roommates.
You'd never questioned just why Emory had needed somewhere to stay. It made sense, given her circumstances; you needed little more than a cursory glance to see just why. Living closer to town than she ever had, nothing could surprise you anymore. You'd seen dragons. Dog-people. A man with an entire television for a head. Sometimes, the crowd would part, only for someone riding in on an actual dragon to make their way down the street like nothing was amiss. That was what you had suspected was going on with her, at first. To your surprise, though, she'd reacted to each of these (rather mundane) sights with the same apprehension, like a nervous chihuahua. It hadn't made any sense. She had to have grown up under a rock not to know- the area hadn't catered to any singular species in ages.
Then again, you'd never met anyone like her. You'd expressed this to Emory when you'd first met. She'd winced in response, claws drumming a stuttering rhythm against the pavement as she borderline death-gripped what she kept telling herself was a coffee mug. It was more like a mixing bowl, but you wouldn't tell her otherwise. Didn't seem like she needed the extra stress. She was practically shaking as-is, briefly making eye contact with passers-by before burying her face back into her coffee as if she hadn't seen them.
"Who are you watching for?"
Emory's feathers had puffed up in shock, wide eyes darting between you and the street. She was dangerously close to spilling her drink, the way she clutched at it like a lifeline. Eventually, she calmed down enough to set it down on the table, letting a shaking sigh claw itself from her lungs. "No one," she'd mumbled, "It's no one." You sincerely doubted it. If she was involved in any shady business, you didn't want her anywhere near your house. Your grandparents' house, really. They'd left it to you after they passed, some grand Edwardian thing, better suited for a whole family than one broke graphic design student. You raised a brow at her, watching her shoulders drop as soon as she noticed. "They... They keep staring."
It was obvious why they would. Even with this colorful of a population, you couldn't name anyone in town off the top of your head with her sheer size. Even with her sitting on the concrete outside the café, you couldn't reach her waist standing up. Waist? Primary waist? Would it count as her upper chest? You were never sure how it worked with centaurs, as common as they were. You were even less sure how it'd work with her.
You'd seen centaurs, deer-taurs, the odd lamia or mer or, on particularly busy days, those with the lower halves of entire tigers. Even assigning a species prefix to Emory was hard to wrap your mind around. Your first thought was some kind of bird, but no bird you knew of had functioning hands inside of their wings. Or a long, sleek tail. It'd be easy to assume a velociraptor, between that and the sickle claws on her hind legs, but... weren't those supposed to be turkey sized? You didn't care much for dinosaurs, but you knew that (if only because people who did care complained about it endlessly.)
You were staring again, apparently. Her arms folded protectively over her chest, eyes narrowing. "You're not helping any, you know." She bit down hard on her lip, staring out into the street again. Not at any particular person this time, just to avoid eye contact. "Sorry, sorry. I- About that vacancy? You... You said you had garage space."
You'd been sitting together for hours. The sounds of feverish typing filled the garage, yours from clearing out your flooded inbox and Emory's from another long-winded Reddit tirade. You never could tell why she kept going on that site if it always seemed to make her upset, but she always seemed less stressed afterwards. Maybe yelling at strangers for their opinions on whatever ARG she'd fixated on was her way of coping. Thank god she didn't notice you laughing at the thought as you nestled deeper into her feathers, head propped up against her back where it leaned into the makeshift bed/desk you'd managed to set up for her. She never could get comfortable without it- no matter how much support her lower body got, it was so disproportionate to where her upper body (she insisted that you call it her 'real body.' Never did elaborate on why) began that it was always left dangling awkwardly from the broad shoulders or sloping chest. You thought she would've been used to it by now. Maybe not.
