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Chapter 2.

19:12, Sunday, the 4th of March. 2028.

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I hadn't meant to fall asleep, not a bit, but I was tired and strained in ways I'd never been, and they were just so warm. The tent kept heat in like you wouldn't believe – some gipsy trick, my tired mind supplied, thoughts a slurry in my half-awake brain. And then, like grains of sand through a sieve, the events of the day slipped back into place.

Staring at Hrod, getting called out, being convinced into visiting and… I sat up, the blanket slipping from my bare shoulders. It was funny, really; at a glance, they could be mistaken for a woman. A lithe, serpentine body, a narrow waist and wide hips. The slit nestled between their hind legs, just below that lithe tail, didn't help the confusion.

I dressed quickly, the slight shake in my hands making it so I got my head stuck halfway through. The button-up felt too tight, stifling, and itchy. The hoodie was roasting, but it was familiar, and in that moment, I needed something familiar. Something grounding.

Unfortunately for my peace of mind, the rustle and muted curses woke up the tent's only other resident. “Oh, good. It wasn't a dream,” they murmured, slowly rising, a toothy yawn showing off rows of sharp teeth and a long, split tongue. I flinched. How was it that them being a dragon was the lesser of the two issues? Their bright, almost luminescent eyes locked onto me and how haphazardly dressed I was. “Ooh, are you running?” They got up fully, back bending and spine popping, claws pressing into the spongy padding. “That's not very nice, Cole.”

Was I running?

“I'm not,” I said, pulling my hand free from the inside of the hoodie and properly tightening my belt. “I've got work to do. It's…” I stopped myself. It had been the start of lunch when I joined Hrod, and I only got forty-five minutes. I climbed off the foam pads and unzipped the side of the tent, wincing at the rush of frigid air.

The field was utterly abandoned, with only a few boxes and discarded wrappers remaining. The work van was gone, the tables, the cars. Only Hrod's half-arsed stall remained, their tables seemingly not even worth stealing. The sun had almost set, and were I not in the midst of a panic attack, I'd have thought it pretty. But I was. The van was gone, which meant so was my work and most definitely the job I'd had to virtually beg the job centre for.

I hurried back into the tent, snatched my phone from between Hrod's legs – “Rude” – and powered it back on. Four missed messages and a call I didn't dare play. “Another girl?” Hrod ribbed, trying to see my phone from over my shoulder. I pulled away.

Tom work.

> Five minutes left.

> Where are you?

> Be back in ten or you’re gone.

> Leaving now. Make your own way back.

And then a voicemail.

I felt hot.

No. Cold. A burning cold that spread throughout my legs and made my chest prickle with tense non-heat. I'd missed my shift because I was too busy getting laid. I'd just vanished during it. Not even a heads-up. That got people fired. I had no excuse either.

“Cole? You good, hun? I, uh, didn't break your mind that much, did I?”

I swallowed, pulled on my sleeves and shook off a chunk of the nerves. “I, uh, fuck… I slept through my shift. My boss sent a bunch of messages. I-I might've just lost my job.”

That mask. That smug, ever-calm mask slipped. They strode over and took my phone from me, skimming the messages with steely focus. And then they smiled. “No, you didn't, you dork. You're definitely in some shit, but you're fine. They wouldn't send the last one if you were gonzo.” They reached up and prodded me in the side with a talon. “Remember when you dropped that, uh… blinky thing, and you had a panic attack? And I calmed you down by bending over?”

The fear flickered like a wind-brushed flame. “N-No, I don’t.” I plodded over and put my shoes back on. “I need to go, Hrod. Buses will be stopping soon, and I have to get home and call my work. I don’t even know what I’m going to say to them.” I knotted my own laces and had to kneel down to do them properly. “This is a council job. I-I really can’t make mistakes like this. No. Shit. It’s too late to call them…”

Hrod began taking down their tent, moving with surprising swiftness, sorting poles and fabric and packing them away neatly. “Do you even know what buses to get? We’re far out.”

“No.” Fortunately, I’d brought my backpack with me, so nothing important was missing. I turned my phone back on and tried to put mobile data on, only to be unable to catch a signal. “Fuck, fuck. No signal. That’s… That’s why we’re helping with routers. Christ’s sake.”

