guitar is Trent, the one with the sick horns. Let me tell you, those things are sharp.” 

Speaking of Trent, he’s currently just shredding that shit. That’s some real talent; the dude’s finger work looks impeccable, and even if I'm more of a boomer rock guy, this sound is catchy. 

Then, as if on cue, the lyrics hit with a lightning strike; the bridge, chorus, and basically the whole thing are just hitting right—extremely catchy. 

“That absolute rockstar of a singer is Nick; she’s literally the glue that holds us together. A very cocky glue, but a glue nonetheless.” 

The sound fades out as Nick thanks the crowd, giving a little bow before turning heel towards the rest of the band, and then the video cuts off. 

“Honestly, Curtis… That was super impressive. I can see why you all won so many battles.” 

Pocketing his phone, he gives a little hand wave before snickering to himself. Actually, if his voice wasn’t so soft, it’d be more like giggling. 

“Thanks, man, fueling my ego more than I already think it is.” 

Ohhhh, I see; he probably does this with every new person he meets. Got to fulfill that ego quota? And I’m just another mesmerized victim. Sheeesh, what a marketer; next thing you know, he’ll be asking me to buy a tee-shirt he’s got tucked away somewhere.

Buzz Buzz Buzz

Interpreting my train of thought I extract my phone from my jeans. Three consecutive buzzes in a row can only mean one thing.

StegoStar is spamming me so fast my phone actually can’t handle the amount of messages. She’s the type to just fire off one-word messages instead of a paragraph… rest in peace notifications… I’ll miss you.

Opening SnootCord, thumbing to our rapidly increasing messages….

“Hey Emerald, I was wondering how the trip’s going.” 

“Are you close to Dinofornia yet?”

“I wonder what school you're going to.” 

“Wait, where in the state are you actually going to? It’s big, you know.” 

“You could be close to me!!!” 

Holy… these were all fired off within literal seconds of each other. Actual rapid fire, I don’t know how she can just do this without any stopping. 

Scary….

“Hey, Star! I’m in Idaho, so I’m actually pretty close. I’m going to be living in Volcadera Bluffs; the lease for the apartment says ‘SkinRow.’ Also, I’ll be attending Volcano High. I read up on it a bit, well, the school’s super long-winded explanation I didn’t bother finishing lol.” 

StegoStar Is Typing. . . 

. . . 

Okay… this is pretty uncharacteristic of her. Did I say something wrong? That’s got to be it, right? Maybe too much info, or worse…

“OMG! YOU'RE GOING TO MY SCHOOL!”

“WE CAN BE LIKE BEST BUDDIES IRL NOW!!!” 

Rapid texts begin firing off; I actually can’t think before the next one comes in.

“I CAN BE LIKE YOUR GUIDE AND STUFF, SHOW YOU THE TOWN TOO!” 

“Got to calm down real quick; I’m just super happy we can be IRL buds now!” 

That’s the Star I know, horrendously happy about almost everything that ever involves her friends. That’s actually pretty good. I know I want to be invisible to a degree, but having at least one person to lean on would be nice. Show me the school, and catch me up to speed on stuff. 

“Wait, wait, wait! SkinRow?! Didn’t your parents know that place is literally where cops don’t patrol at all?!?” 

“It’s full of gangs and other violent criminals!” 

WHAT! 

“What do you mean, Star? You can’t be serious, right? My dad wouldn’t just put me up in the worst place ever.”

Actually… going off recent events, I’m probably dead wrong. Fucking stupid prick, probably thinks that if I lived in some sort of crack den, I’d grow up quicker or lose my sense of self… the already slipping sense of self. 

“YEAH! It’s filled with those types of lost souls, Emerald… I hope you aren’t living too deep into the place. I have to go, but please text me when you arrive.”

“Sure thing, Star.” 

Shoving the phone onto my lap, I side-eye Curtis. Damn, he’s out like a light. Maw open and drooling. Kind of funny, but that lets me think a bit on what the hell I’m walking into when I arrive at the station. 

How can I be so stupid and not look up anything about where I’m staying, like at all? Now I get it. I was told that I’m walking into a glorified exclusion zone. Is Father trying to get me killed on the first day? Whatever this is, it’s starting to actually kill me; the amount of stress I feel building up is going to make my brain pop a blood vessel… Maybe I should just sleep the rest of the way; did I pack headphones? 

Reaching into my bag as it rests between my legs on the ground, my hand mindlessly fumbling in the general direction of a pocket. 

Got it!

Old reliable wired headphones—honestly, I think wireless ones suck for audio quality; the wires literally give it more conductivity for sound transfer. Idiots on the engineering team fumbled the bag, man… 

—Last Caress: Misfits—

Blinding light… 

Extremely blinding…

With eyes wide open, I’m faced with a blaring solar flare bursting through the bus's wide window. The sight of sprawling asphalt, a large 6-way highway, it looks like… Expensive sports cars with their tops down cut past; the bus turns off an exit, revealing to me rows and rows of palm trees towering over small businesses and a huge sign.

~Welcome to Volcadera Bluffs~

The large sign is colored a tacky green with comically clean white lettering, while the signs after this one have graffiti tags and so many stickers stacked onto one another I think the actual size of said signs doubled. 

“Looks like we’re almost to the station, man. I’m glad to be home. North Dakota was cool, but damn was it cold… Ehh, I’m getting shivers thinking about it.” 

Curtis makes a little shaking motion with his body as he eyes out the window with me. His whole demeanor is just pleasant; he was really looking forward to coming back. I wonder if I’ll look at this place with such happiness later?

The bus turns once more, a bit sharper as a station finally comes into view, a large canopy with a tinted glass roof; a bit of a raised platform with extenders, probably for the cargo bay, or maybe handicapped access points. In other words, this is the most up-to-date bus station I’ve ever seen. 

Coming to a halt, the whole bus hisses as the door opens; trails of passengers step out. All human but one, Curtis; I trail behind him as we both step out into the blistering heat of a clear-skyed sun. My jacket is beginning to feel heavier on my skin below. I’m not used to this type of heat yet. I’ll be damned if I take this jacket off, though; there are bruises that still have yet to disappear… Yellow and black, such ugly reminders of the past three months. 

Curtis extends a fist to me, an eyebrow raised and a cocky smile. 

Returning the gesture, I bump into his fist with my own, a simple expression, but it was cool to do. 

“Anon, seeing as this may be the last time we see each other,” Reaching into his drumstick bag, Curtis presents to me a small piece of paper. “It’s a piece of our band's last flyer I tore off. Got our socials; give a follow, man, and hit up a show. I’ll get you up front.” 

A soft smile is pressed against his snout as I take the paper, stuffing it in my jeans. 

“Thanks, man, I… I might come out to a show.” 

“Thatta man.” 

The roaring of a car breaks our concentration as it pulls up to the other side of the platform, honking multiple times before a light blue-shaded Saurian sticks their head out. 

“CURTIS! GET YOUR ASS IN THE CAR! WE GOT TO GET PLASTERED!” 

Curtis lets out a snort before giving me a head nod, which I return, before he runs off into the pretty-looking sports car. 

Looking around, I’m met with a sea of colors. Vibrant reds, blues, greens—you name it. Feathery tails, slicked spikes, and stubby horns. Literally a pipe dream in real life… If I was told I was drugged, I’d believe it, because this is definitely sensory overload… 

You have to call Mom, Anon.

Fuck, yeah, almost forgot. Thanks, subconscious, for reminding me. 

Walking over to a nearby bench, settling into the slightly warm metal; thank Raptor Jesus it’s underneath the tinted canopy. Swiping to the contacts, I press the call button before the second ring even reverberates.

“Anon! My little amplifier! You made it alright?” 

Mom’s voice is music to my ears, comforting and gentle; it feels like I’m hugging her. 

“Yes, Ma, sitting on a bench, just taking in the sights, I suppose. Also, did you know where Dad put me up? That Skin Row place?”

“Up, up, up! Grandpa informed me, When you left, honestly, Anon, I’m going to kill your father before the alcohol does.” The frustration is rising as Mom begins to get louder. “But Grandpa is going to have one of his police buddies get you. So you don’t have to take a taxi. Matter of fact, let me tell Grandpa to call him.” 

One of Grandpa's police buddies… If they’re anything like Pa, this’ll be one fun ride into the most crime-ridden area in the county. He’ll probably stop at every stop sign looking for someone to arrest or just intimidate. Sheesh, Pa, how the hell do you manage to scare people into compliance without even touching them? 

“Tell Pa I said thank you; I was starting to get a bit worried on the bus when I found out.” 

Yeah, that near panic attack didn’t help either when I accidentally made Curtis feel sorry for a simple jab. 

“Of course I will. Let me call him, okay, sweetie? Call me when he drops you off.” 

“Sure thing, ma.” 

The line goes dead, the three little beeps resonating in my ear as I tear the phone from my ear to blankly stare at the time. It’s mid-afternoon already, wait? We didn’t just traverse, like, 3 states in a day, did we? I guess it’s not that hard to believe; I’ve read some crazy threads about people driving from New York to Florida all in one day for some NASCAR event. The bus did have its own lane for most of the trip too, so maybe it’s not super hard to make sense of.

Opening SnootCord, checking up with the few servers I’m actually active in. Game updates, angry reviews, people trying to use a bot to obliterate channels with custom-made GIFs—yup, just the usual there. 

Let’s just bait some peeps on the Chan and see if I can aggravate anyone on the Dinofornia board. Scrolling through the endless stream of people complaining about politics, car emissions, “woke propaganda,” and progressive rhetoric. 

Oh my god, the bait is just too easy to make. Is this whole state's internet population just crazy?? I swear that some of these statements can’t be real and have to be like a computer training exercise. 

—Dinofornia Über Alles—

The sun is beginning to settle lower and lower, giving way to a calm warmth rather than the harsh heat I initially walked into an hour or two ago. Mom sent me a text saying Grandpa’s buddy would be here in an hour or two or a bit later due to work. Honestly, I’d like to complain I’d be at the apartment already, but I can’t trust walking or taking a taxi just yet. 

Looking up from my phone towards the parking lot, I see the silhouette of a patrol car pulling up; its blinding LED headlights light me up in a matter of seconds as it parks close to the edge of the platform. A hulking figure emerges from the car; a large set of wings catches my attention first. They look like one solid mass, extending outwards into a stretch. Clad in a dark blue uniform, a silver badge with a few stars reveals itself as he approaches me. On instinct I immediately stand up at attention, earning me a smirk. 

The dark sandy brown pterosaur stares me up and down. I can’t help but notice his orange crest has quite the chunk taken out of it, in an almost perfect surgical-like curve. His wings share the drab orange of his crest as well. 

From up close I can see his badge has 5 stars in a circular pattern… 

Commissioner? 

“Correct, wouldn’t expect less from Boucher’s grandkid. You've even got a bit of muscle on you. Good.”

I can’t tell if I’m shitting bricks or if the amount of sweat beginning to build up on my forehead is making me come down with some sort of cold, because holy shit, he’s got the same intense personality as Grandpa…

Take initiative here. Anon, this is Pa’s buddy, if that tells you anything; it means to make a really good first impression. 

Extending my hand out, trying my hardest to push a calm look past my slowly growing sweat-filled face. 

“A-Anon, Sir, it’s… good to meet you.” 

The massive hand grips mine to near death; as always, this is definitely a test. 

Squeezing back as hard as I could with these newly formed muscles, earning me yet another smirk, I think I’m going to do this yet. Holy shit, am I doing it correctly? 

“Mr. Aaron, now let’s get you to that apartment. Before I forget, all your stuff is already in the place. I had a few of my guys ensure it got there. Lots of box trucks like the one your grandpa paid for get robbed on the way, and as for that dirt bike… it’s at the station for now.”

Oh yeah. That’s extremely comforting to know that not only am I living in gangland, but they also just see fit to rob any old box truck and probably car that dares drive through… I’m so fucked, aren’t I…

Hopping into the passenger seat, woah, the seats are actually cushioned. Oddly, I could get used to this. 

The engine begins to vibrate the whole car as it’s revved, pushing us forward. Mr. Aaron drives extremely diligently, not even glancing in my direction unless it’s to check his mirrors. A real cop through and through. 

A light cough as Aaron turns the radio chatter down; I didn’t even realize there were even calls going on—too focused in my own little world over here. 

“Anon, I heard about what happened to you; don’t worry, Boucher only told me the gist. I don’t know why it happened, but what I do know is that you’re a good kid. Let’s keep it that way, alright?” 

The tone is calm but has this eerie air of authority all too familiar. 

Thank Raptor. Jesus, Pa didn’t put out why I actually moved… I wonder what he did tell him.

“Mr. Aaron… What did Pa tell you exactly?”

My eyes shift to the streets we pass; the further we travel, the more we leave behind tall office buildings filled with colorful wall murals.

“Some punks who you called ‘friends’ began to beat on you. Badly. Told me that you decided to muscle up, and it paid off just in time for you to prevent the worst. So to protect you, your parents decided to move you here. I don’t get why so far away, but the safer the better with this stuff.” 

A clawed hand curls up to scratch under his stubby beak-like snout; it seems I’m in the clear—he doesn’t know the whole story, and he won’t ever. There will be no repeating of what happened before; no one will ever know how I feel. Hell, I’ll just push it out eventually. If Dad can't “beat the gay away,” I’ll just isolate it, and… and maybe my parents will go back to normal. 

Is that right, Anon? Do you really want to abandon what took you so long to figure out? 

I don’t know. 

“We’re coming up on the entrance, boy. For simplicity’s sake and your protection, you’re going to have to play into what I’m about to do when we park.” 

What does he mean by that? And why is he smiling like that? He looks exactly like Grandpa. Oh, fuck. 

I'm becoming a show of force, aren't I? 

“Smart kid, you’ll do okay if you keep following that gut.” 

…mumbling…

Let’s just keep our eyes towards the window, yeah, good idea. Great idea, actually, stupendous! 

The buildings begin to crumble into a drab and crude pattern; grey clouds bellow from small buildings, eroding the sky. There are a multitude of trash fires, typical types of homeless littering the streets. Mostly disheveled-looking humans; some smoking from pipes, others lying flat on the tattered-up concrete sidewalk. 

Some Dino-folk also ramble about, looking like kaiju rejects, sporting discolored features, huge scars, and jagged edges protruding from de-scaled places where I assume drugs are shot up from. 

There’s a group of humans staring down the patrol car as we pass slowly. A tall one stands out to me, bald-headed, wearing nothing but a tank top and basketball shorts. An unsavory tattoo on his forehead. 

Another turn down, yet another sight of a crumbling ecosystem. A large building in the distance with a skeletal lady done up in that Day of the Dead style; oddly enough, it’s a human… I think standing directly below the mural is a mixed group of dinos and humans surrounding a few motorcycles, all piercing their gazes into the car. 

Why is he going so slow? I’m getting nervous over here. 

“Here we are. Take a good look before I have to cuff you.” 

You have got to be shitting me… 

Doing as instructed, I lean forward. Aaron thankfully pulled up sideways so I don’t have to break my neck looking over the stupidly technologically hogged dashboard. 

The building’s a two-story, solid concrete box, it looks like; peeling, faded green paint crumbling off a bottom layer of red bricks looks like I could speed up the process and just peel the rest off like a scab. The metal staircase has definitely seen better days; it’s rusted to shit, probably carrying ten different forms of tetanus. 

“Alright, enough, looking boy.” 

Aaron exits his seat, rounding the front of the car, cuffs in hand as he approaches my door. His eyes focused elsewhere, however, as a scowl and sharply lidded eyes glared behind the car. Then the door is thrust open, and I’m forcibly ripped out, having the wind knocked out of me as I’m forced with my stomach into the front fender. 

Cuffed… tight. 

“Head down, eyes forward!” A loud yell is presented by my ear; I comply. Aaron leans in. “In advance I apologize; we have an audience.” 

Even with the advanced apology, it sounds like he’s enjoying this a bit too much. 

Leading me upstairs, I noticed he grabbed my bag from the backseat, thankfully resting on his free hand. Thank the lord, but also, fuck, he’s pushing way too hard with those cuffs. 

Reaching the top I get a glance towards the parking lot; a gaggle of junkies and some extremely unsavory-looking individuals peer up at us. One looks like he’s staring right at me. A desert red… I think Baryonyx, a black tank top, and a military-style cut—

Without warning, I’m thrust into the apartment, the cuff flinging off as I nearly meet face to carpet, managing to turn to my side before colliding with the ground. I can’t help but present a frustrated look towards Aaron. 

A key is tossed to my side as well as my bag. All the while, Aaron’s face is a bit upset. I don’t think he really wants to do this. 

“And stay the fuck out of that store! I won’t be this nice again!” 

The next thing tossed to me is my bag. As Aaron gives a head nod, I return it as I watch him leave. Slamming the sheet metal-looking door, he’s quite the method actor… Oh, who am I kidding? He’s definitely seen as much as my pa. Probably some more if this place is any indication. 

He didn’t take his cuffs back.

Picking myself up from the dingy carpet, finally the scent of built-up… Huh... I can’t really place the smell; it’s like a cross between fermented berries and some sort of harsh cigarette. There’s definitely cig in there; the surrounding 4 walls are covered in that yellow tar. 

There’s a metal foldouttable by the side window, acting as a desk; a wooden chair, scratched up to hell, sits underneath, and so do all of my boxes, at least the small ones. The bigger ones host my PC, and I think my projects are next to the bed. 

The bed doesn’t have a box spring but rather just a 2 by 4 scrap platform raising it a good foot or so off the ground. The mattress itself is sheeted in the black sheets from home, at least I’ll have some sort of familiarity here; across from the bed is a no-door closet, there’s hinges for one, but just no door. 

Amazingly, I’ll have to deal with being cooped up here until Monday. Fuck my life.

Slouching onto the bed, feeling literally every spring poke into my behind as I untie my sneakers. Placing them off to the side. 

I've got to take this jacket off… 

Heading over to the bathroom, flicking the light on. The vibrating hum of the luminescent lighting fills the small space; the lights remind me of a hospital, but this place is anything but clean. 

Running a finger over the sink counter, I can see the dust be spread about; this place probably hasn’t been touched in ages. Quickly I check the shower. 

Thank Raptor Jesus, no mold or even water spots. God is real! 

I’m still a bit uncomfortable with this whole thing; I’m essentially living in the crack den of the county. A place where a police car is rare. 

The mirror stares back at me as I see the man I am. Shallow, unimpressed, hated by his father, sent away. 

Used and abused? Is that the right wording…?

Peeling my drab green jacket off, my eyes lingered on the collar; the washing machine never got those blood stains out properly. There are just a few discolored spots, making the green have shades of brown by the neck. 

My new frame is presented to me; my arms have scatters of a few lingering shadows, black and blue, especially my lower shoulders. Remembering how Dad saw it fit to teach me the basics of boxing, not without letting it rip on me first. That was just the day before he made me want to rip his throat out at dinner. 

My hands find the counter, death-gripping. 

I’m so fucking stupid. I should’ve known I’d cause all of this. He was never sober but never went down the rabbit hole… until I came out.

RING RIIINNNNNG 

I forgot! 

Rushing out, I practically dove into the bed, where I guess my phone slipped out of my pocket. 

“Anon! Sweetie, Mr. Aaron sent me a message that he got you to the apartment safely! What happened to calling me?” 

I hate when she makes that voice; she knows it always gets to me… 

“I’m… sorry, Ma… just had some bad… bad thoughts.” 

Silence… 

Then a calm sigh.

“It’s okay, Anon. I understand; it’s definitely not what I wanted to happen, but remember what we promised. In just a few days I expect to hear you got a whole new friend group that accepts you.” 

Mom’s ever the optimist, even if I can tell she’s been faking it for the past 3 months. It’s easy when I catch her mumble at times. 

“I promise, Mom, I’ll get what I want.” 

The trend of false promises and lying seems to be becoming a passive trait. Even if I can be sociable, it won’t happen this time… 

Curtis… He was just a bus guy, talking so we didn’t go mad. I’ll keep my intention and blend into the background. 

“Good. Now get some sleep; I’ll be doing the same soon enough. Try to relax, okay?” 

“I will, Ma. I love you.” 

“I love you more, my little amplifier.” 

A series of smooching noises echo through the phone, making me chuckle a little. Nothing changes, huh? 

Once the onslaught is over, there’s a comfortable silence before she eventually hangs up; if Mom was waiting for me to press the button, we’d be here all night. Speaking of the night, the darkening purples turn into a deep-cut black across the sky as the scenery creeps in through my window. 

I come to rest my body against the metal table, stretching out my arms towards the glass panes; the few working streetlights begin to sputter to life, many of them choosing to give up and dim to non-existence.

Am I like those lights, a sputter of light destined to destroy itself? Out of fear, rejection, or maybe just introspection. I could be overwhelming myself, just making it harder than need be, complaining for the sake of it. This is a new start… A completely different life—I could become so much more, even if I remain invisible to the masses; I’ll graduate successfully and move on. 

My jaw constricts open, almost out of my control, as I feel a yawn break through. 

Yeah, that’s enough existential dread for one day. Maybe I should try my luck seeing what this place is like during the day… Might be a bit more civilized… 

—Picture Yourself In A Boat On A River—

No… No! 

Don’t let Ringo touch that… Not the MIC! 

I’m jolted awake from an absolute nightmarish dream; it was very much the definition of lucid as well; I can still hear it. 

Throwing the sheets off me as I swing my feet out and into the shag carpet, my toes feel the matted material conform to my presence as I stand. For how worn down it is, it’s oddly soft in some spots; bending down to pick up my jeans, slipping them on with one hand as I palm my phone off the charger. 

(10:30 September 6th) 

Schools on the 8th… I've got two days to just bed-rot if today’s expedition proves I’m not built for the streets. 

The next thing plucked from the floor is the tee… hopefully there’s a laundromat around here; I’m starting to see dirt spots. I’d like to be invisible by choice, not by exclusion for being musky. 

Almost tripping as I head to grab my backpack, fumbling in the middle zone for my bathroom items. 

Pulling out the essentials after fighting with a zipper for about a minute or two, debating if I should just rip that thing off; super annoying. 

. . .

Jacket on, sneakers laced—yep, time to get stabbed in fashion. What better way? 

I scoff at the mental image of me being on the end of a pike; actually, I really shouldn’t be laughing at that—it’s probably extremely possible. 

Pushing the sheet metal door open, palming my left pocket to ensure the key is still tucked; locking up behind me, the stairs stare at me with incoming dread. Nerves spiking and back beginning to ache as I step down, slowly and almost cat-like, trying to gauge the world as I descend. 

Am I a paranoid schizo or what?

The small, black, cracked asphalt of the parking lot greets me with nothing but silence, as do the roads beyond. A few distant happenings: other humans trading items in the alleyway across the way, some Saurians just taking a stroll down the weed-filled sidewalks. 

It’s quite the drastic change from the night. Too drastic. 

Opening my phone, trying to avoid cutting my finger on the cracks. Navigating to the map. There seems to be an abundance of convenience stores, drugstores, and, oddly enough, one big building called the “SkinShop.” It’s a pawn shop… Really fitting name. Close too… 

THUD 

“No running this time, Buck! You aren’t taking another ball from me; you’re paying for the high.”

My attention span be damned as I immediately tune into the stream of profanities dribbling out from what I can gather is Buck on the floor. A stubby-looking human, a baseball cap so tightly wrapped on his head I’m sure it’s cutting off circulation. 

“Fuck… shit… Mitch… shitting caught me.” 

There’s a crackle of a laugh before Buck rolls over, gripping his stomach. His assaulter, a Stegosaurus by the look of him, except his blue tail is cut in half, a nasty stub at the bottom; a few fists are leveled at Buck… 

I may have judged the day too nicely… I have to get some sort of protection here. 

Pawnshop Anon, knife? Can’t buy from anywhere else; I’m not old enough. 

Screw it. 

Casually I walk as much out of the way of the growing crime scene, following the map on my phone to the SkinShop. Just a few more blocks and I’ll be face-to-face with protection, just something small, I’m thinking. Nothing super deadly, but enough to get me out of a pinch. 

. . .

The glare counter is up to around ten; no one has approached me so far, so I’m fine with a few broken looks. Nothing I haven’t seen recently.

Coming up to the shop, it’s a one-story building, red bricks covered in a thick bottom layer of moss; dingy neon lights flash its namesake in a plethora of designs. Pushing past the pure black tinted doors, the chime rings off, alerting whoever was in the back room as I hear a few things drop or be fumbled. 

A… a T-Rex! 

“Ahhh, a Skinnie!”

W-what? Oh… I mumbled that, or rather, just let it out. Averting my eyes to the thin gold linked chain around the damp tan Rex’s neck. 

Embarrassing…

Wait, did he just call me a “skinnie”? People really still use that bottom-tier slur for us? There are, like, so many more good ones; dudes just have to browse the internet for a bit, and he’d probably get arrested next time he talks to me. 

“Alright, kid, you’re new, I can tell. Let me guess, you saw some shit go down and need ‘peace of mind,’ so to say” 

Hit the nail on the head, huh? Yeah, I guess most people can tell I’m not from around here, especially when I still dress like I’m ready for a nuclear winter. 

Approaching the counter and giving a nod as I gaze around the place, it’s very bare bones. Pale white walls, some signs for sale on holders. Typical fake swords behind the counter on the far right, the far left counter is tinted and covered in a blanket… not suspicious at all. 

“Came to the right shop rag. Howie's got you covered. You’d be?”

A toothy smile is thrown my way, a low rumbling sound building from Howie’s throat as I meet his eyes, of which I’m just being an idiot and staring aimlessly again. 

“It’s Anon… Look, I just want a pocket knife, simple.” 

Can’t be passive here, definitely not here. This isn’t North Dakota, and it sure as shit isn’t the city I saw on the bus before the patrol car. 

Howie flashes a raised eyebrow; a frown forms before he breaks it into a wry smile, more like sly, actually. Turning around, he grabs a claw extender; I always wondered how T-Rexes grab stuff. 

“Here’s a few to go through, none all that expensive. From left to right, it’s 15 to 25 bucks.” 

Three pocketknives are presented to me, as well as the mountain of chest hair that pushes through Howie's mustard-colored shirt. Cheap cologne hitting me with a punch…

Don’t gag… Don’t gag.

One stands out to me: a small, snake-scaled handle. A blackish purple hue; subsequently, this is the most expensive, coming in at the 25 mark. I have money in my jeans, I think. I’m sure I took some; if anything, I’ll use my phone. There’s a card reader I spot by the register. 

“I’ll take this one then.” 

“The Black Mamba, I’ve been trying to sell that for ages, humie.” Another slur, at least it’s sort of creative: “Alright, cash only right now.” Howie uses the claw extension to scratch his back. “Actually, take it, kid. It’s yours, but let’s make a deal here.” 

No way in hell… 

“I give this away, no charge, but seeing as you’re new and probably won’t survive another night. I’d be so inclined to provide employment.” 

The salt-and-pepper-haired Dino cracks his neck at the last sentence; a prodding and sort of invasive gaze is shot all across me, making me feel self-conscious. 

“You look like you got some muscle, came in here with a goal, and spoke clearly. For the most part. Could use you as maybe a truck unloader; I’d pay, of course.” 

I’m not trying to get indebted to this greaseball T-Rex. It would be going completely against what I decided on doing coming up here and last night. Even if the extra money would be good

Reaching into my pocket, I realized that I’m broke paper money-wise. Howie cocks an eyebrow. 

Fuck me… 

“Actually I’ll just come back later, just moved and haven’t got super settled yet” 

I feel my legs begin to backstep, wanting to creep myself towards the door without any sudden movements. 

“You know tha whole ‘stay still’ thing is a myth right?”

Caught red handed trying to escape Anon, no wonder we suck at stealth missions..

The sleazy looking Howie claws the knives in quick succession to place them back into the display case, the little LEDs flicker as he moves said knives into place before shutting the display light off.

“Well if you ain’t buying or taking my offer… then get lost Skinnie”

Storming towards the door and once again almost tripping on myself for the second time today. Palming the handle. 

“Kid” 

I turn my head back. 

“If you ever change your mind..” Howies tone lowers briefly “the offers still on the table” 

For some reason I can’t force a word out from my mouth, there’s a look in this dude's eyes that’s creeping me out. 

Better just leave.. 

Giving probably the quickest nod I can; hurrying back into the streets of SkinRow. 

Okay….. okay.. just head back to the apartment and you’ll be fine. No more confusion or intimidation tactics from a speciesist T-Rex. Vent it out on some NPCs on RockRing Wars. Oh Yeah and, unpacking! 

—Go With The Flow—

Wire management is impeccable as usual, Anon.

Why, thank you, Anon. 

Yes, talking to myself is very healthy. 

It took nearly the entirety of the day to unpack, set up my clothes on hangers, configure the PC, and actually clean that dust-clouded bathroom.

Tossing my jeans off, practically tearing them off from my skin. The amount of sweat I built up was horrible. I need to buy a fan; opening a window isn’t going to cut it later on in the year. 

Shower… Bed… 

That’s the course of action, and this time no more having an early life crisis in the mirror… 

. . . 

Ointment is thoroughly applied to my subsiding bruises, cooling the heated spots as I continue to dry from a hot shower. I’m thankful that these will be gone by the middle of the new school week; I should be able to wear just a tee. 

Speaking of just a tee, that’s the pajamas for tonight. Then tomorrow will be doom scrolling and RockRing all day with StegoStar… if she’s online. 

Once again I find the springy mattress contouring my body to fit in the spots where the metal springs don’t dig into my back. I’m going to look like a pretzel by the time I wake… up…

Chapter Text

\Anon/

… It’s the first time I’ve worn this jacket without the buttons being pulled tightly into place. Oddly enough, the early mornings in SkinRow are way more damp and cool—not cold, but they sure do have a horror movie feel, what with all this low-hanging fog. 

There’s a gentle breeze pushing past the tips of my fingers; the haze of fog only clearing bit by bit as I continue down the cracked path, little sprouts of life bursting up from the gashes. The usual weeds that Mother would talk about, ones she would compare people to at times. With some extreme calm to her voice, she would go on and on about “human nature,” whatever that could mean now that I’ve seen the other side of that pasture… 

Wow… 

I’m not adopting a bad outlook already, am I? Sure, I have my newfound opinions on my own species, especially my father… It irks me to even think about him at this moment. 

SLAM

“Fuck.” 

A stinging is presented to my forehead, and a solid structure meets my body with a slam. 

I walked into a lamppost. 

It seems in my neglect for my own surroundings I’ve made a fool of myself, but this little incident gives me time to take in the new surroundings. 

I was blindly following the directions on my phone up to this point. 

Fog encapsulates me as I stand still; the misting lowers to my knees, allowing me to take in the new scenery just a few blocks outside of SkinRow. Rows of cookie-cutter houses are on both sides of the two-way street, very neatly packed and situated. Almost robotic in its design and simplicity, but scary as well. Dakota, for how backwards it was, had such nice architecture. 

‘Toto, I’ve got a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore!’ 

Really? That’s the best line I could remember to relate to this moment. I haven’t even watched that movie since I was 13, when Mother wanted me to do that godforsaken play… ughhh, I’m shivering thinking about me dressed up as a tree. 

Walking to school—yes, that’s what I was doing. 

Gripping the strap of my backpack that I had lazily thrown onto my right shoulder, I tugged forward slightly to conform it more. My shoes feel heavier and heavier with each new step towards a new beginning; a slower and hopefully stable beginning. 

My phone vibrates as I round the final corner, met with a view of the side parking lot quickly filling up with my peers' cars; one looks like it just left a turf war—a shame, really, it’s a nice-looking muscle car. 

Bullet holes on the side paneling are sending blaring alarms to my head to stay clear of whoever owns that vehicle, no matter how nice the rest of the bodywork is.

That’s the plan anyway, though, Anon: be a fly on the wall, talk when spoken to, don’t try too hard, get good grades, and go home. That’s it. 

A glum feeling sweeps across my mind with a flash of Mother’s face; lying to her was hard, saying I’d take this opportunity to finally find others like me. In a school and state full of Saurians… the only outliers are Curtis and Mr. Aaron, and only one of those individuals is in the picture… for emergencies only, oh, and my bike. 

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ

Telltale sign of a StegoStar assault on my poor phone's vibration system; well, I guess just standing around for a bit to check them won’t hurt. I think I got here stupidly early by the looks of the half-empty student parking. 

Phone acquired by sweaty palms from my jeans. Thumbing to SnootCord, which I really should just put on the front screen of apps. 

“Good morning, Anon!” 

“I know we said we’d meet up by the office today, but some gardening club issues came up in the student council office today :(“

“So I’ll have to deal with that before class begins. Send a pic of your schedule when you can!!!” 

I'm still not used to her calling me by my actual name. 

“No problem, Stella… Is it weird I’m still not used to us using our actual names here?”

For some reason I’m a bit bummed out I won’t have her helping on the first day. Definitely makes this day a little harder without a proper guide; I’ll make do. 

“Anon! It’s totally okay to feel like that!”

“I get it, but we’re going to be best buddies, so get used to it, Mr.” 

Simply giving her a “fire” emoji reaction, because I can not for the life of me come up with a proper response when she starts being super super chummy. Back to the pocket you go. 

Well, better rip this bandaid off now before it becomes even more awkward. 

Feeling my feet drag as I approach the bottom of the worst set of stairs I think my body will bear at this point in life. Staring up at the colorful vomit spat out onto railings or just sitting on the concrete steps. All who occupy the space have the lingering morning fog encapsulate their feet. This school looks straight out of Silent Hill… 

Holding my backpack strap and planting my eyes slightly towards the ground, I ascend the steps to my own self-isolation. 

“Hey, man! Long time no see.”

“Bro, we literally spent the last day of summer together yesterday.” 

Conversations begin to form around me, friend groups sharing what they did over the summer or just making the occasional fun at each other's expense. 

“Hey, is that a human?”

Shit, can’t be completely invisible, huh? 

“Yeah, yeah, damn, where’s his spear? Aren’t they all spear chuckers or something?”

“Shouldn’t he be covered in hair too? You don’t think he’s got… Uh, what’s it called?”

Did that guy just try to say I have cancer? I just happen to be bald—bad genes—plus you all can get cancer too. It's just harder due to scales and other stuff.

Reaching the middle of the steps and looking around, there’s a whole host of people just sneaking glances at me. Various different types of dinos, large wings, feathered and spiked tails, frills that resemble porcupines, and, most importantly, a whole host of snickers and leers. 

Judgment is being cast upon me, heavy in its atmosphere. 

Stumbling forward, I catch myself leaning on a part of the metal railing to my left. Breath sputtering as I struggle to swallow the growing lump in my throat. 

Purple… 

Glaringly beautiful. Gemstones rather than eyes lock with mine. I can see the light of the sun shine off said irises as they focus even more on me, peeling my eyes off finally, trying to get a proper view of my eye-tag match. 

“Hey! You’re Anon, right?” 

A most annoyingly peachy voice and the person it’s attached to block my view. I try to swing my head to either side of her, desperately hoping to locate the person those purple irises belong to; the Parasaur gets in my way every time. 

A pair of questioning eyes are thrown my way from the peach-colored Parasaurolophus. Formal clothing, a button-up shirt, a little bow round the collar… Student council, maybe? Her blonde hair is reflecting the sun into my eyes. 

“Excuse me?” 

On instinct I rub the back of my neck as I realize I’m just full-blown ignoring this girl. 

“Oh… y-yes, that would be me.” 

A smile… plasticity bleeding from it as she claps her hands together in a giddy response. Her hand finds mine instantly, shaking it stir-crazy… 

“Oh, I’m so glad I found you! I’m Naomi, Student Council president, and in this case your guide today.” Thank the lord my hand’s free. “Here, I have a pamphlet I made.” 

Placed in my hand is a red pamphlet, complete with the Photoshop skills of a professional at Excel spreadsheets; upon opening it, I’m faced with my answer as to who wrote the school’s online introduction. Sheesh. 

Wait, my guide? It’s not that I don’t like her, but I can already read through her facade; it’s like my own, just wayyyy more pushy. The complete opposite of what I’m going for. 

“Thank you.” 

Two measly and almost whisper-like words are the most I can spit out anymore, and I think I’ll walk into an unskippable cutscene. 

“It’s just my job, no thanks required. Now onto some important matters. I was requested to bring you to the office; Principal Spears would like a word with you.” 

There’s a serious feeling of foreboding creeping into my skin as Naomi begins to walk towards the large wooden door entrance; I follow suit, trying to peep around and see those purples from earlier. Failing to do so, obviously. 

Vines? 

Vines are neatly strung across the tops of lockers, covering some in leaves bigger than my head; other areas of the hallway are decorated with low-hanging ceiling flowers. It’s actually really cool-looking for what’s just otherwise a plain high school hallway. The typical tiled floor with that ugly black and blue chip-colored pattern; uniform blue lockers. 

“The school has a host of unique designs; its intention is to bring a more comfortable learning environment for all students.” 

A little smugness comes from Naomi, which makes me think she may have had a hand in some of this. 

“Well, I might’ve had a hand in some of it.” 

I’m sure I didn’t mumble that, but it does feel good to be right. 

Coming to a full stop, Naomi gestures towards two glass doors; the other side hosts a large lobby area, a long desk, and a receptionist seemingly unaware and locked into her phone. 

“You can head into the waiting area; I’ll go tell Mr. Spears you’re here.” 

Obliging her, I enter, taking the nearest cushioned seat as I watch her walk off into a corridor, the entrance having a curved arch and a large placard above. 

NO MAN CAN WEAR ONE FACE.

TO HIM AND ANOTHER TO

THE MULTITUDE WITHOUT

FINALLY GETTING BEWILDERED 

AS TO WHICH MAY BE TRUE

~HAWTHORNE~

Be that God's foreshadowing or my own overthinking taking this quote out of context.

I’m feeling judged by an inanimate object. 

I know what’s true; I surely do. Even if I’m going to shut down the idea of my own happiness for now, I’ll be able to put it forward someday, somehow. 

Naomi breaks my inner monologuing as I see her creep out from underneath the curved arch. 

“He’s ready to see you now! I’ll be waiting for you out here, oh, and it’s the door at the end of the hallway.” 

Another smile I hope I don’t have to see every waking moment of today… 

Getting up from the chair takes way more energy than anticipated; my palms feel clammy, and my throat tightens again as I walk the long corridor. Does he know why I’m here? Like, really, here? He has to know more than Mr. Aaron would; of course he would. 

The black door presents itself to me with a large frame, larger than any door I’ve seen, and Grandpa had to get his doors remodeled when he bought his house in North Dakota. 

Knock… Knock… Knock 

Three times is the standard formal answer, right?

Yes, Anon, now stop with all the second-guessing. 

“Enter” 

Feeling the lump slowly go down my esophagus, I grip the cold handle and enter. 

Wood, and lots of it. It’s like this office is from the early 70s; all it’s missing is the shag carpet on the walls. Most importantly, is the actual caveman sitting at the desk raising an eyebrow at me as I gawk at the out-of-touch decor? 

Shit, fix this, Anon. 

Shuffling towards the large mahogany desk, I outstretched my hand. It’s met with a small smile as my hand is absolutely crushed by the superhuman strength of my ancestor. 

After a thorough look at my hand, I finally looked at the suited man before me. Principal Spears. A broad figure, squared shoulders, a head of hair that would make any man jealous, and, most importantly, the amount of muscle on this man is insane! 

“Please sit, Anon.” 

“Of course, sir.” 

