Don sat down at the table, looking down at the plate in front of him. Sitting on that plate, with its menacing aura, was a pile of cubed beef bits, with delicate swirls of fat throughout it. He speared one with his fork, and brought it up to his mouth. His tongue extended, barely touching against it before retreating back into his mouth. He pushed the fork inside, trying to cut through the meat with his folded fangs, only to push into the meat with an odd sensation. He moved it around, trying his molars, which were farther back than he was used to, and eventually settled on ripping against the meat with his few front teeth.

Fetter busted into the room, causing Don to jump about a foot into the air, taking the chair with him. The fork flew out of his hand and clattered against the table.

"Hey Don. How's the bed treating you?"

"It's... good. Thank you."

"I can't believe you were just sleeping on the floor in here. What would you do without your big brother dragging a metal frame over from the old medical bay for you?"

"I would be fine. It's carpet. I have a pillow."

"That's no way for a person to sleep!" Fetter's voice was dripping with enthusiasm now. He slapped Don on the square of the back while he looked at the plate on the table. "Oh! How do you like the food? It was expensive, so you better say good. Fifty dollars a pound, Grant wouldn't let you get anything cheaper."

"Fetter, can you just let me be right now?"

"Why? Something wrong?"

"No. It's just I want some space right now." He eyed the plate of raw meat. A sense of guilt welled up inside him.

"Did I do something wrong again?"

"No! I just want to be alone."

"Are you sure-"

"Go talk to Nero or something. You haven't talked to him since you ended up here."

"I don't want to."

"Why not?"

"I failed him. I failed to rescue his friend after dragging him out into danger."

"So why don't you talk to him about it?"

"I feel bad! That's why. I can't just go willy-nilly back to him and be like- 'Hey Nero, I know I didn't rescue your friend, and I sort of caused that by bringing you along when you clearly really cared, but we are good pals right? How about some charades?' That's stupid. Why would I do that?"

"That's not how it would go and you know it."

Fetter sat down on the foot of the bed, resting his arm on the gray metal frame. He ran his other hand across the red blanket, feeling the fine texture of the tiny threads tightly meshed together. "It's what I feel though."

"Didn't Grant tell you that his friend was fine? Have you told Nero that?"

"No."

"Why don't you go tell him that. Bring him good news."

"I don't want to-"

"He doesn't know! Go tell him!"

"I'll call him."

"No! Go to him! Stop being a bitch about it."

Fetter shrunk back. "You don't usually swear."

"Just go."

Fetter stood up and rolled his shoulders around. He walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. "I'll go tell him. You'll be fine here by yourself?"

"Yes."

"You have-"

"I have Grant's number."

"Stay safe."

"You too."

Fetter left, leaving Don to his struggle against the plate of meat.

***

Fetter knocked on the door and stood back. There was no response. He reached out his hand again, but pulled it to his jacket, and tugged around at the collar. The door opened and an eye peeked through. It was a sad eye, with the dark circles under it now extending past the frames of the glasses in front of it.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"Hey Nero," Fetter said.

The door shut.

"Goddammit." Fetter breathed in sharply, then let out a heavy sigh.

He knocked again. Then he stood there. Then he knocked again.

Nero opened the door again, still just two inches. "What do you want this time?"

"She's fine Nero. Your friend is fine. I got confirmation from Grant."

"Is that it?"

"I guess?"

The door shut. Fetter knocked again.

"Go away," came a muffled voice from inside.

Fetter just opened the door, unleashing a cascade of noise as a pyramid of a dozen empty cans fell to the floor. "What the hell Nero, it's just been a few days."

"I knew she was okay already. Why are you still here?"

"I wanted to talk."

"Did you? What did you want to talk about?"

"I... I'm sorry."

Nero was already sitting at his computer, clicking on the screen as a character moved around furiously moving between enemies. "Sorry about what?"

"I... I don't know."

The character came to a halt. "Then why are you sorry?"

"Because I failed you. I don't know what part in particular I did wrong. Whether it was agreeing to help you, whether it was taking you along. Whether it was not fighting in a particular way. Maybe it was just not talking to you sooner."

"I'm angry."

"I understand."

Nero slammed his mouse against the desk several times. "I don't!"

"What?"

He angrily pushed his mouse and keyboard away, then spun around in his chair. "You did everything I wanted you to. You put up with my ridiculous ask. Don was right, we should have let the IMB handle it. We just caused more problems by showing up, but that was what I wanted, and then it ended up like that. And you got shot protecting me and-"

He stopped as tears started coming from his eyes.