“I’ll take you back. Just help me pack up first.”

By the time it registered what they’d said, the tent had already been disassembled and packaged away. Behind the tent, I noticed, was a cart. A rickety cart. The kind a mediaeval peasant might have used. Hrod threw the tent pieces into the back, along with the blankets and foam, which was carefully taken apart. They got in front of the cart, latched themselves to the front and began pulling it forward, carrying their supplies with them.

I grabbed what they’d missed and added it to the pile, trying to make it so it wouldn’t fall out. Next were the tables, which we folded twice each and added to the pile. They then unlatched themselves, reared up on their hind legs, gripped the fencing for support, and began organising the supplies.

They made space, I noticed, in the centre. “Sit down here, and I'll drag you home, but I'm getting something for it.”

Choices, free will – why even bother?

“What?” I paused. “Hrod, I don't… I-I’m not in the mood for this.”

“I meant tea, you little freak. But if you're offering…”

“Hrod.”

Hrod chuckled and nodded, settling back into place at the head of the chart, fastening the strap across their shoulders and chest. I hesitated, but really there was no other choice. It was too far to walk, and I didn't know the way back. The weeks I'd spent on site had been thanks to the gruff supervisor who drove me. I wasn't even supposed to be helping with technical issues. I was an admin assistant for crying out loud, not IT support.

Still.

I climbed on top and sat awkwardly between the rolled-up blankets, miscellaneous knick-knacks and the foam padding. I tried my best not to think about what we'd do on the padding, but flashes remained. Barely more than a few hours, yet it felt like a lifetime ago.

The view of the dragon's flank as they strutted onto the pathways didn't help. It reminded me exactly how I'd… fallen. “Where do you live anyway? City, right?”

“Uhh, I… yeah. Just drop me off near the centre, and I’ll catch a bus home,” I suggested, trying to find some comfort in my position. “It's cool.”

They looked back, brow ridge raised. “You busted in me and won't even offer some tea? Do you do that to all the girls you meet? Not very noble of you, bro.”

“It's not that,” I tried, but my voice failed me. “I just don't give out my address all that much… Privacy…”

Hrod looked back at me, orange eyes searching, observing, trying to find any weakness I might have, and it really didn’t take too long. “Cole, I really don’t care if you live with your parents or something. I lived with mine until they kicked me out.”

“It’s different,” I admitted, swallowing. “She doesn’t like dragons, and she’s, like, umm, traditional?” A polite way of putting it, if I were being honest. Very polite. Borderline censorship. “She wouldn’t like you.”

Hrod laughed. A low, pleased chuckle. “Amazing. You’re worried your mum wouldn’t approve of a dragon who can’t even decide their gender.” Their grin widened. “Is she, uh, silent disapproval racist or up in arms racist?”

I hadn’t expected that, but, really, I should have. Hrod was Hrod.

“I don’t know,” I said. “She’s not even home. I just- like- I don’t want to risk it. What if someone sees you, or she comes home early?”

“It's dark and it's late; no one is going to see me. I'll just sneak on in, make some tea and get to lie on a sofa for the first time in months. I like my tent, but good gods do I miss cushions.”

There were things about Hrod I didn't know. Personal things that there hadn't been a good moment to ask about, but after all that had happened, I felt it only right to. “Do you really not have a home?” I finally asked. It'd been a theory, but their clean teeth and polished scales didn't quite paint the picture of a homeless dragon. Even their claws seemed filed down and looked after.

“Tell me where you live, and I'll tell you where I live. We can make it a game.” Smooth and unbothered. Like always. So confident. Maybe that's why I'd been drawn to them to begin with.

“Fine…” I would have anyway; I'd been on the edge. Wanted to see them more, even if it made that uncomfortable feeling in my stomach deepen. I gave them the address and didn't miss the little hum of surprise. “Your turn.”

“I'm not homeless,” Hrod said, finally moving up from a slow walk to a light jog. “My mum kicked me out when I brought a boy home. You think yours is bad? Try dragons. I, uh, crash with my sister when things get dicey, but I really don't want to make things uncomfortable with her mate, so I try not to stay too long.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.” I fiddled with the hem of my hoodie. “Why would things get uncomfortable? Is her mate against you or something? Is it his house?”