I’ve dealt with authority figures my whole life; as much as I don’t want to think about him, all I can relate this experience to is when Father would take me on base. Sometimes babysitters couldn’t handle those long hours, so officers and sergeant majors became my substitutes… 

The chair’s large; I’m sinking in further and further as I lean back into the cracked brown leather, watching Spears flip through a thick folder. Papers being folded and placed to the side. 

Finally I’m met with a grunt; my eyes that were firmly planted on the floor flash to the dark-tinted glasses of Mr. Spears. 

“I’m glad to see you got here early. It shows a good character, Anon.” 

Spears’s voice is fatherly, but unlike my own, it’s genuinely comforting. 

“I spoke with your mother yesterday. I will admit, I had a bit of an irrational feeling when I got the transcript of what happened at Rock Bottom.” 

A shiver is sent down my spine at the words… 

“But I’m glad your mother cleared up my worries. I understand that you had a rough time towards the end of junior year. I assure you, you are valued here. And will continue to be. All I ask of you is to follow school rules and maintain good grades. Of which I know you're more than highly capable of from the last report cards I skimmed.” 

He hasn’t touched on the bullying or why it happened. I’m sure he knows, too, that the school and probably the whole town are ready to throw me under the bus for who I am. 

I’ll make sure no repeats happen here. 

Mr. Spears smiles as he pushes a paper to the edge of the desk; a pen is placed next to it facing my way. 

“I understand if you wish to not discuss that incident. I’ll leave that up to you. Now” A larger-than-life finger taps the desk. “This is a lunch card program slip. I gathered from your mother that you’d most likely be a bit strained on cash. So I had this pre-filled; all you have to do is sign. I will warn you, though, it’s much like a credit card. I expect to have the school's funds paid back by the end of the year.” 

There’s the true principal tone in that sentence. It oozes with authority, something I don’t want to mess with. 

Also thank Raptor Jesus for Mother; what would I do without her? 

Clearing my throat with a slight cough, I lean forward and grip the pen to give my signature. 

“Thank you, sir. I’ll be sure to take advantage of my opportunities here.” 

Signing the date and placing the pen flat onto the desk, stopping it from rolling with one finger, I lean back into the chair as Mr. Spears hands me what I can only assume is my schedule. 

“I’d recommend taking a picture of this, in case you lose it, of course. Oh, and for the card, I’ll have it for you tomorrow in the main lobby. Just had to get this signed.” 

Nodding my head, I pull out my phone, earning a slight wind to hit my face; further inspection reveals it’s Mr. Spears with a lingering smirk. 

“Older model. I assume you also believe in the surveillance of newer ones too?”

Mr. Spears brings out an even older model phone from his suit's front pouch. It’s bigger than mine, much bulkier, and even still has a headphone jack. 

I guess everyone’s got a conspiracy they believe in, even the principal. 

“I guess so, sir, plus I’ve put way too much time into making it mine. It would be a waste to get a newer one”

That’s partly true, as much as I would love a newer model. I spent, I think, a month jailbreaking and installing free movie apps when I first got it. 

“That’s quite understandable, son.” 

Picture taken and set as my home screen for now until I get it memorized. Spears gives a little waving gesture towards the door; that’s my cue. 

One foot out of the station and onto the platform, I guess. 

“Oh, and one more thing, Anon. Take a good look at that placard before you leave the lobby.”

I can see Mr. Spears' dark hazel eyes as he peers through the rim of his shades. The feeling in them is enough to make my fingers twitch. 

“I’ll be sure to, sir.” 

Without waiting for another word, I begin my walk out into the lobby, passing underneath the placard; waiting for me, tapping on her phone, a blushing smile plastered on her face, is Naomi. 

“O-oh! Anon” 

She jumps slightly as I just sort of stand there. 

“You scared me for a second.”

That bubbly tone really makes me think otherwise, but the blushing from earlier gives me an idea as to what or who she may have been texting, I assume, on the phone. 

“My bad.” 

Naomi nods before lunging her hand towards my schedule, which I completely forgot I was holding. 

A piercing squeal, then ringing in my ears as I watch her vigorously shake with a sugar-filled glee. 

“We have English together! Let’s hurry before the tardy bell rings.” 

Hand firmly captured in her claw prison I’m being whisked away; how many times is this going to happen again? 

—And Then It’s Hard—

It feels like there are a few thousand eyes on me; it’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before. It’s just a class introduction since I’m new… being a bit nervous is like a rite of passage. 

“Like Mr. Tsuki said, I’m Anon. I recently moved here from North Dakota.” A few eyes disappear. “My main hobby is electronics and just general electrical work.” More than half the class just lost interest. 

Yeah, it’s not like I’m stuttering or slurring words. Doing a proper intro is key to blending in. 

A hand is shot up. Cream-colored... Naomi…

“What was your school back in North Dakota like?”

The only question I really don't want to answer…

My palms feel sweaty, and a ringing begins to settle in my ears as I swirl into the few last memories I have of Rock Bottom. My airway feels blocked, and my mouth begins to taste like raw metal; it’s almost like I can feel the slow creep of blood being swallowed from an all-too-harsh impact. 

Jumping slightly as I feel a clawed hand on my shoulder. 

“Are ushu okay, Anon?”

Mr. Tsuki’s kimono-robed hand is all my eyes can land on as I realize I almost just broke down in front of the whole class. 

“I-I’m fine, Mr. Tsuki.” 

He gives a nod as he retracts his hand to point out the classroom; nodding, I head right to the back, the only open desk, planting my ass down, tossing the backpack underneath my chair as I shove my head into my hands. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Anon, you actual klutz. Spaz, or any other word we can think of. Breaking down like that just from a simple little question—to my mind it wasn’t simple, it was harsh, almost a personal attack on my own memories. 

I have to get a grip.

“I wouldn’t be so harsh on yourself, Anon.” 

A familiar voice; turning my head, I met with the soft-spoken and blue-eyed Stella. 

“Thank Raptor Jesus, I was beginning to think I’d escaped the teasing you’d do if I explained that botched opener later.” 

My special brand of sarcasm isn’t lost on her as she snickers. 

“Oh, don’t worry, Anon; while I’m beating your ass on RockRing, I’ll be sure to rag on how boringly you explained your interests.” 

Stella nudges my shoulder across the aisle, further capturing my attention. 

“Seriously though, give yourself a break, yeah? It’s a new day, hey, I was thinking,” Stella reaches into her bag, pulling out a purple suede box. “Let me give you a tarot reading!” 

She squeals a bit on the last word, causing Mr. Tsuki to tap the board with his wooden practice sword. Stella straightens up. Offering apologies, I can’t help but chuckle a bit; it feels good to talk to her. One friend is more than enough. 

“Hey, quit laughing at me.” 

A small pout is presented on her snout, kind of making me chuckle more. How can she be so expressive to the point it looks animated?

“Hmph… I’ll just let you rot then. No fortune for you.” 

“My apologies, Lord Stella. Please, I’ll crumble without my fortune.” 

I clasp my hands together, interlocking my fingers in a prayer position as I shake them lightly towards her. Half-lidding my eyes as I plead. 

Stella opens her tarot box, carefully grabbing the gold- and purple-rimmed cards. Shuffling them as if she’s done this a million and one times already. It’s pretty impressive. 

“I guess I could forgive you. You are but a peon in my world.” 

A mock voice of superiority, sort of reminding me of a certain Dragon Ball villain; she turns to me, spreading the cards out. 

“Alright, all you have to do is pick three cards. The first one is the past, the second is the present, and the third is the future, of course.” 

For some odd reason, I’m feeling tense as I hover my hand towards the cards. I’m not superstitious by a long shot, so why would these funky-looking pieces of cardboard make me feel so uneasy? 

Drawing my first card and placing it down, Stella immediately pounces on it. Flipping it over with glee. Her eyes focused in, and a contemplative expression formed over her features. 

“The Hermit, upright. Contemplation, a search for truth and inner guidance; as much as this is vague, the stars picked this for you. It symbolizes how you felt, trying to find where you fit in as you try to isolate yourself.” 

Placing my hand over the felt rim of the card, a picture of a little gnome covered in a black robe. Standing upon a cliff edge looking out towards the rising sun. 

It’s sort of right… I spent so much time in the past isolating myself while trying to find myself. Making it all the more difficult, and when I finally found an inner truth, it was squashed, snuffed out by the one who allowed me to find it. 

Without a word I draw my second card; Stella once again rushes to flip it. 

“Strength reversed… Self-doubt, weakness, and insecurity.” Stella’s hand finds my shoulder, giving it a good squeeze. “I know this may not be the card you wanted to be representing the present, but the beauty of this is… that it will change.” 

I cover her hand, gently peeling it off from my shoulder. I can see the frown curl on her lips; she didn’t feel the need to explain this one as in-depth. Because it’s as self-explanatory as it gets, and it’s right. It’ll remain to be right; I won’t let a card change my decision. 

“I appreciate the comfort, Stella… Let’s just continue.” 

The third and final card—this time I’m a bit apprehensive when picking it. That feeling from earlier became hefty, like it’s weighing down my back, let alone my mind. 

“The Devil, reversed. Now this is pretty good despite the naming.” When did I draw the card? “It symbolizes freedom, a much-needed release, and restoring control to oneself. Something’s going to change for the better, Anon, and I’m willing to bet it’ll start in this school.” 

Stella’s practically beaming with newfound enthusiasm at my last card's outcome; the weight I felt floats off, or rather feels as though it was never there in the first place. 

I’m happy Stella’s happy, but I’m going to let her prediction down. Even if I don’t want to, I feel like what she’s thinking may be the complete opposite as to when the card comes true. 

“I think everything will go in your favor, Anon. I believe in you.” 

Stella holds my hands together, snapping me out of my self-deprecating thoughts. Her eyes allowed me to focus somewhere else for once. 

I’m thinking like Dad… 

I don’t want to become like him.

Stella’s hands squeeze mine firmly. 

“Look here. You won’t become like your father, Anon. And if you even think of becoming like that, I’ll personally beat you up.” 

The line between comfort and teasing is blurred as I can’t help but smile at her words. 

It only hurts when my eyes are shut, making myself remember and overanalyze everything that’s led me to this moment. Even if I still don’t believe I had nothing to do with it, it’s nice to be reassured. 

“You deserve to know who you are, Anon.” 

Stella retracts her hands as I rub my eyes, trying to stop whatever tears may have threatened to form while I was stuck in my head. 

“Thanks, Stella. I needed that.” 

“Of course, silly. Now, a pressing matter.” 

Stella proceeded to completely go full-blown otaku on me; she pulled me out of a rough rut just to shove me into a shark tank of… well… bad takes, not even hot ones, just bad. 

—That Burnt the Knowing—

HomeEC, I have a feeling Mom picked this elective for me. At least I have a simple class as my second period, and thankfully I was able to duck Naomi with Stella when the huge crowd filled the hallways. 

“Alrighty, Anon, I got math, so I’ll catch you on the flip. Remember, Home Ec is the third door as soon as you go up those stairs!”

Stella slightly shouts as she walks backwards down the hallway; the swaying of her plated tail makes sure the area is clear for her to walk—convenient. 

Sometimes I wish I got those monkey genes some kids back home had. Maybe I’d have hair… 

Nah, the Mous curse would find a way, and you know it. 

True… 

Heading upstairs, I’m greeted with… emptiness? 

It’s almost barren up here; only a few students shuffle about, and there are plenty of curtained classrooms without numbers. It’s a total 180 from the organized chaos of the first floor; there are no decorative vines, no hanging flowers. Just bright yellowing luminescent lights, the ones that would break if you tapped them. The floors discolored slightly and filled with chair marks, like people had just been pushing their full weight as they moved. Why in the hallway, I have no clue. 

Whatever, I guess every school has one bad-looking part. 

Walking around, at least not aimlessly, I’m met with a tall but rather small in width trophy case sitting between two bathroom doors. 

[Triannual Bake-Off: Freshman Year is presented to Sage Campbell.]

It’s a small-looking gold cake, a singular candle upon the icing. 

[St. Hammond vs. Volcano High culinary battle: Sophomore Year is presented to Sage Campbell.]

This Sage fella’s definitely good at cooking; this trophy’s even more impressive looking: a large ice cream cone, the cone itself being gold while the ice cream is silver and sprinkled with bronze pellets. 

One last thing presents itself: a picture frame of a large tray. It’s decorated with a multitude of Rexican-looking dishes, but if you look further, they seem to be made from dough! Mock desserts, I think they're called. 

[The State Baking Contest award of excellence is presented to Sage Campbell.] 

My mouth is watering as I imagine what else this Sage person can accomplish with the proper ingredients… 

Now I’m hungry; catching me off guard, the first tardy bell rings… Shit, I've got to get going. 

Finding the spot Stella pointed out to me, I’m faced with a baby blue paper-wrapped door; the teacher's name is spelled out in those party favor letters you’d find at a Dino General. 

{Mrs. Aaron}

There’s no way. What are the chances that this is Mr. Aaron’s wife hosting my class? 

Hastily I grip the door and make my way inside, only to find that the majority of students have taken their seats. A few pick up their heads to glance at me. A particular one gives me a wave, a short Microraptor, oddly enough having almost the same exact skin color as me. 

I guess I’m not the only one who can’t get a suntan. 

They seem to have that androgynous look too; I can’t place whether they're male or female.

Suddenly they waved me over, a large smile placed on the tip of their snout. Guess I’m not getting out of this; no other table has a seat open. Walking over to the right side of the classroom, rounding behind the island-like table. I’m greeted with a fashion sense I’ve never seen before. 

“Don’t be shy, take a seat.” 

Okay, now I’m very confused; the voice doesn’t help me pinpoint the gender either… 

“O-oh, my bad… got stuck in my head there for a second.” 

My nerves get the better of me as I respond, We’re doing great, aren’t we, Anon?

Sitting down on the red padded stool, it reminds me of an old school diner from some old movie. Time-traveling car or something… I’ll figure it out later.

“I’m Sage; it’s good to meet you, Anon.” 

A small, violet-scaled hand is thrust out to me, and a swinging tail of similar-colored feathers catches my eyes for a moment. 

Wait… how does this blue-overalled Microraptor know who I am? Another thing: THIS IS THE MULTI-AWARD-WINNING SAGE???

Their eyes widen slightly as they clamp a hand to their snout. 

“I’m so sorry, I promised Stella I wouldn’t do that… Damn, well, we’re here now. I’m one of Stella’s buddies! I’m in the gardening club; she couldn’t stop talking about a human she talks to online being enrolled here officially today.” 

I feel my heart stop beating so hard. I’m surprised I’m just now picking up on how panicked I must have been; hopefully this doesn’t become a new normal. I’m going to have to talk to Stella about that… Wait, that’s not fair; she was just excited to meet me in person. How am I to tell her not to talk to her friends? 

I extend my hand to Sage. I feel a small smile forming on the corner of my lips as I watch Sage's whole expression brighten; they seem upbeat. 

“It’s fine; Stella’s a good online friend of mine, so I’m not surprised she couldn’t contain herself when she learned I was attending.” 

Sage shakes my hand with confidence before we both let go. 

“You should have seen how she was spamming me on the bus moving here and walking to school today.” 

Sage chuckles. 

“I’m glad to see she doesn't change her texting habits with others.”

Sage gives another chuckle as they prop their legs up to adjust the hem on the yellow knee-high socks they decided to match with pink sneakers… 

“Are you judging my fashion sense already, Anon?” 

Thrusting my hands out into a rapidly increasing jazz hands number. 

“No, no! I… I” 

Sage lets out a smug laugh.

“I’m messing with you, Anon; I know my fashion sense is unique to say the least.” 

Sage brushes a lock of violet hair out of the way of their pale pink eyes. Even the haircut isn’t helping me figure out a gender. Guess I’ll just settle on using they/them for right now. 

The class door bangs into place, causing me and Sage to cut the banter short as a rather short-looking Ptero calmly walks into the room. Wearing a green shirt resembling my own jacket and a lightly floral-patterned pink apron. 

Everyone’s attention is instantly dragged to her. The dolphin-colored woman, who I can only assume to be Mrs. Aaron, claps her hands together with a smile. Her feathered wings flap slightly as they settle against her back. 

Her eyes are sealed shut... How does she see?

“I’m so glad to be back with everyone! And I’m even more thrilled to see we have a new student joining us.” 

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who she’s talking about.

“Anon, would you please come up and introduce yourself to the class?” 

I’ll never get used to this, but at least I can rehearse it. 

Taking my time, I head to the front of the class. Mrs. Aaron moves to the side so I can have front and center. Most of my classmates look highly disinterested; a few just go back to their phones, beside Sage, who gives me all of their attention. Taking a deep breath, I get ready to present myself as amazingly boring. 

“Class. I’d appreciate it if we gave Anon our undivided attention.” 

A phantom chill spreads across my body, and it definitely spreads throughout the rest of the class, as every student immediately eyes me. Mrs. Aaron has just been confirmed, at least in my head, to be Mr. Aaron’s wife, and I think she taught him how to be intimidating… 

Scratching a non-existent itch in my nose, I try to focus back on myself. 

“My name’s Anon. I moved from North—

A loud bang is heard beyond the classroom door. Then a stream of cursing before two plum-colored eyes peer into the classroom from the tiny part of the window not covered by the wrapping paper. 

“Ah… Nothing ever changes, I see.” 

Mrs. Aaron speaks under her breath as she opens the door to an average-heighted Velociraptor, well, probably a giant if you compare the two right now. He’s a dark shade of red with stripes of black across his bare arms, a tan tank top with a smiley face on it, and it’s promptly paired with baggy black jeans… white Nikes… dirt-covered… shame. 

“I’m sorry I’m late; Mrs. Aaron had to help out my baby bro with his drums. Here, I got a note from Mr. Spears this time.” 

The rasp on this guy's voice is incredible; he definitely goes hard on the menthols. 

Mrs. Aaron takes the note softly from the guy's hand, reading it carefully, like she’s trying to examine if it’s fake or not. 

“Alright, Ryker, please go take your seat. We have a new student that was just introducing himself.” 

Ryker… cool name. 

Ryker heads past me, giving me a little Shaka wave as he heads towards Sage, who promptly redirects him to the seat across the table. He was about to plant into mine. Sorry, man, didn’t mean to take the seat. 

“Go ahead, Anon.” 

Mrs. Aaron heads back to her spot off to the side of me with a warm smile. 

“I recently moved here from North Dakota; my main hobby is anything to do with electronics or just electrical stuff in general.” 

Another close-to-monotone intro is done, and now I’m free to go back to sitting down. 

The class all give up their attention as I make my way back to Sage and now Ryker as well; Mrs. Aaron begins to write on the whiteboard as I sit down next to Sage. 

“Think you can fix my van's stereo, man?” 

Ryker's voice comes out slow, and it looks like he almost stops breathing after finishing the sentence; Sage slaps Ryker's hand on the table lightly, prompting Ryker to raise his hand in a surrender pose. 

“Introduce yourself first before asking a favor, idiot.” 

Sage huffs. 

Ryker's hand thrusts to me; his claws are slightly longer than most Raptors I’ve seen, and he also painted them baby blue? 

“It’s good to meet you, Ryker.”

Wow, any less enthusiastic and he’d probably think you’re dead; invisibility is the plan, but not unpleasant.

“Same man.” Ryker turns around to the front of the class, a wide smile washing his face as he turns back. “Check it, free period, gotta love Mrs. Aaron.” 

“Yeah, she’s literally the best teacher.” 

Sage agrees almost immediately. 

“Without her I would’ve never improved my cooking skills so quickly; she’s the reason I pushed myself to join those contests.” 

Ryker rolls his eyes as he raises his eyebrows at me in a “watch this” expression. 

“Woooow, Sage, it took you all of ten seconds to brag to the new guy. Trying to adopt him into the fan club already?”

Ryker lets out a snicker as Sage instantly turns a shade darker while pouting. They quickly begin to flick pieces of crumbs that were left on the table at him. Those crumbs were presumably left there over the summer… 

“Ack, Sage, those things… Stop.” Ryker tries to block the bullets. “Those crumbs are like rocks.” 

I can’t help but chuckle a bit at the little rivalry happening between me; I know I’m going way against what I set out to do here, but Sage is Stella’s friend, and Ryker’s just a bro, I think. 

. . . 

We spent a good chunk of the class just talking about random stuff. Sage and I talked about how Stella loves trash anime but somehow can always pick a good one to watch with others without a doubt; meanwhile, Ryker was showing me photos of his extensive Hot Wheels collection that he swears will pick up traction in the CaveBook marketplace. 

“Hey Anon, what type of music do you like, man?”

Ryker's calm rasp breaks my monologuing thoughts; what music did I really like? 

“I'm definitely a boomer rock guy, but not like yacht rock, even though that’s good too; I’m more of an old metal guy, I guess? Some punk too.” 

Ryker nods his head with a smile. 

“Hell yeah, man.” He gives Sage a look, like he’s trying to gauge their reaction. “Hey, my baby bro’s having a concert with his band in the auditorium after school. If you like punk, you should come.” 

Sage taps my shoulder lightly to get my attention. 

“Yeah, Anon, definitely come. Stella and I can save you a seat if anything.” 

Should I really go? I was invited; it shouldn't be a problem to just check out what other talents this school does host. 

“Sure, why not?” 

—96 Quite Bitter Beings—

Math being the third period wasn’t too horrible… is what I wish I could think. No, Naomi was berating me with a million and one questions a minute, not even stopping when the only human teacher I’ve seen began to just whisper profanities towards her. 

Don’t know how she didn’t catch all the “frickens.”

“Anon, you should sit with me and Naser today! He’s just getting started in the council, and I think you’d get along with him.” 

Naomi’s voice is teetering on calculating before it tips right back into that keen, pushy cheerfulness she layers on like gravy on mashed potatoes. 

I really am southern in some ways… Damn you, Kansas middle school!

Throwing my backpack over my shoulder as the bell rings, but this time I won’t be released from my peach-colored leash. 

A wall of saurian flesh blocks Naomi and my path, barely just letting the door open enough for us to sneak through. 

“Everyone! Please act civilized for one day!” 

Naomi, it’s safe to say you have to warn me when you do that; my eardrums are killing me, but her message seems to get across to those who listened. A few groups collapse into themselves as they continue to walk, allowing a more open space to be presented. Not without me dodging a tail or two. 

Naomi actually parts these kids like it’s the Red Sea. That’s not good for me, though. I could care less how quickly I get my food; all these people are staring at me like I just canned their hunt. 

Along the walls, chicken-wired windows began to replace the cream-colored bricks. Posters advertising after-school clubs were strung up; some were put up expertly, like the Gardening Club, but some were just lazily taped up, like the Gaming Club. 

Naomi took a sharp turn that made me pivot on my heel to catch up, leading into the packed cafeteria; if I thought the hallway was crowded, then that line must be a small city off the coast at this point.

“Ahh, Naseypooh!” 

Nasey-wha? 

“Babe… not in public.”

While I was busy disassociating, I failed to see the… Younger Mr. Aaron? 

“My dad?! Where?” 

The sandy brown Petro I mistook as a Mr. Aaron lookalike immediately unlatched his arm off Naomi while rapidly thrusting his head around the cafeteria, piercing his eyes through crowds and then the exits and entrances like a tweaker. 

Should I stop him? 

“No need, Anon.” I should stop trying to hold back the mumbling if it’s going to happen anyway. “Naser, honey, he’s not here; relax,” Naomi coos softly as she holds Naser’s shoulders firmly. 

As soon as they both relax, I’m thrown an extremely questioning look from both…. I feel a heat rise to my face. 

Naser’s the first one to move, coming really close into my personal space. His ember-lit eyes stare into me. One wing spread slightly, the same orange stripes his dad has presented themselves with a few light lines of scarring. The other wing flutters slightly, covered in scars. 

“How do you know my dad?” 

The words are laced with growing frustration. Let’s connect a few dots here. Only human teenager, Naser’s dad is a police commissioner. Surely Naser is thinking why I’m fearing he thinks… 

Lying isn’t even an option here; I’m sure not only Naser would read through me, but he’d surely ask his dad why the newest kid at school knows him. 

Breathing in deeply, letting the breath leave slowly, trying to steady the heat layering my forehead from causing a total shutdown of coherent thought. 

“Look, I just moved here a few days ago by myself; my grandpa is pals with your dad.” Naser’s expression changes from growing frustration to realization. “He drove me to my apartment and helped move in my stuff.” 

Naser backs up, whipping his clawed hand over his beak; a harsh exhale is dropped from his nose. 

“So that’s why Dad was so late that night… My bad, man.” A hand is outstretched to me. “I’m Naser; it’s good to meet you.” 

I grip his hand, expecting the same test his dad had given me, only for Naser to wince slightly. I quickly release him with a growing embarrassment forming on my face. 

“Oh… I’m sorry, man. I—

“Expecting the same handshake like my father’s?” 

“Yeah…” Good job, Anon. 

Naser rubs his assaulted hand slightly before smirking a little. 

“I can see why you’re still in one piece after meeting Dad; that’s a killer grip, man.” 

Shit, I was barely able to contain my discomfort when I shook Mr. Aaron’s hand. 

Naser laughs before hitting the signature cop pose, hands on hips. 

“That sounds like Dad alright.” 

Naomi comes up next to Naser, interlocking her hand with his. Naser stiffens up slightly before settling back into a calmer posture. 

“Naser… let’s head to the table before it gets stolen like last time.” Naomi drags Naser off; I follow suit. 

. . . 

“Wow… North Dakota, right? What made you come all the way over here, especially by yourself?. Oh, what was North Dakota like? Do you have any other hobbies?” 

My brain starts to melt as I’m hit with a tornado of questions from the peach-colored lighting in a bottle across from me; I desperately look towards Naser. 

Pleaseeee get the hint!! 

Naser’s eyes finally meet mine, widening slightly; he chokes on his sandwich before putting it down. 

“Naomi, look at the poor guy; you’re frying his brain.” 

Naomi’s cheeks blush slightly before lifting her salad up to her maw. Wait… salad? No problem with that, but it’s just a pure leafy salad… couldn’t be me. 

“Started the fun without me?” 

Ryker’s hand is firmly pressed into my shoulder as he uses me for support to sit down. In his free hand is the biggest leg of ham I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been to renaissance fairs before… 

Naser lets out a small scoff before averting his eyes; beef, I sense. 

“Aww, don’t be like that, Naseypooh.” 

Naomi’s face perks up as Ryker uses the pet name she coined. 

“Y-you’re not allowed to use that!” 

For once Naomi isn’t squealing, but it’s definitely not a nice sound coming out from her either; Ryker raises his hands up in the signature surrender gesture, slightly shaking his hands. 

“Enough with the jazz hands, Ryker. What do you want to leech from the council assets this time?” 

Naser’s tone is highly accusatory… And I’m starting to feel like a forgotten thought here. Getting what I want, I suppose. 

Ryker lets out a sigh. 

“Ha ha ha, Naser, real funny man. When have I ever done such a thing?” 

Naser and Naomi both blankly stare at him, tight-lipped and unamused by his statement. 

“Okay… maybe I have, but I’m here to just check in on my buddy here.” A heavy pat is leveled against my shoulder. “If I knew he was going to get arrested by the cops, I would have nabbed him sooner.” 

Naomi lets out a curt huff before crossing her arms. 

“For your information, I didn’t ‘arrest’ him; it’s my duty as Student Council president to help new students.” 

Naser nods. 

“Yeah, Ryker, Naomi just wanted to introduce Anon to me while helping him out.” 

Naser is very quick to defend his girlfriend; it’s a good quality. Hopefully. 

Ryker removes his hand from my shoulder, opting to just rest his hand on the table. Giving me a side-eye before letting out a calm sigh. 

“Alright, alright, you two win the battle, but the war is still ongoing.” Turning to me, Ryker gives me a small smile. “Anon, you're still up for watching the band, right?”

Oh, shit... I forgot about accepting that offer. 

“Uhh… Yeah, I’m still down.” 

“Good shit, man. Well, I’ll see y'all later then. Oh, and Anon, don’t let them get into your head.” 

With that sarcastic warning, Ryker takes his exit, his tail lightly whipping the table before settling. 

Funny guy. 

—Demolition Derby—

“So I noticed you didn’t eat, man. You okay?” 

Ryker waves his hand in front of my face as we stand outside the auditorium’s massive floral-designed doors. The metal is etched with tons of gold and white flowers. 

“Earth to Anon. Maybe you really do need to eat.” 

Oh, shit. 

“My bad, Ryker, was just lost in this door.” 

Am I stupid? 

Ryker laughs lightly before patting my back. 

“I remember my first time staring at this door, totally feeling you, man, but we got a concert to see, bro. Trust me, my brother's drumming will blow you away.” 

I think Ryker’s a total bro; he didn’t even judge me for just staring at the door like a total goober. 

Without much hesitation, Ryker pushes the door open, and I follow through; Sage spots us as they turn around—they are really waving at us. 

“That’s Sage for you; he’s really so upbeat all the time. I’m hoping some of that rubs off on the rest of this school.” 

First, I now have Sage's gender confirmed. Second, Ryker just had some profound thoughts out of nowhere. The tone was more serious than usual. 

Walking down the lit aisle towards the front row, I’m greeted with the raised stages decorated in front; the wood paneling has this nice brown staining to it. The main stage, however, has its huge red curtains closed. 

“Anon! Ryker! Sit, sit.” 

Stella pats the empty seats next to her; Ryker does a little bow and steps to the side. 

“Newbies first.” 

Rolling my eyes I take my seat next to Stella; the chair squeaks underneath my weight. At least the padding is soft. 

Within minutes practically the whole school fills in through the auditorium, and so does the smell of cheesy pizza. Some real good shit by the smell. 

Turning my head towards the entrance, I see Naser having what looks like to be the worst phone call of his entire life at the moment before taking his exit. 

Wonder what the hell happened there.

“It’s his sibling. Fang doesn’t like Naser all that much; none of us really know the real reason. What I do know is that there weren’t supposed to be this many people.” 

Stella whispers to me as people fill in behind us, This could go badly then. 

“Did Naser bring the pizzas?” 

My question earns me a round of nods of varying speeds and levels from the group; question answered. 

The lights dim as the last few students enter, the large door making a heavy slam as it closes in the back of the room; the stage curtains open up… 

Purple… Those gemstones… they’re here. 

Our eyes meet for a split second; I feel a heat rise up my neck and to my face. Those purple gems shut their eyes. Cutting off my trance. I can finally get a look at who they belong to. 

The drummer, a pink Velociraptor. The same stripe markings as Ryker, but instead of black, it’s just a lighter pink, more like a salmon; and the tail on him is huge, those feathers probably feel like a down pillow. 

“You got this, Reed!” 

Ryker’s cheering cuts my thoughts off but gives me a name to the face. 

His brother. 

They share the same fashion, it seems: tank top, check; jeans, check. Only this time the tank's red, and Reed's black jeans are tight and have jagged rips by the look of it, or from what I can see past the large drum set. 

Shaking my head slightly, I take a look towards the rest of the band. 

A Petro that heavily resembles Mrs. Aaron, of whom I can safely now assume that’s Fang, Naser’s sibling as described to me, although they look very feminine in a black crop top and tight ripped leggings. Her wings are shivering and are spread wide. Not good. 

The last member of the trio band is a Trike. A few different shades of purple, a yellow hoodie with some weird logo on it, and simple tracksuit sweats. 

What’s really standing out is… oh… two basses. I may not be a music nerd or even really have a wide music taste, but I know two basses usually isn’t a thing. 

“It’s going to be another shitshow.” 

“Should have brought popcorn instead of pizza.” 

“Maybe the meteor is going to hit; this might be a warning.” 

I give a look towards Stella; she looks absolutely disgusted, while Sage is trying to talk Ryker down. He’s currently hovering over his chair; I think he’s ready to lay into the people behind us. 

SCREECH BZZZURT 

A harsh tone shuts up the entire auditorium as I fling my hands to my sensitive human ears; the feedback was directly in front of me… fuck. 

Ears still ringing as I release my hands, I watch Reed start the countdown; Fang lifts her head up, closing her eyes before she lays into the bass. The Trike follows shortly after. 

The cacophony is like a cat being scraped against an iron washboard, the two basses drowning out any rhythm the drums can make, causing the two lead basses to clash and fight for dominance through the reverberating speakers. 

The lyrics barely come through before a student from behind launches a slice of pizza towards the stage, landing squarely onto Fangs bass; the sound stops from all fronts. A heavy silence fills the space. 

“Time for another extinction event!” 

“Right in front of my pizza, you have to suck? Really?!” 

“Somebody shoot my non-existent ears off before I go insane over here!” 

Hundreds of shouts, jeers, and hideous laughter filter through towards the stage. 

The purple Trike holds onto her bass for dear life, while Reed blankly stares out into the crowd; the beautiful indigo of his eyes dimming. 

“FUCK ALL OF YOU!” 

Fang yells into the mic, causing her clapback to reverberate throughout the entire room; Reed takes this chance to grab the Trike and slip behind an exit. 

“NO ONE WOULD WANT TO FUCK YOU, BITCH!” 

Fang freezes as the words echo from behind me; I’m rounding my head to see a tall, cream-and-blue-patterned Spinosaurus. 

If he was wearing any more of a tighter shirt, it’d fly off him; he definitely doesn’t have the body for it. 

Before I can even think, I’m being snatched up by my collar. 

I fucking mumbled that. 

“What’d you say, dickhead?” 

I’m eye to eye with this prick; his dull browns turn into pinpricks as he squeezes my jacket's collar harder. I gaze around to see Stella and Sage looking upset and fearful; Ryker, however, is climbing over the chairs to push against my attacker, subsequently making him drop me back to my feet. 

“Get your claws off him, douchebag! Why dish it if you can’t take it” 

Ryker is stanced up, one foot behind the other. Fuck, fuck, I didn’t want this to happen. Why did he even go to defend me? We just met, and I dug my own grave. Why’d he dig me up… 

RAUHHHH

A primal roar cuts through the situation as a flying door shoots through the room, landing onto the stage, causing it to get embedded by its side; Fang must have already exited during the scuffle. 

“WHO DO I HAVE TO SUPLEX?” 

Principal Spears' voice tears through the tense atmosphere, causing most, if not all, students to disperse out every exit they can find that’s not the main one. It’s like a scene out of a slasher flick—one problem. That leaves me, Ryker, Sage, Stella, and the Spino standing still. 

Mr. Spears bum-rushes towards us; his heavy hand instantly lands on Spino's shoulder, causing his knees to buckle slightly. 

“Stella and Sage, you two are good. Please head on home.” 

Mr. Spears' voice is oddly calm for just having to shout at the whole school. 

Sage and Stella give Ryker and me an apologetic look before hurrying out the main exit, one of the doors clearly missing. 

“Now… I can already tell what happened here. Just by how you three are positioned. Anon and Ryker!”

The slight shout makes me stiffen to attention, arms at my sides and my feet together from the heels. Ryker stands taller than usual and looks rigid. 

“I’ll have a word with you two first thing tomorrow morning. Now both of you leave.” 

You don’t have to tell me twice, and neither do you have to tell Ryker; long story short, we both bolted without looking back. We ran so far we made it to the parking lot. 

Hands on my knees, I’m sucking in the fresh air like I’m trying my damndest to drink it. 

I haven’t been out of breath so quickly in my life.

“You can say that again, man; we are so screwed tomorrow, we'll probably get some sort of detention.” 

Ryker’s 100% right; there’s no way I’ll get off scot-free… Maybe I can talk Spears into giving Ryker some leeway. It was my fault after all. 

“Hey… I’ll try to convince Mr. Spears to let you off.” 

Ryker’s hand grips my shoulder, a serious look. 

“Nah, man… We’re… in this together. I wasn’t going to let him…” A huff is exhaled. “Let him manhandle you, bro.” 

Ryker extends his fist to me. I return the gesture. Knuckle to knuckle, our fate is sealed. 

“Hey! Ryker, are you going to catch your breath all day, or are we going home, bro?” 

Looking up, I spot a faded red van, chips of paint falling off. The driver's side window rolled down, letting me look… at… purple. 

The familiar heat creeps up my neck, striking my cheeks as I stare into Reed’s eyes. He stares back, and I swear I can see him blush as well; maybe I’m imagining things. 

Ryker waves a hand in my face. 

“Aye, you good man? You're all red.” 

“Ah! Y-yeah! I’m fine… totally fine.” 

Oh my god, what the hell is happening? 

“Reed, I’ll be there in a moment, just checking on Anon. He’s gone all red for some reason. Seriously, you should see this. He looks like those tomatoes Rosa has in her backyard.” 

STOP POINTING IT OUT, UGHHHHH. 

“Reed?” 

Silence 

“Sorry, Anon. It looks like Reed’s also having a brain fart. I shouldn’t keep him waiting. I’ll see you tomorrow bright and early, man.” 

Ryker slaps my back, causing me to lose balance slightly before I restabilize myself. Watching him approach the driver's side window, blocking my view of Reed. 

“You're all red too! What the hell’s going on here?! The flu going around or something?” 

Reed's blushing too? Is that good? Isn’t that a bit weird? Am I weird… We haven’t even talked; it’s not like love at first sight exists, because I have no clue what this feeling is at all. 

I have to get home. 

—Closing Time—

Opening the apartment door and flinging my bookbag onto the mattress, I flop onto my ass on the carpet. All I can take away from the last few moments is locking eyes with Reed, some sort of biological response connecting our reactions. 

Johnny… 

It took a while to develop a crush on Johnny… maybe half a year. That’s normal, but this feeling with Reed is different. It’s not justified, nor does it have any sense to it. 

It was eye contact, not even a conversation. 

Getting up and heading to the kitchen, I swing my head under the sink, turn it on, and drink as much water as I can before choking slightly. Sending myself into a coughing fit. 

“Fuck… bad idea.” 

Shower… 

Yes, a good idea; I’ll clear my head. 

. . . 

The fog of the shower spreads into my main living space, the towel tightly wrapped around my waist as I go to sit on my bed. Softly applying the ointments to the still lingering bruises. 

Today was… interesting. 

From totally ignoring my main plan to getting into student council drama by just existing, I also learned that no matter if they're not human, Dino’s insults are all the same. 

And the most important part is I have a new and, quite frankly, scary emotion or feeling that’s building for a guy I haven’t even talked to, and he might be feeling the same… 

Ughhhhh… I want to die. 

Where the hell is my underwear? 

. . . 

White tee on, underwear found, alarm set, and phone on the charger. Hopefully I can get a good sleep before having to have my ass chewed out on my second day of school…. 

Chapter Text

\Ryker/

“You’re all red too! What the hell’s on here?! The flu going around or something?” 

Reed’s not prone to catching those types of viruses, plus we all got our shots… 

“I’m fine, bro; just saw something. Also, you’re driving, bro.”

Reed's voice is softer than normal before it settles back into that laid-back tone I’m used to. He’s never been one to switch up like that…

Wait.

“Why do I have to drive, mannnnn?” 

Hanging my claws on the door, slightly shaking the van back and forth, causing Reed to bounce in his seat. 

“Cause I just bombed on stage, and I feel like crashing on the bench in the back, bro.” 

Okay… this is super uncharacteristic for my baby bro. Granted, he was devastated when the first public practice event ended the same way, but this one seems to be bothering him more… in a different way, can’t really place my finger on it though. Guess he just wants to toke up. 

“Alright, Little Red, get in the back. Save some of that Carfe; don’t go using up all of it like last time. We could barely make insurance on this thing when you snuck into Mom’s liquor cabinet and—“

Reed flicks my forehead before I can continue; guess he’s still sore about that event… I can’t help but snicker as I watch him crouch into the back, the tips of his tail feathers ruffle slightly; popping open the driver-side door, I assume my position. 