Nero stood up. "Why didn't you tell me you were alive? I didn't think about it at first, because Don went out to find you, but then you both didn't come back. I thought that maybe something happened to Don, and then you were..." As he talked, he waved his arms about, making vague shapes and gestures.

"I thought I failed you. I thought you wouldn't want to see me after I messed up."

"Why would I not want to see you? You are my friend. You saved my life, again."

"I'm why your life was at risk in the first place."

Nero stood up, shambling towards Fetter. "That's not what I'm talking about."

"Are you talking about that mugging-"

"Not that either."

"I don't get it then."

"I'm not really expecting you to. It's just that. I got to talking with someone while you were gone. I had a pretty serious discussion. I figure you are the reason I wasn't just holed up here all the time. That with you around, there was that sense of adventure, that sense that I could live again. Then you didn't come back, and now I'm angry."

"You don't sound angry anymore."

"I am angry!"

"So who'd you get to talking to?"

"Oh, that's..." Nero sat back in his seat, done with his emotional display. "I can't tell you."

"You can't tell me? After you went on about how I saved your life?"

"I'm sorry. I really can't. I promised her I wouldn't."

"Hmm." Fetter stared closely as Nero averted his eyes. "You aren't two-timing that girl are you?"

"No! We aren't a thing!" Nero frantically waved his arms in front of him.

"If you've got yourself a girl, why are these cans everywhere? Stop acting so depressed! Lighten up! Stop trying to drown yourself in caffeine, let's get some light in here!" Fetter threw open the curtains, letting in some natural light.

"I thought you were dead! Forgive me for being sad!" Nero said defensively. "And I don't have a girl!"

"You don't?"

"No."

"But she had serious talks with you, consoled you, got a promise with you, maybe even held you close."

"That doesn't mean-"

"You don't even deny the last one. Have you already gotten to first base?"

"Fetter! Sit down! Let me recover, I've just been through an emotional rollercoaster and I need to process it. And close the curtain."

"So which one's more your type? The new girl or the old girl?"

"Please stop."

***

Fetter opened Don's door, whistling a tune to himself. The fluorescent lights illuminated just a few spots in the otherwise dark hall. It was getting close to the end of the month, and the power would be cut off soon.

"Hey Don," he said, catching sight of the leathery golden wings sticking out from the closet.

"Welcome home Fetter," Don answered back. "I take it your talk went well?"

"Yeah. He's doing better now. Turns out the real issue is I never told him I was fine."

"So did you two hug it out?"

"Metaphorically. I don't do hugs." Fetter sat down at the table.

"Stop trying to be an edgy weirdo."

"I'm not being an edgy weirdo. You're the edgy weirdo."

"What are you talking about. I do hugs." Don continued to shift around hangers in the closet.

"And you have fangs."

Don looked out at Fetter. "I didn't choose that. Why are you counting it against me?"

"Are you feeling better now?"

"Don't try to change the subject."

"It was just some throwaway small talk. I meant no harm." Fetter smiled at him.

Don pushed the contents of the closet all to one side before going over to the table. "I am feeling better now. That weird feeling I've been having is mostly gone. I think I could eat normal food for a while again."

"Would you rather eat normal food?"

"Why are you like this?" Don looked at him with an agitated expression. "Meat is so expensive. Of course I'd rather eat normal food."

"And if it wasn't?"

"It is." Don sat down on the bed.

"It doesn't matter if it's expensive. I need to get some cash money moolah to keep this place running anyways, feeding you won't be that much extra. My line of work pays really well, after all."

"Your last three jobs have all been setups to try and catch you."

"The next one will be different."

"Why would the next one be different?"

"You just gotta trust me. I'm working with Grant again. As a private investigator no less."

Don laid back, spreading his wings out from under him. "I thought the IMB outlawed working with criminals?"

"I'm not technically a criminal anymore. You see, I was wanted in connection with the Red Claw Gang, which no longer exists. So no problem."

"That's not going to work in court."

Fetter smirked at him. "Besides, I've got a pseudonym now."

"Dragon prince?"

"How'd you know?"

"Because you're an edgy weirdo. You've always had that idea of noblesse oblige that you even yelled at Randy about it. The motif of the Red Claw gang was always a dragon, so it makes sense."

"Am I really that easy to read?"

"Sometimes."