“Her house,” they admitted, voice softening. “But mating is supposed to be a pair bond. Partners for life. So if I cause them trouble, then that might make things rocky for the rest of her life. Like you said, people can be old-fashioned.”

I'd heard about that; thought it to be a rumour. Relationships almost never lasted your lifetime. I also very much doubted I was Hrod's first. “You really mate for life? And he really doesn't like you? Can you not crash with anyone else?” I didn't mean to keep running my mouth; it just slipped out all at once, fast and loose. “Don't dragons get free housing?”

They hesitated, the constant stride faltering.

I clenched my jaw. “Sorry.”

“It's fine.” Too quick. “We, uh, we're supposed to. If we're born, like, normal, y'know? Sort of a survival mechanic. My first was a drake who thought he could handle it, that he was like me, but the pressure got to him and he broke it off.“ They cleared their throat. “Kinda ruined things for me, too- y-yeah, to put it lightly. I've been with humans before, but you guys don't really do mating for life. Just messing around. Nice guys, though.”

I nodded, mouth pressed tight, trying to ignore the tension radiating throughout my body. “Is-”

They cut me off, defensiveness creeping into their voice. “Less than you'd think.”

I paused.

“I've only, um, been with four guys, counting you.”

Another nod. My legs felt like jelly.

“That's cool…” I managed to say.

They didn't speak any more about it. They just nodded, webbed ears flopping, long legs moving as they carted me away from the field and further into town. Houses began to appear. Rural at first, cobbled stone walls shifting into cheap council brick. I was so conflicted, my mind running a mile a minute, that I didn't even notice how dark it had gotten by the time we got to mine.

My house. Or as my mother would put it, her house, was small. A two-story residential with just enough space for her Honda. The empty spot was taken by Hrod, who placed the cart there and then stood to the side, tail swaying. “Hey, so can I come in, or are you still deeply afraid-”

“Yeah, you can come in,” I said quickly, not in the right mood for a Hrodvitnir quip. After fishing my keys out of my pocket and fumbling with them in the dark, I unlocked the door and let us in. It was pitch black, Mum always wanting to save on bills, so I had to go by memory to find the light switch, which I swiftly flicked on. “Just try not to scratch anything, please.”

“I'm not going to scratch anything, you baby.” They moved stealthily, each step almost silent as their long limbs gently guided delicate paws onto the flooring. I didn't even hear the floorboards creak like they normally did. “I could walk around here without your mum ever noticing.”

“You're not moving in with me and my mum,” I said quickly, a little harsher than I meant.

They just grinned, fangs glinting in the cheap lighting. “But what about the eggs? Do you expect me to lay our clutch in the streets? Think of the children!” I rolled my eyes, tried not to smile and continued on into the kitchen, where I put the kettle on. Hrod left me to go stomp around the living room, oohing and awwing at the ‘shinies’ we’d picked up from Mum’s country.

As I’d not eaten, I added water and some rice from the eternally full sack we kept near the cupboards to the rice cooker and cracked an egg lazily into a freezing cold frying pan. It wasn’t fancy and wouldn’t cook quite right, but what the hell. The kettle dinged. I took a clean mug from the overflowing sink and took out the Milo, adding too much on purpose. Mum had called it 'tsokolate' once, but I just liked how it smelt.

“What are you making, straight boy?”

I flinched and poked at the egg with a silicone flipper. It was sticking, but it needed to be torn up anyway – like the world’s laziest scrambled egg. “Food,” I said simply. “Rice and eggs – well, egg, I guess.” I hesitated, and then, “You want to share a bowl?”

“Yes, please. I’m starving.”

I could count the number of 'pleases' I’d heard from them on one hand, so it took me off guard for a moment before I nodded, scraped the egg and began searching my pantry for more flavour to add. I was going to be lazy, but… I liked them.

I added butter and salt to the egg, made sure the pieces were small and then shredded some ham into it. A decent amount. It was already cooked, but it had flavour. Then black pepper.