It’s good to be back on the horse, I guess. 

Maybe I should ask Anon if he needs a ride; he’s a bit too shy to ask for one himself, I feel. 

Laying my claw on the window button, turning my head, I’m greeted by the empty side entrance stairs; no Anon. Left without a single sound—that’s got to be some hidden talent. Well, I’ll see him tomorrow anyway. Rolling up the slightly tinted windows on both sides, I pull the shifter into drive. I feel the back tires jolt slightly as they finally allow me to roll forward. 

Yeah… I've got to get this to a mechanic before I crash into a tree someday. 

. . . 

The roads begin to drift. I’ve driven this path one too many times throughout junior year; the first few plumes of white silky smoke waft through into the main cabin. Reed’s really hitting the bong heavy. 

“Hey, little Red… I know that this wasn’t the outcome you were hoping for…” 

I’ve also been down this path before, trying to comfort my brother as he numbs his mind. I can’t judge him either on his smoking habits; I’ve hit that bong as much as him—I just wish he’d take it easy sometimes. 

“Don’t worry about it, bro... we’ll do better next time.” 

There’s a dismissive groan as I feel the van rattle, the sign that Reed’s found himself on his back; looking into the rearview, I see him just lying on his back. The beat-up bench seat bending under his weight, tail thumping slowly on the vinyl wood floor. Drum equipment slightly rattled, sending the sound of a snare reverberating through the van's walls. 

I really don’t like seeing him this way; I’m so used to my baby bro being the calm and “go with the flow” guy. 

Maybe I’m not doing my best as his big brother. 

“Hey, do you want to go home so soon? Or are you thinking what I’m thinking, man?” 

Come on, take the bait, bro. You know you want to go there. 

Suddenly I’ve found myself a passenger to my right, planting his high ass down onto the black felt seat—slouching to his side as he smirks. 

“Fullerton?” 

“Fullerton” 

We both nod as I confirm his suspicions. We’re going back to that spot once more, yanking the wheel towards the interstate ramp, putting pedal to metal. 

Reed grips the side handle as a groan leaves his maw. 

“Sorry, man, you know how happy I get about hitting up Fullerton. Beats that seventies hellhole Mom won’t sell already.” 

Chuckling slightly Reed just nods and agrees while uncupping a joint I failed to notice he was holding. 

“Hey, can you pass me my lighter? It’s on the side.”

One-handing the wheel as I merge, I quickly toss him the hot pink lighter; he never replaced this thing? 

“Hey, don’t you think it’s time for a new lighter? You’ve held onto this since sophomore year, man. At some point the flint's going to give, no matter how much you refill it.” 

Reed makes a mock scoff at me, flashing a toothy frown. The sclera of his eyes developed a reddening tint, and tiny lines of bloodshot spread to his pupils. 

“You know I won’t replace this thing till it explodes on me, compadre; off topic but… what’s that new guy's name?” 

Hmmmm? I thought I shouted it by the stairs before we left. Forgetful Reed strikes again—but his voice is a bit subdued, like he’s questioning himself asking that. 

“Anon, he just moved here a day or two ago. From… North Dakota. He’s chill, maybe a bit shy? I think that’s the right word. He’s not like anti-social, though. Got some muscle on him too, oddly southern accent at times.”

Coming to a red light, I side-eye Reed; he’s looking out the window. An odd expression on his face, like he doesn’t fully understand how I’m describing Anon to him. 

“He’s got nice eyes.” 

Reed, you have to speak up, little bro. I can barely hear him sometimes when he gets all in his head. 

“Whatcha say, man? Didn’t catch that one.” 

Reed shifts in his seat, fully forcing his attention out the window, his hand gripping the armrest. 

“Nothing, bro.” 

A quick dismissal of my question is given to me in a low voice; another burst of white smoke exhaled from his nostrils, swirling around the cabin and hitting me right in the face. 

I shouldn’t pry today; it has been a rough day.

“Anon’s chill, though, man, funny too. That dumbass at the concert that was heckling the most shit got told off by him. I was ready to go to bat for him. I think he and I are going to be detention buddies soon.” 

The light turns green as Reed snickers before taking another hit of the joint. 

—Sweet Leaf—

Turning down the radio as I pull into the backlot of Fullerton Skate, finding the widest parking spot I can. Got enough scratches on this van. 

“Ryker, you know no matter where you park, we’re going to end up with a new scratch.” 

Reed raises an eyebrow as he unlocks his door, the roach in his mouth hanging by a thread as he smirks with a cocky tone. 

I wave my hand as I get out of the van, little smart ass. 

“I know, but it won’t stop me from trying. I’m tired of coming back and finding another scratch on my baby.” 

Meeting Reed at the back doors of the van, we both glance up at the broken neon sign of the side entrance.

Fullerton Skate

“I remember coming here for the first time like it was yesterday, little Red.” 

Reed smiles softly, nodding. Knowing that if he entertains me, we’d be sitting outside the place for a full-blown hour or 2 just so I can go through the entirety of that day in middle school. 

“Let’s go in before it gets too late.” 

Reed hurries on towards the metal door, knocking three times before pausing and then knocking the fourth time. The little slot window opens up as I approach Reed from behind. 

Then the door swings open inward as a portly Troodon opens the door. 

“Well, I’ll be damned! The Collins brothers are here! Come on, don’t just stand there; give Uncle Ron a hug.” 

Uncle Ron never changed a day. Except for more of his feathers graying around those vibrant green scales that shine through gaps.

Uncle Ron pulls Reed into his arms, his white button-up wrinkling as he wraps a lightly feathered arm around Reed. He sniffed the air slightly before pulling back his embrace, laying his hands on his shoulders. 

“Smoking? And you didn’t bother to bring me any? For shame, kid.” Uncle Ron points my way. “I’m assuming you didn’t bring me any either, Ryker?” 

I shove my hands in my pockets, smirking slightly as I shake my head from side to side. Causing a few strands of my shaggy black hair to cover my eyes, which I promptly swat away. 

“I see… Well, you need a haircut. Now, both of you stop standing around like strangers.” 

Reed shrugs his shoulders at me as we both watch Uncle Ron turn on his heel with a bounce to his step, back into the shop, his black slacks ripped slightly as a few unkempt feathers poke out. No tact to him for as long as I can remember. 

Reed enters first, running a hand through the middle of his scarlet-colored mullet; well, when in Rome. 

“So Uncle Ron, how’s business been today? Sell those trucks you mass-ordered yet.” 

I graze my hand over the brown-stained table before pulling out the metal chair to sit down. Reed sits in the chair directly next to me as he leans his head on his hands, gazing into the main shop entrance. 

Uncle Ron presses a few buttons on the coffee machine, filtering through the settings before getting the setting he wants. 

“Nah, you know no one comes here to actually buy skate stuff, buddy.” 

Reed can’t help but snicker slightly as Uncle Ron uses his signature SoDino accent; it sounds like he’s so doped up on Redwood Reaf that you’d think he invented it. 

The place looks just like it always does; the back does at least, with cement floors and dark brown walls that have the bottom half covered in graffiti from local artists. This little break room hosts a few tables and countertops with various oddities. Coffee machines, old radios, and other vintage garbage. 

“Uncle Ron, want to make Reed a cup of tea?” 

Reed perks up and gives me a side-eye. I just smirk as I wait for Uncle Ron to catch on. 

“Don’t bother, bro, I’m good. I don’t feel like going down a rabbit hole today.” 

I give Reed a look of concern; he just turned down what you’re never supposed to turn down in this shop. Not ever, especially in the back room. 

Uncle Ron seems to also be looking shocked as he sits across from us, slamming his hands onto the table, jolting both of us as a fiery look engulfs his features. 

“Something happened today, another concert?”

Reed, for all his calmness and for how high he is, is still struggling to hide that emotion from the concert off his face at the mere mention of it. 

Uncle Ron wipes a feathered hand over his face, his chipper demeanor damping slightly as he can read our looks. 

“I won’t ask unless you want to talk about it. I know Ryker would spill his guts out about the whole thing.” 

He twirls his finger in a circle at me; it seems like being a smartass runs in the family at this point. 

“I won’t say anything unless Reed wants to, but yes, it was another concert gone bad.” 

I can’t hide the distaste growing in my voice as I think back to those assholes heckling and throwing shade, especially that spino getting uppity when he couldn’t take an insult himself. 

Reed leans back in his seat, lightly lifting it up from the ground, claws tapping on the table. Eyes searching the shop before landing back on Uncle Ron. 

“It’s hard… just hard to explain, really. Fang and Trish try their best to make this double bass thing work right.” 

I and Uncle Ron tune in, especially me; this is actually the most he’s ever talked about the band. Hell, he barely mentions his bandmates if it’s not to vent about Fang and Trish having another argument about God knows what. 

“Then we try to do rehearsals, but it ends up with me just getting more stoned than I already am that day while I fiddle with the projector. Fang and Trish are just doing whatever.” 

Reed collapses his head into his hands, his hair falling to his shoulders over the shaved sides of his head. A huff pushed out from his growing frustration. 

Placing a hand on his back, I pat him slightly, giving Uncle Ron a look. Hoping he can help me lighten up the mood here. 

“W-well… shit happens, kid.” Uncle Ron gets up as the coffee machine beeps. “Sometimes life’s gonna throw you for a loop with things. Like how this situation keeps repeating itself.” 

Bringing himself and the coffee to the table, he pushes the cup to Reed. 

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, kid. I’ve lived long enough to realize that some people don’t change without a push.” 

Uncle Ron rounds the table, placing a hand on Reed’s shoulder. Reed looks up at him; his eyes are bloodshot. 

“Maybe talk to them, instead of being so off into the background.” 

Reed pushes himself off the table, a frown on his face forming before his neutral expression waves over his features once more. Taking a deep breath. 

“I don’t think it’s that simple, Ron.” 

I speak before Reed can, catching both of them looking at me.

Reed looked grateful. 

“This band has been a thing since sophomore year, and the same problem persists. That double bass, but Reed’s got no real say in this.”

That thankful look turned sour slightly; he knows what I’m alluding to. Or who I'm referring to, rather. 

Uncle Ron looks confused as he takes his hand off Reed’s shoulder, placing his hands in his slacks and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. Gesturing to me with a snapping motion. 

Reaching into my back pocket, I toss him my lighter, which he fumbles before finally catching it. 

“Ryker, you know that’s not how it works. It’s a voting system, man. And…” 

“The better option lost, I know.” 

Cutting Reed off, I finish his sentence. Not the way he wants, by the look he’s giving me, but he’s got to realize that his talents are being wasted here if his bandmates are going to stick to doing what doesn’t work for them. 

“Kids, I’m going to have a smoke. Don’t kill each other while I’m out. Oh, and if anyone walks into the store, you both know what to do.” 

Uncle Ron walks out the back door, placing a small wooden block at the bottom. 

Reed gives me a slightly pissed-off look before standing up from the table and heading to the main floor. His tail was stagnant. 

Fuck me, man… 

“Reed, man, you know what I meant.” 

I follow him out onto the main sales floor; he’s sitting in the beanbag chair playing with one of the pre-built skateboards, trailing his claws on the wheels, watching them spin. His eyes locked onto the emerald green color of them like he’s entranced. 

Giving the shop a good look, trailing my eyes on the decorative walls, rows and rows of bulk trucks, wheels, and decks stare back at me. Finally, I find my eyes focusing back onto Reed as he just sits there. 

“I’m sorry, man.” Sitting down into the beanbag next to him, sinking in heavily “I didn’t mean for that to happen; it seems like I just ruined Fullerton today, huh?” 

Nervously I let out a stammered chuckle; the awkwardness of the situation is not lost on me here. I have to fix this before he clams himself shut the rest of the day. 

BING BONG

Turning my head, I am eye-to-eye with a customer, some short-looking Compy. Reed gets up and walks behind the marble glass counter, flicking a switch to light up the display case. 

I follow suit, well, not really with the behind-the-counter stuff, but just getting up. 

“Excuse me… is Ron here?” 

A meek and shivering voice is presented to me as I approach the Compy; his eyes are close to looking dead. 

“He’s having a smoke. What can I help you with? Names Ryker Man.” 

The short little guy gives me a confused look before letting out a sigh, reaching into his pocket, pulling out a piece of crumpled paper, and holding it out to me; I take it and unfold it, trying not to rip it since it’s super crumpled. 

It’s a tea order, or rather a prescription. I can tell this handwriting from anywhere. Uncle Ron still doesn’t understand what signature means, huh? 

“I got you…” Looking at the name on the paper, “Mitchell, I’ll be right back. Plant yourself on a beanbag for me.” 

Walking towards the break room entrance, I tap the counter, getting Reed’s attention. 

“Put on the music, man, make this dude less jittery.” 

Reed nods, pulling out his phone to pair to the Bluetooth. Playing some generic soft rock playlist. 

. . . 

“Remember, only two tablespoons in the morning and two at night if it’s really getting to you.” 

I stare the Compy down, trying my best to force a serious look on my lazy features. I have way more pressing issues in the back of my head than making sure the mushroom tea buyer is using psychedelics properly. 

The Compy quickly nods as I hand him the brown bag, a big “F” on the front in comic sans font. I really should enroll Uncle Ron in a Photoshop class… that’d be funny seeing him pull up to that elective.

“Made a sale, I see, boys! Great, well, since you two did all the heavy lifting.” Uncle Ron pulls out his wallet. “That was Mitchell, right?” I and Reed nod. “Yeah, I figured. He’s a paranoid fella. Here, I’ll give you both what he paid in advance this week, and you’re both taking it. I’m not taking no as an answer.”

Reed smiles as he leaves from behind the counter, Uncle Ron placing the money in his hand.

“Reed, you go on ahead to the van.” I toss the keys to Reed. “I have to talk to Uncle Ron quickly.” 

Reed catches the key with ease, shooting me a finger gun before walking towards the back and presumably out to the van. Meanwhile, Uncle Ron looks at me with a growing concern on his feathers. 

“What's going on, Ryker?” 

Uncle Ron gestures for me to sit on the beanbags by the front door; he plants himself in one. 

“It’s Reed, man. He’s been putting himself through a lot of stress lately, and I don’t think the band’s helping him.” 

I can feel my frustration bubbling to my throat, the stench of carfe filling my head as I go through every situation where Reed hasn’t been himself, all coming back to the band’s growing issues. 

“He’s so talented, extremely talented. I hate watching him be bled dry of his creativity, like he’s being paid no mind in his own group. Mouldering in the background of growing battles” 

Uncle Ron looks at me like I just grew three heads. I guess I did just say something super out of character; do I do that often? 

A warm claw is leveled to my shoulder, claws lightly scratching my scales. 

“A wrong decision is better than indecision, Ryker, and what I’m seeing is you struggling to make one. To make a choice you think you’ll regret.” 

Uncle Ron’s full crimson eyes land on mine; the weight poured into that stare would be enough to warn you to step back if you hadn’t known him personally. 

“What I’m saying, kid, is tell him what you’re feeling. You’re his older brother; there are going to be times when you hurt his feelings. Whether it be not intentional or out of kindness.” 

His voice is low-toned, mixed with a rasp he and I share through our addictions. He takes his hand off my shoulder, letting me take in his words before gesturing with his thumb to the back door. 

“You make that decision, Ryker; you’re brothers.” 

The words hit hard. A tight feeling in my chest grips my heart. Like a shotgun being pumped to fire off, Uncle Ron’s surprisingly good with words; guess that’s life experience for you, and I’ll have to act upon it. Sometime soon. 

Giving Uncle Ron a side hug, I hurry through the back of the shop. Bursting out the large metal door, I flicked my eyes to the van. Reed hung his hand out the passenger-side window. 

Home we go… 

—Innocence Lost: Castle Rock—

The large coastal trees blur past as I speed down the narrow back roads to home, the sun casting damp yellow-orange shadows into my windshield. The wayside near Reed’s window presents broken fences and leaning mailboxes broken from years of teens bashing them with bats during Halloweens past.

The sound of crashing waves upon rock meets my ears from my rolled-down window; the silent hum of white noise shakes the speakers as the radio flickers. The drum set’s snare going off after every other rock or bump, setting a chaotic rhythm; Reed tapping the dashboard with his index. 

He somehow manages to turn such an out-of-control rhythm sound perfect.

The road slowly turns from asphalt to gravel, then quickly to dirt and bulging rocks, beating up my suspension. Reed almost drops his second joint of this 15-minute trip. 

I slow up on the gas as I go through some winding turns. 

A loud yawn leaves my mouth as I rub my eyes. 

“Tired already, Ryker? Not going to entertain Mom for a bit?” 

Reed smirks with a teasing tone; he knows better than anyone else in the family that Mom loves nothing more than getting wine drunk at sunset on the back porch and yapping about whatever, especially when we get home from school. 

“I just hope Mom isn’t super drunk; she’ll have us out on that patio till midnight, you know.” 

I wave a claw at Reed as I pull down our street, spotting our house at the end of the dead-end block. 

“Right, right, damn, promise me you won’t bring up what happened today.” 

Reed side-eyes me with a mock look of pleading, which I can barely tell he’s making through that shit-eating grin brought on by the carfe. 

I reach over and punch him in his side; we laugh as I pull into the driveway. Shifter in park and key out of ignition. 

“Alright, let’s face the fire, right?” 

“Right.” 

Pulling out the house keys, walking up the spotted gravel walkway, ferns and flower bushes greet me as I face the multi-paneled mahogany door. A hearth made of pine covering most of the 4-panel door window. 

The knob rattles as I turn it; pushing it open, Reed hurries in and tosses his backpack onto the couch, flopping down with it and shoving his hand into the couch cushion to find the remote. 

“Old habits die hard.” 

Reed snickers before finding the History Channel. 

“Are humans descendants of ancient aliens!? Find out on today's Ancient Aliens.” 

Alright, as much as I’d like to believe Anon is an alien from some far-away planet or universe, that’s just the Carfe brain kicking in. 

“Hey, I’m going to go say hi to Mom; tell her we’re home alright.” 

Reed gives me his signature finger guns as he seems to finally be relaxing; good, I was worried he was going to be out of it the entire day. Well, it’s almost the end of the day, but we still have to make sales tonight. 

Maybe I’ll just make the runs and give him a break. 

Walking through the house, I’m greeted with those childhood walls. The paneling of brown wood layering the walls has tiny circular indents in them, installed in recent years due to Mom’s condition. Other dents also present themselves from when Reed and I first learned how to walk, which fully turned into sprinting and then trying to kill each other over Hot Wheels. 

Handlebars greet me as I round through the kitchen; they are everywhere in here. On the sides of the center island, the bottom of the lower cabinets, high places, and low places. Mom’s a goddamn trooper. 

Pictures hang on the wall next to the patio glass doors: Reed, me, Mom, and then a family portrait. A part of it has a tiny Post-it note covering Dad. All I can see are the lines of black stripes down his hands as he wears a suit. It’s the one thing I inherited from him. Then that huge, bushy white tail—safe to assume Reed got that one. 

I still miss him from time to time. 

I should visit the graveyard this weekend. 

Glancing out beyond the doors while I still have the chance, I see Mom rocking on the wooden chair we built together. In all her crimson glory, a glass of wine in hand, the bottle on the mirror-like table. Below it is a radio. 

Sliding the door along its tracks, Mom turns her head to me with a warm smile. Enough to melt ice caps. Her eyes washed over with grey. 

“Ryker… Come sit with Mom.” 

Slurred and bubbly, she always was a happy drunk. Especially if the wine was aged. 

I never knew how she was still able to tell who she was talking to. When she went blind a few years back, I thought Reed and I would have to constantly correct her. 

Chuckling as I break through the barrier of house and patio, chucking off my sneakers so I can feel the cool cracked wood beneath.

The floorboards creak as I walk to the free chair beside her, a single foldoutlawn chair. Tail hole cut in the back for added comfort. 

Mom’s hand finds my forearm, gripping it firmly, her neatly clipped claws shifting from left to right. A new coat of ocean blue is painted on them to match the change in seasons, or that’s how she explains why she goes for wacky colors. Guess I inherited that. 

Looking down at my own nails, baby blue, I guess to match some emotion… I’m not really all philosophically there like Mom. 

“How was school today, honey?” 

Mom leans her head back on the chair, bringing the glass to her lips, slowly sipping. 

I take a deep breath, exhale softly, and try to calm my mind from blurting out the events of the concert. 

Find something else to speak about; Anon. 

“We got a new student, Human. A bit taller than Reed. Think he’s a gym buff too.” 

Mom’s half-closed eyes open slightly, staring out into the void that is the ocean before us. Taking another sip before placing the glass back on the table. 

“Hmmm… N-new student… You haven’t already gotten him into trouble, have you?” 

Her tone is light and airy, but all the more reason to answer her quickly before she catches onto my silence—well, it wasn’t really my fault. That Spino had what Anon said coming to him. I would hate myself if I just stayed back and watched him get into a fight… when I… when I invited him.

Fuck, maybe I did have a hand in it. 

“Honey… really? Already, could’ve given him at least a day?” 

Her maw curls into a slight smile; she spits out a slight cough before reaching back to her wine glass; instead of sipping, she turns her head to me. The hand that rested on my forearm pulled back to pat my cheek lightly before grabbing my hand. 

“Here… drink a little with me.” 

She laughs lightly as she meets my eyes; I’m greeted with glazed-over glass orbs. Tiny streaks of pink filter through her irises, rendering any defense I might’ve come up with essentially gone from thought. 

I take the glass from her hands; it’s one of those large-bowled designed ones. 

“What’s this glass called again, Mom?”

I take a sip, and instantly I’m met with the most sour tinge on my tongue as I struggle to not just spit this shit up. 

“It’s… a Bordeaux glass, hun. Taste good?”

Mom starts to giggle as I gag slightly, her hand slapping my bicep as I hold the glass up so I don’t spill it all over myself. 

“Not… really, Mom… how” deep breath “How do you drink this?” 

I pass the glass back to her by gently placing it in her hand. She gracefully grabs it and absolutely destroys the rest of the liquid. Placing the glass by her feet as she points out to the water. 

A bustling wind sweeps through us, making her and my hair fly backwards slightly. Her dark, dirty red strands capturing the sun before settling, I follow her finger to where she’s pointed. 

“Can’t you hear… Hear it, Ryker honey?” 

Her slur lessons softly but yet it’s still there, but calming. 

“The waves are soothing, aren’t they?” 

She’s very right. The gentle breeze that blows through my hair casts a cool warmth throughout my body. 

Her hand goes back to the bottle, pouring up another cup. 

Her eyelids closing as she sips. 

“Someday soon, Ryker… You and Reed are going to have families of your own. And if you’re lucky, you’ll remember the little moments—” She giggled lightly as another sip was swallowed. “Like this—that was good.” 

I see a tear fall from her right eye, her hands fidgeting on the wine glass. 

I’m not letting her go down this rabbit hole again. 

“Alright, Mom, that’s enough for today. The sun’s melting in the ocean, you know.” 

Getting up, I gently grab the glass out of her hand, walking down the patio stairs; the cool sand spreading and engulfing my feet as I pour the blood-red liquid into the earth. 

The sand was eating it with glee. 

Heading back up the patio, I’m greeted with the sound of snoring. 

She’s passed out. 

“Alright, Mom, let’s get you to bed.” 

A low rumble is given to me as I pick Mom up, her arms finding the back of my neck as she chuckles. The itchy feeling of her black sweater spreading all over my neck

“You just wanted to be carried, didn’t you, Mom?” 

I let out a sort of laughing sigh as I walked through the sliding glass door; actual snoring is heard from the living room. 

“Reed had a r-rough day? H-He only sleeps on the couch if that happens…” 

Mom’s voice is filled with drunken concern; gone is the bubbly tone from a moment ago, and in is the overly motherly tone as I carry her off. 

Walking sideways through the narrow corridor to her room, dodging a handrail. 

“A bit, nothing too horrible. Just some band stuff. He’ll figure it out, don’t worry, Mom.” 

Using the side of my body, I press down on the lever action door handle. Pushing into the shag carpeted floor. 

It’s like a time capsule here; the 70s never left even after this house was put on the market in the 2000s; the walls are covered in a deep blue wallpaper, filled with Hawaiian-like drawings; the bed is designed to look like a waterbed. I think it actually was at one point. Remember popping it, I think. 

“Okay, sweetie…” 

Yeah… She doesn’t believe me at all; I can tell by her expression. 

Laying her down on the bed, she turns onto her side almost immediately. Grabbing my hand before I can exit the room, staring up at me with a small smile. 

“Remember when you popped the waterbed that used to be here…” She starts giggling heavily. “Dad was so mad at you until he brought home the new bed; he was practically singing… your praises when you weren’t in the room.” 

She lets out a yawn; it winds up shaking a few of the pictures on the walls. This being the only room where the photos of Dad aren’t covered up. 

She lets go softly before turning over once more, finally submitting to the call of sleep. 

I caught a glimpse of a photo on the nightstand. 

Dad, nothing but a pair of fishing shorts on. The large tattoo on his chest of a deer skull. The horns stretch to his shoulders. He’s happy. 

Next to him on the boat are Reed and I, back when my stripes were just turning from tan to black, holding a largemouth bass together with Reed as Dad held the rod at his side.

I can’t look at it anymore; I’ll just end up crying. 

I've got to get ready to sell whatever’s left in the van. 

—Lexicon Devil—

The radio blares out melodic punk, the Germs rumbling my speakers as I take wild turns out of the backroads and finally hit the main paved roads, racing past street signs until the interstate shows to me. 

Slowing down my speed to the flow of traffic, tugging on the strings of my tan hoodie, tugging at my tight blue jeans. 

I really had to pick the most uncomfortable outfit for this; it makes sense though, I need to not stand out for what I'm doing. It’s all to progress a bit of money for home.

Turning into a familiar suburb, Rosa’s neighborhood. I never figured I’d get a customer out here. 

The houses have such a gap between each other, are nicely made, and almost all of them have 3 floors. The street lamps are LEDs, making sure nothing escapes their touch; some even have cameras. 

Glad I put those reflective numbers on the plate. 

Just in case.

. . . 

Parking near the curb on a roundabout street, the text said, Green door with two pillars in front. 

Exiting the van, I make sure my hoodie pocket isn’t bulging as I hold a small brick inside. The wrapping is tight and nearly airtight. Like it has to be. 

Alright, simple package drop-off. Money's under the mat; place the brick behind the pillar struts. 

Walking up the expertly cared-for pathway. Like, damn, this grass has to be taken care of nearly day in and day out. 

The mat; money successfully pocketed. Now I just have to place this brick in its rightful spot. 

Looking around quickly before reaching into my pocket and pulling out the tan paper-wrapped brick. Placing it behind a little shrub, the pillar blocks. 

Time to get out of dodge. 

Speed walking down the pathway and opting to enter through the passenger side, I’ll just slide over into the driver’s seat to make this quicker. 

The van sputters to life, tires jolting as I push forward on the pedal. 

Leaving the community, passing by Rosa’s house; lights are still on? It’s nearly 1 in the morning, and I wonder what’s up over there. 

Pulling out my phone.

Alright, got 10 more drops. Wait, fuck… Really, Reed, SkinRow drop-off… 

I’ll just do that one last. 

. . . 

Spending a good amount of time wasting around behind a bar, kicking a can back and forth. 

“Hey, sorry about that, man; I got caught up in a game.” 

A human, tall and lanky, with a pentagram neck tattoo, the outline of which has some weird Roman numerals all over the outline. 

Freaky shit. 

“Yeah, no biggie, man.” Shuffling in my pocket, I bring out another neatly wrapped brick. “You know, you should be careful with this stuff.” 

He hands me an envelope; it’s heavy. Scratching his arm slightly, he waves me off dismissively. 

“I know, I’m smart with it.” 

Handing him the package, I’m greeted with another tattoo, his fingers becoming skeletal. 

Yeah, definitely freaky shit. 

Walking back to the van, I use the edge of my claw to open up the envelope from side to side; the money is bright green and smells new, like it's fresh off a printer. 

The van stalls for a split second before finally roaring to life… better just let it idle before moving to… 

Fuck.

SkinRow. 

—A Sad Song For Carfe Dealers—

Driving into Skin Row, I always hated coming here, no matter the cause. Even if the money’s good, it could just be a setup. 

The roads become bumpy, the usual cleanliness of Volcadera is gone, buildings are cracking at the seams, and vines are overgrown all over whatever local business can even be running around here. 

And I’m pretty sure most of these places have to be money laundering fronts. 

Now where the hell is that pawnshop at? My phone is about ready to die, and I’m sure as shit not getting stuck here longer than needed. 

Making a sharp left, I’m greeted with sputtering lamps, some burning ever so softly that they would die with so much as a finger flick to the pole, I bet. 

A misting falls down onto the road as I drive down an increasingly darkening road. 

What time is it? Fog usually doesn’t roll in until early morning. 

SkinShop

Finally, at least his sign is still brightly lit, a bit tacky with all the wacky neon sign shenanigans; if this wasn’t SkinRow, I would have found that entertaining, but I’m working. 

Pulling up onto the curb slightly, reaching into the glove compartment. 

Shiny, never-used blade. A simple box cutter, the handle covered in a bit of carfe powder. Reed loves to use traditional packing methods. 

Well, it’s going in my pocket, and Raptor Jesus, I pray I won’t have to use this. 

Rolling up my windows as I exit, alright, Ryker, all we have to do is hand over the brick, get the money, and fuck out of here back to home. Try to get enough sleep and face tomorrow. 

Damn. 

This place could use a bit of a pick-me-up. 

Knock… Knock… Knock.

The tinted door clicks, clicks several times actually. Then a loud thud and a yell. Did bro just drop the lock on his own foot?

The door opens inward, a short T-Rex. Greaseball, by the looks of it. 

“Ah, you would be Ryker. Howie” Howie moves to his side, gesturing for me  “get in here before the night creeps see a deal; there’s junkies everywhere, you know.” 

This guy is seriously rubbing me the wrong way, from his thick New Yorker accent to that wad of hair pushing out from his ugly mustard-colored shirt. 

Pushing past him in a sideways walk, he closes the door behind me. 

“Alright, let’s make this simple, Raptor.“

“It’s Ryker.” 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what I said. Brick. On the counter, if you would” 

I’m really starting to not like this prick more and more; how in the hell does Reed deal with these assholes? 

Walking over to the display counter, a felt-looking towel is placed right next to the cash register; taking the tightly brown-wrapped brick out from my pocket, I place it on the counter. 

Cold steel pressing against my back: a shiver sent through me as my nerves shoot through the roof. 

“Alright, now I want you to leave, feathertail. No fuss and nothing's going to happen.” 

Fuck me. 

A plastic grabby hand is placed on my shoulder, swaying me to turn with him. 

“Fuck you, and fuck that horrible cologne you’re wearing.” 

“Don’t get snappy with me; I might take one of your tail feathers before you leave.” 

I want to smash this prick's face three days from Sunday. 

The tinted entrance door rapidly approaches. Greeting me with the freedom to leave. 

“Open the door, don’t look back, and fuck off.” 

Pressing my claw against the glass, it’s really tempting to just tear this cheap plastic tinting off. Pushing against the door, seeing it goes both ways. 

The cold air hits me like a coffin; a push is leveled to my back as the door slams shut, clicks indicating it being locked all over again. 

Fuck this shit, just ruined my whole night. And I thought the tattoos the last guy had were enough to justify judging him, but this guy, I hope he gets robbed… harshly. 

Gripping the van's handle, threatening to just rip the thing off as I white-knuckle it. The creaking of steel broke me out of my stupor. 

Goddamnit! 

I kick the door, sending a shooting pain from my toes to my shin. 

Fuck this shit, I’m never coming back here at all. 

. . . 

Windows rolled down, cigarette in-between my fingers. Slowly burning down to the butt. Haven’t even smoked this shit yet. 

My lights illuminate the dark SkinRow streets, a crumbling and dusty green-looking apartment building forming into view as I come up on the exiting street. 

A familiar shadow… Anon? 

Yeah! That’s Anon, standing at the edge of the second-floor railing; almost slamming on my brakes, I make a quick right turn into the parking lot, hitting a few potholes. My eyes meet Anon’s as I pull the shifter into park. 

Stepping out of the van, Anon looks confused and… scared? 

“Anon, mannnn, ain’t I glad to see a familiar face…” 

I am happy to see him, definitely, but here of all places is reason for concern itself. I never really did pry into his personal affairs or even ask him where he stayed at. 

“H-hey, Ryker.” 

A nervous voice, exhausted expression, and an even more worrying curl downwards on his lips. 

Hurrying round to the metal staircase, I go to grab the railing before I notice it's rusted to shit—yeah, that’s a no-go. 

Reaching the top, I lightly tap Anon on his shoulder. 

“Nice hoodie, man. Great band, a little too pop-punk for me, but still got some bangers.” 

He looks down at his black “Guttermouth” hoodie before pressing a tight-lipped smile to me loosely. 

“Thanks.” 

Low and uninterested in having any type of conversation is what I’m getting out of that reaction. 

“Hey man, you're probably going through something, huh? I won’t lie, I was curious about why you dipped from North Dakota. I always assumed you moved with your family.” 

I’m trying to not sound like a pushy guy, but I can see Anon’s on edge, like I just caught him doing or being somewhere he’s not supposed to be. 

“So what’s got you up so late, man? It’s, like—“

“3 in the morning” 

“Yeah. Late.” 

Anon shifts his weight to the side, slouching his head on his hands on the railing; his eyes look glazed. Like he just cried his eyes out before this. 

Reaching into my pocket, pulling out my cigarette pack, flicking it open, fingering a cig upward, and angling it to Anon.

He takes it without a word. Felt that, man. 

Pulling out my lighter, I flick the flame alight and hold my hand out for him. 

He leans in and lights up the cancer stick. 

“I’ll stay here if you need me to, man. I’ve been through stuff too, believe me; suffering in silence isn’t ever the answer.” 

Placing my hand on his shoulder, Anon shakes slightly. I just grip firmer. 

“Thanks, Ryker, but I just need this time, you know. Figure out what’s going on with me first before letting more people know.” 

I nod silently. 

“I appreciate you. I just woke up from a nightmare, you know. Needed fresh air. That’s all.” 

He’s pretty persistent on not opening up; I get it. And I’m not going to push him; I don't want him to distrust me. 

“Hey, if you’re good… I have to get back home. Here, take my number down.” 

Anon grabs my phone hesitantly; the dullness in his eyes speaks volumes as he absentmindedly taps his number in. Handing it back to me with a small puff of smoke. 

“Have a good night, Ryker.” 

Anon gives me a smile, or tries to, as he tosses the cigarette butt over the railing. Palming open his apartment door. 

Me, I have to get home now. 

Heading down the rusted railing, taking one more glance up to the balcony. He wasn’t like himself at all; he was extremely dismissive and introverted. One could confuse that for rudeness. 

That’s not him right now. 

The radio station blares.

Ack, fuck… 

Grabbing the knob, I crank it down; the assault on my ears stops. Only the sound of the engine is present to me. 

Driving is my top priority. 

—Deep in the night—

Pulling into my driveway, no lights coming from the house as I turn mine off; that image of a sunken and defeated-looking Anon reverberating in my head. 

He’s got to live in that dump, filled with swindlers and drug addicts, for some reason. 

A reason I’m sure I won’t figure out, nor want to push him to tell me at all. 

It’s still rubbing me the wrong way, though. 

Jamming the key into the front door, unlocking it slowly, stepping in, and tossing off my shoes, freeing my feet from their booted prison. 

Snoring. 

Peeking into the living room, Reed’s flat out on the floor, passed out with a bag of chips in one hand and a handful of Fritos on his chest. 

This absolute goober. 

Stepping over him, crouching down, I take the bag of chips and the remote that was lying by his splayed-out tail. 

“Never change, little Red, never change.” 

Flopping down onto the couch, closing my eyes for a moment…. Yeah… love this couch.

Chapter Text

\Anon/

The door clicked into place, pushing out the subtle cold of a nighttime breeze that SkinRow pushed through my bones; there’s a lingering warmth on my left hand, spreading from my fingertips to my palm—the cigarette smell dissipating and becoming just another smell in this apartment. 

My breath is heavy, my eyes are shot, and I can barely keep them open. 

Why did I have to see Ryker of all people! He definitely saw how I was. 

Before I know it, I’m pacing around my room, eyes stuck to the tiny bits of ash on my hoodie; I don’t even smoke. My throat hurts. Okay, okay, it’s not horrible. Anon, you just had an extremely realistic dream of what happened back home and happened to just run into Ryker during the worst time ever. 

Running my hands over my face; walking backwards till the back of my knees collide with the mattress, jolting myself downward into the springy surface. Memories of the first few weeks of Father's consistent struggle with me flooding into my vision, blurring the lines of reality. 

“Do it again!” 

Father's voice starts to filter in my head, bringing back the start of my torture in my own house. I hate his voice, that bubbling frustration fueling my mind's reminders; my body can feel the lingering hits he leveled against me, my ribs ache, and my arms whine. 

“Anon! Do you want to end up a failure? No? Then start pushing!”

Placing my hands on the edge of the bed, the soft sensation doing nothing to ground my racing heart, sweat beginning to seep up through my pores. 

I have to do something… anything to keep my mind occupied. 

“You might accept the way you are, but you know I don’t.” 

I can’t go back to sleep so soon… my body won’t let me, especially when all I can hear are reverberations of Father. My ears are ringing with tension; my eyes are searching the apartment for anything to focus on. 

The open window lets lingering light creep in, the dark inky black of the night only being cut open by the dying street lamp bulbs, shining yellowish hues in strands to hit the tempered glass of the PC sitting on the beat-up metal desk. Even if it’s enough to capture my attention, it’s not enough to stop the thoughts. 

“You don’t have to love me, but you will respect me.” 

“Fuck you…”

Those were the last words I shared with him. 

My body finally gives up; I feel the back of my head hit the pillow, the ceiling staring back at me. The discolored spots contorting into laughing faces within the dark. 

The pillow feels like jagged rocks, poking into the base of my skull, furthering my pounding headache's assault. 

“Ruined way more than just that queer.” 

I feel the air change around me slightly, becoming stale and dead. My body feels heavy and weak; blinking my eyes, I can see the outline of Johnny, how he had me pinned down at the cliff… 

The edge of that cliff, looking out into a sea of green. Tall, dark trees were watching this event unfold; life was moving while mine was already being uprooted—while Johnny was threatening to break me or worse. 

Even with the extra muscle I did happen to make progress with, I didn’t stand a chance against him at all. 

Holding me down, intent to watch me suffer by his own hands. What gave him the right? To toss out my feelings! 

A familiar heat slithers through my body: a growing frustration. Something I’ve become okay with having. 

Hands gripping the sheets as I lay down in my own sweat. 

That… that prick… I found out who I was, spent countless hours, days, and weeks just trying to come to terms with how I feel, and built up confidence and courage to tell him how I truly felt. I know that he probably didn’t feel the same as I felt for him, but I was okay having a one-sided crush, an admirer I’d be. 

Why couldn’t they accept me? Why couldn’t Father accept me? What’s even going on back home… Is Mom okay? 

The landscape quickly melts around me, the pillow returning to its original feel: thin and smooth at the back of my head. The springy mattress—well, that will always feel slightly uncomfortable. 

Images of Mother fill my eyes instead; I can feel lingering tears prick out at the edges of my eyes. I already did so much crying before Ryker caught me calming down; so much for that. 

