FSE

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Bones sat on the broken concrete, still wet in the shadow of their previous residence. The museum was at the city's lowest point, and though two weeks had passed, the storm's presence lingered from littered bones to shattered glass to the pothole that tripped Mac.

The young man, now in damp civilian clothes, coughed as he got back on his feet. Wiping mud and pebbles off his jacket, he couldn't even think of words to describe how shitty he felt. Instead, he coughed again and hacked up a snot rocket before picking up his rucksack—one of the few things that remained after his eviction.

The room-for-rent was on the twelfth story. Walking haggardly through the first floor, Mac passed the under construction lobby. Its rotting wood floors and exposed insulation gave way to damp carpet and peeling wallpaper up to the elevator.

Of course, the elevator wasn't working, according to the "OUT OF ORDER" sign taped on its fake-wooden door.

Another door, made of heavy steel, was Mac's next best option of getting up. Up to four flights of stairs, that is.

By the time he reached the twelfth floor, Mac was gasping and about to collapse. He leaned against the door marked "EXIT" and, with all his weight, pushed. He landed in the hallway on the oversized backpack, like a turtle on its shell.

With baggy eyes and a runny nose, he pulled out his phone. He pulled up the contact titled "Landlord-Smelter." It was the name and number of the advertisement. All that was exchanged by text had been the bare minimum.

"I'm interested in your apartment."

"First pay, first serve. Here's my PayPal."

Mac received the link, did the transaction, and then posted a screenshot of the receipt.

"208 Chucalassa avenue. 1208. Text me when you've arrived." Was the landlord's response.

Now he sent her a new text. "I'm here. Could use some help."

Message sent. Message received.

Mac dropped the phone on his chest and waited in that weird position. It brought a feeling of nostalgia, of times in the field at basic. But, then, the mud was warmer, the water dryer, and he never caught a damn cold. But, on the other hand, it made him think that familiar tinge of regret. That maybe he should've gone active. Then, at least in the desert, he would've never caught a damn cold.

And he would have the company of the same men with who he had graduated. His Brothers with whom he shared every waking moment in training. And now he was lucky that once a month, he received a text.

Mac felt the need to reread those texts. Maybe even see if anyone was looking to catch up after so many years.

Then to his left, he heard the opening of an apartment door.

Turning, he saw a familiar figure.

A five-foot-tall, blue-feathered, big-eared lizard wearing nothing but a bra and shorts.

He was shocked to recognize her and even to see her in fewer clothes. Her breasts were even more exaggerated in a bra, swinging as she ran to his side.

"Are you okay?" Smilter knelt beside the water-logged man. "Are you Mac?"

"Yes," Mac said, getting up. He felt the need to cough but stopped to offer his hand instead.

The feathered lizard ignored the kind gesture. Instead, she jabbed a thumb to the stairs. "Do you have more stuff?"

"Yes."

"What's your car?"

"Blue Talon."

"...what does that look like."

Mac remembered that, despite the poor state of the roads, there were still cars filling every parking spot available. "Flip-up lights."

Smelter went for the door before pointing to Mac's left. "Go start unpacking. Feel free to close all the windows."

Did she recognize Mac? No. She couldn't have. The entire time she was with him, it was while unconscious. Any surprise in her eyes was at how he was, not who he was, thought Mac.

The interior of her apartment was sparse. Mac stepped from one brown-wallpapered hallway into another brown-wallpapered hallway. A living room was visible at its end, with large floor-to-ceiling windows. To Mac, they were fancy and not what he expected when he heard "open windows." Instead, they moved on a hinge attached to the ceiling to a hand-crank.

To the right of the entrance was an open the door to a bathroom. To its left, a closed-door covered in baseball, football, soccer, and various other stickers of sports balls.

Mac didn't see where his room was, so he walked into the apartment. Dropping his stuff in the living room, he saw a table that would be at home in a Japanese house, a mini kitchen appropriate for the apartment, and another door.

He placed his things down and sneezed. A tinge of worry filled his mind. Was he so sick that she would kick him out? Maybe the cold was getting to his brain and filling him with unnecessary anxiety.

The man sought a place to sit and gather his thoughts. Instead, the door from the living room opened quickly and revealed his new bedroom—nothing on its walls, nothing but a bed, and a nightstand on its floors. What amounted to a shortened hallway described the abode. But it was all he needed.

Mac placed his rucksack at the foot of his bed.