“Rice and eggs and ham? Very fancy. All for me.” I didn’t expect it, but they actually hugged me. Not a proper one. They simply placed their chin on my shoulder, their chest to my back, cheek brushing against my own. Their breathing was shallow, slow, and controlled. I focused on the egg… mix. For all her faults, my mother was a good cook. I barely knew any traditional recipes.

I put the rice, when cooked, into a bowl, topped it with vinegar, a smidge of salt and added the eggs and ham to the mix. A lazy meal, but the kind that was more filling the less effort you put into it. “Smells nice,” they said, not a trace of teasing. “Does it have a name?”

I washed a spoon and scooped up a mouthful once it was mixed. “Yeah, ‘really fucking lazy sinangag’. Normally you keep the egg whole and fry the rice with garlic, but I can’t be bothered. It’s also nicer this way.” I chewed it. Tangy yet savoury. Easy. “Try it.”

They opened their mouth. I paused.

They didn’t close it.

Pursing my lips tightly, I scooped a spoonful up and gently placed it in their maw, where they closed their mouth and chewed. Their eyes lit up immediately, and they leaned forward, clearly expecting more. I pulled away, held the bowl closer to my chest and left the kitchen, making sure to put the pan in the sink and shut off the oven. When in the room, I slumped down, melting into the sofa.

Hrod joined me, sitting up on the cushions like a giant housecat, eyes still locked onto my meal. I looked at them. Really looked at them. Lithe, powerful muscles, yet… thin. Maybe too thin. After having a proper mouthful, I passed the bowl over.

The spoon was forgotten.

They slurped up the rice, the eggs and the ham, and when that was done, they licked the sides of the bowl clean, split tongue lapping at the ceramic as if it were their first and last time eating. It was weird, but I guess… I’d never seen them selling food. Just toys and trinkets they’d made. I wondered what they ate or how much.

“Are you good?” I asked, taking the bowl and spoon from them. Hrodvitnir nodded, ears flopping, maw stretched into a broad grin. “Cool.” I returned to the kitchen, dumped the bowl into the sink and stopped to drink my chocolate. Hrod followed, like a clingy kitten, deigning to stand there by my side as I finished the drink and began washing up. They didn’t say anything; they just watched.

It wasn’t exactly fun.

I was just… cleaning dishes. Wiping the sides down with a wet wipe.

But they looked like they were enjoying themselves – existing in the same space as I ‘worked’.

When done, I stood to the side, my back to the counter, hands in the pockets of the hoodie I was still wearing. “...It’s getting late,” I said, unable to say anything else_._ There were things I wanted to talk about – needed to talk about – but the words would not come out. They were trapped. Like me. Irony, or whatever you’d call it.

“Can I have tea?” Hrod asked softly. So softly I didn’t fight it, point out that they’d have to leave even later, or anything like that. I turned on my heels, flipped the kettle on and prepped the drink. It took a bit, but as I made it, they got closer and closer, slowly, returning their chin to my shoulder.

And then, before I realised what they were doing, they pressed so tightly against me that I found myself pushed up against the side. My pulse quickened, eyes widening.

Heat and pressure and that smell they always had about them. Like warm, clean earth and spice. Uniquely them. I mostly smelt of tiredness and sweat. I realised I’d not even cleaned up since we’d done that… thing.

“You’re tense,” they said, lifting a paw to brush along my waist. I tensed, heart beating hard against my ribs. I could feel it. That flush on my cheeks, the way my skin felt prickly and almost hot. Their claws were fine, smooth things. Not very long, nor sharp. Perfect, almost. They pressed past the hoodie and dug into muscle. I felt myself twitch, but again, I didn’t stop them. “Thinking ‘bout stuff?”

They brushed their cheek against mine. “No,” I lied. “Just making tea.”

“Are you sure?” Their paws dipped lower, sharp digits raising the fabric and slipping beneath the hem. Then lower, underneath the cheap work shirt I’d bought. Bare skin. I froze up, dropping the spoon. Talons dragged slowly and softly up and down my side, sending shocks up my spine. I was so caught up in the movement, the energy of it, that I stopped making the tea. “Hm. Not as skinny as I thought,” the dragon whispered, claws prickling against my tensed stomach.