I should call her tomorrow and figure out that answer quickly… and tell her I already got into a bit of trouble. I can’t lie to her about that, even if I’ve been lying thus far. 

It feels like my head is swimming through an unnatural meltdown, burning like gasoline as my brain pounds against my temple. There are too many thoughts happening at the same time. 

Am I being paranoid? Is this a panic attack? I can’t place anything on an answer… 

Tossing my body to the side, gripping the sheet, and pulling it over myself. Eyes focused on the mismatched wall; hovering my fingers over the little popcorns in the paint, the sensation is oddly calming. 

Hopefully there won’t be any awkwardness with Ryker tomorrow. I wonder why he was even in Skin Row… 

Nope, can’t sleep. 

Tossing myself out of bed, feeling my bare feet dig into the shag carpet. The outline of my hands stared back at me as I outstretched my arms; it’s dark, reeks of old age, and I can’t settle my heart rate. 

The small humming of the refrigerator creeps into the room; it's silent, so quiet that the insignificant sound of the appliance becomes a boom. 

Lowering myself to the floor, fingers splayed into the tight knots of the matted areas of the carpet, ripping up bundles of wire brush-like material.

There’s no more anger in this show of strength. Just tiredness and the need to keep busy. 

Laying my back onto the floor, hands flat at my sides, legs arched. I learned through working out that Father had lost his love for me as his son, and through working out I might find something else. 

It feels like my brain clicked into place as soon as I did the first sit-up. Arms behind my head, fingers linked so tightly I might dislocate them, but gone are the heavy thoughts; even if I can remember the events and names, all I’m truly focused on is tiring myself out…

. . .

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BE—

THUD 

“Shit…”

Palming the floor and pushing myself up to my knees, my eyes feel heavy, and my right side aches from just slamming into the floor. 

Lightly I reach over to my side, brushing my fingers up against my clothed skin. 

“Ow…” 

A sting presents itself; well, so much for being well rested now. 

Didn’t I fall asleep on the floor? How'd I get in bed? And what time is it? 

Padding my hands to my phone, my poor phone that I crushed a second earlier, there’s a boatload of texts from Stella and a singular one from an unknown number… Ryker. 

The blue auto-brightens, sending it straight into my eyes. I snap them shut before slowly opening them once again. 

7… Okay, I have to get ready now and literally hurry out the door. I can’t be late today, not at all; it’d only add on to whatever punishment is coming my way from yesterday’s events. 

God, I wish I was a bit more aware of my mumbling or could control it as well as Mom could. 

—Wet Cement—

Familiar foggy streets; this time I opted to just wear the hoodie from last night, only took a quick rinse under the kitchen sink to get the ash out, plus it’s comfy even if it smells like cigarettes after only having one. 

Go figure. 

Padding my jeans out as they get bunched up from my phone sticking half out of my pocket—I should go clothes shopping soon; all my outfits are terrible for this weather. I’ll most definitely be dying by the middle of the day. 

That morning breeze is the only thing sounding through my ears as I continue to walk the path; a few cars pass by, and others walk by or past me. 

It seems this place comes alive at random. Dakota always had a busy road in the morning, with plenty of people walking to and from work. 

Buzz

Taking out my phone, looking at the lightning strike of a crack spewing down the middle; Ryker. 

“Hey man, hope you’re doing well. Just wanted to let you know we should meet by the side entrance before we go to Spears office.” 

Short and simple text, unlike Stella, who loves to test how many times my phone can buzz before it explodes… Actually, can that happen? Should I see if that could happen? 

“Sure thing, I’m walking right now; I should be there soon.” 

The little “read” pops up below my message; a few typing bubbles appear before disappearing. A shaka emoji in its place. 

HONK HONK 

SKRRTT 

The honking and then the loud braking of a car actually make me jump out of my shoes as I fling myself backwards, dropping my phone onto a nearby patch of grass. 

Shit, please don’t be more cracked than you already are!

Oh, thank God; it’s fine. 

As I pick up the phone, I hear the subtle noise of a window being rolled down, then banging on the side paneling of the car that scared the shit out of me. 

“Yo, Anon, is that you?”

Naser? 

“Yeah, bro! You're walking to school, right? Hop in.” 

I blankly stare at Naser, wondering, my eyes over the car… 

I’ve seen this car before. Nice muscle build, but unfortunately, it looks like it just left a gang war. This really can’t be his car, right? The son of a police commissioner. 

Naser looks a bit peeved before letting out a sigh. Waving his hand across the outside of the car theatrically. 

“Sorry, King Anon, does my car not suit your tastes?” 

I feel a heat rise to my neck. I didn’t mean to be rude; granted, I was just standing around silently judging it. Shit. 

Scratching the back of my neck, I approach the car. I’ll just round to the passenger seat from the front.

“Hey! Actually, take the back seat, would you? I’m picking up Naomi; she’s along the way.” 

Naser flashes a half smile; I give a nod as I already rounded the front. 

The back door having half its handle, damn this thing really was put through the ringer before he got it; I hope before he got it. 

“So what’s the deal with the bullet holes?” 

Naser smirks slightly as he throws the car into drive right as I latch my seatbelt; the torque shoves me into the cushions as far as I can go. 

“Oh, Dad got me this car from an impound auction, cheap. As you can tell, though, the engine works just fine.” 

The last few words sound like they came straight from his father's mouth; the same scary but prideful tone as the night I was used as a “show of force.” 

I wonder if all the Aarons just have that ability to scare the crap out of people without knowing it. 

The world’s practically spinning around us as Naser puts pedal to metal; he’s not a bad driver by any means but a speed demon for sure. 

“You know, not to be rude, but I thought you’d stay in that green jacket of yours all week.” 

Huh? Well… that’s not wrong. I was just planning on washing it and re-wearing it until my bruises lightened. 

“Oh… yeah. I just figured I’d try out a new fit.” 

Yeah, totally not because I was too lazy to change out of this last night after bumming a cig and working myself out till I passed out on the floor. 

My throat feels scratchy remembering how the harsh smoke filled it. 

“Cool, cool, not gonna lie though, man. If you don’t have a shirt underneath there, you’re going to die of heatstroke later.” 

Naser laughs lightly as he taps his talons on the steering wheel. 

Here’s right, I don’t know if I can afford to take this off. Even if the bruises had settled enough, it could become a bad look, spread rumors, and make me talk of the school for weeks. 

The car comes to a fast halt, jutting me out of my inner thoughts and back into reality. 

“Naseypooh!” 

There it is, the voice that could probably haunt my dreams as the narrator. 

Naomi, unaware that I’m even existing in the back of the car, climbs into the passenger side, slamming the door and immediately pouncing onto Naser. 

And I mean pounce; if she could get any closer, I’d be convinced she’s trying to drive herself. 

“Oh, you know what my favorite thing about the mornings is, right, Nasey?” 

I don’t think I should be hearing this; why am I not making any noise? Shouldn’t I, like, be speaking up in this situation…? Nahhh, I’m morbidly curious how she’ll embarrass him in front of me. 

Naomi leans her arms around Naser’s neck, her snout resting in the crook of his chest, from what I can see. 

She’s wiggling in her seat too, tail thrashing lightly and making quite the impactful sounds on the faux leather. 

“B-Babe… Anon’s in the back…”

It sounds like pure defeat, like a sigh of surrender as he speaks the magic words. Alerting Naomi to my presence. 

Her head shoots up with her hands, and her eyes turn to me first. Then her head. A face of shock fills her extremely blushing features… 

“Hey, Naomi.” 

I give a little wave… Actually, I’m trying to cover my mouth so she can’t see me snickering at her misfortune. 

The blush fills her face as the rest of her seems to turn pale as my words fill her ears, proving to her that I’m not some illusion. 

Instead her hands find Naser’s shoulders, beating against him lightly while pouting. 

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner… Now I just look unprofessional…”

A groan is dropped from her throat as she settles back into the seat, head forward and tail resting on the center console, the tip moving like a rattlesnake.

Sorry, Naser, I think we both dropped the ball on this one. 

Naomi, let’s put a sigh as Naser nervously fake laughs. The car, however, keeps its usual roar as Naser puts it into gear. 

“I’m terribly sorry you had to see that, Anon; I didn’t know we’d be having an extra passenger today.” 

Now I’m really sorry for Naser; that tone was not peachy at all. Especially for her. 

Besides, she really doesn’t have anything to apologize for; it’s her boyfriend and their morning ritual that I’m just rudely dropping in on because of Naser’s kindness. 

“Nothing to be sorry about, Naomi; I should’ve spoken up.” 

Naomi pokes her head back to face me, her eyes searching me. Like she’s just overanalyzing my whole person; I don’t like how she does that, especially with that look of pity flashing around. 

“I appreciate that, Anon. No more about this, though.” 

A peach-colored finger is waved my way. Ugly nail polish color… 

Agreed. 

“Great! Now I was going to bring this up at English after you already had your meeting, but since you’re here, I wanted to talk about what happened at the concert.” 

Mumbling, mumbling, ughhhh. 

What? And why would she know? Oh… yeah, student council. Perfect job for her, I think. That micromanagement vibe she gave off on the first day is showing again today. 

“Yeah… I regret what I said; it was mean of me to make fun of the dude.” 

End this conversation quickly; feed her what she wants. 

Even if he deserved a bit of payback for what harmful shit he flung. 

Naser actually spits out a laugh before Naomi can hit him on the shoulder. Even while being attacked by useless punches, he continues to chuckle. 

“Anon, you hit it on the head. When I found out what that prick said to my sis-sibling, I wanted to do more than call him fat.” 

Naomi gives a faux gasp as she reels her hands back from Naser’s shoulders, giving both of us the stink eyes before sighing with defeat. 

And what’s with the gender mixup? Sister or sibling, Naser? I’ll probably figure it out later. Besides, it kind of feels good to have backup; it feels great, actually. 

“Alright… I’ll admit he was rude and maybe deserved a bit of retaliation, but that does not excuse causing a fight in the auditorium, Anon.” 

Whoa… No way, no way in hell did I cause that. 

“I didn’t cause—

“That’s not fair, Naomi, you know that. I may be new to this council stuff, but I’ve read some of those detention files. That Kyle kid is a dick.” 

Naomi deflates off her high horse once again; I really don’t know why Naser’s going to bat for me here. It’s… confusing. 

Naser eyes me through the rearview mirror, catching my attention. 

“Anon… I’m sure you saw my sister up there, the singer.”

“Yeah… uh… Fang, right?”

Cool name. Actually, I think most people I’ve met recently have cool names. Naser’s is literally the first time I’ve ever heard of it.

“Sh-they… are going through some… tough times, I guess. So I don’t want you to hold that first impression of them as the only one, if you can do that for me.”

Naomi looks off into the window, sullen in her defeat, as Naser occasionally looks at me through the rearview. Orange eyes focusing on my reactions the best he can. 

Why would I hold that vision of them against them? It wasn’t their fault that people have no shame when it comes to making fun of others. 

“I won’t hold it against them; I haven’t even spoken to them. I think that’s the real first impression, you know?” 

Naser’s eyes settle back onto the road as I answer; he looks to visibly relax. Glad I could settle his nerves a bit. 

“Thanks, Anon, I’m just a bit worried for her. Things haven’t gone her way for some time.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Naomi’s hand snake its way to Naser’s thigh, rubbing him slowly. Comforting him. 

It sounds like he needs it too; there’s a genuine, deep-rooted concern for his sibling. Maybe that’s why he defended me so quickly; I unintentionally did him a favor by spitting in that Kyle kid’s coffee.

Noami eyes me sideways, like mega sideways. The dark green of her pupils turning into slits as they focus on me. 

Suddenly I feel like I’m being judged; time to inch into the seat and hope I look docile and harmless, like a toad of sorts. 

“Lucy just needs time, Naser, maybe…” 

Naomi trails off as we pull into the school's student parking. Naser lets out a long-winded sigh. 

Who’s Lucy?

Alarms are now going off in my flight-or-fight sector of my brain as Naser whips his head so hard to look at me, Naomi hiding a slight smug expression with her hand. 

Naser’s expression is anything but pleasant before settling, his frowned brows returning to a neutral position. 

“It’s… Fang’s actual name. They're non-binary; it was a recent thing, over the summer.” He waves his hands dismissively. “She just had this scenecore phase not too long ago, but this seems like it’s more than just that.” His voice carried a slight tremor before evening out.

From what I can tell, he’s very concerned for his sibling, maybe a bit confused on how to properly communicate with them, but certainly concerned like any brother should be. 

Naomi runs her hand over Naser’s shoulder, holding firm to him. 

“She’ll figure it out soon, Nasey; now come on, no more moping; you need to get those track members to come to an agreement with the baseball club.” 

As much as my core gut doesn’t like Naomi, for whatever reason it may have, I can’t say she’s not wrong. It seems like the topic of Fang brings Naser’s overall mood down and sort of makes him a worrywart.

Naser pulls the parking brake, turning off the engine; Naomi’s the first to get out, followed by me. 

“Hey! Anon, over here, man!” 

Ryker’s standing up top the side entrance, his tan tank top smile staring at me. One hand on his hip as he waves me over with the other. 

I turn to Naser, who gives me the universal head nod,which I return before making my way towards Ryker, hotfooting over. 

Reaching the top of the stairs, slightly sweating. I’m seriously going to regret this hoodie. 

Ryker extends his hand to me from up top. Ohhh, I know. I’m not that socially awkward to not recognize this gesture. 

Coming from down low, I swing my hand to him, a good loud clap reverberating from the collision. Hell yeah, I can still dap up. 

“Good shit, man. Alright, let’s head to the office before we’re both dead.” 

Giving a nod, I follow Ryker through the double doors. A few students give him waves, dapping him up as we pass along. It seems he’s popular among the girls too. 

Guess the surfer dude aesthetic is in around here. 

“What’s Ryker doing with the Skinnie?”

“You didn’t see what happened yesterday?”

“Yeah, yeah! Skinnie stood up to Kyle, and Ryker joined in.” 

“Shit, they’re buddies now?”

“Seems like it.” 

Ryker pats my shoulder, noticing that my head was clearly up in space; I turn heel quickly, heading down the next hallway with him. 

I feel him side-eyeing me before I meet his side-eyes back; a slight chuckle comes from him. 

“Seems we’re the talk of the town, huh?”

He shoots me a shaka before winking; I guess he’s not wrong, and maybe it’s good publicity. Something to keep others from thinking they can get over me. 

“I guess so… Shit, we’re probably going to be in detention all day.” 

Still, it doesn’t mean shit if I’m already adding onto a record here. New school, and I’m just ripe for causing trouble. 

Ryker lifts a trimmed baby blue claw to his snout, lightly scratching at some shedding scales. His eyes narrow before a small smile spreads across his face. 

“Nah, they don’t do it like that around here unless it’s really bad. We’ll probably be put on gardening duty for Saturday.” 

Is that why the garden is so well maintained? Wait, does that mean that Kyle kid would be there too?

“So instead of detention, we’d be mowing the grass?”

“Nah, man, we’d be helping the gardening club. It was Rosa’s idea to have the detention kids spend a Saturday helping instead of missing class in that small-ass detention room.” 

All that talking has finally led us to the office, the glass panels inside revealing the same receptionist from yesterday, doom scrolling on her phone without so much as a care in the world. 

I’m starting to feel stuffy in my clothing. I understand that Ryker’s probably right; he definitely knows more than I do, but I can’t get that nagging feeling out of my head that maybe he might be wrong. That I can’t trust him yet or take his word; it felt good to have him back me up in the auditorium, willing to start a fight—but I can tell my heart’s not in it right now to start another connection. 

Ryker palms open the door, without so much as a word, heading straight under the curved arch and into Mr. Spears’s hallway. 

Taking a deep breath, steadying my hands to my sides, I take my first few steps down the corridor. Ryker was waiting at the end for me, checking his phone. 

“Alright, let’s get this over with, yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

Ryker knocks, and before the third knock is placed, we hear a rattling and muffled talking, then a quick shuffling towards the door. 

The knob jumps, shaking actually; it’s practically vibrating. 

“WHY DO I HAVE TO CLEAN UP THAT MESS?! THEY WERE THE ONES WHO THREW ALL THAT SHIT AT ME!” 

The door flings open, and instinctively I take a few steps back. Ryker seems to have also come to my side; well, he’s standing behind me. Kinda like I’m a shield for whatever’s going to burst past us here soon. 

The Petro from the concert, Fang, their amber-like eyes come down on both of us. There’s a pure look of genuine rage-filled anger. Their eyes trail me up and down before briefly stopping on the logo writing across my hoodie; with a huff, they steps past and out into the main office. 

Ryker gives me an eye roll before lightly smiling, mouthing off something. I’m not too good at reading lips, so I’m just kind of stuck out of the loop here. 

Mr. Spears focuses on a grunt, forcing me and Ryker to lock in. 

“I advise you both to sit down; whoever’s last in, please shut the door.” 

The no-nonsense tone rings through my ears, proving to me that I’m not cut out for these levels of volume, even if it’s coming from another person. 

Walking into the office after Ryker, I quietly shut the door; the sound of the lock latching rings out before the squeaking of the leather chair. Ryker is laxing in it, legs crossed and generally looking like this isn’t his first time. 

“Ryker, I’d like you to take this a bit more seriously, young man.” 

Spears drills into Ryker calmly, his glasses shine off the ceiling's lighting, shoving a ray of luminosity into Ryker’s direction. In turn, Ryker uncrosses his legs and sits up straighter, much to his own distaste. 

Ryker’s being pretty bold right now. I’m sitting here in the extra chair, posture as straight as a board. We hate lumbar support here at Casa de Anon. Meanwhile, it’s like his whole demeanor just flipped, like how he was at the lunch table yesterday with Naser, trying to maybe prove a point? 

The chair conforms around me better; it seems like this one’s actually built smaller. Definitely new too… Was this put in for me? Nah, they can’t be that accommodating, right?

Mr. Spears lets out a huff while adjusting his pin, straightening it. 

“Very simple talk, gentlemen. I had my own conversation with Kyle. Got his side and subsequently got more information from Stella out of her own volition,” using his coffee mug to push his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, “I understand that Anon made a comment back to Kyle as a retaliation of sorts for his heckling.” 

Ryker focused his eyes onto the desk before him, a low-hanging sigh lifted from his mouth before crunching further into the leather-bound seat. 

“I get that it was a bad situation to start with, and I can’t lie; I’m sorely disappointed in how it was handled by all parties involved.” Clasping his hands together “Seeing as Kyle was the aggressor, I’ve seen fit to just give you both a slap on the wrist. Saturday, 0930, gardening detention.” 

I can feel a weight being lifted from my chest, and my arms feel a bit lighter; I was truly expecting the worst. How can you blame me? It’s a hulking behemoth of my ancestor dishing out punishment. 

Although I trust Principal Spears, it feels like an unjustified trust, but I think just him not poking me for my past makes me have a better impression of him, kind of like Mr. Aaron. 

“I understand, Mr. Spears; thank you for not giving us the full sentence.” 

Ryker gives off an air of arrogance, a smirk creeping upon his snout. 

Does he have dirt on Spears? Or just the office in general, Naser seems to avoid him; Naomi just opts to just pout around him.

Mr. Spears nods lightly, rubbing his knuckles together as I hear his teeth grind subtly. He looks deep in some sort of complicated situation brewing in his head. 

“Ryker, please head to your classes. Anon, stay put, will you?” 

Awww shit, am I in for a lecture? 

Ryker shakes his head with a snicker, placing his palm on my shoulder. Our eyes meet, and he can barely contain his laughter before leaving. The thud of the door closing forced me to focus my sights on Mr. Spears. 

He looks pleasantly unhappy…. Oh… I mumbled that. 

“Moving past that,” reaching a hand into his desk, “here’s that lunch card. I know I told you to pick it up at the front, but I figured since I had you here, I’d give it to you personally, Anon.” 

I lean forward, gently grasping the card. It had a little black and white picture of me on it; the printer was obviously running dry by the end of the print, little white lines causing rippling in the photo. 

It’s thick and smells like it was tucked between two sheets of cologne testing paper, with an oddly woody texture and smell. 

“Remember, it’s not a free meal card; all money will be repaid by the end of the year.” 

This time his voice is way more toned in, focused, and precise. 

“I understand, Mr. Spears.” 

“Good, now please hurry along to class. They start soon.” 

Taking my backpack from the side of the chair, I give Mr. Spears a subtle smile before leaving the room, softly closing the door. Guess I should be a bit more professional, or I’m just overcompensating for my fuck-up of a mumble that he so graciously didn’t cause a conflict with. 

Pulling out my phone as I walk into the main lobby, thumbing my notifications up so I can peek at my schedule… 

Math… 

8 in the morning math; kill me now. 

—felt the flames get bolder—

Entering the classroom, it’s practically empty save for the few students that love to turn up early; Naomi, for example, is front and center flipping through a few of her papers. A grossly huge binder sporting a bright pink wrap open and bound with probably hundreds of cream pages. 

I would hate being on a student council, just based off the paperwork from how Naomi presents it. 

Pushing past her probing eyes, like it’s some sort of stealth level in Far Cry 3, I succeeded in securing a back row seat. Tossing my bag underneath the desk. 

Now, who to bait on the forum while I wait for the dreaded math teacher to make his entrance? Speaking of him, for the only human teacher, he really isn’t making a good impression on our species. He’s extremely horrible at hiding his gooning habits. 

But I’m not too good at it either; I’ve never really heard of incognito mode… 

Maybe I shouldn’t think about that, for all I know my brain could force me to mumble my favorite categories… Holy fuck, stop thinking.

Searching the forum for literally any thread to keep myself sane, a message pops up. 

Oh, Stella! 

“Hey Anon! I heard from Ryker you’re going to be helping this weekend!” 

“I honestly can’t wait!!! :) Rosa, Sage, and I will make sure you’re not lumped in with the usual detention crowd!” 

“But don’t expect to have less work, like I said yesterday; you are but a peon in Queen Stella’s world.” 

A little GIF she drew of herself with a crown laughing is sent.

Honestly, she either had wayyyy too much free time or just draws as quickly as possible when the idea strikes. 

Typing rapidly, doing my best to strike her with a message before my SnootCord becomes an operation desert storm for notifications. 

“Can’t wait!!!!!!!!” 

Expert strike, Captain Mous. We just might win the war. 

Stella’s typing bubbles appear; the tardy bell rings, and subsequently Stella’s bubbles disappear. 

“Alright, you fricking kids, I have a worksheet for you. Do it in groups or by yourself; I, uh, could care less.” 

Very into the job, I see. 

The worksheets get passed around, finally reaching me. I’m not the brightest when it comes to this stuff at all, especially now with whatever’s on the page currently; even if I’m inclined with electrical circuits, I still use the internet for the math part… 

Paper… 

A crumpled sheet of paper smacked off the side of my head and landed directly onto my desk. 

Do I really want to get involved in passing notes? Yeah, I kind of do. 

Opening the note, I see some really well-written script, almost hard to read. Steady hand. 

[“Hey compadre, it’s Reed; come sit with me and Trish.”] 

Reed… The one with those dreamlike indigo eyes, purples that could resonate with me for life—what am I thinking right now?? Why do I feel embarrassed…? 

Looking up and to my right, I lock eyes with Reed, watching his long hair cascade down his shoulders before he brushes a hand through his strands, letting me catch a glimpse at the shaved side, the subtle beads of sweat forming subtly down his scales. 

Before long I can feel my face heat up. Stumbling out of my head, I grab my backpack and head on over; I have to stop this constant eye tag, it’s going to get me in trouble. 

Shuffling over and snatching a nearby free chair, I pull up. 

Remember, Anon, these are two new people you’ve yet to meet properly; even if you’re good with Reed’s brother, it doesn’t mean you can get comfortable with Mr. Indigo Eyes…. SNAP OUT OF IT. 

“Ugh… You really had to let the Skinnie come here?”

Whoa… that’s unexpected. The trig—trike throwing a slur at me. 

“Trish, play nice with the dude; remember you saw how he reacted at the concert.” 

Reed speaks softly and almost melodically as he sips from his thermos; a deep sigh escapes him as he lightly palms his hand onto my worksheet, taking it for himself to work on. 

“So Anon, right?” 

Those gemstoneeyes once again flood to mine. 

“U-uh… Yeah…” 

ALERT ALERT! DUDE, YOU'VE BEEN STARING AT IT. IT'S TALKING TO YOU. 

My whole body is scrambling to find a hold on its nerves, my head running rampant trying to figure out what the hell this emotion is. It’s not love at first sight; I’ve already ditched that option. For some reason I just feel nervous around him. 

Reed extends his hand to me; quickly I return his gesture. Our hands connect for a little longer than necessary; I can see his pink scales dampen to a slight red. Our hands quickly withdraw. 

I’m assuming the trike is Trish; she stares at us like she just saw the ghost of Christmas past. 

“Oooookay… You two seem weird with each other already.” 

A slight smirk gracing her features; yeah, she’s definitely going to get on my nerves at some point. 

“Alright, you two obviously know each other somehow? What’s the catch here, Reed?” 

Trish points a long claw towards Reed; he shoots her two finger guns before taking another swig of whatever’s in that thermos; his eyes dilate, pupils widening and little trails of red popping up. Oh yeah, he’s going over that rainbow bridge, huh? 

“Anon here knows my brother; he met him on the first day.”

Reed gives me a lazy smile, his eyes trailing to my chest. Is he checking me out? 

“Nice hoodie, man… Must have cost you a pretty penny, right?” 

Oh… 

I can feel the itching of a familiar heat graze my neck; my hand shoots up and scratches the spot, hoping to cover up the obvious color change. 

“O-oh, this old thing… Yeah, it was a concert exclusive… maybe a month's worth of allowance haha” 

Fake laugh checked off the list, and slurring my words. So classic, Anon. 

“So maybe you’re not a poser.” Trish snickers before focusing her judgmental attention towards me. “No matter… just because a skinnie like you can have a good music taste doesn’t mean you’re any better than what you are.” 

Years of built-in human racism threaten to destroy my professional career, as this Trish character's tone is anything but nice… Fuck it, when in Rome. 

“Isn’t that hypocritical for the Trigga?”

I can feel a smirk grow on my lips as she reels her whole body back, a glare as hot as brimstone burning in her eyes. 

“What’s that supposed to mean, fleshbag!?” 

At least it’s a different slur this time. 

“Oh… I thought you hornheads had it just as bad as us? Was I wrong, Miss Ivory?”

There’s practically steam coming from whatever you can call ears on her head, her hood-like crest starting to bulge with a few veins. 

“Whoa, whoa… Calm down, guys. I didn’t bring Anon here so you two can fight.” 

Reed breaks up the impromptu slur fest, shaking his hands between us. Trish folds back into her seat; I mimic her action and give a little nod to Reed, just to acknowledge him. Unlike someone at the table. 

Reed taps a claw on the table, passing me my worksheet. 

It’s completely full.

“Hey man, don’t let that jaw drop just yet.” 

I smack my mouth shut as Reed snickers lightly; he’s got a cute laugh. 

“I wanted to ask how you felt about that concert, Anon—

THUD

“Who cares what this… Skinnie thinks? We were awesome anyway.” 

Trish interrupts Reed; I can visibly see him deflate a little, even look a bit down before his lazy smile returns, just nodding along while giving me a quick eye. 

I guess I have no choice but to sit and listen. 

Reed’s got a similar style to Ryker: tank top and jeans. More punk though, the jeans are almost jet black and have jagged rips that look homemade, the tank top being a damp shade of red with a little white bird in the collar that looks embroidered in. 

Not to mention the head of hair on this man. 

Ugh, I wish I could have your hair, man. 

“Ayy, the bald suits you, bro; you’re a bit muscular, so I think the baldness adds to that build.” 

I can feel my face heat up; he was clearly not flirting with me, but he definitely had to see me without the hoodie before. This thing is bulky…. Did he check me out yesterday…? 

This is all so confusing… 

Reed quickly turns his head away from me as I look up; I can see the faintest stain of damp red on his neck leading to his snout. My peripheral vision caught his heavily feathered tail flicking beneath his seat. 

“T-thanks, man.” 

Two words, sputtered out and probably too low to hear. 

Trish pads the desk lightly before standing up, heading to the door, and grabbing what looks to be the bathroom pass. Not even a single word given to the teacher, like he really cares though.

He’s just currently engrossed in a pretty big “math” textbook; totally not covering up whatever porno-mag he’s got underneath there. 

Reed turns his attention back to me, lazy smile and all. 

“Hey… So what’d you think about yesterday?” 

That question again… I don’t know if I should really be honest; I should, right? It would be worse if I just lied and said I enjoyed it when I didn’t. 

Scratching the back of my neck, feeling the tense muscles settle. 

“To be honest… I think the double bass is killing you guys.” 

He slumps, no noise, no huff or puff; just slouching in his chair. No change in that lazy grin, however, but I can tell he understood. 

I’m feeling a little guilty now. 

“Don’t worry about it, compadre; I knew we didn’t sound amazing.” Palming his hands together as he stares down at his finished worksheet “It’s happened before, but we try to keep learning, right?”

His eyes half-lid as his words slow down in tempo; whatever he’s sipping is kicking in real hard now. Is he just drinking bong water? 

“I get that; not to compare, but when I was getting into electrical work, it took me months to just go past the basics. Trial and error.” 

I can feel myself relax more; it’s been a bit since I could have a normal conversation like this, with nothing about my past being teased into it or where I’m from. Even if Reed eventually asks, I don’t mind this atmosphere. 

Reed nods slowly, his index finger tracing circles into his left palm; I don’t know, I didn’t notice, but he’s got tiny bits of bandage paper around his fingers. 

Some presenting dried blood… 

Reed quickly hides part of his hand; fuck, I was staring. 

“Oh… my bad. Didn’t mean to stare.” 

Quickly a finger gun is shot my way; a slight kickback motion to it. 

“No worries, bro… just went too hard on the drums last night.” Reed laughs lightly. “S-Somehow I ended up in the living room covered in Fritos dust.” 

I can see that pretty clearly, actually; it seems like something he would do. I can’t help but chuckle. 

“Well, at least you had a good night.” 

I roll my eyes at him as he continues to subtly laugh at his own predicament. 

His hand reaches out, patting my shoulder lightly. Our eyes meet. These indigo-purple spirals dulled with trails of red still succeeded in making me go non-verbal. 

“You should come have lunch with me and the band today, Anon, bro; we get the auditorium to ourselves.” 

Reed’s hand hovers for a bit before pulling back, his scales dampening slightly. The usual alarms don’t sound. Is… Is this okay? 

“U-uh… sure… I’m down.” 

The stuttering's still here, and my blush. It’s almost burning my face. How does he not notice it? Is he just that high?

“You’re sharp, Anon. Razor sharp; gotta show you all the cool spots before Ryker does… friends?”

Friends… Maybe if it’s him, it’s okay. 

I can feel the lines of my mouth curve into what I’m trying to project as an earnest smile, but it’s probably really goofy looking. 

“Sure, Reed, friends.” 

“Good to meet you, bro.” 

Trish magically made her way to the desk without so much as a sound, startling me slightly as I swung back into my chair's backboard, lifting it off the ground slightly before settling back on all four of its legs. 

Reed lets out a snicker as Trish just gives me a smug look of satisfaction. 

This is either going to be a long day or so incredibly fast it hurts. 

—Bombs Away—

English passed painfully slow without Stella; apparently, she had some business with the student council. Naomi wasn’t in either; guess it must’ve been a big event. 

The hallways are crowded like usual; it’s a travesty that I seem to be impeding other students' way of life somewhat.

Tails quickly duck out of my way, and wings collapse. I guess it’s nice to be seen enough so I don’t catch a fist or a slap by accident. 

Although the feelings of judgemental stares bore into the back of my head, looking at my phone briefly, hmmm, science class, Dr. Fernsworth.

. . . 

Upstairs… to the left, I think.

Naomi? 

Naomi’s just standing by the window at the end of the hallway. Her head slumped into her hand as she looked out towards the skyline; as much as I try to avoid her, this does seem a bit concerning. 

This is none of your business, Anon; we don’t need to get involved. 

I know, it would be going against my whole outlook; aw, fuck it, when have I ever tried to stay by that outlook? It’s practically impossible to be invisible here now. 

Striding up to the window panel next to Naomi, I tap the glass softly to get her attention. 

Naomi whips her head to me; her eyes look bloodshot, and she’s sporting reading glasses this time around. 

“O-oh… Anon.” She’s trying her best to sound perky. “Didn’t know you were there… How can I help?”

Am I really going to ask this question?

“Nah, you okay though, something on your mind?”

Naomi glances her eyes my way, like she’s trying to read my inner thoughts and pin a motive for me asking this. 

She lets out a sigh, cracking her knuckles against her palms as she leans more against the little ledge the window has in front of its base. 

“It’s just… You saw how Naser becomes whenever he talks about his sister.” Thought they were non-binary? “They… They don’t know what they are, I’m sure of it. She can say she’s this and that, and all it’s doing is driving poor Naser insane keeping her in check.” 

My stomach is doing flips right now. What the hell did I just get myself into? And it’s very clear Naomi’s got some beef with Fang, going as far as to disregard their gender identity. 

There is a bit of agitation starting to form in my head from hearing her spit venom into Fang; I don’t know them, but I know they don’t see themselves as a female. 

“Naser… Naser just has so much on his plate from his father. It’s like he has to be Fang's father at school and home. It’s driving him to sleep deprivation.”

Well… that’s new. He didn’t seem tired at all this morning. Maybe he was a bit paranoid when the topic of his sibling got brought up; he didn’t think it was that deep-rooted. 

“Have you tried explaining your concern to him? I know it’s not like the best way to do it at times, but I feel like this is one of those times, yeah?”

Great advice, man, straight out of the Social Cue for Dummies manual. 

Naomi pushes herself off the windowsill, checking the little black watch on her wrist before giving me a half smile. 

“Well… that was a good talk, but class is close to starting; better hurry.” 

And she’s off, kicking up dust if there was any here; am I really that stupid at giving advice? Whatever, she’ll figure it out. 

Quickly entering the classroom, I’m met with a few looks from other students, but most seem uninterested and are just faces buried into their phones. Only the second day and the novelty of a human has worn off; win for me, I’ll take it.

Taking the table furthest from the door and planting my behind down, I glance at the desk at the front. A short, older-looking Dino, probably more dolphin-looking than Fang in the colorway. Safe to assume that’s Dr. Fernsworth. 

BING BONG DING BONG

And so it begins, the class I was extremely good at back in Rock Bottom finally creeps up into my new school. 

“Ahh, fashionably late, I see, Fang. Please take a seat where available.” 

Fang. Oh, they're coming over here, okay. 

Sitting down without so much as a word, Fang immediately pulls out their phone and gets to typing. A few students jeer to themselves. 

“Thought you were lying when you said you saw her.” 

“Why’d she even show up?”

“I would’ve jumped off the nearest roof if I were her.” 

Crunch 

Part of the table has just been removed and reduced to atoms on the floor, like actual sawdust as I stare at it. My head down and eyes now more interested in my shoes. 

I guess they forgot the novelty of a human student so quickly because there are other things to make fun of. 

“Good news, everyone! We’ll be doing a group sheet for today! Pair up into two, and I’ll hand the sheets out!” 

At least someone’s happy to be at school; the doctor reminds me of someone. 

The papers are quickly placed on each table; without any hesitation I pick up the vanilla canvas. Yeah, okay, the typical environmental stuff. Nothing too hard. 

Fang gives me a look as I place the paper between us. 

“You’re… Anon, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

Sound anymore, dead man. 

“You’re Naser’s sibling, uhhh, Fang?”

Feign ignorance; it’s the best tactic I have right now if I don’t want to get my head bashed in. I have a feeling if I don’t tread lightly, I’ll become part of that sawdust on the floor. 

Fang lets out a grunt before almost snapping her pencil. 

Shit. 

“I’d rather not be described as related to him right now; just shut up and do the work, Skinnie.” 

Off to the right foot already! Really, what does it truly matter in the long run? 

Are you stupid, Anon? The less people hate you, the better; plus, this is Reed’s bandmate. You’ll probably see them at lunch, so I’d advise you to fix this botched intro ASAP. 

. . . 

“No, you have to swap those two diagrams around.” 

I’ve taken to helping Fang out with the more complicated stuff on the back of the worksheet. Just trying to show them I’m not an asshat. 

“Wait, so like this?” 

They seem to be calmer now, which is a lot better than 10 minutes ago; alright, Anon, we’re on the right track. 

“Yeah, and that’s basically all of it.” 

They place their pencil down with the force of a falling brick, relaxing into the metal chair with a relaxed huff. 

“Alright, I’ll admit, Anon, you’re pretty good at this.” 

Rubbing the back of my neck as always, I give them a nod quickly. 

“Thanks, it’s not my main interest, but I know a thing or two.” 

They give a quick nod before checking their phone, that calm look of acceptance twisting slightly as their wings begin to squirm behind them, feathers rustling as they grit their teeth. 

“Hey… You were at the concert, right?” 

Low and foreboding, it seems this type of voice is just automatic when it comes to the Aarons. It also proves my theory. I’m fucked if I do anything to get on their bad sides. 

“Y-yeah. I was front and center. I’m sorry that shit happened to you and the band.” 

Their eyes narrowed to slits before returning to their usual indifferent look; a tight line for an expression on their lips. 

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t need your pity. FYI, you should have at least punched Kyle.” 

A little snicker leaves their beak. 

I’m not really sure if they are bipolar or not; this is switching moods way too quickly for me to keep up here. 

“Ha—maybe I should’ve; I think it went fine for now. I wouldn’t want Ryker to get in trouble for me.” 

“Oh, that’s right, Reed’s brother. Yeah, right, he knows way too much for him to get into any real trouble.” 

What? 

It means I’m smart as shit. I knew Ryker had some sort of dirt on the school, or maybe someone in the school's chain of command. 

“Uhhh huh… Okay, I’ll go hand in the paperwork.”

Yup, play that stupid card, Anon.

Placing Fang’s paper over mine, I calmly walk up to the doctor’s desk, placing them on the black marble countertop. Waking him up from his apparent open-eyed old person drooling nap. 

“Good news!” 

He spews what I’m doing to dub his catchphrase before going back to that old person nap, clawed hand resting on my paper. The other held his head up. Okayyyyy. 

Sitting back down, Fang’s deeply involved with their phone, leaning over a bit as I push back in my chair. I catch a glimpse of Trish, I think, sending a selfie with one of those peeps who called the band names. Currently stuffing him into a locker…. Sheesh. 

The bell sounds, I quickly swing my backpack onto my arm, and I do a quick little stretch. A yawn leaves my mouth as my stomach growls; oh yeah, lunchtime. 

Fang flicks on their phone, not even moving a bit. 

“Not going to head to lunch?” 

Fang gives me a fist, slowly raising a middle finger. Wagging it slightly. 

“Point taken.” 

Rolling my eyes, I head out of the class; they’re pretty funny when they want to be. 

—Zoloft and Xrox Live—

Coming into the familiar space of the cafeteria fills me with an even bigger sense of hunger. I never got to properly take a look the first time I was here; it’s huge, with multiple lines for different eating groups. Of course there’s an omnivore line, which will be my go-to as of today. 

Finding a spot in a line and swishing my thumb in my jeans, fidgeting with the lunch cards' ridged texture. 

Warm and heavy, on my shoulder. Turning my head sideways, I'm met with the indigo of Reed’s eyes. 

“Yoo Anon, I was trying to find you, bro. I should have gotten your number earlier.” 

He’s chill, super chill. It’s actually really entertaining how he can flip his inner switch to just lock in. Wish I had that going on. 