"Do you only have your army stuff?"

Mac spun round to see the blue dinosaur carrying both of his rucksacks single-handedly.

"They're just for moving," Mac replied.

Smelter dropped the bags inside his room.

"You're a soldier still?"

"National guardsman." Mac sniffled, wondering what she was getting at.

"I didn't think I'd be housing a soldier, but I'm grateful all the same." She put her hands behind her back and swayed a bit."To be honest, I was rescued by one some time ago."

Her eyes looked up, crystals of blue that reflected the room's lamp light with brilliance. Mac couldn't look away. He blushed, and like a virus, it spread to the dinosaur. So preoccupied, he didn't notice the snot dripping down his upper lip.

Then he sneezed into his elbow.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry one second."

She ducked out and then returned with a roll of toilet paper. "I used up all my tissues, so I hope you don't mind this."

"Thanks" Mac took the roll, reminded of when he'd have to carry his toilet paper around in training because the bathrooms always ran out.

"You like soup? How about I make some. That should cure your sickness." Vibrant energy was in the Smelter that made Mac wonder if she was doing this for other reasons.

"Sure."

With enough excitement to leave behind a feather in her wake, the dragon left Mac's room. But, of course, the kitchen was next to his door, so they exchanged casual chit-chat as he unpacked and she cooked.

"Do you have friends?" asked Smelter.

"Yeah," replied Mac as he folded underwear.

"Do you keep in touch?"

"I don't like to talk."

"Well, neither do I. But I don't have any friends."

Mac took a second to process that, staring at the boxers in front of him. She was with those five women. But they could've just been classmates. It's not like he was good friends with kids in college way back when. They were all fake. Talking to remind themselves they could speak. Or talking to get something out of him.

Mac had run out of clothes to fold. But if she didn't like to talk, why was she speaking so much to him? Then again, maybe she was vetting him.

Then he realized he had been silent for ten minutes.

"Fewer friends equals quality." The words escaped his lips like rocks falling down a canyon. They came to him naturally, but he didn't know how to say them without being robotic, how he spoke feeling embarrassed.

"Hah hah! You know, I think we are going to get along just fine."

An unfamiliar feeling swept across Mac. Relief. At the very least, when it came to talking to his landlord, he would only have to worry about what he said. Not how.

Mac also enjoyed how she laughed.

"Soups up!”

On the table were two plastic bowls containing red soup. Carrots bobbed inside the steaming liquid as Mac came over and knelt beside Smelter. Who was slurping down the soup with ease.

“I know its strange, but believe it or not my parents were Japanese.” She said once her bowl was empty.

“Nice.”

“I don’t speak Japanese though. I had no patience for Hiragana.”

He gave her a silent nod, sipping soup with his spoon as slow as possible. The heat and flavor was a godsend in his current state. He could almost feel his sinus’ clearing up.

“So were you activated during the flooding?”

Another nod, ‘yes.’ Another spoonful of soup, this time downed much faster.

“Wow.” A spoon clanged around the edge of the empty bowl as Smelter seemed to preoccupy her mind. “Is it true the state ran out of funding, and thats why you had to leave early?”

“More complicated.”

“Oh.”

“I dont know anything.”

“Ah.”

The soup was really good. Maybe it was just a warm meal after days of cold wetness that made the canned food so much better. Or maybe it was what the meal represented. Peace and a return to comfort. A chance to rebuild after all that destruction and change.

Whatever the reason, Matt’s nose cleared and he could smell again. There was the obvious odor of the meal in front of him, remaining long after he finished the bowl. There was the tinges of water and cheap paint that the apartment wreaked of naturally. And then there was the smell of fish. That, mac figured, was just something his landlord was cooking up before he arrived.

He wasn’t the type to pry.

Smelter suddenly raised from the table and stretched.

“Hnnnng welp, I’m going to go to bed now.”

She started for her room, again with a sway to her hips that acomadted her smooth swishing tail. “Just leave your dishes in the sink.”

“Oh, and please don’t close the windows.” Smelter said sticking her head out the corner.

Then she disappeared, Mac hearing the slamming of her door.

One part of him worried that perhaps he had made a bad first impression. Another part was so excited to finally be sleeping in his own bed, he didn’t care.

He stripped to his underwear, closed the door, and crawled under the sheets. As he drifted off to sleep, a drowsy thought passed by.

“I would love some of her fish.”