My face was burning, my fingers digging into the sides of the kitchen counter, white from the pressure. Again and again they teased and pushed, and again I did nothing but sit back and take it. I wasn’t scared of them, not even a little; I was just… I didn’t know.

I think I liked it.

They didn’t reach for the cup, even when the tea had finished steeping; they kept me pinned. “Can we go upstairs?” They asked gently. I went to protest immediately, but they kept me close. “Nothing weird… honest. I just… want to talk.”

I didn’t speak. I didn’t trust myself not to say something stupid. Didn’t trust myself not to end up on my knees again like some sort of-

Queer.

That was the word, right? That little barrier descriptor you used when you didn’t want to call yourself gay or bi. It was a nice word, I thought. Anything but saying I wasn’t straight, which… didn’t feel fun. My fingers tightened on the sides of the mug.

Thankfully, I was able to push them away as I turned to grab the milk, paw slipping from my side. Were they even nonbinary? I’d never asked, and they’d never said. Everyone at the car boot sale always called Hrod them.

Was that better or worse?

They’d said I could call them my girlfriend, so that wasn’t…as…bad.

I think.

Was that denial? Did I want to call them that? Why?

“Ahh, no milk please,” Hrod said, pushing against the long-life carton. “Dragon curse – we can’t have lactose; it gives us the shits.”

I put it back, hands still shaking. “But you, uh, you had the eggs? I cooked that with butter.”

“Nah, that’s fine.” They took the mug from me – our moment forgotten, it seemed – carefully holding it. The dewclaw was too high up to grip, so they dug their talons in. “When we go through integration, we get shown what’s good and what’s bad. Most of the lactose is churned out, and you only cooked with a bit.” They sipped the drink. “I’ll be fine.”

“You speak English really well,” I commented, needing a topic change. “Is, uh, are dragons just good with languages or something?”

A smile. Small and evil. “Take me upstairs and I’ll tell you.” Another sip. “Again. I just want-”

“Why?” I asked outright, holding their gaze, frustration bubbling up. “Why do you want to go upstairs so badly? W-What do you want to do up there that you can’t do down here? I’m not stupid.”

They flinched, ever-present grin faltering. “Cole, relax. I-I just want to talk. I’m not… Look, I get how I seem, but I just… want to see your room. I’m sorry. I can tell you about the language thing now. Sorry.”

Weakness.

Vulnerability.

I hated seeing them like that. I also hated that stupid mask they put on.

“Fine, let’s go upstairs.” Hands in my pockets, I headed upstairs, mind spiralling. I’d been less conflicted when pressed up against them inside the tent. “You can see my posters.” I said lamely, hand sliding up the chipped paint of the bannister. Hrod followed, walking on three legs, cup held tightly.

My room was small. Just enough for what little furniture I owned. A small, white desk I’d bought off eBay and a single queen bed I’d used my own money to buy more blankets for. On the desk were a few books I’d read and my laptop, a Lenovo just barely strong enough to run Fighterz.

“You really like Dragon Ball, huh?” Hrod stated, pointing at the posters I’d hung up to cover the atrocious paint job. “I, uh, knew a guy who really liked anime – or his mate did. Always bought the books from a woman who used to sell them.”

“Manga,” I correct, plopping down into my desk chair. “I’ve got a couple, but no complete sets. They can be expensive.”

“Nerd,” they snorted, placing the mug atop my desk and plopping themselves down on my bed, shuffling around until they were laid comfortably on their side, the curve of their haunches almost enough to break my concentration. But concentrate I did – concentrate on turning my laptop on and checking my emails. Nothing about me being fired, just the usual spam.

“We’re a hive species,” Hrod declared suddenly. “We spend most of our lives in one big nest, so we’re surrounded by other dragons. We’re great at communicating – this is why we can learn languages so fast. Not, like, magically fast, but still quicker than you guys. My species of dragons especially. We can’t fly, so we’re stuck with one another.”

“Oh.” I opened up Messenger, gave a thumbs up to an uncle and closed it. “You… Didn’t you say you didn’t have wings because-” Pause. “-you’re male, right?”