“O-oh, we should exchange them, right?” 

Holy hell, really a voice crack? 

Reed’s face lights up, that lazy smile turning into a more pleasant one as he quickly takes his phone out. 

“Here, put your number in, compadre; we can, like, become drug lords and shit. Fuck up narcs fr.” 

As I'm inputting my number, I can’t help but laugh at his brazen exchange. It’s actually refreshing to have someone like this as a friend—funny and outspoken. 

“Yeah, sure, man, then we can run shit.” 

“Hell yeah, bro; oh, Fang and Trish are already at the auditorium, so let’s get lunch and head over.” 

I nod quickly as the line begins to move; Reed follows behind me, and I catch him stacking his plate. My god, is he really going to eat all that? How does he stay so skinny? 

Swiping my card and holding my tray, I head on into the chaos that is the main cafeteria room. Just happily swaying on my feet. 

Why am I so happy right now? It can’t be because of Reed, can it? I’m not that down bad just because he’s got nice eyes, right? Usually there’s supposed to be more I can point out before a crush develops. 

“You ready, bro? You kind of just… look into space. Nothing wrong with that, but I’m sure you don’t smoke, right?”

We begin to walk, staying by his side as we slide through tight crowds. 

“Nah, I’ve never smoked before, weed or really anything.” 

“You’re missing out, compadre.” 

I give a light chuckle as I try to imagine what kind of “high person” I would be. Maybe I’d be a chill one, since I’m so paranoid all the damn time. 

Maybe I should be smoking.

The huge auditorium doors, well, actually one door, haven’t been fixed yet, just a bunch of carpenter’s tape covering up the splintering wood and bits of metal that are still clinging to the frame. 

I wonder if Mr. Spears has actually ever suplexed somebody, because he’d probably kill them ’with a proper flick to the face. 

Fang and Trish are sitting in beanbag chairs up top the stage. 

“Ayyy, homies! I brought the new guy!”

Their heads turn towards us; Trish’s subtle resting bitch face turns into full-blown disgust. Whole Fang’s just indifferent, just not really caring about it at all. 

“Happy to be included.”

Really? That’s the first thing you chose to say. You sound like a fucking business intern at the round table for the first time, Anon. 

“Why’d you bring the skinny dog?”

“Real original, Trish; try looking up some more creative slurs, ivory-head.” 

The words leave my mouth without even thinking as I head up the side stairs with Reed, who dies laughing as he flops onto a bright orange beanbag, taking his thermos out of his backpack and drinking away, munching on his food like a wild animal. He’s almost done already. 

Fang shoots a smirk at me before letting out a whistle. 

“Wooooww, looks like you met your match, Trish.” 

Cocky and sounding like they're trying to poke the beehive that is Trish. 

Finding a clear spot in between Reed and Fang on the floor, I begin to chow down. Reed leans over every now and then to show me videos he finds in SnortCord. He is high as shit. 

Trish makes a twisted face trying to think of something to say, a few noises coming from her jaw-dropped maw before clamping it shut; she is stunned. Instead returning to her salad. 

. . . 

Trish coughs slightly before wiping her face from a cherry tomato. A smirk spreads across her face. 

“North Dakota, huh, Anon? Why’d you leave, especially just to have your senior year hallway across the country?” 

I freeze up. I knew Trish was going to be an asshole, but not stoop that low; it’s not like she’s asking it out of actually wanting to know where I’m from, she’s got the tone of trying to dig up dirt. 

My heart begins to pound as I’m just racking my brain trying to come up with excuses. 

The bus! Remember what you said to Curtis; tweak it a bit. 

“Ohhh, u-uh... There was an… internship opportunity for electrical engineering. So I wanted to just finish schooling out here and give it a try.” 

Totally not what you said to Curtis, not a complete 180, but definitely just another lie. 

Trish narrows her eyes before looking like she’s about to go on a joyride with questions, and unlike Naomi, I don’t think she’ll take too kindly to me ignoring her. 

“Alright, where are you from? That states, big.” 

Nope, not answering that at all. Kinda don’t have a choice, man. I think we said it a few times during introductions. 

“Small town, triumph, rock bottom. Very backwoods; you probably never heard of it.” 

“No, I haven’t.” 

Fang tosses their left wing to Trish, hitting her over the head. 

“Stop with the questions and let the dude eat; he’s barely even touched the plate.” 

Thank you, Lord! 

Speaking of plate, Reed’s completely cleared his whole plate; Fang’s is just one giant pile of Dino nuggies. 

“Hey, Anon?” Leaning in close to the side of my head, whispering lightly, “Think you can fix the stereo in my van? Ryker said you’re handy with electrical stuff, right?” 

Immediately I reel my head back, my heart's on fire, beating a mile a minute as my face remembers that heat wafting from Reed's maw. 

Holy shit… Calm down, calm down. 

“U-uh… Y-yeah, I can look at it.” 

Reed gives me a finger gun before leaning back onto the beanbag, a wide, lazy smile spread across his lips. 

“Thanks, man... I’ll make it up to you.” 

—Duck and Run—

The rest of the school day went on without a hitch; I haven’t had my other electives yet. I think music and history are the only classes I haven’t been to yet. I think I have them in the middle of the week. 

Exiting out the side entrance, the humid and arid heat blasts me unapologetically. It was a miracle the heat didn’t kill me at all during school; they had the air on for the majority of the day, but now all my pores are opening up to literally assault me with stinging sweat. 

I try my best to shuffle the hoodie around so it doesn’t begin to absorb my fluids; shit, why did this thing have to be black too? It's literally eating up the sun. 

Shuffling down the stairs, looking out into the field of cars, I spot Reed’s van; he said to just meet him there, he’s probably got to have a toolbox or something. 

On the other hand, today, I’m beginning to think that my mind is going insane. Heat rises to my face whenever I remember that feeling of Reed being so close. 

. . . 

“Hey Anon, Reed’s in the back, got the toolbox out for you.” Ryker gives me a fist bump as I nod in response. “And don’t worry, he’s a bit more sobered out; he told me at lunch he was actually zooted.” 

I give a nervous laugh as I recall, how can I not recall he was so close without thinking about the proximity whatsoever? 

As I grip the back door handle, Ryker comes up quickly. 

“Oh, by the way, we’re driving you home today; I don’t trust SkinRow, and I’m sure Reed won’t let you walk.” 

That’s actually a bit comforting. SkinRow isn’t the nicest by any means; I don’t know how I haven’t gotten mugged yet. 

“Thanks, man, I appreciate that.” 

Ryker nods before heading back to the side of the van; I slowly grasp the handle.

Alright, take a deep breath; you're near sweating to death. The last thing you need to do is have a heat stroke in this man’s van. 

Opening the back door finally, I’m greeted with a hand, Reed’s to be exact; grabbing on, he pulls me into the back cabin area. 

“Sorry it’s a bit cramped, bro. I forgot to take the drums out last night. Anyway, I got the radio out for you.” 

Reed’s subtly glistening with sweat, dripping from his arms to his hands as he bends half his body over the passenger seat. His tail swaying gently, he’s kind of got a nice—

“Heyyy, you good?” Waving his hand across my eyes, I shudder slightly. “Bro, you look like you’re dying. Maybe take the hoodie off, homie.” 

Reed looks mellow, not super wacked-out mellow, but just the had-a-joint calm type. His voice is soft, and that lazy smile is ever present, even in his concern. 

“I’m… Okay, man, just what’s up with the radio?” 

I’m not taking this hoodie off, never, and letting him see the lingering yellow marks on my biceps. Hell no. 

Reed shrugs as he thrusts the radio gently towards me. It looks actually quite intact; nothing is sticking out or looking frayed. 

Looking behind me, I find a clear spot in the bench seat, feeling the cushioning suck me in comfortably. 

“So what’s the main issue with it, man?” 

I give Reed a single side-eye, catching him digging in his ear. 

“Oh, see, sometimes it likes to just go completely white noise on us, bro. We have to hit it sometimes for it to work.”

“I see. Mind passing me the toolbox, man?” 

“Sure, sure.” 

Reed grabs the toolbox, bright red in color with a few stickers on the sides—punk bands and, I think, a few skate ones as well. One particular one sticks out for how big it is. “Fullerton Skate” comic sans logo…

He sits down next to me, closely but not to where our legs touch. But I can see the near inches that can be taken away if he scoots over; he opens the box and turns it around in his lap to face me as he smiles softly. 

“Alright, Mr. Electric, do some magic for me.” 

Swallowing the lump that grew in my throat down that I didn’t even know had formed, I reached over his lap to grab a flathead. 

It’s hard to concentrate; I’m sweating, and I’m too close to him right now. Hopefully he’ll start a convo while I fix this… 

“Hey, do you… think we’d be better without the double bass thing?”

Okay, okay! An actual conversation—you can do this, Anon; just talk to him like normal. 

“Do Fang or Trish know how to play guitar?” 

Reed lingers a finger over one of the wrenches as he thinks, meanwhile I’m fighting with the front panel for this damn Kenwood. 

“Fang’s really good, like I mean extremely talented.”

“Then why not have them play?”

“It’s… complicated.” 

I’ve heard that one before. 

“Come on, man, lay it on me; talking helps me work better.” 

Reed snickers before pulling out a small joint from a cigarette pack. Angling it at me slightly. 

“Want to chill while we talk? Helps me focus, bro.” 

“I’ve never smoked weed, let alone carfe, before. Isn’t it deadly to humans?”

A lighter is placed on top of the radio as I lay it stationary on my lap. It’s hot pink. 

“Only in high quantities, like if you were to hit it like I did at lunch; so are you down?”

“Aw, what the hell, pass it over.” 

Reed practically bounces in his seat before placing the joint in my palm. His index claw lightly scratching my skin before lifting up, sending a shiver throughout my frame. 

Lifting the tightly wrapped and fucking stellar performance of a packed joint to my lips, tasting the cardboard of the filter, lighter in hand, I flick it on; the flame grows bold as I inhale the bellowing smoke. 

A sense of calm unlike before surrounded my brain like a weighted blanket. Its… It’s not heavy… but it sure helps my nerves. 

“Whoa, man, this is the fastest I’ve ever seen it work. Damn, compadre, are you sure you’re going to be able to work?” 

Huh? Oh yeah… radio shit. 

“I got it, man. Let’s continue the band talk.” 

“Sure, sure.” 

Reed gently takes the joint from me, hitting it, keeping the smoke in for as long as he can; it feels like an eternity before he hands it back to me. The large cloud whacks me in the face as he exhales with a mini cough. 

I can’t help but snicker. 

“You’re a stoner and still cough?” 

He hits my shoulder lightly. 

“That’s how you know it’ll hit, young Padawan; you have much to learn.” 

“Nerdddd,” I tease him lightly “you … you said Fang’s like really good, right? Then why not have them play?”

Reed lets out an exhausted sigh as I hand him back the joint, letting out the smoke I held in. Throwing myself into a coughing fit, hunching over my lap. 

“Fuck…” Reed giggles as he pats my back. “Damn…you weren’t lying.” 

I can feel an uneasy happiness begin to creep over my thoughts, forcing whatever form of control of my vocal cords I had out the window as I send myself into a laughing fit with Reed. 

“Okay, okay… Calm down… Now… what were we talking about? Oh, the guitar.” 

“Yeah, homie, maybe… Maybe you can help me convince the group to let them play the guitar. M-mainly Trish.” 

Even with my high brain, I have enough power to remember a few of my classes. I share science with Fang. 

“I share science with Fang, maybe…” Huff, fuck, I’m sweating out this hoodie “Maybe I can talk to them about the guitar?”

Reed smiles lightly while gazing at me; his eyes interlock with mine, like he’s trying to entrance me. 

Those beautiful eyes… 

“U-uh… I… Yeah… Hmm… do you maybe share music with them?” 

Why is he so red in the face? Funny-looking guy; fuck, I need to take this hoodie off. 

“I have music, but I haven’t had it yet. Hey, do you mind holding the radio for a second? I want to take this hoodie off; I’m dying here.” 

Reed takes the radio from me carefully. I managed to get the top panel off so all the wiring is exposed. 

My fingers feel numb but somehow so heavy as I latch my fingers on the thick hem of the plush material. Dragging it upward as I toss it beside me. 

I lean back against the padded walls of the van, closing my eyes for a second. 

“Hey… you good, man? Whoa—

Mmm… yeah, I’m good… Tired though… 

—Endless, Nameless —

A push against my shoulder, soft but firm at the same time. Oddly comforting… 

My eyes struggle to open; I feel crust built up on the sides of my eyes filter off as I come to; the walls of Reed’s van surround me; dead center in my gaze are those indigo gems. 

Wait… I’m not wearing my hoodie; I shoot forward, and Reed stumbles back slightly as I come an inch away from his face. 

“Whoa, whoa, you’re good, man; you passed out. We’re outside your apartment.” Reed hands me my hoodie, pushing it onto my T-shirt-clad chest. “Here, man, trust me, I took good care of it.” 

He smiles lightly; he could definitely see the yellowing on my biceps. I’m so fucked. 

“M-my bad, man.” I’m choking on my words: “I-I didn’t mean to pass out. I can still f-fix the radio.” 

Reed lays his hands on my shoulders firmly, his eyes landing on mine; even while half-lidded, I can see his concern. 

“Hey… Deep breath in, slow breath out. I got you, man. Do you want help getting home?” 

NO! I can’t not let him see how I live, no matter how nice it might feel to have him help me! 

“I’m… I’m good, thank you for taking me home, Reed.” 

Reed takes his hands off my shoulders once I get my breathing under control. He gives me a slightly blushing face before helping me off the bench. 

“At least let me help you out of the van, yeah? Also, I’ll send you my Xrox gamertag later; definitely get some sleep, man.” 

I give Reed a smile as he helps me out the back of the van, giving him a dap up as he tosses me my backpack before he closes the back door. 

Fuck, man, I’m not even going to shower; I’m tossing off my clothes and hopping in bed immediately. 

“Ay Anon! How was your first time?” 

Ryker wiggles his eyebrows as he rolls down his window from the driver's side. 

WHAT! 

Ryker dies laughing behind the wheel before giving me a shaka. 

“Got you, airhead! See you tomorrow; we’re making brownies with Sage in class.” 

“You!—

Before I can even yell out the rest of whatever curse word was going to stream out of my mouth, Ryker books it into reverse and speeds away. 

Dammit. Whatever, he knows what he did wrong there. Why’d he say that… he doesn’t suspect me, right? 

Calm down for Raptor Jesus’s sake. Anon, dudes just teasing you. 

Sure, sure. 

Lurching forward I swing my backpack more onto my back as I walk up the tetanus-filled staircase to my apartment. 

The subtle smell of carfe fills my nose as I hold up the hoodie to my face, inhaling deeply. There is another unique scent I can’t place… it’s soothing. 

Taking all the random shit out of my pockets and tossing my pants off, I flop onto my bed, blindly searching for my phone charger as I slam my face into the pillow. 

Phones in, I think… bedtimes…

Chapter Text

\Anon/

“Ryker, are you serious? You know you have to mix the ingredients first, right?”

Pausing my whisking, I look up to see Sage flicking Ryker on his arm, lightly pushing him out of the way so he can take the bowl and powder from him. 

Looking them up and down, I'm beginning to think they have a pretty good dynamic with each other, hmmm, kinda like an old married couple. 

“Go easy on me, Sage... I’m a bit tired today; Reed was banging on the drums all night.” Ryker rubs his eyes thoroughly. “He said something about a real rehearsal today after school, so I stayed up to help him.” 

Sage pauses his whisking and places the bowl onto the table counter, putting a hand on Ryker's shoulder the best he can from his small stature. 

“You’re a good brother, but just because Reed can somehow be nocturnal and survive off 2 hours of sleep doesn’t mean you can too.” Sage’s voice reminds me of my mother’s right now. “It’s not good to stay up all the time. Remember last time? I had to get you to the nurse, which almost became a chaotic series of events after she found Carfe in your jacket that day.” 

Sage begins to rub Ryker’s shoulder, trying to keep him grounded to reality as he struggles to keep his eyes open. 

Meanwhile I’m over here fighting with the brown brownie sludge in my bowl, my apron looking like I just lost a fight with the abominable snowman. The black fabric smudged with white flour… hey, at least my jacket’s fine; plus, I don’t mind being left out of this conversation. It might be weird, but I like seeing this unfold. 

Ryker rubs his eyes once more, the plum color of his irises turning into tiny dots as he focuses on Sage, his lips curling into a lazy smile, leaning forward slightly, cupping his hands onto Sage’s shoulders; a slurred laugh is exhausted as he rests his head on top of Sage’s. 

Sage turns beet red before squirming in his seat. 

Now this is interesting… 

“R-Ryker” His voice is a mix of confusion and slight panic. “Stop playing around… uhhh.” 

Ryker snorts slightly as he lifts his head, wrapping an arm around Sage’s shoulder while coughing slightly into his free hand. A tiny plume of smoke rises before being sucked back into his snout. 

“Ryker!” Sage leans in, whispering and yelling at him, “You seriously can’t be smoking right now, can you? How did you even sneak a cart into this class?” 

A back-and-forth begins to roll out faster than a fly on shit during a hot summer day, with Sage trying his best to make Ryker pay attention as Ryker just continues to tease him. 

“What, I can handle my Carfe.” A claw is lightly pointed my way. “Plus Anon here had his first smoke just yesterday, and he was wayyyy out of it.” 

Dude… 

“Anon!” Sage immediately flips a switch in his brain, finally removing Ryker’s arm from his shoulder to focus his eyes on me. “What are you doing smoking that stuff? Don’t you know it’s harmful to humans?” 

Rubbing the back of my neck, as I’ve just been thrown under the bus by a high Ryker; also noted that Ryker’s a very friendly dude when high.

Averting my eyes out of embarrassment towards the front of the class, I saw Mrs. Aaron cleaning up her desk, eyes wide shut as per usual. 

“Anon, I’m waiting.” 

Flicking my eyes back to a mildly annoyed Sage, who's currently waving a whisk in a circular motion for Ryker to focus on as he charges up a lecture for me, I bet.

“I… I just wanted to try as all, nothing too deep, plus I was assured it was a lessened strain.” 

Sage huffs, his pouting face straining as those pale pinks look me up and down, probably trying to see if I’m giving any signs of being untruthful. 

Giving up with a sigh, returning to a more loose expression. Sage gives me a shaking head. 

“Alright, but be careful with that stuff. There are some scary stories with humans and carfe, you know; we learned about it in history. It was once a bioweapon.” 

Oh yeah, during the first Dino-Human war, they made it to try and snuff the Saurians out of trenches; they eventually got used to the stuff. Now it’s used like a recreational drug—very weed-like. 

Crossing my hand over my heart, lifting my head up high as I put on a straight face looking towards Sage. 

“I swear on my heart I won’t abuse it, Sage; soldiers promise.” 

Ryker laughs as he leans his snout over the bowl Sage has been whisking throughout this conversation, giving me a side eye. 

“Now what would you know about the Army?” 

“Trying to pretend I care, Sierra, but I just don’t accept it.” 

Beating, pounding even as my hands tighten up around whatever I’m holding. My head feels like it’s going to be lit ablaze… 

“I just don’t accept this at all. Why do you?” 

“Anon?” 

My surroundings feel fake; I know I’m at school, but the air is swirling, my chest feels ready to cave in, and I feel the hits being leveled to my sides as if they are happening in real time… 

Father… berating me, beating me; each past blow feels so real. The taste of metal dribbling down my nose and into my throat. 

Sweat is pouring down my arms beneath my jacket; the bruises and cuts reopen as I tense my muscles. There is a clattering as I drop the wooden spoon in my hand; two pairs of eyes are heavily focused on me, and I can’t recognize them. 

“You’re an embarrassment to this family’s name and to my time in service.” 

That’s what it was… I’m an embarrassment. 

“Anon! Hey man!” I’m being shaken. “Look at me, bro, where are you at?” 

The illusion dissipates as I see two plum-colored orbs land on me; Ryker’s standing next to me, hands on my shoulders. A look of worry spread throughout his lazy features—Sage standing to his side worriedly clasping his hands together, averting his eyes anywhere but to me. 

“What’s going on here, kids?” 

The three of us look towards Mrs. Aaron; her wings are outstretched, blocking anyone from becoming nosey about the situation. Manicured claws lightly tapping a soft rhythm against the blacktop counter. 

“A-Anon’s… well…” 

“Yeah… he… zoned out?” 

Ryker and Sage struggle to come up with something to tell her as I sit on the stool; my heart rate is just now beginning to settle as my headache rages on, the pounding making it hard to concentrate. 

Fuck… what the hell is happening to me? 

“Anon, are you feeling alright?” 

Mrs. Aaron gently slides past Sage and Ryker, gently putting a hand to the side of my shoulder; it reminds me of Mother. 

For the first time since meeting her, I can see the color of her eyes on full display, a concerned smile playing at the edge of her beak, oddly comforting—my headache passing slowly as I regain my breath. 

“I—my apologies, Mrs. Aaron— 

“Please call me Sam.” 

There’s that tone again; I wish Mom was here.

“And don’t apologize, just relax, sweetie. You don’t have to explain anything if you don’t want to.”

Hesitation—it’s all I feel at this moment. I’ve been given an outlet many a time to express myself and my worries, all the self-doubts I’ve built up over the months of beating and mental abuse. The worry for my mother, the internal struggle within me about who I want to be. 

As I stare into the marigold eyes that belong to Mrs. Aaron, my own eyes threaten to burst with unshed tears. Yelling at myself to just let shit out for once.

You can’t, Anon. Not here, not in the middle of class, especially with Ryker and Sage being here—both of whom you probably gave a heart attack. 

How stupid can you be? 

“I’m fine, Mrs— Sam, just zoned out like Sage said.” 

Tilting her head slightly, the warm smile ever present on her beak, her eyes still speak of doubt of my words, but her hand releases my shoulder, and wings settle down as she straightens her apron. 

“Alright, but I want you to at least visit the water fountain.” Gesturing to Ryker, “And you go with him, please, and definitely drink some water, Ryker; the red is showing.” 

Ryker stiffens up, rubbing his faded eyes. 

I snicker a bit as I see him fumble his expression as he’s just been caught in the act. 

“Y-yes, ma’am.” 

Very polite, Ryker; I haven’t seen this before from you. 

Yet he’s seen you have a panic attack twice now? Real good memories to give him, huh? 

Mrs. Aaron pats Ryker on the shoulder before outstretching her hand to him, her eyes opening very slowly; that shiver I felt from my first day ran down my spine. Mothers… 

Ryker reaches into his jean pocket, pulling out what looks like a vape and dropping it into Mr. Aaron’s hands—she clutches it with a small smile before turning around and back to her desk, the vape subsequently thrown into the trash. 

Ryker looks devastated. 

“Alright, homie, let’s bounce.” 

Sage gives us a wave as we head out to the hallway. 

. . . 

Leaning forward and drinking gulp after gulp, Ryker settled against the wall to the right of me, scrolling his phone. 

He looks uncomfortable. 

“Anon, man... That wasn't a normal zone-out, was it?” 

Spitting out the last gulp as I whip myself to standing, choking slightly as I hear him speak. 

Ryker quickly pats my back. 

“Shit, my bad, man... shoulda waited for you to be done, huh?” 

“Y-you’re fine; I just didn’t expect that question.” 

Clammy is what I’m feeling right now; I just went through some stupid Vietnam-era flashback because of a stupid sentence Ryker said as a lighthearted joke to my dumb gesture. 

Running his hand through his hair, brushing it to the side slightly before letting a sigh escape his snout. He looks down either side of the hallway before resting his eyes back onto me. 

“Man, you looked the same, you know—when I talked to you in SkinRow. It’s like you weren’t there, searching for something in your own head.” 

For a stoner, he’s got a way with words, holy shit; when did he get so sober? 

“I know we barely know each other, homie, but it may sound weird; I care, man.” Resting his back against the brick wall, “I got robbed that night.” 

I quickly pick up my expression, feeling my mouth begin to dip as I listen. I knew SkinRow was dangerous, but I never expected it to impact me so soon, or anyone else for that matter. 

“I see that look… Was doing a drop-off, making some money, you know? Some douche; Howie was the name, a real piece of work.”

Howie? 

Ryker looks at me questioningly. 

Fuck me. 

“I know him—well, not know! But umm, when I first arrived, I wanted to get a pocket knife.” My neck itches. “T-To protect myself, you know, Howie wanted to make me work so I can pay off the knife. I declined.” 

Ryker relaxes before giving me a smile.

“Right choice, homie. The prick stuck some shit against my back; it could have been a gun or the back of a blade. He forced me out and took my Carfe.” 

The last few words trail off with anger, his hands clenching into fists before he sucks in air and breathes out slowly, bringing himself back down. 

“So when I saw you I felt like it was a godsend, a familiar person to just shoot the shit with.” His eyes meet mine. “Then I saw how you were, how you’re probably keeping some messed up shit bottled up. I get it. My offer still stands; if you need to talk, you have my number, or if you want, we’re here.” 

My arms begin to ache slightly as I struggle to understand what Ryker wants; hell, I understand, I’m just trying to act like a stupid idiot to avoid trauma dumping. 

“Ryker… I…—

BING BONG DING DONG

The blaring of the bell resonates between me and Ryker, giving each other a quick glance and then a nod; yeah, we bolted back to HomeEC—left all our shit there. 

—The Jester—

“Math as the period before lunch is kinda ass, man; at least you got Reed. He’s an expert at that shit, homie.” 

Ryker’s either forgotten about what he’s asked me, or he’s choosing to move past it. I don’t even know what I was about to tell him—what lie I would say or bullshit I would spew to not fix my issues. 

“Reed does make it way easier; the dude’s a math genius.” 

Ryker looks proud, like any big brother should. 

“Yooo brohanchos!” 

Almost like we summoned him, here comes Reed with that incredibly feathery tail and those indigo eyes that could probably melt me even if I was frozen to the bone. 

Ryker gives me a… look? Weird. 

“Well, homies, I have to bounce; other side of school, you know.” 

Ryker gives us a shaka before turning heel; his eyes linger on me for a moment before looking away. Again, weird. 

“Let’s get a move on, yeah?” Reed gives me a lazy smile. “Math isn’t fun, but you know I’ll do your sheet anytime, compadre.”

“I can do my own work; you just snatch it from me before I can even put my name down, compadre.” 

Reed raises an eyebrow at me as we continue to walk down the hallway, passing a few small groups. 

“Soooo, bro, are you saying you want to do math? Fine by me, you can do Trish’s too.” 

“Helllll no.” 

“Uh huh, sounds like you really want to prove yourself to me.” 

Letting out a scoff as I listen to him grow more cocky by the minute. Not going to let this raptor win. 

“Alright, buddy, don’t get so ahead of yourself. I may like you, but I’m not trying to be an apprentice.” 

Reed’s eyes avert from me, his scales lingering on a different shade; shaking his head, he returns his lazy smile back to me—slapping my shoulder, he lets out a laugh. 

“Right on, man, I don’t really have much to teach you, brotato.” 

His voice lowers as we both reach the classroom door; it kind of feels like he was judging himself with that. 

I’m sure there’s something he can teach me, maybe the drums. 

. . . 

“Alright, you fricking parasites, I got a meeting to attend to with the” —raising his hands up. “fricking teachers counsel; math packets need to be done by the end of class.” 

And with that stellar introduction out of the way, packets are passed row by row; mine feels hefty, but I know I won’t be doing it, not if Reed has anything to say about it. 

Turning my eyes to Reed, I see him smirk at me; he knows I’ll be using his talents. 

Grabbing my gear and heading over to Reed and Trish, the latter giving me a scowl; a Trigga moment may be incoming. 

“Wasgud, dude, pass that packet over, bro.” 

“Sure thing, man.” 

Trish watches this nonchalant interaction with a growing distaste. It’s extremely palpable; I can feel her eyes focus on me with growing irritation. 

What the hell is her problem with me even? 

“My problem, Skinnie, is you inching your way into this group.” 

Guess I got my answer; this chick’s starting to get on my nerves—I barely know her. 

“Maybe, ivory-head, if you actually took that stick out of your ass, you’d like me more.” 

Trish brings her hands to the table, a fresh coat of black paint on her nails. Her eyes narrow on me as she locks and loads another round to shoot at me, no doubt. 

“Oh, like you even say anything remotely interesting, you redneck.” Smirking like the little shit she is, “From some backwoods shithole; you probably don’t even know how to wipe your own ass, fleshbag.”

Okay, I’m about to get racist. 

“You want to bring up where I was raised, Trigga? What about you? What ghetto are you from? How’s the malt liquor there? I’m curious.” 

Loud and extremely fake coughing is thrown from the nonparticipating party; Reed passes both me and Trish our packets, respectively, filled out in beautiful handwriting. How Reed can write like this while sipping straight bong water amazes me. 

“Now let’s chillax, dudes.” Sipping from his thermos, “We’re all friends here, and as much as the back and forth is funny, I’m kinda scared she’s gonna take off your head, compadre.” 

Reed’s voice is the furthest thing away from joking; remembering that photo I saw on Fang’s phone, Trish's threats are not empty. Fuck, I might be digging my own grave here.

“Now… Trish, about that rehearsal today.” 

“What about it, Reed? And no, this Skinnie isn’t coming.”

Reed deflates slightly before cracking his knuckles, thrusting himself back into the game. Yeah, Reed! Talk your shit. 

“I was thinking we could do it in my garage? Like, bro, we could use all my dad's old equipment. Actually get some real good stuff worked on, bro.” 

Reed waves his hand in a drum-playing gesture before running it through his hair, the shaved side having a bit of shedding scales poking out. 

I really want to pluck them; is that like the monkey in me coming out? 

“Plus, bro, I have that equalizer thingy; we could totally fix our sound issues. —

Slam 

“There are no sound issues, Reed, nothing. We sound fine the way we are. The school is fine as well; the reverb the auditorium provides helps too. We don’t need to change.” 

Reed moves his maw to say something before snapping it shut. Instead opting to drink more. His eyes dilating, the indigo that always catches my attention dwindling. Trish is being a real bitch about this. 

Letting out a sigh, building up some confidence. 

“Maybe you should listen to him, Trish?” 

She gives me a disgusted look, like I just shat all over her Cheerios. 

“And what would you know about our band? What gave you the impression I value your opinion?” 

“I was at that concert; I saw how it went—at this point I’m not afraid to say it went horribly, and maybe if you listened to your bandmate and tried new things, you’d all sound better.” 

A pencil is thrown at my chest, bouncing off and onto the desk. Trish is leaking and radiating hatred from her snout, breathing laboriously through it all. It’s like primal huffing. 

“You have no, hear me well, NO fucking say in this… You... you…” Thrusting her hands onto the desk, “Grab that fucking packet and get the fuck outta my face before I gore the shit out of you.” 

Looking towards Reed, he quickly averts his eyes. Looking off into some other direction, focusing on whatever the fuck's out there in space, like he just started dissociating as soon as this argument started. 

“What are you waiting for? Get the fuck back to your desk, loser.” 

Reed doesn’t even move; not even his tail reacts. 

Fuck this shit, I don’t need this bitch yapping my ear off if no one’s going to back me up here. 

Grabbing my worksheet, hefting my bag into one hand, and giving a lingering stare towards Reed before heading back to my desk, determined to just shitpost now. 

Settling into my chair a bit more roughly than I should have, banging my back into the metal chair a bit too hard. 

Ugh, just what I needed, back pain in the middle of the day. 

What was with Reed back there? He got so quiet and passive about the topic he wanted to discuss—it’s like Trish is holding something over his head… Is she blackmailing him? He’s a Carfe enjoyer; would she snitch if he doesn’t agree with everything she says… Trigga’s a real case of exploding narcissism. 

. . . 

The bell rings, signaling lunchtime, and thank Raptor Jesus for that; I was actually working up an appetite thinking about how to bait the brain-dead netizens of the Dinofornia forum. 

Rushing out of the classroom, disregarding a wave from Reed, I’m still a bit pissy about what transpired during the middle of class today. I know I shouldn’t expect full backup from him, but I think I have a right to be a bit petty at this moment in time. 

Plus, I never really wanted friends in the first place. 

Made me feel like a joke. 

—that one song—

Fuck, I thought that entrance was going to kill me. I swear I’ve dodged more tails than anyone should in their entire life just to get school food. 

Granted, the stuff here is pretty good, with filet mignon just being the tip of the iceberg; honestly though, you have people like Fang who just hoard the Dino nuggets. Are they that good? 

Grabbing a tray, I shuffle my way on the line; I can’t help but think about what happened at Math. Maybe I was a bit too harsh; let the argument with Trish cloud my view of Reed. 

Don’t do that shit anymore. Anon, you made a decision. Stick with it. Want to end up like Rock Bottom? Blood down your throat, pinned against rocks. 

“Hey bro.” A nudge is given to my shoulder. “Missed you leaving Math.” It’s Reed; he looks… a bit sad. “It happens. Anyway, I see you’re going for the Dino nuggies. Full disclosure, compadre, that’s Fang’s haunt.” 

Letting out a chuckle, even if he looks discouraged, he’s still going to try and make me laugh. 

Yeah… I feel like an asshole. 

“Well, I don’t see them here—

“Don’t see who here, Skinnie?” 

Oh, speak of the devil, Fang and behind… Trish. 

“Don’t think you can take all of those, Anon; this is my territory.” Fang puffs out their chest. “Now get the line moving already.” 

“Oh shit, my bad.” 

Quickly I use the grabby claw to take a few scoops of nuggets, leaving the majority alone so I don’t have to deal with Fang’s supposed wrath as warned by Reed. 

“Hey, you haven’t really heard how good we could be, right, bro?” Reed takes out his phone, leaning close to me. “Here, take a look, man; this was at my place.” He smells good.

Reed thumbs the play button. The video quality is low, and the angle it was filmed at is actually quite hard to place; it’s in between anything that’s actually stable for the phone to lean on. 

The sound is perfectly fine, however, and the same cat-against-a-washboard-grating sound is presented to me; it’s agonizing to my human senses. 

Reed pockets his phone as we all move out of the line with our food, his eyes focusing on me; why does he have to have such bright ones…? 

“So whatcha thinking, bro? We kick ass, right?” 

Looking towards Fang and Trish, Fang eyes me with a bit of a lingering frown, like they are preparing themselves for me to jump down the throat of this band. Trish, however, got into a slightly crouched stance, looking ready to gore my intestines out at a moment's notice. 

Well, fuck Trish, and fuck this atmosphere. 

“Honestly, you got the chemistry, but I think this double bass thing is making y’all fumble hard.” 

Reed’s expression levels into recognition; he understands what I mean, and I’m sure he agrees. Fang’s in a similar mood; that frown of theirs grows bigger. 

Why does my input matter so much to them? It’s only been a few days of meeting them. 

“Fuck you skinnie, like I said-“ Trish pushes past Fang and Reed, slamming a finger into my chest “-earlier today, you have no fucking say in this” 

“Trish, lift that finger immediately.” 

Naser? 

“Oh, I see, you got the cripple in your court. Typical, I get what’s going on here.” 

Trish lifts her finger from me, instead opting to go after Naser, walking straight up to him. Thrusting her finger on him. 

Naser pushes her hand away from his chest and subsequently pushes past her; he kind of looks pissed. 

Wait, why is he coming towards me like that?

“You better start explaining what you said to Naomi Anon.” Naser pushes me into the back of the brick wall; I almost fumble my tray. “Start fucking explaining.” 

“What the fuck are you doing, retard?” 

Fang moves to confront their brother; Naser ignores them as I see Trish move to block Fang from reaching him. 

What the hell is going on here?!

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, man.” 

I focus on Naser’s eyes, trying to maintain eye contact and show I’m not lying in any way I can. His claws are digging into my shoulder. 

“Don’t,” he pushes me. “Bullshit me; she was down in the dumps all day, borderline ignoring me. I asked her what’s wrong. She said she’s trying to figure some things out that you brought to her attention yesterday.” 

The whole group is now looking at me; Reed looks torn up. His usual lazy smile is gone, and his eyes are open normally instead of half-lidded. 

Within the instant I look away from Reed, Naser is promptly pushed off of me. A large feathery red tail blocking my view of him. 

“Naser, let’s just mellow out, homie. I’m sure whatever happened is being blown way out of proportion.” 

Naser lets out a sigh before placing a hand on Reed’s shoulder, trying to forcefully move him; instead I notice Reed plant his feet. 

“I’m not moving, bro.” 

Reed’s voice drops a tone; it’s… uncharacteristic. 

“Fine, at least let Anon explain this misunderstanding better than Reed.” 

Reed nods, moving slightly out of my way. My eyes met the agitated face of Naser’s. 

Talked to Naomi… wait, the windowsill. Fuck, that’s what caused all of this. 

What did I say, Anon? It wasn’t our problem, but now it really is our problem for a different reason. Such a pussy, Reed had to stop you from getting into another fight. 

Giving an embarrassed look to Naser as I scratched the shoulder he dug his nails into. 

“Look, she was looking upset yesterday when I was moving between classes; I asked what was wrong, and all she did was express she was worried for you and said you were getting sleep deprived. I just told her to talk to you; that’s all.”

Naser’s anger dissipates slightly but not fully; his eyes speak more, though; I think he understands. 

“That’s all? Then why is she avoiding me?” 

“Maybe because Miss Perfect had enough fun with the cripple and wants to move on.” 

Fang spouts some tried and true venom, making Naser flinch, visibly recoiling. His wings fluttering slightly, the stunted one shivering. 

“Fang… Can you not talk about her like that?” 

“Why shouldn’t I? All she’s done is somehow be a bigger ass than you, and I live with you.” 

Reed moves to my side, giving me a warmer smile than I’m used to from him. Shit, I can feel my face heating up; I have to look away. My shoes look pretty clean today. 

“Let’s just get to the auditorium already; I’m fucking starving.” 

Is Trish actually saying something useful?? Crazy. 

Fang moves to the exit with their tray, Trish following close behind, almost glued to them. Reed stays back with me as Naser looks completely lost and out of it, his hand resting on his beak. 

“My bad, Anon… I just got a bit overwhelmed there.”

Giving Reed a look before focusing my attention on Naser. 

“You’re fine, man; I’ll talk to you later.” 

Moving from the cafeteria, Reed follows next to me as we head straight to the auditorium; that whole situation just ruined my appetite anyway. 

Reaching the stage, Reed jumps up, bending down to extend his hand to me. 

Placing the tray on the side of the platform, I grip his hand tightly as he pulls me up. Stumbling slightly as he lets go, inadvertently placing my hands on his shoulders to support myself. Our eyes meet. 

Blushing… Yup, that’s what’s happening...ughhh, oh god. 

Just take your hands off his shoulders. Anon, it’s not that hard. 

“Ha gayyyyyyyy” 

Both our heads whip around to see our offender, Fang snaps a picture, the flash blinding me for a second, and my hands leave Reed’s shoulders. 

“N-not funny!” 

“I thought it was pretty funny; you should have seen the face you made.” 

Come onnnn. Fang cut me a break; I just needed to stabilize myself. Ughhhhhh. 

Reed begins to chuckle as he covers his snout with his hand, heading over to Fang. Trying to grab their phone, Fang is doing a great job at deflecting him. 

“Lemme see the pic, gang; we’re homies, aren’t we?” 

Fang fumbles the phone; taking this opportunity, I execute a combat roll to intercept it, perfectly grabbing it. 

“Damn, Anon, when the hell did you become special forces?” 

Reed laughs as he hurriedly rounds to my side, peering over my shoulder as I turn the phone around; it’s locked. 

Fang covers their snout before laughing hysterically. 

“You both thought I’d leave the phone unlocked this whole time. How much Carfe was inhaled today?”

Tossing Fang their phone back as I click my tongue, turning around to grab the tray of Dino nuggies I nearly forgot I got.

“Guess you don’t want my nuggies then; I lost my appetite earlier.” Turning to Reed with a smirk “Reed, are you hungry?”

“Always, homie.” 

Fang’s eyes glaze over with a sheen of light. 

I take a nugget and toss it to Reed, who perfectly understands the assignment, snatching it with his mouth before chowing down. 

“Hey, hey, let’s not get too hasty now, guys.” 

Fang stammers out as they watch me toss another nugget to Reed. 

Trish glares at the situation. What a mess; she can join in on the fun anytime. 

“Let’s see the photo then?” 

I raise an eyebrow to Fang as I grab another nugget, getting my wrist ready to catapult. Reed opened his maw, ready to chomp down on breaded goodness. 

“Wait! He’s not even savoring it. Fine, fine, I’ll show the photo; just stop throwing nuggets into what is the equivalent of a trash heap.” 

Reed closes his maw with a snap, flicking his tongue out slightly… blue? It’s blue… quite long too… STOP. 

Following Reed to the beanbag Fang’s currently being engulfed by, rounding behind them to watch as they unlock the phone and show us the embarrassing photo. 

The flash shows basically every feature, and the angle is super unflattering; it makes it look like me and Reed are… kissing. 

Reed is silent, and there are so many alarms blaring in my head that I think I’ll go deaf. 

“Delete that.” 

“Delete that.” 

Reed and I look at each other. 

“Jinx, compadre.” 

“Fuck.” 

Reed slaps my back before giving his attention back to Fang. The lazy smile wavering slightly as I watch a light glow grace his cheeks. I’m feeling the same, man. 

Fang turns their head to us, their eyes mimicking a puppy’s. Why do they want this photo so bad? Oh lord, you can see a pimple on the bottom of my chin… 

“Do I really have to? This is too funny.” 

“It is kind of funny…” 

Reed, no! Don’t accept defeat so easily, especially not on this; come oooonnnn. 

“I’d appreciate it if you did delete it, Fang, please.” Clasping my hands together in prayer, “I’ll give you the nuggets, just pleaseeee.” 

Fang snorts before deleting the photo. 

“Alright, alright, stop whining, big baby. It’s gone; now nugget me.” 

Letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, I hand the tray to Fang, who happily takes it from my hands. Bye, nuggets. 

Watching Reed snicker behind Fang, sipping from his thermos; now’s the time to claim a beanbag before he flops down. 

With a bit of newfound energy, I give Reed an eyebrow raise before bolting to his beanbag chair; no matter how fast he can be, he’s no match for the unbreakable human spirit to be lazy in a chair. I plant my ass on that thing with no worry, Reed giving me a smile before just pushing me over to one side and sitting down literally hip to hip with me. 

This is too much stimulation, and I'm going to die…

My face is ablaze as I turn my head away from Reed, just kind of staring at the wood flooring. 

I bit off way more than I could chew… Come on, Anon, this is just… guy things. Bro stuff. Nothing wrong with this. 

Taking in a few deep breaths, exhaling slowly before turning my head forward, side-eyeing Reed, whose face is deep into his thermos. Lazy-eyed and looking quite sleepy. 

“Hey man… I want to apologize.” 

What? What does he mean… Oh, math class. 

“I… you stuck up for me, and I kinda just disassociated—locked up, you know, my bad, homie.” 

His voice is softer than usual, quieter and more reserved. Like he’s ashamed of himself, and I don’t like that. Not at all. 

Turning my head his way, lingering my look on his indigo gems. 

“You're good, dude; I appreciate it. I think I overstepped anyway. It’s not my band; I should have held my tongue instead of arguing with Trish.” 

Reed nudges my shoulder with his, his mood returning to the “flow with the go” smile of his I’m coming to enjoy. 

“Thanks, man… Hey, what class do you have next?” 

“Got music” 

Reed smiles widely. 

“Great, Fang should be with you. Maybe you could… put the guitar idea out there; I think they fuck with you, so they might take your opinion seriously.” 

Again with that uncharacteristic change in tone, this guy's a wizard or something. 

But yeah, it’s not a bad idea, plus I’m starting to think I want this band to succeed. To see them play together with an actual chemistry. 

“Sure, I’ll give it a shot, man.” 

“Right on, bro. Alright, I’m going to nap.” 

Without much time at all, Reed closes his eyes, seemingly just magically falling asleep; that happened to me the first time I smoked, and I wish I had stayed up. Could have talked more with him. 

—Them Crooked Vultures—

The hallway’s packed all the damn time… 

Always a battlefield to get anywhere, I was hoping to catch up to Fang, but they seemed to just go the complete opposite way to the music class. I guess they have their own process with getting around school; just get to class without causing another random incident, and you’ll be fine, Anon. 

My backpack feels heavy on my right shoulder as my mind churns through the possible ways I can bring up the change from bass to guitar to Fang without seeming disingenuous… 

Hmmm, maybe just be honest? You did see them play with the double bass; you’ve expressed to them it’s a weak point. 

Pretty sure Trish isn’t in this class either, so it won’t be a repeat of math class. I hope so. 

Wait, if I ask too soon or just pop the question out of the blue, they’d definitely catch on; they aren’t stupid, and knowing me, I’d probably let it slip that I’m doing this mostly for Reed than anything. 

THWAM 

THUD 

Arms flailing around; check. Back pain rising, also check; bright colored cards scattering into my vision as they assault my senses by landing on me; unexpected but check. 

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry, Anon; I didn’t see you there. Are you okay?!” Stella holds her hand out for me to grab.“You’re fine, right? I didn’t cause any bruises to flare up, right?” 

She is buzzing with regret here. Do something, you stupid monkey; calm the woman down instead of staring at her cluelessly. 

Dusting my jeans off before trying to spread a smile on my face, which just feels like I’m making a worried expression more than anything else that could be confused for a smile. 

“It’s alright, Stella. I’m glad it was you and not some rando.” Her backplates twitch slightly. “Let’s pick up these cards, yeah?”

Stella nods quietly, a small smile gracing her snout; we quickly begin to gather the spread tarot cards. I forgot how silky these felt on the backside; I wonder if anything’s really changed since my last reading. 

Maybe ask for one? 

I feel a tail lightly bat against my heels, side-eyeing Stella. I see her entire demeanor skyrocket as she’s shuffling the cards in her hand with an astonishingly sharp speed. 

“You want a reading? That’s great! This should be pretty simple.” Stella points to my shoulder. “Your first card is on your shoulder; it seems it picked you.” 

Do I really have time to do this? Feels like my mumbling is going to make me late. Or my indecision is. 

Plucking the silky velvet card from my jacket’s shoulder. Turning it over to see what looks to be a priest reading to his two apostles, the book wide open and spread, with weird-looking scribbles all over the side as the border wall of the card. 

Handing it over to Stella exactly as I picked it up. She giddily takes it; hmm, rainbow nail polish, bold choice, girl. 

“The Reversed Hierophant” Taping her snout as her eyes wander briefly, “You’re on track for a rebellious streak! Who would have expected that, huh? What else? It also means new approaches, figuring out a potential solution to the same situation that once seemed hopeless!” Her voice is rising; guess I pulled a good gacha. “Last but not least is subversiveness, a mouthful of a word, but it means you’re developing a tendency to undermine a system of authority… It’s not the prettiest, meaning like the others, but it’ll make sense soon.” 

“Very cryptic on the last one, Stella.” 

I raise my eyebrow at her as she nervously taps the tip of her tail to the floor. 

“Alright! Next card! Go on, pick one.” 

BING BONG DING DONG 

“Aw shit, we have to split; I’m already detention bound. I’m not trying to get another punishment! I’ll catch you, Stella.” 

Turning heel, briefly waving back to Stella as I bolt down the hallway towards the art corridor. Can’t be late; it’s my first time in this class. 

I’ll chalk that card up to not really meaning much; I can’t let some piece of cardboard mess with me right now; I’ve got a mission to accomplish. 

. . . 

Bursting into the room right as the last bell rings off, the sound cascading into my eardrums—go figure the music room has the best speakers in the whole school. 

“Ah, good timing, just in time for a free period.” 

Huh? At least I'm not sweating. 

“Just take up any instrument and have fun.” 

The Beatles lookalike of a teacher took his sweet time getting back to, damn, that’s a beautiful loveseat. How’d he even get that thing in here? 

Headphones are firmly planted on his head, and he has passed out by the looks of it. Okay, so this may be a bit easier to talk to Fang about than if the teacher’s out of touch. 

Taking a look at the scattered and poorly taken care of instruments on the wall, the simplest one that I’d never thought I’d see bent into an “L,” the recorder barely hanging on for dear life, I felt that buddy felt. 

In the corner of the room is a black ivory-keyed grand piano, complete with three bronze pedals. 

Whole wash and set. Just like Mom used to play while we lived in New York. Wonder what happened to that thing.

Vzrrrtt

A subtle white noise graces my ears; it sounds like an amplifier being plugged into a guitar. 

Turning around, I see Fang, guitar propped up on their lap, a few loose-leaf papers scattered on the brown desk. 

Well, this makes this upcoming conversation a helluva lot easier; they’re already going to show off a bit, then I can swoop in and… uhhh, shit, I don’t have a plan. 

Wooooww, great thinking, man. 

Sitting down on the desk across from Fang, giving them a little wave. My hands stabilize me as the desk rocks slightly from being on uneven ground. Fang snickering as I almost fall. 

“Real funny,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You play guitar?” 

Fang thumbs the headstock lightly before side-eyeing me like I just asked the stupidest question in the entire known universe. 

“Of course I play dumbass; I’m in a band, remember?” 

Their hand slides down to the strings, light strumming, mellow and relaxed. I’m beginning to feel a bit at ease, also smelling homemade pie. They really are good at playing; no wonder Reed wants them to switch from bass. 

“Seems like you know a thing or two, huh? Thought you’d only know bass.” 

Alright Anon, I see the game. Let’s see if they’ll catch on here. 

Fang scoffed with a smug smirk peeling at the corner of their beak, placing the guitar down gently on the desktop. 

“Playing with fire here, Anon; why don’t you play something?”

“Me?” 

Pointing to myself as confusion sets in, I didn’t expect to be put to the test here. Just make fun of them slightly so I can egg on a conversation. 

“Who else would I be talking to? Now spill that you got no talent.” 

“Whoa, whoa, no talent. I assure you I can do…” glancing over to the piano “The piano i’m very rusty, but I could probably play a thing or two.” 

Fang raises an eyebrow, their eyes flickering to the piano and back to me, looking me up and down once over. 

“Don’t seem like a piano guy, but sure, knock yourself out.” 

Getting up from their chair and gesturing for me to follow, which I do; no choice here. 

Sitting on the worn-down bench, feeling and hearing the leather crack as if it’s the first time in years someone has sat down. Fang leaning on the side of the piano, resting their head on their hands. Claws lightly tapping against their cheeks. 

Alright Anon, no pressure. Just… remember something simple. 

Cracking my knuckles and placing my hands on the ivory keys, feeling the scratches and indents from students past, a few chords come naturally to my head, fingers deftly moving about. 

“Make note of all good wishes, Anon; music is one of them.” 

The voice of Mom begins to drown out my thoughts; my fingers play the chords she taught me. It’s like I can feel her hands lying on top of mine. Warm and secure. 

“Sweet and low, like the gift you are to me, my little amplifier, play it for me one more time now.” 

My heartbeat slows the tempo, fingers lingering on chords long forgotten; the song is unrecognizable to the unknowing, but I feel it. I feel Mother, like she’s here with me. 

I feel cold stinging down my cheeks and landing onto the keys as my fingers finally rest; the memories of Mother fading away as I feel a tap on my shoulder, Fang staring at me with concern. Their eyes look like they know what I saw, what I reconnected with. 

“Good job, Mr. Mous! A little sad, but it had real emotion in it. A for the period” 

Lifting our heads quickly as we both turn to see the teacher strap his headphones back on and pass out once more. 

Wiping my tears onto my sleeve as Fang smirks. 

“Mr. Jingo liked it; he usually gives an A to everyone during free period; to earn it is another thing.” 

How much of a faggot do you have to be to cry in front of some piano chords, Anon? Beating myself up internally once more, as Fang pats my shoulder. 

Patting my cheeks trying to get myself back into the groove of things here; I just have to get Fang to play a bit more guitar and go on from there. 

Sitting back down on the desk next to Fang as they pick up the guitar once more, staring at the fretboard, claws lightly hovering around it. 

“Alright, you just saw me cry over a few depressing chords; I think you owe me.” 

I gesture to the guitar with a smirk; the tides can turn, I'm sure of it. 

“Don’t tell me you can cry on command, because that was pretty convincing.” Fang snickers before resting the guitar on their lap, plugging it back into the amplifier. “Guess I do owe you; didn’t expect to see you actually play something. Thought you were a wirehead and all.” 

I feel like that’s a slur? Is it? Are they just referring to my interest in electronics? 

“I’m pretty sure that’s a slur?”

I lightly chuckle as Fang quickly flashes a look of surprise, like I just took away a nickname they could use for me. Hey man, I don’t make up slurs. The internet does, or some old people from the 1800s. 

“Shut up, idiot, and listen.” 

Fang adjusts the tuning pegs, running their hand up and down the frets; the amplifier pushes out the scratching sound as they find a chord. Strumming light and airy. The low humming became bright, the same chords they were playing during the rehearsal Reed showed me on the phone earlier today. 

Faster and faster, becoming uptempo real quick; the chorus, no doubt. I wonder what type of lyrics you can even fit to this. It’s definitely punk and sporadic, maybe like a Dead Kennedys song. 

Finally, with a bashing against the frets, Fang lets out a sigh as they slump back into the chair. A rapid tapping from her tail against itself subsides; it's a built-in metronome. Cool. 

“That… was way better than the bass.” 

Fang’s brows hover on the cusp of becoming an angry sneer before retracting; they just look agitated at me. 

Raising my hands up slightly, pre-surrendering just in case they feel like punching me after this. 

“Why don’t you play the guitar instead of the bass? I’m sure you all would sound a hundred times better.” 

“Not that simple; the band’s just Reed, Trish, and I. So we all have to decide by vote what’s a no-go and what’s a go.” Huffing slightly as they palm the bottom of the guitar “Reed says using the bass is unique, and Trish is up in arms about it being ‘marketable’; it’s two against one in the voting sphere.” 

“But it sounds like you play the guitar much better than a bass; like, come on, you strummed the shit out of that.” 

Would Reed really agree with that? He’s the one who brought up this issue to me; why would he vote against the guitar just because it’s “unique”? 

“I play the bass just fine.” 

And deflected. 

“But isn’t it just a high school band? Shouldn’t this just be all for fun?” 

Fang begins to strum the strings lightly, adding some much-needed background noise to this conversation. 

“It is fun.” 

“Are you sure? Kinda seems like you’re being pushed around in your own band.” 

Twang

Fang misses a note, the amplifier making it scatter out into the room’s atmosphere; aw poop, pushed too hard. 

“Fine, you are so sure of yourself with this bass and guitar shit. We’re having a rehearsal after school today. Let’s make this a bet.” 

Bet? 

“Yeah, a wager. If you’re right about the guitar, I’ll do my own science work for the rest of next week. No asking for help, but if the bass wins, you’ll have to do my work for the whole week.”

I’ll make that bet, because there’s no way I’m wrong here. 

“I’ll make that bet.” 

Outstretching my hand to Fang, they grab it as we shake briefly. Sealing a deal that I’m sure to win. 

—Chikenshit Conformist—

“Anon!” 

Reed rushes towards me as I peek into the auditorium, his indigos never failing to capture my attention. 

Dapping him up as we both head into the room, giving a wave to Fang as they set up a few amplifiers on the stage. Flashing a smirk as they roll their eyes at me, setting down a bass and guitar, the same ones from Mr. Jingos class. 

Reed places his arm over my shoulder, leaning in slightly. 

“Compadre… You got, like, magic in those words or what, homie? Fang bringing a guitar, I knew you could pull it off.”

My neck heats up and spreads to my cheeks as I hear those words of praise; I feel like a dog getting a bone. 

“T-thank you…” 

Unlatching his arm from me, patting my back before hopping up on the stage, giving Fang a finger gun before settling on his drums, fixing, I think, a snare, and me—well, I guess I’ll pop a squat here. 

“Oh my… For fuck's sake, why is he here?” Trish loudly announces her presence as always. “We don’t need an audience, and what’s with the guitar? We voted on no guitars.” 

Reed settles himself on his stool, averting his eyes to the drumsticks like they just came alive; and maybe they did because that thermos is resting real close to him there. 

Fang flicks a finger in my direction. 

“Dumbass here made a bet, guitar vs. bass, with a week of science homework on the line, Trish.” 

Trish’s eyes flicker for a moment before landing onto a malice-filled look directed towards me. For some reason I should be shitting my pants, but I feel no such thing. I think my mutual distaste of her is numbing my flight or fight. 

“Fine, but this doesn’t mean anything.” 

Fang plugs in their bass first, the amplifier screeching slightly as Trish brings her own bass too close. 

What proceeds next are the funeral arrangements for my ears; I can barely make it through Fang’s first strum as Trish wildly lets loose on the poor instrument, thrusting my hands to my ears as I make out some lyrics about Hitler on a bike. 

“Yeah that was shit”

The sound stops as Trish hurls a theater prop at my head; before it can hit, I end up catching it… a puppet? Okay, just going to put this down; beady eyes are off-putting. 

“Shut the fuck up, skinnie! You just don’t get the beauty in it.” 

Trish clearly struggles with finding an excuse for playing shittily. 

Reed sips from his thermos, a pretty big sip too. A bit of the clear pinkish liquid drips down the column of his throat, slowing down as it crosses his Adam's apple… finally making contact with his tank top.

“Alright, alright, guitar time then, yeah?” 

Fang unplugs their bass, quickly inputting the guitar's plug instead as they glance over to Trish briefly. Trish just stared at her own bass with a fire building in her eyes, that fire being directly bored into my skull as I averted my eyes to the puppet beside me. I think it’s having a better time than I am right now. 

Reed lifts his drumsticks, crossing them with a bit of light tapping. 

“One, two.” Fang quickly adjusts her grip on the guitar. “Three, four, two, and three.” 

Opposed to the cat-killing, skin-peeling cacophony of earlier, this is actually really good: Fang rapidly strumming on the guitar, sending streaks of sound and electric twangs. Even Trish sounds good when it is just her on bass, the low ends shining through and providing a much-needed rhythm to Fang’s wild playing.

Reed looks like he’s on fire, like a young Phil Collins. Snare drops and those hi-hats mimic those from a professionally produced hip-hop track. 

I feel my face heat up as I begin to focus on the way his arms flex, the tense muscles showing a sheen of sweat as he brings down hard on the tom-toms. 

Watching and listening to this new dynamic, I can really say the difference is night and day. 

I’m actually a bit disappointed as the last few snares crash out as Fang lets a wall of sound cascade off into the distance. Trish left with a low rumble from her bass. 

But… I think it’s safe to say I won. 

Everyone’s got a puddle of sweat clinging to them; Trish is probably the sweatiest next to Reed. Wearing a hoodie during practice has got to be killing her. Eh, what do I care? She’s an asshole. 

Reed rests a hand on the back of his neck, wiping off some sweat before settling his hands in his pockets, his eyes focusing on me with that goofy smile of his, shooting me a finger gun. 

Fang is practically jumping as they put their hands on Trish’s shoulders, shaking them as they vibrate, wings fluttering. Tail tapping a million miles a second. 

“See! Totally better with guitar—oh, I... I mean, we sound good.” 

With a quick movement they remove their hands from Trish's shoulders as Trish is staring down at her bass. 

Climbing onto the stage, hands on hips as I lean forward a bit. Smirking. 

“Ha! I win, you’ll have to do that science all on your lonesome.”

Fang lets out a growling groan. 

“Goddamnit! I fucking forgot about that.” 

Trish and Reed turn to me, the latter having looked at me intently, like I just turned the tides of war for him. 

“Soooo, are you guys going to stick with bass still? Because with guitar you all sound sick.” 

Trying to give a bit of a push to the situation, making a little comment of praise. 

Fang places a hand on their hip, the other scratching their beak before resting on the other hip. 

Trish lets out a sigh as she looks up to Fang, who I can only assume is giving her puppy dog eyes at this very moment. 

“Fine, fine, a vote then.” 

Their voice is low and rumbling as they grit their teeth, like just saying that sentence is killing her. 

“All for drum and bass?” 

Trish is the only one to raise her hand. 

“All for a normal boring setup?”

Fang raises their hand; I raise mine next. Reed happily raises his along with me. There you go, man; I was worried you’d flake out. 

“You fuck off, skinnie; you’re not part of this.” 

Trish bites at me; Fang, on the other hand, lets out a happy squeal. 

“Yes! Alright, Reed, you know how to replace instrument lines, right?” 

Reed flashes them a double finger gun and a huge smirk. 

“Sure do, compadre; we’ll be set by tomorrow. I got time to rewrite tonight for real.” 

Trish holds a hand to her snout.

“There goes the marketing strategy…”

Poor future business major dropout. 

Reed moves to my side as Fang and Trish begin to clean up their instruments. Tuning them by the looks of it, Fang breaks out a book from their bag and calls over Trish to take a look. 

Patting my back, Reed looks at me with a wide smile; unlike the lazy, laid-back gaze he usually has, this is more defined and real. The indigos of his irises are indulging me today. 

“I’m glad you convinced Fang to try that, bro; I would have never been able to… You… uh, want to stick around? We’re going to rehearse more, I think, and having a… a bro would be nice to give feedback.” 

Is… is he stuttering? That’s new; I think I will spare a few minutes or so. 

I like being around him. It feels natural. 

Reed lingers his hand on my shoulder before pulling back; I notice his claws shaking slightly; his face is damping a color. 

Wait! 

WAIT! 

I MUMBLED THAT! 

Hearts skipping beats as I realize I just fumbled an inner thought—a real embarrassing one at that. I feel myself slightly shuffle backwards as my neck begins to itch with a searing flame finding its way to my cheeks. 

Reed scratches his forearm as he watches my reaction. Or maybe he’s waiting for an answer. 

Shit… Make something up; you can’t stay after that. It’ll just be awkward. 

“Umm… I have to… return some overdue books to the library.” 

Reed nods his head as he runs a hand through his sweat-drenched hair. 

“I could come with you, homie; it’s like a five-minute walk. I could use it.” 

SHIT, SHUT IT DOWN BEFORE YOUR HEART EXPLODES, ANON.

“I—it’s a library by me! Umm… very strict on time, you see. SkinRow thing” 

“Ahhh, alright, homie… umm…” Reed takes out his phone, passing it to me. “I never got your number… in the van that time, let me know when you get home, bruh. SkinRow’s a total ass.”

Imputing my number as quickly as I can, feeling my fingers practically vibrating as I type out my name in the contact bubble; handing it back to Reed, our fingers connecting and lingering, a shiver shooting down my back as I pull my hand away. 

“Alright man, I’ll talk to you later! Good luck with rehearsals!” 

I’m running as fast as I possibly can out of the auditorium and school, my heart rate never falling to slow down as I set my pace. Maybe all those 2-mile runs with Father really are paying off.

Chapter Text

\Anon/ 

Rolling over in my bed, facing my eyes towards the open closet. Staring back at me are the clothes I left out last night for today: a pair of classic blue jeans and a white T. I won’t need to layer the jacket on for today; my bruises have finally passed. No more yellowing for me! 

But why am I waking up before my alarm on a Saturday?

Simple; I have been condemned to garden duty. 

Tossing my legs over the side of the mattress, rising with a few stretches above my head, the crackling of my spine echoes in my head as I let out a relaxed sigh. It actually felt great. 

Bending down and reaching the tips of my fingers to my toes, wiggling them as I feel another series of popping. Every joint loosening and falling back into place with ease; the impact isn’t lost on me as I stand tall, the glaze of light shining in from the window. If this was back home, I’d take this day to maybe ride the bike around town and greet the local old gentleman at that coffee shop Mother loved. 

But it’s not Anon; this isn’t home. 

I know that. 

Taking a moment to breathe in a large inhale of air before exhaling. I can’t be having an existential crisis this early in the morning, grabbing my phone while I idly scratch my back. Thumbing it open, feeling a slight prick in my finger as the skin rubs against cracked glass. 

(7:30 Saturday) 

Woke up a full 30 minutes before the alarm. Why is it that my body will gladly wake me up at the last second on weekdays, but on a Saturday it feels the desire to make me lose sleep? I just don’t understand the human body sometimes… I wonder how it works for Dinos. 

Turning off the 3 separate alarms, sliding up towards SnootCord, reading a few server announcements as I routinely walk into the bathroom, and breaking out the toothbrush and paste while mindlessly scrolling with one hand. 

Another Jannie situation? Can’t these mods just be competent for once… just deleting random shit when it goes down. Whatever, I shouldn't get lost in this losing game. 

Placing the phone on the countertop, facing the mirror as I hold the toothbrush. I see the slight formation of a jawline I never knew I had coming into play… 

I really look that good? Or am I just flattering myself…? Looking down to my bare chest, seeing the slimness of myself. I never was fat, but I also wasn’t fit. Now? Now I can see outlines and definition. I hate that this body was born out of spite and hate for me, shaking my head as I finally get to doing the good old routine. Teeth brushed, bald head washed, and a slap to the noggin for good luck. 

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ

Stella. She’s up early too, huh? 

Grabbing my clothes from the ground and tossing them onto the bed as I recline slightly back towards my pillow, phone held above me as I open our DMs. 

StegoStar: I hope you’re up, Anon! Today's the day I school you in gardening just like I hand you your ass in RockRing. 

StegoStar: Oh! Oh! Also has Ryker texted you? I already tried him, but no response. :( I would text Reed, but I don’t want to seem like a stalker. Blehhh. 

StegoStar: Well, I’ll see you both there! 

So bubbly in the morning, how can she do that? No matter how awake I am, I feel like one of those coffee commercials. Don’t talk to me unless I’ve had my coffee. I think Mother took that to heart.. 

Mom… 

Mom! 

Fuck. I totally didn’t call her at all this whole week of school; I’m surprised she didn’t have Mr. Aaron locate me. 

I’ll text Stella when I’m on the way; first I have to call Mom now, pressing the home button and navigating to contacts and quickly pressing on Mother. 

Rinnngg rinnng rinnnng—

“My baby boy! Oh, I’m so happy you called!” 

Yanking the phone away from my ear as the piercing cheerful voice fills practically the entire room, to the speaker zone you go, Mom. 

“So tell me everything that’s happened! Have you made new friends? How are your classes? What’s the weather like? The list goes on, sweetie.” 

Letting out a slight chuckle as I feel myself relax just from hearing her voice… it’s been feeling like I’m constantly on edge; I think I’d start tweaking if I didn’t call her today. Heart rate never settles like this. 

“I’ve… been doing fine, Ma.” Friends… I think I have. Ryker’s a bro. I like staring at Reed. Stella’s cool “Yeah.… I got a solid 3 I’d say… classes are fine, but it’s really odd, you know? Being one of the few humans. Only human student. There’s a teacher, but he's super weird.” 

A slight giggle is let out from Ma, glad she’s finding this good; I’m sort of starting to overthink my current relationships. 

“Oh, you’re a natural at this, Anon; don’t overthink all the time, sweetie. You already made progress.” 

There’s that evergreen attitude, the one I wish I truly inherited; it always feels like I just took the worst parts of my father instead of that pure selflessness of my mother. Who would I have been if I had gotten her confidence? Would Dinofornia even be a thought...? 

“Is that Anon on the phone?” 

Grandpa? What’s he doing at home so early?

“Anon, my son! How’s it going down there? Staying out of trouble, right? I’d know right away, you know; Mr. Aaron would tell me instantly.” 

Grandpa's warning is enough to strike the fear of God into me, and not the New Testament; good old sacrificial Old Testament. Mom scoffs before I hear a bit of shuffling; wind blows as I hear Mother shooing away Grandpa with a series of small sounds I can’t make out. 

“Don’t listen to him, Anon; be a teen, just don’t get caught. Oh, how terrible of me. I’m just so ecstatic you’re doing great! My little amplifier, I miss you so much.”

The happy energy Mom exudes is as contagious as it is equally saddening; I miss her too. 

“I miss you too, Ma, so much; not a day goes past where I don’t miss home, no matter how rough it got towards the end.” 

“Preach, Anon—”

Grandpa’s voice rings out from the background, chuckling and full. I wonder what made him so happy today. 

“Get outta here, Dad; go back to organizing those clips or something.” 

“Haha, Mom, leave Grandpa alone; he’s old.” 

Mom laughs lightly; it’s bubbly and airy. She’s just like how she was before the whole incident, but Grandpa either means she’s stayed at his house for the whole week or is visiting. Even if I’m leaning towards hating Dad, I am worried about how badly this can go. How nasty I’ve made things. 

“Ma… h-how’s Dad?”

Mom’s laughing is curtly cut off completely; I can’t even hear her breathing. It’s like the mute button was preemptively pressed as soon as the ill-fated words crossed her ears. 

“Currently drinking himself away on a Saturday morning, not thinking about anyone but himself.” 

That’s… Yeah, that’s what I expected. I knew Dad had a drinking problem; hell, I even knew he harbored a deep-rooted anger that was always liable to come out at the littlest inconvenience. The fact I was the last straw still fucks with me. 

“So… what are you thinking? Is…” The word struggles to leave my lips. “Are… are you leaving him?” 

A light gasp is all I can hear before a slight whimper is released; a heavy blow of wind hits my speakers. Fuck… I shouldn’t have said that. 

“a… as much as I know Dad hurt us. It’s not that simple, Anon, honey. The Army practically owns our marriage. I still haven’t done the right research for it, but yes, I’m looking into it.” 

That’s true; there are so many extra laws when it comes to the Army. It’ll probably be awhile before anything happens due to paperwork. 

Checking the time, I’ve realized I need to head out if I’d like to not get my ass chewed out; quickly getting up, leaving the phone on the bed as I jump into my jeans, tossing my head into the shirt while I think of what to respond to Mom with. 

“I got you, Ma. Anyway, I have some plans today, so I have to get going so I’m not late.” 

Mother cries out through my speakers, causing them to spike with static; it seems she’s happy to hear that. Of course I won’t tell her it’s for detention; I don't want to get into that mess. 

“Awwww I’m so happy! Go go, don’t let me hold you up, sweetie. Mom loves you.” 

“Love you too, Ma.” 

The line goes dead as I shove the phone into my pocket, walking to the metal door and shoving my sneakers on. Glad I brought these; I probably would have developed some sort of foot fungus if I kept wearing those heavy boots. 

. . . 

The sun blares down onto me as I walk the cracked sidewalk of Skin Row. It’s oddly active, and not like crackhead or drug dealer active; more like people in small or large groups huddled around bodegas and vendors, buying local produce or just smoking cigarettes, sharing problems and gripes. Unlike at the school, there are tons of humans mingling with Dinos, just enjoying each other's company. 

Some do look really scary, though: tattoos, shaved heads, and large scars from knives or maybe even bullet holes. I can’t forget that this place is literally the armpit of Volcadera. 

Pulling out my phone to doomscroll some threads… 

Oh shit, A RockRing argument… Hmmm, I know that ODST is godly, but I kinda want this argument to explode. 

Rapidly typing up a storm about how RockRing 5 blows all the games, even the first one, out of the water and how it should have ended there, instantly the thread begins to blow up, response after response. Some catch onto the obvious shitpost and join in. Others are seething. 

Yup, I’m starting to feel pretty good. 

“Hey, get your hands off me, pricks. You’ll get the fucking money when I see some actual protection around here.” Looking up from my obliviousness, I was met with the sight of a group of 2 dinos and 1 human bothering a Microraptor outside what looks to be a pizza place. “Just last week I got robbed… Again! You slack-jawed idiots don’t deserve money, so get a fucking move on.” 

My fight or flight is beginning to kick in as I glance towards the gaggle, meeting the eyes of a blue-scaled Baryonyx, whose jagged teeth and split eyes land on me with maximum prejudice. 

Fuck, let’s just cross the street, Anon. 

“You!” The Bary quickly grabs me before I can even step foot off the concrete. “Here, old man, you better give us the money, or you’ll look worse than what’s going to happen to Mr. Skinnie over here.” 

His arm wraps around my neck, firmly placing my back against him; I begin to struggle lightly as the rest of the fucking pricks start to gather around me and the Microraptor. 

“Are you all retarted? What’s beating up this kid gonna do for y’all, because it’s gonna do shit all to me” 

The dark brown Microraptor is not helping my case here; I can’t help but feel a rising anger fill my body, my hands clenching into fists as I focus my eyes onto his. He raises an eyebrow at me; fucking prick, just pay your stupid tab. 

Without warning I’m thwacked in the stomach, the arm around my neck releasing as I lean forward to spit up bile. My vision blurs slightly as I see tiny black specks filter through like stars… 

The look of Johnny's disgusted face flashes into my eyes: the look that Dad always gave me during the beatings, the aggressive amount of brutal toxic words… 

Without thinking, I shove my elbow backwards, smashing into the stomach of my attacker; the Bary falls to a kneeling position holding his stomach, the other thugs… fucking pricks actually…… Approach me.

“Get your fucking hands off me, you goddamn fucking asshole!” An urge to continue beating him while he’s down begins to fill my head as I stand over him. “Wanna fucking use me like I’m some sort of object?” 

I didn’t know I could be this angry…. I feel like my dad… Oh god. As quickly as the anger comes, it begins to dissipate as the two other pricks begin to approach. Before they can intercept me, the Microraptor blocks them, yelling in some sort of Russian language. 

“Get out of the way, shortie; we’ll deal with you later.” 

The taller Yutyrannus pushes past him to approach me; I put myself in this situation… guess I have to get myself out of it… Fuck the gardening detention. I’m so fucking screwed.

A heavy, labored breath leaves my lungs as I try my hardest to puff out my chest. 

Retain some of that anger, Anon; it’s going to be the only way out of this without losing your life. 

Fuck it. 

Stanced up with a few positions I remember Dad teaching me, left foot forward, right slightly planted behind me, and arms raised slightly, the Dino cracks his clawed knuckles. 

RUMBLE AND A SCREECH 

Interrupting the scene, a roaring motorcycle screeches to the curb, catching all of us off guard; it’s a sleek black chopper with a large shield painted on the side of the gas tank; riding it is a broad-framed red Baryonyx. 

Looks slightly familiar. 

He’s wearing black camo jeans and a white tank top and has a whole litter of tattoos on his arms: guns, tanks, and a multitude of American flags with all different formations of stars. The most striking feature being the big scar on his left cheek. 

Stepping off he points, he aimed a clawed nail towards the Dino standing in front of me, gesturing silently for him to back off. 

Is this motherfucker their leader?

Stepping off the back, rubbing his hand over his tightly buzzed brown hair, and eyeing me up and down with an apologetic expression. Slightly eyeing the pizza store owner. 

“Micha and Mitch, pick up Frankie and head back to the warehouse now.” His voice left no room for error; the lackeys picked up the dude I elbowed and scattered off. “And throw out the trash while you’re there; I’ll deal with youse later.” 

The Microraptor in a flash presses a clawed finger against the Bary’s chest. His tail angrily rotating on the floor, the top feathers curling and spreading with seething hatred. 

“Butch, you motherfucker.” Jabbing his finger against him, “I already told you what happened and how you boys did nothing, so how are you going to repay me and this kid here?” The Raptor points back to me with his thumb. Now, why are you including me in this?

Butch looks towards me with yet another frown as his eyebrows curl down with his expression; the Microraptor opts to stand beside me. 

I’ll just scoot over a bit; it smells like cheap cardboard. 

“I get it, Tommy, I get it.” Butch rubs his hands onto his pants as he shakes his head “I’ll deal with them, promise. You don’t owe me any money.” Butch then turns to me, reaching his hand out. “The name's Butch, kid. I’m sorry if those idiots roughed you up, but you definitely didn’t back down. That’s commendable.” 

I’m not shaking this prick's hands. 

Butch retracted his hand to his side, the present frown curling lower as a sigh left his snout. Yeah, I can’t even care if I mumbled that; I’m not taking this shit anymore, and I’m not being hit ever again. 

RING RING RING 

My phone begins to ring off. Who’s calling me… Fuck, it's probably Ryker wondering where I am. 

Turning to the side so I don’t have to stare at this tall prick's face any longer, grabbing my phone… 

Ba-dump 

R-Reed…

The built-up and remaining anger I had begun to embrace began to mellow out as I stared at the contact information; quickly I answered, I really need to hear his voice.

“Hey bro, was seeing if you needed a ride to school? I’m taking Ryker’s spot. He, uhh... got busy, or so he says. But no problemo to me, compadre.” 

Ryker getting out of detention… I wonder if he used that leverage I’ve been told about; I’m still patting myself on the back for guessing that. 

Thank Raptor Jesus for Reed, though; this is totally clutch. 

“Yes, I’d really appreciate a pickup man.” Looking up towards the building to read the sign. “I’m at the… Buck-A-Slice” 

I hear the loud engine through my phone and what I can only assume are keys jingling.

“Sure thing, brohauncho, I’m coming now.” 

“Thanks, Reed, I… really appreciate this.” 

Fuck… I know I should have recognized this sooner, but I’m starting to crush on this goofy Raptor. 

“It’s my pleasure, bro.” 

The line goes dead, leaving me tuned back to the reality that is Butch and Tommy bickering back and forth, with the latter seeming to win the argument. The little dude packs a punch.

Leaning myself up against the pizza parlor's wall, looking down at my phone, desperately trying to find something else to focus on before I get dragged back into the conversation with the two old-heads, one who literally owns a gang or something, and the other who is just a tired old man. 

“Hey, kid. I know you’re probably pissed.” I look up into the blood-red irises of Butch standing before me. “And rightly so, but I have to apologize again for what that asshole did. I’ll sort him out.”

He’s really not taking my silence as an answer, huh? I’ve never given someone this hard of the silent treatment since Dad accidentally stepped on my Lego set back in middle school… 

Holy shit, that just made me feel like a loser. 

Tilting my head to the side, letting out a slight click of my tongue as a brick jabs into my back, Butch quickly flicks his eyes to my reaction. Looking more embarrassed than before. 

“Shit, I got some light medical shit on my bike.” 

Raising my hand and waving it slightly as I use my other to push off the wall, I’m not escaping this interaction.

“It’s… fine; well, actually, it’s not fine.” There’s that anger again: “I didn’t expect to be turned into makeshift bait, you know?” 

Butch slightly recoils at how rigid my attitude is; he’s nothing like my grandpa or Mr. Aaron. He’s got the muscle, but none of the grit. 

And you do, Anon? Don’t kid yourself just because you got a cheap shot in. Coward. 

Butch takes a cigarette pack out from his back pocket, lighting it up with ease. A short drag and a long hold before the smoke spills from his nostrils. 

He extends it to me before immediately pulling it back to himself. 

“That was rude of me; I shouldn’t have offered that to you. It’s an addiction starter.” 

Does he really think I’m some kid? Yeah, I’m still in high school, but I’m fucking 18, dammit. 

“I can handle a cigarette… Butch. But yeah, you’re right anyway.” 

The tension is practically filling the air, making it so dense anyone who’d dare to walk through this staring contest would probably suffocate on the spot. 