Hrod smiled. I braced for a remark, but, “I was messing with you. It’s an inside joke with my kind. I, Cole, am a spiny drake, which means even females don’t have wings. Archons – the type with wings – are probably what you’re used to. It’s… Ahh, it’s annoying to explain to someone who’s not a dragon but a drake, right? A drake is a dragon without wings. It is also the name for a male dragon of any species. I am a spiny drake drake – yes, I know it’s dumb. Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not going to laugh. It’s kinda cool.” It was, at least to me. Years later, and there were still things I didn’t know. I, of course, knew that there was more than one dragon race, just none that niche.

“Yeah, Archons get wings, but our methane sacks are bigger, so our fire is better.” A grin split their muzzle. “Hey, if we ever finally kiss, you should see if your tongue can reach my spark plates.”

My fingers stalled above the keys.

“Your what?”

“Spark plates,” they said, the crinkle in their eyes letting me know they knew they’d stunned me. “They’re these special teeth that can make sparks when clicked together. This lights the gas up, and boom! Fire! What, you thought it was magic or something?”

“A little bit.” Email. Facebook. Email. Email. And then I looked at them. Laid on their side, half curled, snout on a forelimb, orange eyes on me. They were beautiful. “...Can I ask you something?”

They looked down for a moment, then back up at me, eyes focused and expression solid. “Are you going to ask why I'm non-binary, Cole?” I sat up a little straighter. “You're not the first. Don't look so… you.”

“Half right,” I replied, tapping against the coffee-stained surface of my desk. “I was thinking more on if you were. I realised I never actually asked. Everyone at work just says “them” if they’re talking about you.”

Hrod nodded and seemed to think on an answer. “Mm. Happy accident you figured it out then – well, half happy depending on what people said, but let's ignore that for now.” And then they raised a paw, spreading their sharp, curved talons. “I am, yeah, but the, uh, reason isn't very… nuanced. I just… I don't like the expectations that come with being a drake or hen – one or the other. Being dominant, being soft, being calm or being in charge. It's a hassle, so… why bother?” Their eyes met mine, suddenly and sharply and then calmly. “That's why I said I don’t mind if you call me your girlfriend. Boyfriend, girlfriend – it doesn't matter to me. Why not neither? Or both?”

It… didn't make sense to me.

Couldn't they just be a feminine man or a masculine woman?

But I guess I didn’t need to get it, maybe. Maybe they were just them.

“Which do you prefer?” Hrod asked, tone tender.

“Sorry, what?” I fixed my posture. “Prefer?”

“Girlfriend, boyfriend, partner? Do you have a preference?”

“Oh.”

…

…

“...I don't know.”

Not no, not yes, not even a maybe. An uncertain answer to an honest question.

“Can we kiss?” Hrod shuffled forward, almost hanging off the edge. “Sex is one thing,” they began, “just heat and wetness and lust. Your mind gets cloudy, and you just move. You don't need to think… but—”

A car pulled in.

I jumped in my seat, skin crawling with ice-cold fear. I got up, nearly stumbling, leaned over my desk and stared out of the window, watching as a blue Toyota pulled up, only to soon pull back out. Not my mum's car, thank god, but the scare left me shaking. Hrod's cart could be seen very easily. Really, it was harder not to spot it, talk about it, and spread news of it. I took a breath, shuffled and sorted my thoughts and turned to Hrod. “It's getting late. We'll talk tomorrow.”

“Oh, right, yeah. Umm. Am I staying the night or…?”

I couldn't kick them out. I didn't like that they'd pestered their way in, but I'd not said no. I was an adult, and I'd decided I'd wanted to see them, so I'd let them in. Besides, it was late, and the idea of them walking through the neighbourhood by themselves with a cart full of merchandise put a pit in my stomach. I didn't know where their sister lived, but the only dragon district in the county was a good distance away.

“Yeah. You can have the sofa if you want. Will your stuff be alright outside?”

“... I'll move it inside.”

“I'll help.”

“Thank you.” They smiled and got up, and for a moment, looked like they wanted to say more, yet didn't, nor did I push. There was always tomorrow, as much as the idea made my stomach churn. Hiding in the middle ground was nice. No labels or worries. But it couldn't last; I could feel it. Work would come to pick me up, and Mum would be back. It had to end eventually.