Hopefully Reed gets here soon. 

“Aye fellas, let’s just cool down—as much as I feel the same as the kid here.” Tommy turns his gaze to Butch. “Which is something along the lines of bashing your head in, Butch, if you were wondering. I digress. The kid clearly doesn’t want to talk to you; go polish the bike, yeah?” 

Butch lets out a grunt as smoke flows out like it’s a dragon getting ready to breathe fire; he just nods and does exactly what Tommy suggested: look at his bike. 

“You did well, defending yourself.” Tommy pats my back; he’s actually smaller than Sage—gotta be a record. “What’s your name, kid?” 

Tommy stares at the few other people across the street currently tagging an old building. Poor craftsmen shift too. 

I’m just getting into all different kinds of shit today…

Letting out a sigh as I palm my phone through the fabric of my pants. 

“It’s Anon.” 

Tommy nods as he starts ruffling into his pockets, pulling out a wad of lint before switching to his other pocket; the dirty, flour-stained apron flapping slightly in the wind. 

“Shit, I thought I had one on me; wait here, kid, I got something for you.” 

Tommy wipes his hands onto the dark red apron before walking up to Butch, gesturing towards his building; they both enter while leaving me waiting outside. 

Good riddance… 

Back to shitposting. 

. . . 

HONK HONK 

Reed! 

“Anon, homie! Come on and get in; Fang needs a lift too, so we have one more stop before school.” 

Tommy emerges from the building out of breath as I’m about to step onto the asphalt, hands on his knees as he holds out a flyer to me. 

“Before you go…” Wheezing “Take this; it’s got my work phone. You’re strong and I  could use a hand once in a while; I’ll pay, of course.” 

Taking the flyer out of respect more than anything, giving Tommy just a quick nod as I hurry towards the passenger door; I just want to get out of this mess now. 

Flinging the door open and hopping in, securing my seatbelt as I finally get the chance to calm down once and for all; it’s a much-needed peace as Reed glances at me, his hand on the radio, fiddling with the dial. 

“Oh shit, I never got to fixing that last time.” 

Reed just lazily smiles as he shifts into gear; the music tries its hardest to break through the static surrounding SkinRows stations. 

“Don’t sweat it, bro; you could always fix it another time. Plus, it was funny seeing how a human reacted to Carfe.” 

Reed twirls his finger in a circular motion around his ear, teasing me with the gesture. 

“I—I wasn’t that out of it, was I? I thought I just racked out.” 

My voice is cracking, and I’m fucking stumbling on my own words more than ever now; my stupid brain is finally clicking, making me realize I like this goofy, beautifully indigo-eyed, bake shop-smelling, fluffy-feather-tailed stoner… 

A wave of heat travels to my neck and straight up to my face as I let my brain continue to derail into the relentless realm of gayness. 

Reed laughs while tapping his claws onto the steering wheel as he focuses on the road ahead, seemingly driving by memory towards Fang’s. Sometimes I forget I’m late to the party with the friend group… They’ve probably hung out so many times before I ever came along. 

“You were pretty loopy while sleeping…” Reed goes quiet for a second, like he’s thinking too deeply, before letting out a little sigh. “Do you know if you mumble when sleeping, homie?” 

And now I need an ice pack for my face… I know he heard me on Thursday… about how I like being around him… 

Awww god, it’s just as embarrassing remembering it. 

“I—I have been told… yes.” 

Reed just lets out a chuckle as we stop at the red light; finally he turns his head to me, letting me capture all his features, the sharpness of one little tooth on the side of his muzzle shining a bright white. 

“Said some wacky stuff, but I won’t say, bruh; I have to have some sort of advantage over you.” Reed smirks before winking at me, which is sending my heart into another stratosphere. “You’ve already done so much to help me and the group, so I’ll take the secrets as payback.” 

Reed’s smirk is entirely new to me right now; I’ve never seen it so full of life. He’s usually laid back and a straight shot with his lazy approach… but with me… 

NO, GET THAT IDEA OUT OF YOUR HEAD. 

You don’t even know if he’s gay or not, and for Raptor Jesus’s sake, you guys have only known each other for a few days tops. 

The music finally clicks on as we leave the choke hold that was SkinRow’s radio towers; it's just some generic rock channel. Reed’s having fun with it though, tapping on the steering wheel following the beat. 

He’s got tape around a few fingers, the life of a drummer, I suppose; it’s great he plays hard, but… I’m a bit concerned about his health. 

. . . 

As we pull up to Fang’s house, I get to take in the scenery. Their house is pretty big; shit, I think it’s bigger than the one back home. 

A sore thumb sticks out to me though: the big police cruiser, Mr. Aaron, and he’s home. 

Turning to look at Reed, who’s currently got his phone out, scrolling fast before tapping his claw down. A dialing tone ensued. 

The line goes dead; Reed looks over to me with a mischievous expression before honking the horn for a solid second. 

RING RING RIN- 

Reed swipes and puts the phone on speaker. 

“WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT THE HORN! I’M COMING DOWN, NOW IDIOT.”

The line cuts abruptly before Reed can even breathe, leaving him chuckling; I can’t help but join in, his laughter’s as contagious as it is, is comforting to me. 

Looking towards the front door, it opens up with a swing, and out comes the towering figure of Mr. Aaron, who had a rather sour look plastered on his face. Our eyes lock, a shake of his head and a slight scowl before a blur of pale blue shoots past him and towards the van; Mr. Aaron tries to catch his kid but fails to do so, opting to yell something. 

A rapid banging is leveled towards the back doors of the van; Reed snickers before unlocking the van, and Fang tumbles in and slams themselves into the padded bench seat, phone in hand as they proceed to disassociate. 

Must be nice to be so nonchalant. 

Mr. Aaron gives the van one last sneering look before heading back into the house, the door slamming so hard I could hear the sound from here behind a rolled-up window… Jeez…

Reed slams into gear as a particularly drum-heavy song blares into the cabin; flipping his switch as he drives down the road, I have to hold on to a handlebar or something. 

. . . 

“Hey Anon, reach into the glovebox; I got a little surprise for you, bro.” 

Reed’s lazy voice precedes him as he gestures to the glovebox; well who am I to not find out what the gift is. Pulling down the handle, I’m greeted with three tiny joints; the filters are colored red, green, and pale blue. Hmmm, he might’ve had this planned out to the T. 

“Carfe?” 

“Hell yeah, homie, color-coded by Ryker, by the way.” Reed scratches the back of his neck. “I’m not the organization type, bro.” Reed looks into the rearview mirror at Fang. “Fang, are you going to toke up with us before we arrive?” 

Reed’s laid-back voice echoes in my head as I can’t seem to focus on much of anything else at the moment; maybe what we’ll be doing for this detention… picking weeds would be horribly boring, but at least I wasn’t stuck in a dingy detention room. 

“Nahh, remember last time I tried that stuff? I ended up hanging upside down from a tree like a bat; I think I slept up there somehow. So no, thank you, Reed.” 

Fang pulls their phone closer to—wait a minute? Slept in a tree like a bat. Can Petro’s actually do that? 

“More for us than—” Reed gives me a finger gun. “Alright, bro, mind giving me my joint?” 

Quickly I carefully grab the red-colored joint, passing it to Reed; our fingers connect just enough for me to hyperfixate on it as I pull back. Staring at my own joint. 

“Shit, can you do me a solid, Anon, and just light it for me? The light is green, and I don’t want to look away from the road, compadre.” 

“S-sure.” 

Yeah, stammer more, idiot. Make it any more obvious. Ughhhhh. 

Grabbing the lighter, unbuckling my seatbelt as I lean towards Reed, catching the fresh scent of bread and something that’s uniquely him… Stop, stop, just get to lighting his J. 

Cupping the lighter as I flick the flame to life, I’m so close to him I’m sure he can feel how rapidly I’m breathing. The joint catches flame and subtly leaks smoke as I pull back. 

“T-thanks, homie...” 

Reed’s cheeks are turning a shade darker as I settle back into my seat; I shouldn’t overanalyze it, for all I know he’s just nervous with close quarters. 

Taking my own joint, placing the colored cardboard to my lips, taking a deep inhale, trying my best to calm my racing nerves before I light this thing, just relaxing, and lighting it and inhaling. The rest is up to the carfe. 

Lighting the joint, taking the first long hit, the smoke fills my lungs completely as I hold it in; finally coughing it out, gripping the inner door handle as I reel forward into a fit. 

Reed chuckled at me. 

Maybe this day won’t be so bad, for detention. 

—With Arms Wide Open—

Rolling into the student lot, I can feel myself finally slip past the portion of being high where I’d need to just pass out, and I must say this is… really loose. I could get used to this, honestly. 

Reed looks so peaceful as well, just going through the motions of turning off the engine and staring at the steering wheel before snapping himself out of the trance… I might be entranced with him… Hmmmm... yeah. 

As Reed exits the van, I follow suit; I can’t keep this detention waiting now, can I? It’d be rude to Spears, who thankfully saw fit to just give me a slap on the wrist like this. 

I find myself sticking close to Reed as we walk around the building and towards the back; our shoulders are so close to touching. Glancing over Reed’s side, I never realized how toned he is, not like super muscular but definitely that type of thing where some people would be jealous… I kind of want to reach out and squeeze his bicep.

Wait wait, calm down… You can’t be a touchy, high-type person, Anon. Just stay calm and act natural. 

Fang follows behind; with a quick glance back towards them, they just smirk at me before raising an eyebrow, flicking their eyes up and down me and towards Reed as I stick close to him. 

Huh… weird. 

Fang speed walks ahead of us, and greets Sage as he rounds the corner waving to us; Reed just has this evergreen lazy smile plastered on his features, running a hand through his mullet as we approach Sage and Stella by a wooden table, taking a seat with a relaxed sigh. My hands find the table, feeling the slight grooves in the wood. 

Hmmm, pretty good craftsmanship… 

Oh yeah! Friends. 

Reaching my hand across the table to give Stella a fist bump, which she happily returns with a bubbly smile. 

“It’s great to see you too, Anon! I’m glad you seem so pumped up to help out in the garden.” 

Sage looks towards Reed with a skeptical eye before flicking his gaze to me as I once again fist bump Stella, who bumps back. I really want to see how long I can do this for. 

Sage slaps his hands onto the table between me and Reed as he sits across from us with Fang; a stern look is spread across his pale, scaled features. 

“You’re both high, aren’t you?” 

His voice is like my mother's whenever she used to scold me, and it feels the same too. I can't help but shrink in my seat a bit as I avert my eyes from him. Essentially giving him the answer. 

“Reed, a word with you, please.” Sage drags Reed off to the side towards a flower bush. “What are you doing getting Anon high? You’ll know what happens if you get caught!” 

For trying to whisper, Sage had quite the loud whisper, huh? 

Fang scoffs with a light laugh before nodding; guess I mumbled that… At least it wasn’t any embarrassing thought. 

Glancing back, I continue to see Reed get reprimanded; that’s not fair. I could have turned the offer to smoke down; this was my own decision—I have to help him out; he’s… he’s the bro. Walking over to Sage and Reed, placing my hand on Reed’s shoulder, and leaning on him slightly to support myself as I try my best to look Sage in the eyes. 

“C-chill out on Reed Sage… I chose to smoke; it’s not his fault.” I try my best to keep my words from spaghetti-ing all over: “I lit the thing, and I know I’m a lightweight, but I’m fine.” 

Sage lets out a huff before crossing his arms over his chest. Stella approaches, followed by Fang, who’s just doomscrolling, I think. 

“I think it’s just great we’re all here!” Stella jumps up and down slightly. “We’ll finally have the whole gang here, even if it’s not by choice… that’s beside the point! Today will be great, I tell you. Rosa brought authentic Mexican food she made last night. 

My mouth already begins to water as I hear those two words: authentic Mexican food… 

That’s three words, dumbass. Don’t tell me we're losing brain cells this quickly. 

Who’s Rosa?

“¡Ese sería yo! It’s great to see so many new faces in the gardening club.” Rosa, I think, quickly makes her way to me and Reed, grabbing both our hands and shaking them at the same time. “I wouldn’t suppose you two would like to join, yes?” 

I and Reed exchange glances but quickly avert from the intense need to laugh if we look at each other; it’s weird… like maybe knowing we’re both high in a situation where it’s taboo is funny… 

Fang steps into the little circle with a smirk and a hand on their hip. 

“Nahhh, they just got into some trouble.” 

Rosa frowns slightly before perking up, clapping her hands together before regaining a smile. 

“No importa, you’ll fall in love soon enough.” 

Rosa looks to be, if my knowledge is correct, an Aquilops… long brown hair cascading down her shoulders, dressed in something that looks straight out of a San Jose garage sale… It's kind of cool how it matches some of the flowers here, though. A cool shade of orange and cream scales. 

It’s crazy how humans only come in boring shades while dinos get all the cool shit. 

Rosa suddenly begins to laugh as she places a hand onto Stella’s shoulder; a multitude of eyes are placed on me. What? Did I mumble? Wait, which part did I mumble!?

“Me gusta este.” Rosa speaks in Spanish to Stella before laughing again. “I agree… An-on, that’s your name, right?” 

Stella chuckles slightly. 

“Yes, that’s his name. Now, now, let’s get moving. I’m sure the announcements are going to start.” 

Stella’s a being made of pure light, and it’s blinding how happy she is to take care of a garden.

“EVERYONE TO THE MAIN COURTYARD TIME NOW!” 

The loud booming voice of my ancestor breaches all our ears as our conversation comes to an abrupt end; quickly we all make our move to the courtyard, Rosa taking point and splitting apart towards the stage with Stella. Guess it makes sense; the actual members wouldn’t stand in the crowd with the delinquents. 

As Reed, Fang, Sage, and I settle into the crowd, I take a moment to look around; it’s not packed, but there are a decent amount of people here for detention. Besides that, this garden is fucking gorgeous; the slightly raised dark brown wooden stage is surrounded by beautiful black roses with little lilac bushes to make the color pop even more, the purple reminding me of Reed’s eyes. 

A light nudge is pushed against my shoulder from Reed. Oop, guess he heard me. 

Reed lightly snickers as I look into his eyes with a lazy smile to match his; I join in on the chuckling. It feels good, man. 

Ruining the moment is a tumbling of radio screeching from the microphone that had just been plugged in onto the podium center of the stage; Principal Spears taping it slightly to test the quality before clearing his throat; honestly, he really doesn’t need that thing; another laugh from Reed. 

“I’d like to take the time to thank everyone for showing up to the area beautification. This is the first time for many and hopefully the last for all.” Spears straightens his tie before once again leaning forward into the mic. “As much as I’d like to go on, we have a garden to improve. So before I pass the mic, I’d like to share something. Know this: no one man is an island; trust in others as they trust in you. Be a friend.” 

Hmmm… no one man is an island. Why does that feel sooooo… impactful? 

Before I could get any deeper, a familiar peach tyrant takes center stage: Naomi, tapping the mic and letting out a gleeful cheer while raising her fist. 

Crickets… 

“W-well, welcome everyone back to area beautification; I’d like to add onto what Principal Spears had said: this is supposed to be a team-building event. To show that being a friend to all can truly benefit our community.” Naomi points to the beautiful flowers that surround the stage. “This progress couldn’t have been achieved without students like you who learned to appreciate their neighbors—” 

Rosa steps forward, tapping Naomi lightly on the shoulder; Naomi tenses up before looking back at Rosa, realizing, I think, that she was just talking on and on. 

Naomi gives a little wave before walking off the stage; Rosa is taking the center podium now with a big smile. 

“Buenos días a todas! Let’s all get this place in shape for the next contest. As thanks, I have brought food from home for lunch; I might even have enough for seconds!” 

The crowd's depression begins to erupt into almost cheering as the mere mention of food gets brought up. I wonder if Sage ever brings food to any of these events. He is an award-winning chef after all. Wow, maybe Ryker was right. Sage has indoctrinated me into the fan club.

“Are you ready to do something, bro?” Reed just took a solid minute to form that sentence, “Wonder what we’ll get assigned… Does it work like that?” 

Reed stares at me like I got the answer; all I’m really focusing on is the tiny amount of stubble on his scaled chin. Dino with a beard? 

“An-on, Reed. I have a special request of you two.” 

Jumping back slightly as Rosa ninjas her way to me and Reed, Rosa giggles lightly before calling over the rest of the crew. 

“The shed had a ton of overgrowth around it, weeds and tall grass; if you’d please, trim it down. There’s only one weed whacker, so I’d take turns.” 

Reed gives his signature finger guns before placing his arm onto my shoulder like an armrest; shit, bro, lighten up a bit. 

“Fang, if you’d please help Sage with the gutter vines!” Stella bursts with energy next to Rosa. “It’s gotten very out of control.”

Fang lets out an annoyed groan, tossing their head to the side as Sage elbows them with a smirk; Fang just pushes him with little to no effort. Rosa and Stella look at each other, nodding their heads before looking towards the group. 

Rosa claps her hands together loudly, gathering all of our attention; I wanted to look at Reed more. 

“Está bien, todas se calman.” Wish I understood Spanish. “Now that we got the roles established, let’s get to work!” 

Stella chimes in by putting her hand out into the middle of our little circle…

Fuck it. 

I place my hand hovering over hers, wiggling my eyebrows to Reed, who gets the hint, placing his hand not hovering but directly down onto mine… Okay, okay… No need to note how soft his palm is, or how the tiny scales scratch an itch I didn’t know I had… Yup, keep it in; don’t think. 

Rosa and Sage join in; only one other person hasn’t committed to the bit yet. Fang. 

Come on, emo, place that black-nailed hand over ours already; I’m pumped to cut grass. 

“Shut the fuck up, Anon.” Fang groans out with a mock frustration before placing their hand over ours. “I’ll get my payback, you know; just wait for it.” 

Aw poop, I just signed a death warrant, or I’m about to be ripped a new asshole when I least expect it—whoopsies. 

Stella takes a big extravagant breath in. 

“Gardening club on three!” Stella’s wide smile seems to infect the group; even Fang gets ready. “One! Two!… Three!” 

We all shout “gardening club,” me and Reed taking it as a contest before settling down. Fang just rolls their eyes as they head off with Sage to the gutters, already seeing there’s a ladder and cutters. I think? I don’t have super vision.

“Well, let’s get going.” 

I tap Reed on the shoulder as I begin to walk towards the shed; he follows close to my side. 

. . . 

Damn, this shed really is overgrown; even the front of the door is covered in vines stemming from the cracked pavement that leads to the entrance. We've got our work cut out for us. 

Tilting my head back to Reed, seeing him stare out into the vast array of flower bushes. He looks at peace, staring out into the sea of blue and red littering the area; his eyes twinkle in the sun, like he’s trying to capture something that isn’t there. 

Whipping my head back and forth before placing my hand on my cheek; lock in, just focus. 

Breathing in the clean air and exhaling softly. Okay, you’re fine. 

“R-Reed, I’ll take the whacker first if that’s fine?”

Reed blinks slightly before giving me a finger gun as he walks over. 

“Sounds good, bruh. Let’s knock this out—I’m dying for that food Rosa cooked.” Reed grips the handles to the shed, yanking the double doors open, breaking the vines at the bottom. “Damn… it’s dusty in here.” 

Entering along with Reed, seeing the vast amount of off-season decorations along with tools that don’t even look like they belong in a gardening shed, especially the whole set of socket wrenches. Was there an automotive class at one point? I would have definitely taken that. 

Probably going to need gloves… Looking around as I notice Reed place the weed whacker on the nearby countertop, taking the gas tank off to look inside. 

“Homie, this thing is running on empty…” Reed crouches slightly, his tail flicking from side to side as he looks for a gas canister. “Hmmm… bruh.” 

Finding a few pairs of gloves in a cardboard box on the second table by the wall; sorting through the sizes and just grabbing the two large ones. Heading over to Reed as he places the small gas canister on the table by the whacker. 

“Here, man, protect those hands, yeah?” Reed nods as he takes the gloves from me, our fingers lingering for wayyy too long. “A-Aw shit… sorry… didn’t mean to…” 

ALERT ALERT YOU AREN'T EVEN TRYING TO PULL BACK, PULL BACK

With a bit too much force I fling myself backwards, losing my footing; welp, shit, looks like I’m going to slam myself into the other table. It’s a worthy sacrifice.

“Whoa!” Reed grips both my shoulders, pulling me back to my feet. “I gotchu, bro; you’re fine, man… we are just both slow as fuck right now.” 

Reed laughs, open-mouthed. Allowing me to see the blue of his tongue peek out… such a contrast. 

I avert my eyes as I feel a tensing in my cheeks come on, along with a heavy heat to the back of my neck; this man is going to kill me with how oblivious he is. 

Shit, I’ll end up dying from how oblivious I am. 

Reed begins to laugh lightly at my tense actions, his half-lidded eyes widening for just a few seconds as he thoroughly pats my shoulders rapidly. 

“Dude, you are such a funny man.” Reed pulls his hands back as I feel my own lips curl upward. “Let’s get this whacker prepared, bro, and keep being funny.” 

Reed flicks my bicep before he moves to the table once more; quickly I gather my thoughts as I grab the gas canister—Reed pops open the cap, and I get to filling. It’s a simple thing; it really helps that the tank is clear. 

—Thank God I'm Based—

“You can’t be serious, dude! How do you find ODST to be the better game over Reach?” 

Reed raises his hands in frustration, but his voice is that same lazy drawl as always; but as much as I’m starting to realize I like the goober, he’s got a shitty opinion right now- and I must let him know. 

The humming sound of the weed whacker serves as ambiance to me and Reed’s back-and-forth about RockRing games. 

“Look, you only like Reach because we don’t play as a super beefed-up sergeant and instead just some grunts sent to the right place at the wrong time.” 

The weed whacker spits and groans as I pass over a particularly large section of thick brush. Spitting out tons of tiny grass particles along the bottom of my jeans. At least they'll smell good. 

“Bro, bruh, homie, and dude, you’re dead wrong, man”—5-piece combo! “I like Reach for its long development, and perfection to the RockRing craft. No outside companies, just pure StegoSoft craft. 

Reed uses an insane amount of red tape explaining why he likes it; it can’t just be the production dude; that’s such a cop-out. 

Stopping the whacker as I pass it over to him for his turn. 

“Bro, that’s such a cop-out, and you know it. Just because ODST had outside security doesn’t mean it wasn’t one of the best RockRings released.” Evil idea. “I believe you. Are. A. Poser.” 

I wiggle my finger at him as I try to edge my voice off into a joking territory, seeing if I can get him riled up out of that complete calm he has maintained. 

Reed simply mows down a big patch of overgrown weeds, eyes looking me up and down with half-lidded judgment.

“Your trolling will have no effect on me, compadre.” Reed raises his right hand. “For I have studied the art of Carfe, I am at peace with the world, bruh.” 

Damn stoner. 

“You’re becoming one too, Anon; I can see it.” 

And there’s the mumbling again; I’m slipping up a lot today. 

. . . 

Wiping my face with the back of my hand, flinging the heavily coated skin free of sweat. Reed relaxed, leaning on the side of the shed, stepping on the freshly cut grass we took down. 

I’m currently trying to fight my eyes from slamming shut as a few yawns flow from my mouth, jaw unlocking with each one. Bit by bit I think I might become a snake. It seems coming down from the high also makes me tired. 

I make a motion towards the back half of the shed; Reed pushes himself off the side to round the back with me, his eyes still locked down as he sways slightly. Lucky dude, I'm almost entirely sober. 

THOWM BRRRRR

The weed whacker begins to stutter and shoot out a large black plume of smoke as the engine whines, releasing a horrid crunching sound as the wire makes contact with something it was never meant to even touch. As it yells at me for whacking without thinking, I don’t have time to react as I feel myself getting yanked by the weed whacker’s engine bursting back to life, jolting me forward. 

A pair of hands are on my shoulders, yanking me back as the whacker dies off onto the ground, continuing to spew smoke. 

Wait… hands? 

The sky’s coming into vision too… I’m falling…

I quickly try to turn around as I fall to the ground with Reed underneath me; he pulled me back right before the whacker could do any damage to me… he stepped in. 

But now I’m in a whole other predicament. 

My arms extend out before me out of instinct, landing on either side of Reed’s head; my fingers spread into his mullet as well as the grass below—holy fuck, holy fuck…. I’m literally on top of him.

My legs plant, one is between his, rubbing up against both his fabric-clothed thighs… 

I am going to die! 

Staring into Reed’s now widened indigo eyes, my own eyes begin to widen along his facial features. The strong prominence of his cheeks that curve perfectly to his snout, the way that one little tooth pokes out to the side. How the light amount of scale shedding reveals an even more radiant shade of pale red… 

Reed’s cheeks begin to dampen to a darker shade… his eyes averting slightly before landing back onto mine. His mouth moves slightly before closing once more… 

My heart was pounding a million beats per minute before, but now I’m surprised I’m even breathing. The intense heat building along my neck and face would probably be enough to cook a steak… 

Why haven’t I moved… Why hasn’t he asked me to move either? 

A tiny thwacking to my side makes me turn my head behind me; Reed’s full feathered tail is thumping against my side—is that a good thing?

Shit, get off of him, Anon; NOW. 

Quickly I push myself off of him; a wave of crushing guilt begins to build up from my stomach, sending waves of embarrassment and disappointment into my brain… sitting on the grass as Reed stares up into the sky. I have to apologize. 

“R-Reed I-“ Come on, find those words! “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… l-land on you.” 

You fucking spaz! Speak normally! 

Reed lets out a shaken laugh as he flings himself to a seated position, looking over to the weed whacker before turning his blush-filled face to me, eyes finally flicking to mine… 

“I-it’s fine, bro. Yeah, n-no worries, compadre.” Reed’s voice is softer, lower, and cautious. “I—I was worried… it’s actually my fault, homie. I yanked you too hard—I should be the one apologizing.” 

I feel my legs curl up as I plant my head on top of my knees. I’m becoming a burden now, even if he accepted and even apologized for just being helpful… I’m making it hard for him. 

Reed moves to sit next to me, close but with just enough distance for it to be comfortable. Silence fills the atmosphere before a loud snapping of a branch cuts my moping session short. 

“Fuck,” Reed whispers as he looks along with me. “Naomi…” 

Naomi… It’s fucking Naomi, staring at us, a look of surprise on her features while her glasses fog up from the sun hitting them just right—she’s perched slightly, leaning off the side of the school building wall. She quickly escapes before we can do anything… 

I’m… I’m dead; it’s going to happen again. 

“Hey queers, looking at us” 

The first memories of the day after being exposed at Rock Bottom flood my mind. My heart is pounding for entirely different reasons as I cup my hands to my face. 

“Sheesh, hopefully he doesn’t get any ideas.” 

“Ewww, don’t even think that, man; it makes me want to puke.” 

My blood pressure begins to spike, rushing to my ears as I feel my surroundings blur and rumble; if anyone’s talking, I can’t hear it… Naomi… she’s… oh god, she wouldn't do that, right? 

“Hey, don’t get too close to Anon; you might catch something.” 

Fuck… fuck that place. I can’t do this… I can’t. 

—Voracious Souls—

\Reed/

Fuck… I’m not built for this, man. What the hell was Naomi even doing creeping around like that? 

Shit… 

Anon’s deep into one of those panic attacks Ryker told me about; he’s weeping into his palms, tears staining his jeans as they fall through the cracks of his fingers… This scene alone is enough to make me come down. 

I don’t like seeing him like this. It’s not fair. 

Gently I reach out my hand, trying to pat him on the back. 

“Get your hands off me!” 

Anon snaps sharply as he recoils forward, spamming his face further into his legs. I feel a pang in my chest as he rejects my gesture. 

Okay, okay, how do you help a bro out of a panic attack? Ryker didn’t give me any tips. 

Deep breath in… Just ask the question. 

“H-hey man, do you want to talk about it?”

Anon lifts his head to me; his emerald spires for eyes are glistening with layers of tears he shouldn’t ever have to shed. Nor do I want him to. 

He briefly presents an enraged scowl, his teeth baring to me before breathing in deeply; the subsequent exhale and the closing of his eyes settle him. He spreads his legs down, hands flat at his sides, as he continues to silently weep. 

“I… I think I would like to.” Anon chokes out his words… Why does it hurt to see Homie like this? “You know I came from a small town in North Dakota.” 

I silently nod, hellbent on listening to what he has to say, opting to scoot a bit closer as he finds his words. 

“I had a… a discovery in junior year.” Anon whips his head down, letting out a soft sob as his body racks and shivers. “It was horrible… I should have never figured myself out.” 

Fuck no. We’re not doing this anymore, no more being passive. I’m taking this into my own hands. 

Gently I wrap my arm around his shoulders, gripping his right shoulder as I pull him into my side hug, firmly embracing him as he weeps silently. 

“A-Anon… you can tell me, bro.” Shit, I really can’t cut out the “bro” habit. “I’m here to listen, man.” 

Anon leans into my embrace, allowing himself to rest his head on my shoulder; he sniffles and hiccups before finally nodding with a frown. 

“During junior year… I had developed a crush.” Makes sense. “B-but it was… it was for my at-the-time best friend… Johnny.” 

I blink my eyes a few times as I feel Anon recoil as he says the name; like just casting the name from his mouth is enough to send him into another full-blown panic attack. 

This Johnny’s the reason. 

“H-he was my first real friend… I was a loser back before him.” Anon’s hands curl into his lap, fingers crackling slowly as he fidgets “I … I finally realized I was gay, Reed—I felt such strong emotions for him, something I wish I never did.” 

I tighten my grip on his shoulder, carefully making sure my claws don’t leave indents; I just need to keep him safe and let him speak. 

He just came out to me; he’s scared of what’ll happen if Naomi blabs her mouth. 

“I—I came out to him, to the friends I had!” Anger rises into his voice. “T-then I was punched, knocked down, and had a bloodied nose! Told I was nothing but a plaything for the group.” Anon lifts a hand to my chest, balling my shirt into it as he heavily, laboriously breathed, “To top it all off, it caused my dad to go psycho, beat me, and berate me all summer before moving—f-forcing me to work out, then just… I can’t live like this, Reed.” 

Wrapping Anon into a full hug, tightly and firmly holding his back, my tail swinging around to wrap around his waist. His head rests on my shoulder; I can feel his hot tears drip down my back. I remember how in my van—the first time Anon smoked—when he took off his hoodie. The yellowing on his arms scared me… to think it was his father. 

“You… you don’t have to live like that, Anon.” My voice comes out shaky. “I’ll support you, and so will the gang. You don’t have to be scared, not here, not with me.” 

I feel a slight heat rise to my cheeks as I add the last comment; I’ve been looking at Anon more and more recently; he’s like a magnet at times. 

“I’m r-really happy you trust me, Anon.” I pat his back as I feel him shiver against me. “I know Ryker has tried to ask you to talk… and I understand how painful this must feel to relive the past, but I’m glad you’re letting go.” 

Just support him, and let him know he’s going to be okay and that he has found a place to be himself. 

“I—I don’t want to be a burden, Reed.” 

Anon stumbles out, a nervous and anxious voice against my shoulder, muffled by his sniffling—the same pang of sadness fills my chest. 

“You’re not!” My voice raises. “D-don’t think like that, bro... I like you, Anon; you’re a funny dude. A bro through and through; a great addition to the gang. Hell, Fang said you’re really good at the piano, and it’s hard to get them to admit that someone else is good at something.” 

Anon lightly chuckles as he pulls his arms around me, returning the embrace warmly. It’s… It’s oddly embarrassing; I can feel my body heating up from his naturally warm body. Letting my core take in his warmth, searing my scales. 

“T-thanks, Reed.” Anon steadies his breathing before pulling his head back, our eyes meeting intently “I … I do feel sort of better. Letting that out” 

A smile forced its way across my face as we both broke the hug, my tail trailing off him quickly as it began to wag out of my control behind me, causing some grass fibers to fling around. 

“I’m just doing what you’d do for me, homie.” Standing up, reaching down to Anon, “It’s probably close to lunch; let’s toss the whacker into the shed and tell Rosa about it.” 

Anon lets out a little chuckle before grabbing my hand; gently I pull him up, our fingers briefly lingering before pulling back. He has such a habit of that—or maybe I do. 

Suddenly I’m met with the sight of Anon pulling his T-shirt up to wipe his face… 

Holy Raptor Jesus, he’s got some abs… like damn, man, how could I get those? 

Anon lets his shirt fall back down, leaving me feeling a bit disappointed; I wasn’t just checking out my homie after such an emotional moment—that’s horrible. Gotta focus on the task at hand. 

Making sure Naomi keeps her mouth shut. 

“ANON! REED!” 

A green blur is rushing towards us at supersonic speeds, almost crashing directly into Anon. It’s Stella, her eyes flicking to the weed whacker and back to Anon’s grass-covered pants and shirt. Her eyes were welling up with unshed tears. 

“You’re not hurt, are you!?” Anon goes to speak, but Stella had other plans. “No, no! I’ll check, stand still.” 

Stella begins to pat Anon down, trying to find any injuries, asking him if it hurts as she pokes his arm; if anything, I think he’s ticklish because he’s laughing up a storm—now where is my support?

“¡Buen Dios todopoderoso!” Rosa quickly approaches me with the same look of concern. “What happened!” 

Taking a calm breath as I look back to Anon and Stella; they seem to be doing fine. 

“The weed whacker went haywire and almost exploded onto Anon.” 

Rosa gasps loudly as she quickly takes to checking me for any injuries the same way Stella did to Anon; I can’t help but laugh as she pokes and prods my tail. 

“Ahaha… S-stop, Rosa, you don’t need to do that. I’m fine.”

Rosa lets out a huff before waving her finger at me. 

“No good.” She slaps my shoulder. “It’s standard practice for me to check, okay? But… I see everyone is fine. I guess we’ll call for lunch.” 

Anon and Stella approach as soon as the word comes out of Rosa’s mouth; oddly enough I see Anon’s mouth watering, seems we have that in common. 

Stella moves to retrieve the weed whacker, her smile fading for just a second before bringing it to the shed; emerging with a curl to her lips, she’s bright as per usual. 

Rosa begins to walk off to the main courtyard, seemingly to probably use the microphone to call everyone to the outside seating area for lunch. 

Anon appears by my side, and I can’t help but inch closer to him. For some reason, I don’t want to leave his side right now… 

“Come on, bro, let’s go eat.” 

Anon nods silently with a soft look as we head over to the main seating area. 

. . . 

Anon’s thoroughly enjoying the food, and so am I. I fucking love Rosa’s cooking; it’s literally soul food for my munchie-filled mind. 

Stella’s chomping at the bit to fill Anon’s ears with anime facts and something about tarot readings; meanwhile, I really can’t get rid of the thought of Naomi. 

I know she’s a bit weird, oddly controlling, and manipulative. 

Anon’s eyes show so much; so much hurt is behind them, even as he smiles at me, laughs at my lazy attitude, and always engages me. He cares without even knowing he does. 

I don’t want what happened to him back in North Dakota to happen here; I have to ensure Naomi doesn’t say anything… but I’m not the person to do it. No… I can’t. 

Lightbulb!!! 

Quickly pulling out my phone, sliding towards my texts. Damn straight, bro; the right person for the job, even if she doesn't like Anon—I know she’ll sympathize with him. 

R< “Hey Trish, can I ask for a huge favor, big dawg?”

“I’m not cleaning your drum kit again; last time you managed to throw up inside the big tom-tom.”>T

R< “Nah, nah, it’s not that, homie, long story short. I and Anon had a close encounter. And Naomi saw. Catch the drift, big dawg?

“Close encounter? Wait, wait, what’s going on here, Reed? You’re being cryptic; just spit it out already, idiot.” >T

R< “I yanked Anon too hard, we fell onto each other, and Naomi saw. Anon fell into a panic attack and came out to me as gay. He’s worried that Naomi will spread some rumors about him.”

“HE’S GAY” >T

“Fuck it, as much as I don’t like the skinnie, I won’t let Naomi fuck with him like that; I’ll handle it. Been meaning to give her a good talking to >:(“ >T

R< “Don’t kill her, bro.”

“No promises.” >T

Chapter Text

\Trish/

The LEDs shine brightly in my room, blackout curtains blocking any semblance of the sun as I stare at Reed’s contact. 

I really got myself into it this time; fucking Skinnie just had to go and get caught by Naomi. Besides that, why was she even snooping on him? He’s not that interesting or intriguing; he’s just a pile of flesh who snaked his way into MY friend group. Now he’s gone and got himself wrapped up in some bullshit I have to bail him out of. 

Really only doing this for Reed. 

Gripping the phone as I sit on the edge of my bed, the plush yellow comforter conforms to my weight as I slightly bounce out of nervousness. Why do I have this harsh outlook on Anon… I’m outright racist to him, being nothing but hostile towards him out the gate, just because he wormed his way into the group, becoming friends with Reed like it was nothing, snatching Fang’s attention from under my nose. Fucking hell, he even influenced the band! 

What’s stopping me from just letting Naomi make a situation out of this! Nothing, that’s what. 

My hand began to tremble around my phone, my harsh grip letting out a startling crack as I broke my protective case…. 3rd on this week, fuck me. 

Anon… he just effortlessly integrated into the group, and… and it hasn’t been horrible; he’s gotten Reed to be more attentive, and fuck, I know the double bass was never going to work. He just came in and fixed everything without even knowing it half the time! He’s the complete opposite of me… opposite of me, that’s it. My actions backfire while his work. He barely tries; I try too hard. 

Now I have to save his ass because he’s gay. How’d I not even see that? All he does is stare at Reed at lunch all the time; he’s practically connected to the Raptor, for Christ's sake. 

Okay, okay, you don’t like him, Trish. That hasn’t changed, but you’re an ally. It’s my job to help him adjust without some stuck-up rich bitch picking on him for it. 

And I fucking hate Naomi down to her soul, the snobby rich slut born with a diamond-encrusted spoon in her mouth. 

Maybe I can get Fang to help out; they won’t mind escaping from detention again. 

Quickly I tear off the broken phone case and toss it carelessly to the side, opening my messages and thumbing onto Fang. 

T< “Hey Fangy, do you think you could see if Naomi’s still at detention with you?” 

“Naomi? Why, are you trying to pick another fight, hot stuff?” >F

T< “Did Reed not tell you what happened?” 

“No, not at all; you know him.” >F

T< “Long story short, Pookie, Anon’s gay; Naomi saw something out of a sitcom happen between Reed and Anon. Reed’s worried she’ll do something with that info and hold it over Anon or worse. So I’m acting as muscle.” 

“First of all, I could tell he was gay; second, that’s fucking hilarious, ‘sitcom moment’; third, I got a solid hour more of detention and no way of escaping.” >F

“I would escape and help if I could, but Rosa’s on high alert for some reason. I’ll look around for Naomi and report back, but in the meantime. If you find her before me.” >F

“Don’t kill her.” >F

T< “Like I said to Reed, no promises. I’ll text soon. I'm going to start the hunt now. 

Okay, Fang will tell me if anything happens—but for now I have to check the usual spots. Mall or her house… shit, I’d rather not have to track her down to that damned Moretti house. Fucking top 1% of this state. Rather wouldn’t want to repeat what happened in sophomore year, even if that liquor cabinet was totally worth the sirens and lights. 

Hopping off the bed and quickly throwing on my usual hoodie over my tank top; maybe I’ll go with some lighter sweatpants—those tracksuit ones will kill me in today's weather. Yeah, best to use the leggings. 

The house is quiet, and thank Raptor Jesus, I would have been swarmed trying to leave. 

First I’ll scout the mall and check the stores Fang and I have seen Naser and Naomi in on our weekly hangouts; she’ll probably be in some icky fucking pink-coated store, shopping for the latest trendy item to hang off the backpack she never even carries around. 

Fuuuuck… I might have to deal with Naser’s crippled ass. 

Whatever, just get my shoes on and hit the ground running. 

Grabbing my phone and checking the bus station times and routes before buying a ticket on the app—better to get it now than deal with the driver stealing more money from me. 

. . . 

The crappy air conditioning of the bus rattles on and off as I lean on the window, seeing the familiar streets that lead to the mall outstretched before me. I was just here last weekend. Fang dragged me out after a pretty bad night. It was fun though, just browsing items we both couldn’t afford; nabbing a few things from a hot topic while the workers weren’t looking… haha. 

Buzz 

Pulling my phone out of my hoodie pocket and quickly opening Fang’s text. 

“Naomi is nowhere to be found. I even snuck into the school to check the office—nada.” >F

“Texted Naser; he hasn’t answered. It definitely means he’s with Naomi, so be prepared to deal with the FWR.” >F

Just my luck, of course it can’t be as simple as just her being at the school, and as I suspected, Naser will be involved. Fuck me with a capital F. 

T> “Thanks, pookster; have fun pulling weeds, bitch.” 

“Ha! You must think dealing with Naomi is better??? You’re crazy; of course I’ll enjoy pulling weeds.” >F

Fuck, yeah, they're right, well… I don’t even have a proper comeback for that.

The bus comes to a halt before I could think of anything to type back; quickly I pocket my phone and exit the bus. Giving that old Spinosaur a glare, the creep was staring at me the entire ride. Fucking drop dead. 

Entering the mall, I’m hit with probably the busiest I’ve seen this place; I feel like how Anon must have felt on the first day of school—it’s a goddamn sea of colors, and I don’t think I’ve even seen some of these colors before. 

Alright, snap out of it, Trish, we got a Para to track down; rough her up a bit and make sure she shuts up about what she saw. Have the memory erased. 

Alright now, all I have to do is check those princess stores, and I’ll be set in finding her; but with such a huge crowd around, it might be better to check out the usual places where most people from school hang around at, and if Naser’s involved, I’m sure he’s trying to get some privacy with her. Dude’s a weirdo, so I’m going to assume he has some sort of public kink… Ugh, I’m getting shivers thinking about it. Pervert. 

Taking the escalator to the second floor, looking over the railing a few times down at the clothing stores—trying to see if I can catch a glimpse of Naomi or Naser. Mainly Naser, since his fucked-up wing would be hard to miss. 

Nothing. 

Voldecara Mall is huge, but also half the stores on the second floor are out of business or on such a weird schedule that the only chance you’ll see them alive is the weekend or weeks before holidays; as I reach the top, a group of kids run past me, screaming about some horror game, and the last kid going along has some sort of brown bear mask on. Funky-looking top hat too. 

Pushing forward, while glancing around like I’m paranoid, still failing to see any sight of the retarded couple. 

Finally I’m met with the most dead part of the mall. Closed down stores with pure white walls blocking entrances, the area being filled with those massage chairs you pay $15 bucks for a mediocre massage. Some people from school are gathered around, sneaking hits of vapes without really hiding the smoke that well. 

My main reason isn’t here though, and neither is the fucked-wing retard. So I’m either shit out of luck, or I have to search this whole fucking mall! 

Once again, fuck me. 

Alright, maybe I’ll just start small with the top floor; there are not too many open stores, so if I work from top to bottom, I should be done by midnight. Ughhhh, FUCK. 

. . . 

Damn, I could have sworn she’d be in this hellscape that is build a Dino; the counter lady was trying to sell me so hard I couldn’t even look at the animals I could have bought. 

Walking out of the last store up here, I can feel my mood start to lessen. 

The idea to abandon this task filters back into my head; it’s not a bad one—I really don’t think this’ll grow into anything more than a misunderstanding. It’s not like Naomi had personal records of Anon’s… past… 

Shit. Student council—she could just dig up dirt and add fuel to a growing fire. 

Okay, for Reed. This is for Reed, not just Anon. 

Walking towards the escalator, a shiny white leather coat catches my attention; it’s got a few spikes on the shoulder pads. Wait, wait… is that Curtis? 

Thick Cuban links around a flower-tattooed neck, deep black jeans that look silky to the touch, and shoes that would make a monarch weep. Yeah! That’s the drummer of Swamp Babies! 

Technically he’s part of our rival. That’s if we even make it to the battle of the bands this year. Ugh, I don’t even want to remember what happened last time we tried; I should have gone to guitar right after that instead of being stubborn, and it took a fucking skinnie to make me realize that—what’s worse is that it took him one day! 

I see his eyes land on mine, the pale red of his eyes quickly averting as he just straight up ignores me by burying his head into his phone. 

Come on, dude, I know you saw me. 

Rushing over, hands in my pockets as I approach. 

“Hey Curtis, mall day, huh?” 

Curtis quickly gives me a warm smile, the one that was shot at me after that horrible incident last year. Nothing changes, I see. 

“Aha, yeah, a little break before practice. Speaking of, is VVurm Drama playing at the battle of the bands this year?” Curtis rubs his wrist before his eyes widen slightly. “I get if you guys don’t; the crowd was a bunch of ripe assholes last year. I’d like to see you guys there, though.” 

You poor soul, Curtis, too kind for this place. But I won’t let that stop us this year; he’s right, we’re going to play. Even better this year. 

“Those dicks can go fuck themselves.” I make the typical fucking gesture with my fingers. “We’re gonna play, and play to win. You won’t get an 8th win on our watch.” 

Curtis smirks slightly as he lets out an amused snort; it seems he’s going to play into my mood. 

“Ohhhh? Is that so? Well, we’ll just have to see, purple one.” 

The purple one? Is… is that his try at name-calling? Pffft, okay. 

Pulling out my phone and swiping through a few pictures, while I have Curtis here, maybe he’s seen Naomi or Naser. This could be a godsend in disguise as an all-too-nice raptor. 

“Hey, have you seen these two dickheads around here?” Turning the phone around towards Curtis, who bends down slightly, “I have to talk to them, that’s all.” 

Curtis looks up over my phone as my tone lowers; it seems he’s catching onto the overall drift I’m shooting at him. 

Standing back to his original posture while fidgeting with one of his golden piercings on his snout. 

“Can’t say I have, man—and I’ve been here practically all day, waiting for the homies to hunt for new equipment to practice with” 

Well, shit out of luck, I guess, but that confirms that Naomi isn’t here at least, so I’ll just check her house. Screw it, I guess. Stuffing the phone in my hoodie pocket. 

“Well, thank you, Curtis. Oh, and by the way,” I begin to walk backwards, giving Curtis the middle finger. “We’re gonna beat Swamp Baby’s ass!” 

Curtis laughs as I begin to bee-line for the escalator. 

Maybe I should text Fang to see if they would have any idea where else Naomi would be with Naser rather than just appearing at the fuck's house. B-line to exit it is.

Waiting at the entrance of the mall, I pull out my phone to text Fang. I should have bought a new phone case while I was inside the mall, but they’d probably charge me out the ass at those stupid little kiosks. 

T< “Hey weed eater, malls clear before I make a house call. Do you know any other place Naser would take Naomi?”

“Sup, short-stack, I think he mentioned a coffee shop by the coast. I think it’s along that road before the pier.” >F

Short-stack is actually insane; I'm going to put my foot in their ass soon. 

T< “Alrighty, thanks, Pookie >;)”

T< “Oh, how’s Anon holding up?” 

“Well, he’s currently glued to Reed’s hip. They're both helping with weed pulling; they actually make a good pair the more I listen to them.” >F

“Is that weird to say? Like, yeah, Anon’s gay, but I can’t pinpoint Reed. He blushes at Anon sometimes, but that could just mean he’s high too.” >F

T< “What happened to your ‘gaydar’? Doesn’t it work on Reed?” 

“Oh, piss off, Trish, go kill Naomi already.” >F

“Don’t take that seriously.” >F

“Worried about the Skinnie, though? What a change of heart.” >F

T< “Whoa whoa, who said I cared for the fleshbag? I’m just preventing something stupid from happening.” 

“Sure you are, miss ‘I just found out the dude I bully is gay and now I feel bad’ LOL.” >F

T< “You know I’m gonna kill you after this, right?” 

“Booooo boooo so mean. Hurry up then.” >F

I don’t care about this skinnie prick, and it’s fucking annoying that Fang can so accurately call me out like that! They know I’m an ally; I can’t sit back while someone I’m supposed to support is going to be put in a shitty situation. It’s settled then; I’m going on a little beach vacation. To find a peach-colored bitch who’s, depending on my mood, getting an ass-kicking or a good talking to. 

Once again I find myself purchasing a bus ticket, this time paying extra due to it being a weekend and the destination. Stupid pier isn’t even that fun; how in the hell is it busy? Thank god I won’t have to even tread that boardwalk. 

Well, better just hurry up and wait. 

—Eat The Rich—

Stepping off the bus, giving the driver a glare before getting off, he also just gave me the creeps. Why does everyone in this place have to be fucking weird? I should really invest in getting a car. What do I even have my license for?

Walking along the sand-covered sidewalk, noticing the crisp smell of food stands floating through the air, bringing back a few memories of when Mom used to bring us all here, fighting over funnel cake. I miss that; now all Mom does is work, work, work. No time to herself, let alone the family. 

Looking out towards the horizon, feeling the light breeze hit me with its salty scent. The incoming waves cascade onto the golden sand, making it turn tan and damp; it’s almost like the first time I met Fang. Right here along this coast. 

They were running around, wearing some pirate costume; foam swords and all were swishing in the air as I was building a sandcastle. They accidentally ran into it, tripping in the process—I was furious until I saw them begin to cry and worry. Helping them up, they made me their first mate. "Pirates for life," we said. 

I miss being a kid; I find myself thinking about it a lot more now that school's coming to an end. I have to worry about college and what I’ll do if this band doesn’t pan out. 

Nah nah! Fuck that noise, Trish, the band will succeed, top of the motherfucking food chain! 

Okay, shops are literally another few feet. 

Coming up on the damp sea green shop, the sign shaped like a big coffee mug, in script saying— 

“Life’s A Beach” 

Pffft, can say that again. 

Pushing my way into the small shop, quickly making looks around the few tables; some customers meet my gaze and quickly avert it as I’m probably looking pretty pissed right now—because I don’t fucking see Naomi anywhere! I don’t even see a Parasaur… 

Okay, next best option. Just ask the barista if they’ve seen the bitch. 

“Hey! Trish, so good to see you; come on over, sugar!”

A damp southern accent pulls me out of my inner thoughts, the barista waving to me… Wait. Natalie? 

Hurrying over to the front counter, I quickly recognized my mom’s friend. Natalie, another triceratops. Taller than most of the ones around this town, though, must be great. But I have bigger tits, so take that, southerner!

“Now what’s my favorite girl doing all the way out here by her lonesome? You oughta have a boy on your arm.” 

Natalie slides a hand through her long black curls, showcasing her bright yellow strips over her opal black scales. Which just really overexaggerates how much she’s not from Dinofornia. 

Rolling my eyes as I rest my head in my hands on the counter, looking over her green apron. The manager tag is sparkling like it's brand new. 

“Oh! You noticed?” Natalie grips the nametag with glee. “I just recently picked up the position, honey! Oh, it’s great, but by how you look, girl, I’m assuming you aren’t here for coffee. Spill it.” 

My eyes widen slightly as I feel the warm weight of her words; she’s just like my mother. Well, she has kids, so I guess it makes sense; well, when in Rome. Taking out my phone and getting to the same pictures I showed Curtis, placing my phone on the counter facing Natalie. 

Natalie’s lips curl down slightly as she stares at my phone. Like she’s trying to decide if I’m up to no good here, which I am. 

“Have you seen them here earlier? I’m trying to get to this girl, Naomi—I have this paper for my band that needs to get signed before Monday. It’s important, but she’s been impossible to get ahold of.” 

Natalie narrows her gaze onto me, like a hawk settling in on its prey; all I have to do is just straight-face this, and it’ll pay off. You got this, Trish. 

“Well, why didn’t you say so, sugar? Anything to help the band; unfortunately, they just left an hour ago. Got into a nasty-looking car.” Natalie swishes her hair lightly. “If you ask me, that little lady could do better than that little boy-toy of a Petro kid.” 

“You’re telling me, Natalie? Well, thank you so much.” 

I quickly grab my phone, realizing this day has come to the worst possible outcome; I’ll be making a stop at the Moretti residence… Aughhhhhh, fuck me! 

“Oh Trish! Before you go, take this card; I could use help around here if you’d be interested.” 

Taking the card from Natalie’s hand, it might not be a bad idea to get some work in if I’m going to be spending all my money on bus tickets today. 

“Thanks, Natalie, I’ll give you a call.” 

I wave goodbye as I hurriedly speed walk out the door and towards the bus stop, passing by the familiar sight of my childhood. Taking one last deep breath of the salted air. 

This whole day has been nothing but a pain in my ass, all for this skinnie and Reed. 

Reed better do all my math homework for a week after this, not just the classwork. He owes me for where I’m about to show up. 

The Morettis. 

—Feeds The Rich While Burring The Poor—

Walking through the front gate passed the sleeping security guard; what’s really stopping me from taking his walkie-talkie and hiding it in a bush for shits and giggles? 

Super tempted, but I've got a point to make here. 

Approaching the main housing area, it’s quickly becoming apparent to me that Naomi and I are on totally different levels of security; her parents just kept on getting richer over the years, working with the city and probably doing super shady shit under the nose of this town. Because no one gets this much money without stepping on a few toes, and they're Italian; they have to be mob. 

Naomi’s house is easy to spot, what with Naser’s ghetto-ass car being parked in the driveway, riddled with more bullet holes than a junkie in Skin Row. 

The 3-floor house looms over me as I walk up the neatly trimmed pathway; the yard is cut down so perfectly that every blade of grass looks exactly the same; next to an extremely rounded rose bush is an election sign. 

“Vote Cassandra Moretti for Mayor!” 

Ugh… fucking politicians. What’s worse is her whole campaign is about forcing human-dino diversity, like we already don’t have that in every state; only the backwards states still do segregation. Rich assholes missing the entire point of becoming this city’s mayor don’t even know the real problems we face as regular people. 

The door looks like it’s made out of fucking marble; it’s clearly wood, but goddamn, can they not be bothered to at least pretend to care about appearances? 

I press my finger to the doorbell, ringing it over and over until I get an answer—and I won’t stop. 

“Fucking stop!” 

A muffled voice echoes through the door, prompting me to stop, not because I was told or anything, but because I’m soon to get an answer; yeah, that’s it. 

The door cracks open slightly as a tall Para pokes half her body out. Wearing a white tank top and blue jeans, I can see her tail wagging aggressively back and forth. Unlike most paras, she’s got huge fucking spikes. Her eyes look enraged. Teeth bared to me, looking like she was ready to bark. 

“The fuck do you want, shorty?” 

The malicious voice casts down onto me; I’m about to fucking cause a scene. 

“I’m here to see Naomi, bitch.” 

The para cracks a smile before opening the door fully, gesturing for me to walk in; this place is fucking huge and super open. I can literally see the living room and half the kitchen from the doorway. 

“Sit on the couch or something; I’ll call for her.” 

The Para walks towards the stairs as I head straight towards the couch, sitting down on the soft velvety cushions. It’s like a cloud; fuck, I wish I had money. 

“Hey, Miss Perfect! Some fucking Trigga is here to see you; get your ass down here before I get you myself!” 

Trigga!? I’m going to seriously fucking kill this ill-tempered bitch… Wait, wait. Is this how Anon sees me? Fuck… I’m a bitch. 

Whatever, inner turmoil later; Naomi interrogation now. 

There’s a pair of heavy footsteps stomping above me as it starts heading towards the staircase; coming down is Naomi, looking quite disheveled. The top two buttons on her shirt are missing, mascara is smudged slightly around her eyes and some on her cheeks… What the fuck have I just walked into?

Standing up from the couch, looking over the rest of Naomi… 

Her pants have these slight fucking rips to them, particularly around her waist. Her face is flushed as she stares at me in mild shock and confusion, then over to who I can assume is her sister. 

“Mia I’d appreciate if you didn’t call Trish here a… you k-know.” 

Mia rolls her eyes before giving Naomi an eyebrow raise before pushing past her and onto the first few stairs. 

“Maybe you should have cleaned up before coming down, slut.” Mia heads up the stairs, flipping us both off. “Good luck, Trish, was it? Naomi’s a bitch.” 

Glad to see someone agrees with me, but I don’t really like that it was her. 

“S-so… what brings you over, Trish? It’s a bit odd seeing you here, you know?”

Naomi’s voice cracks as she struggles to stand slightly. Leaning on her left leg primarily for support, her eyes do their best to avert mine. 

Rolling my eyes as I approach closer. 

“There’s a perfect reason for this not to be odd.” Placing a claw on Naomi’s chest, letting the point almost leave an indent in her scales “You saw something in the school garden today, something that you’d best forget.” 

Naomi’s left eye twitches as they stare at my hand, her glasses lopsided on her face. 

“You won’t be using it against anyone, because right now nothing happened, got it, you fake bitch?” 

Gotta lay on the harshness; it’s the only way this peachy cunt will understand me. Just then a thwack is thrust against my hand; the fucking bitch slapped my hand away. Naomi looked furious, like all that practice to be this perfect student council president just wore off, placing a hand on her hip and entirely changing her body language. Defensive. 

“Don’t you dare put that filthy hand on me. I’ll have you in detention for the rest of the school year, Trish. Try me.” 

“Like I give a shit, Naomi. I’m just here to make sure you don’t spread some fuckass rumors about what happened.” 

Naomi begins to lightly pace around the bottom of the stairs, mumbling under her breath. Something about a plan, how it’s ruined, or something. Well, of course she’d be planning something with this info; looks like I actually did something about it. 

But I should get this confirmed; just press her a bit more, pushing closer, close enough that our breaths begin to mingle in the air. 

“Spit out whatever the fuck you’re mumbling, Princess.” 

Naomi gives me a scowl before gesturing towards the door. 

“I suggest you leave… now.” 

“I’m not fucking leaving until I hear that you won’t spread rumors, Naomi.” 

Naomi stomps her foot lightly before gritting her teeth. 

“Fine! You win whatever stupid fucking game you are playing, Trish. I won’t spread any rumors about today, okay? Now get the hell out of my house. Please.” 

Rolling my eyes as I head to the front door, flipping off Naomi as I open the door. Slamming it as I walk into the open air, breathing it in heavily, getting the scent of that house out of my lungs. 

Alright. That’s done, and I might just have a job at a coffee shop soon. All in all, besides it being a bitch of a task in the beginning, this wasn’t a bad day. 

I should invite Fang to the beach sometime. 

Oh shit, right, let me text Reed; I got it handled. 

\Reed/

Swaying my head to the left, catching the last empanada that Anon so graciously tossed to me. Rosa’s cooking is so good; love those spices, homie. Anon laughs as I let my tongue hang out to lap up the few bits of sauce I let dribble onto my snout. 

“G-great catch, man.” 

Anon smiles at me as I give him the signature finger guns. 

“Thanks, compadre.” 

Buzz buzz buzz 

Oh shit, that might be Trish; quickly grabbing my phone from my pocket. Leaning my hands onto the wooden table the gang is sitting at. It seems Anon has started talking to Rosa, thanking her for the food; Sage brings up how he’ll bring food next time. If he does, I might just get myself into trouble for it. Oh shit, yeah, yeah, texts. 

“Dealt with the issue; it was super fucking stupid, but Naomi won’t be doing anything stupid.” >T

R< “Thank you, bruh, it was in my head the entire time.” 

R< “I really owe you one, brohauncho.” 

“Yup, let’s say you do my math homework for a week, yeah? Saw some weird shit today.” >T

I already do your math work; homework will be a piece of cake. Very small price to pay, man. 

R< “Sure thing, bro, count on me.” 

Turning my attention to the table once more, it’s great to see Anon much more relaxed again. Even if he does seem a bit off still, hopefully he’ll calm down by the time I take him home. 

A pale claw taps my shoulder; looking up, I see Fang give me a roll of their eyes as they sit down across from me and next to Sage, giving me the stink eyes before cracking their knuckles and flinging a few particles of dirt onto the table. 

A finger is pointed to me. Oh boy, man. 

“You’re a dick for not letting me win that thumb war, Reed. You know how much I hate putting the tools away.” 

Fang cocks their neck to the side before retracting their finger; all I can do is present a smile as a snicker escapes my snout. Alright, time for the finger guns, big guy; this’ll get them going. 

Shooting Fang, the gesture I’ve grown to inherit as mine from Dad; all they can do is roll their eyes before letting out a huff. Just then the whole table's attention is drawn to Rosa as they stand up, hands laid flat on the table. 

“Está bien.” Rosa stands proud. “Since we’re all here, I think it’s time I and Stella go make the ending statement.” Stella quickly gets up to stand by Rosa. “Let’s all go then.” 

Anon gets up first; I follow suit, kind of putting some pep to my step so I can walk next to him. He’s my bro after all; I have to stick by the homie. I think that’s why I’m getting so close anyway… 

Looking behind me, I catch Fang and Sage walking close behind; they both give me an eyebrow raise simultaneously, which sends a chill down my spine. That’s scary, bruh. Gathering near the front of the wooden stage, watching Stella fiddle with some wires and an amplifier; setting up the mic—a loud static screech echoes through the whole garden, prompting Anon to cover his ears next to me. Ha, a guy full of muscles has sensitive ears. 

Some distant chatter forms around us as more and more students gather around; the feedback probably brought the homies over. Rosa steps forward, tapping the mic slightly before leaning forward on the podium. 

“Could everyone please gather round!” Rosa politely asks into the mic; within the next minute the rest of the lingering bros gather. “¡Excelente! Now I’d like to thank everyone for their hard work today! We’ve come so far with this garden, with the students before us and the people who’ve helped now. I’d hope to see those I’ve personally helped today back here, and that time being a part of our wonderful club!” 

The crowd is mostly silent save for a few coughs and whispering conversations. Anon looks up at me with a shrug, which I return; not much to say here, homie. 

Rosa closes her eyes briefly before extending a hand to the table next to her; it has a few stacks of paper on it—Stella waves to the crowd and does, like, an imitation of those “as seen on TV” salesmen towards the paper. 

I could really use a smoke break; I’m too sober for this, bruh. 

“Gente dura que veo…” Rosa continues to point to the table, putting on a big smile. “If any of you would like to sign up, please come onto the stage and fill out an application. We could use all the help you could give. With that—" Rosa extends her hand in a shooing manner towards the crowd. “That being said, everyone go enjoy the rest of the weekend!”

The crowd lets out a collective cheer before sprinting towards anything that could be considered an exit. Harsh, bro... shit, if you weren’t careful, you’d definitely get trampled on out here. Shit’s dangerous. No one even moved to sign an application. 

“Isn’t that something, An—”

Where’d he go? 

Glancing my eyes around for Anon, I find him leaning over the table on the stage; Stella next to him points to certain points on the application for him to sign. Wow, never thought I’d see this happen. 

Emerald green flashes to me; for a split second I capture Homie's eyes, seeing his smile before he looks back down at the paper—like his look is begging me to approach. This is a strange feeling, man. 

Heading towards the stage, going up from the right-side steps, I look back towards the now empty courtyard area—Fang is staring at me with a slack-jawed expression, mouthing something to me.

I can’t read lips, bro.

As I approach the table, I see Rosa give me an eyebrow raise before smiling and walking off the stage with a little flowerpot. Stella catches my eyes with a smile that could probably rival the sun. 

Anon stands fully back up, placing his hands on his back, pushing forward to crack it. 

Yup, saving those biceps to memory, bruh. 

“Oh! Are you signing up too, Reed?” Anon’s eyes capture mine; I see his neck turn a light red. “T-that’s cool; we’d be like flower bros.” 

I just let out a light chuckle before nodding to him. I feel like today's been nothing but an emotional roller coaster for him and me; just keep it flowing, homie. 

Anon hops off the stage and heads over to Fang; they get to talking quite quickly. I’m glad they at least like him. Trish is… going to be difficult. Well, it looks like I’ll be becoming a part of the gardening club today. I don’t mind being around flowers every Saturday. Walking to the table, picking up a pen, and leaning down, Stella leans down with me—her eyes narrowing on me. 

She’s got this serious expression I can’t place; it’s a bit uncharacteristically serious, man.

“I saw what happened with Anon Reed, how you both had a ‘slice of life moment’ indeed.” Even when shocking the shit out of me, she maintains that anime love. “Not that I’ll use that against you, but… I must ask, d-did Anon tell you anything? Like about his home?” 

My grip on the pen loosens slightly as I listen to Stella; it’s one thing to see what happened, but to ask something that, I think, is personal is another… 

Stella blushes slightly in what looks to be embarrassment before shaking her head sideways. 

“I don’t mean like that!” She whisper yells “I mean me and Anon have been online friends-“ Stella takes out her phone showing me a bunch of texts dating back quite awhile “-for a long time online, I-I just want to know if-“ 

“If he came out to me? If Homie finally vented about how horrible it was before Bro transferred?” Stella looks shocked. “Then yeah, compadre… He spilled his guts; his father and that prick Johnny need to, need to jump off a cliff or something, man.” 

There’s a growing harshness I haven’t felt in some time bubbling as I remember how Anon described how his home twisted in the matter of a day… If I ever see that Johnny, I’ll break his teeth in. 

I let my eyes travel to Anon, his hands resting in his pockets, head tilted to the right as he listens to Fang yapping, who currently has their wings spread wide and arms making wild gestures. Letting out a deep sigh I never knew I was capable of, my eyes turn once again to Stella. Her expression is even more striking. 

“Reed…” Stella places a hand on my shoulder softly. “Promise me you’ll be the friend he needs. You’re the only other person he’s opened up to.” 

Stella’s eyes look glossy as she stares intently into my soul. 

“Of course, homie… He’s my bro.” Stella smiles as she lifts her hand. “I’ll make sure he enjoys every day, homie, plus he’s a great addition to the group.” 

And I mean every word; Anon’s been such a good homie. Helping the band, adding a new dynamic, and just being funny; he’s also kinda good looking. Shit, stop, bruh; it's not the time. 

Really have to smoke soon…

“You’re a great friend, Reed; I mean it.” Stella points to the final portion of the application. “Just sign right here and you’ll be set; I’ll do the rest later.” 

I quickly put my signature before placing the pen back down. Giving Stella a fist bump as I head off the stage; she’s also another bro… broette? Eh, I'll work on that later. 

Heading over to Anon and Fang, I see their wings collapse and the story seemingly coming to an end; shame, I always like when they go on tangents. 

“Sup, brohuanchos.” Swinging an arm around Anon’s shoulder, “Y’all having all the fun without me? No fair, bros.” 

Anon hits my chest with his head before giving me the stink eye… heh. 

“Yeah, actually, Fang was trying to sell me on this get-rich-quick scheme. Had me thinking they were Trish for a second.” 

Anon laughs lightly as I join him; Fang just gives us both a double middle finger. 

“You two are slowly becoming pricks.” 

Ring Rinnnggg Ring 

Fang quickly pulls their phone out of their pocket, letting out the heaviest sigh ever; yup, it’s probably Naser. God save his poor soul. 

“What the fuck do you want, retard?” Yup, there it is: “What the fuck do you want me to do? You think Dad’ll listen to me of all people. Think, dumbass.” 

Anon looks up at me with a concerned look; yeah, I remember my first “Fang and Naser” call. This is probably the most tame it can get, bro. 

Fang begins to pace a few feet back and forth. 

“Ughhhh fiinnnnneeeuah, I’ll be home whenever, retard.” Fang hangs up and gives Anon a weird look. “Anon, apparently you’re welcome to swing by my house whenever you want to pick up your dirt bike.” 

“Dirt bike!” I love those things. “You didn’t tell me you had a dirt bike, homie; whaaaat?” 

I unlatched my arm from Anon, gripping both his shoulders, shaking him a little bit, and watching his blushing head shake slightly before I stopped. Yeah, he’s kinda cute too… I started to notice that about Homie more. 

Fang, however, looks very confused. 

“Anon How in the hell… I… I don’t even know where to start.” 

Fang places a hand on their forehead, looking like they are about to get a serious migraine. 

Anon runs his hands down his chest before taking in a small breath to relax himself, his eyes darting around before focusing on Fang. 

“I… when I came here, your dad was the one who took me to my apartment in Skin Row.” Fang looks shocked. “My grandpa is a cop and knows Mr. Aaron personally, so he asked him to escort me and keep my bike he shipped safe until I could retrieve it.” 

Anon looks like he’s become a soldier, hands at his sides lining up directly with his jeans seams. Even his legs are close together… Soldier boy over here haha. 

“Okay, okay… Please don’t tell me he did anything stupid taking you to Skin Row; he’s such a dick when working.” 

Fang looks at Anon with a slight worry; they're not wrong, I know Ripley wants to kill me half the time… Not cool, homie. 

“N-no, Mr. Aaron didn’t do anything, no.” 

Anon puts his hands out in a shaking gesture as he stammers out his panicked response to Fang, who just nods. 

“Would you want to grab the bike today?” 

“Yeah, that’s a good idea, homie.” 

I turn to Anon with a lazy smile; I want to see him ride. He’s got to be a pro. Anon backs up slightly with a heavily thinking expression, or at least I think it is. 

“I don’t know, guys, SkinRow isn’t really safe to leave a car out at night or day for that matter, let alone a dirt bike, and putting it inside my apartment would take up more space than I have.” 

Anon has a slight curl to his lips, forming into a soft frown. Nope, not happening on my watch, home dawg. 

“How about I keep it in my van, man? I’ll put up one of the bench seats and store it, homeslice.” 

“I suppose that would work, but are you sure, Reed? I don’t want to be a burden.” 

I slap Anon on his back with a laugh, flashing a toothy smile. 

“It’s totally fine, homie; let’s go get that bike already!” 

Before I can even get a response, I’m marching off to the parking lot; I’m getting this homie his bike. Fang and Anon soon follow. 

Hopping into the familiar indented driver's seat cushions, smelling the carfeinated air with a big inhale. Ahhhhh, it’s good to be back. Now, where’s that thermos… Rummaging next to my seat as Anon hops into the passenger seat—ah! There it is, grabbing the top of the thermos and cracking the seal, feeling the slightly mud-like liquid wash down my throat…. Yeahhhhh… I’m good now. 

“I knew it; I knew it was bong water.” 

I look over to Anon, who seems to have mumbled that without knowing… 

“It’s just agua, bruh.” Anon raises an eyebrow at me. “Okay, homie, you got me.” 

I jam my keys into the ignition; before I turn the key, I hear Fang let out the biggest “ughhhhh” ever as they flop onto my seats. Turning the key over, the van shakes to life as the engine roars through the cabin; the next step is music. Leaning forward, I mess around with the dial of the partially fixed radio. 

“Aww shit… Sorry again for not fixing that thing, Reed.” 

“You’re cool, broseph; we got the whole school year for you to fix it.” 

Anon nods as he looks out the window; I’ve noticed that after the incident with Naomi… he’s been quiet today, and not just normally but oddly. Even if he engages, it’s not like he’s himself. Makes sense, but I hate it. 

. . . 

Pulling up to the curb of Fang’s house, parking as close to the sidewalk as I can get; less walking to get the bike in the back. I let the engine idle as I shift into park; there's no point in shutting it off. I turn to Anon with what I can only feel is a lazy look. 

“Soooo, are you a good rider, man?” 

Anon blushes heavily as he looks into my eyes, his own widening. 

What… what did I say… oh shit! 

“I! I didn’t mean like that, homie! I mean, like, the dirt bike man, I swear!” 

Anon begins to laugh before pointing at me with one finger, his free hand holding his stomach as he threatens to fall out of his seat… 

“I got your ass, man! You should have seen the look on your face.” 

I can feel my muscles contract strongly into a smile before I’m full-blown laughing with this idiot; he fucking got my ass, man. 

“FUCK!” 

“SHIT!” 

Fang bursts into the main cabin, scaring the living shit out of Anon and me, both of us slamming into our respective doors. Fang laughs hysterically before straightening their expression out, wiping a loose tear. 

“Sorry guys… Not really, because that was hilarious. Also, my dad's staring at us from the front door. Thought you’d both like to know.” 

Anon’s the first one to look out the window, but Ripley stares directly at me, disregarding Anon and Fang entirely. His face contorted into a pure expression of disgust. Harsh man

“Well, we better rip off the bandaid now, right, compadres?” 

I grip my door handle, pushing it open. Anon follows suit as we both exit; speedwalking to the back of the van, I grip the doors, letting Fang out. Getting a face full of double middle fingers before they rush towards the main pathway to their house. 

Anon gives me a worried look; I just nod. He nods back as we follow Fang up the pathway. 

“You know what I told you about hanging with that stoner young lady!” Ripley grabs Fang’s arm before they can push past him. “I forbade you. What more will it take, and I’m assuming you roped in Anon with this drugie?” 

Harsh and harsher, man… 

“Ughhh, you’re such a dick, Dad!” Fang rips their arm away from their father, pushing into the house. “And for your information! Anon is his own person. I don't control who he befriends!”

Up close I really can’t fault Anon for looking as worried as he is; Ripley is massive, super muscular, and has the experience to back it up—homie’s practically a super soldier from RockRing, and he isn’t afraid to act like it either. 

Ripley’s wings extend out slightly, blocking the rest of the entrance; eyes preyed onto me and Anon with extreme scrutiny. 

“Anon, I hope I’m right in assuming you’re keeping out of trouble?” Ripley eyes Anon intently. “I’d hate to explain to your grandpa why I have you down at the station.” Ripley turns his eyes to me this time. “And I trust, Anon, you haven’t let this… stoner… peer pressure you?” 

Anon straightens up once more; this time it is so noticeable that he was probably raised by some army guy, with feet planted together and hands along his inseam. Standing tall, he’s actually taller than me by an inch, I think, when he does that. Looking over to Ripley, I see him smirk before nodding. No matter how much Anon is trained, he still can’t hide that sweat dripping from his forehead though… I’m rooting for you, compadre. 

“I’ve been on my best, Mr. Aaron; I’d hate to let down my grandpa. I love him.” 

Ripley pats Anon’s shoulder lightly… What is going on here, man? 

“Good” Ripley crosses his arms before letting out a sigh. “I assume you’re here for that dirt bike then? It’s in the garage; I’ll open it up from the inside. Just go stand by the door.” 

Anon nods, looking at me as Ripley closes the door on us with a slam. Anon drops his rigid form, letting out a cough before wiping his forehead free of that layer of built-up sweat; homie's a trooper. 

“Come on, compadre, let’s get that bike.” 

I dab up Anon with a smile before pulling him into a side hug; we quickly head to the garage door as we hear it begin to open up. 

Light fills the once dark room; whoa… holy shit, is that Ripley’s motorcycle? I’ve never thought he’d be a rider. Anon, let’s out a light chirp as he runs to his bike. Hugging the seat like it’s his child, mumbling over it—meanwhile I’m looking at this chopper, long handlebars, all black with deep blue pinstriping along the gas tank. A helmet too small for Ripley rests on the seat collecting dust… This can’t be Sam’s bike? 

Whoa… I can kind of see it. 

Anon brushes his pants free of dirt before looking like he just won the lottery. 

“You don’t get how much I missed this bike, Reed.” Anon runs his hand over the worn and cracked foam seat. “I used to ride every day after school, smashing into trees and ditches. I had the wind on my dome and freedom.” Anon grips the throttle, twisting it. “I miss her.” 

I don’t think that was for the bike. 

THUD 

The door to the house had opened, Ripley stepping out as he bent down under the small doorframe, making sure to not hit his head. He smiles at Anon as he walks over to him, completely ignoring me. Well… bleh!

“How have you been holding up in SkinRow, Anon? I hope school’s going well.” 

Anon gives Ripley a thumbs up. 

“I’ve been fine, sir. SkinRow is easy to manage once I picked up on who to avoid and who to cross the street for.” Ripley lets out a heavy rumble of a laugh. “And school’s going good; no problem with grades.” 

Ripley reaches into his pocket, pulling out a jingling set of keys and handing them to a beaming, joy-filled Anon, who gladly takes them. I seem to be invading on some sort of thingy; I’ll just lean out the garage for a bit. Still listening, of course, hehe. 

“I’m very glad to hear that, son. Well, give me a call if you ever need help out there; I promised your grandpa.” 

Anon nods as Ripley exits back into the house, the door slamming closed. Time to re-enter; hovering over Anon’s shoulder, I can tell he’s really happy to have those keys back. 

“Freedom?” 

“Yes, Reed, freedom.” 

Rounding to the other side of the bike, gripping the left handlebar; Anon’s been dying to ride this thing, yeah? He obviously can’t do it here in this neighborhood; Ripley will have his ass on a platter. Maybe I could invite him over today—do donuts in my backyard… or just play video games… watch a movie… 

Nah, homies already had a hectic day; he probably just wants to take it easy back at his apartment. Gripping the handlebarturned my head to Anon. 

“Alright, homie, ready to load this bad boy up?”

“Sure thing, man, let’s get it going.” 

Anon goes to the back of the bike, grabbing the body and letting the kickstand go up as I handle the handlebars to turn it as we go; we make short work of loading it into the back of the van. Fist bumping as we close the doors. 

—I Won’t Let You Go—

Shifting the van into park and looking over to Anon as he unbuckles his seatbelt to step out, I follow suit. I just want to make sure Homie gets in okay… nothing weird about it, yeah. 

“Oh, you don’t have to walk me up, man.” 

“It’s fine, bro; I don’t need you falling down those crappy-looking stairs, man.” 

I lightly snicker as Anon rolls his eyes at me; he eventually lets out a chuckle before gesturing for me to follow him up the rusted staircase. Shit, I’d probably get like three different viruses if I touched this railing. 

Anon jams his key into the door, his hand shaking subtly as he grips the handle; his eyes meet mine, and I can’t help but stare into his emerald rings; he has such vibrant eyes it’s really… captivating. Anon’s face becomes flushed, his pale skin giving away his bashfulness as always. 

Slam 

I almost get the wind knocked out of me as Anon collides into me; he wraps his arms around my back, hands gripping my tank top as he shoves his lightly stubbled chin into the crook of my neck, and my scales shiver from the contact. Oh… he’s really warm. I can feel his breathing shallow; the beating of his heart is becoming as rapid a tempo as mine during practice wailing on the drums; I rapidly wrap my arms around him firmly, pulling him closer into the hug. Homie's arms are so strong.

“R-Reed… I can’t thank you enough.” I can feel a slight shivering spread through Anon’s body connected to mine. “You… I… I really needed you today; it felt so good to let go.” I tighten my grip, a feeling of wanting to protect Anon filling my head. “I was so scared to… to finally let go and tell someone, and I’m really glad it was you.” 

I can feel a deep, searing heat rise to my snout. I’ve never blushed like this before, man... it’s hurting my heart hearing how somber his voice is, even if he’s thanking me. 

“O-of course, Anon, we’re… we’re homies, remember—gotta look out for each other.” 

Letting out a deep breath, I retract my arms as Anon hesitantly breaks the embrace. Leaving me feeling a bit colder than usual… 

“I guess I’ll see you at school?” 

Anon grabs the door handle, finally turning it, stepping halfway into his apartment trying to hide his extremely red face; I feel the urge to say something, to ask something I can’t seem to form the words for.