"You comfortable back there?" You raised your head, the quiet laugh in her voice accentuated by the barest hint of a smile on her face. That was rare. Not as rare as it was when she'd first moved in, but rare. Emory always seemed to be in a state of panic, constantly chased by something you couldn't see and she wouldn't tell you about. Moments like this were a fairly recent development- it'd been weeks before she'd even been comfortable enough for you to be within 10 feet of her. Thank god that was over. You'd found yourself the most comfortable spot in the whole damn house.
You snickered, letting yourself fall limp against her back again. It knocked the wind out of her, just a little, but she didn't object to it. Instead, she just shook her head, going back to her frantic, high-stakes internet nerd-battling. With your laptop propped up on a pillow stolen from her piles and one hand autonomously clicking away through your unread folder, the other one carded slowly through her feathers. Some were proportional, some... weren't. They ranged from the size of your hand to almost as long as you were tall in some places. Places you stayed away from, most of the time. They tended to be the most hazardous.
Eventually, your hands met her back, her cable-knit sweater riding up on a frame it was clearly not meant to fit on. You could've laughed- you thought the dinosaur bits were kind of cute, honestly- until you came across something you'd never noticed before.
Right where her 'real body' connected to her lower back, hidden under insulating down, there was a scar. A thick, jagged thing, raised from the smooth skin, awkwardly pinched in places where stitches had been neglected and removed far, far too late. Her breath hitched. You froze.
"Don't... Don't touch that. Please."
"Alright." It was reflexive, just like you yanking your hand away, trying your best not to look her in the eyes.
Neither of you spoke the rest of the night.
You woke up to the sound of her crying.
Emory was always the stoic type. You supposed she had to be- she never told you just what had happened to her before you met, but the look she got in her eyes when you asked spoke volumes. She'd told you, in as vague terms as possible, that she was shocked to even make it out alive. Maybe she wished she didn't. You'd be hard pressed to see her show much emotion at all, positive or otherwise. She kept her mouth shut and her head down, staying as unobstructive as possible, and you both kept your business to yourselves. To an outsider, it might seem like you were close. In reality, you'd never met someone farther out of reach.
Clutching your head, you made your way out of your bedroom. Emory's sobbing stifled at the creaking of the door. She'd be loathe to bother you at this time of night. It might have been better to head back to bed. Instead, you pressed on towards the garage, feeling your way through the pitch-black hallways. The garage door unlatched. Her crying stopped entirely. Instead, she just stared down at you, dark hair wet with tears and plastered to her reddened face. She stuttered, mouth agape. You cut her off.
"Emmy?" you yawned, bracing yourself in the doorway. "What's going on?"
"Don't call me that."
The silence hung over the air like a ton of bricks. Neither of you broke eye contact.
"It's- It's what my sister used to call me."
"You have a sister?"
"... Had."
She didn't need to say anything else. From prior experience, that meant a painful topic to bring up. If Emory of all people was already this messed up, you'd hate to make it any worse. Something was deeply, deeply wrong. That much was obvious from the start of your relationship. You'd just never had the strength to bring it up. She wiped the tears from her eyes with one already-soaked sleeve, the cheap wool practically falling apart under the weight.
"Want me to stay with you tonight?"
She stared at you, bewildered, before giving you a single nod and a pathetic sniffle. Before you could even make yourself comfortable next to her, Emory hoisted you up and placed you on the bed-shelf, crossing her arms below her head.
"God," she mumbled, "God, I hate living this way."
You didn't ask for her to elaborate. It'd only make it worse. You only crawled over to her, propping your head up next to hers, curled up on your side with her elbow pressed into your stomach. Just you being there seemed to calm her down enough for her to finally nod off.
Her tail thrashed around behind her as she paced, palms clutched to her temples so hard you were worried she'd break her remaining horn off without noticing. (You'd asked how she'd broken the other one. She'd grimaced. You didn't bring it up again.) "Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You can't just... go out. You can't just go out and do those things and talk to them. It always ends in disaster. God. God, what an idiot." It was almost painful to watch, the way she berated herself constantly with no end in sight. A hand raised, trying to draw her attention, but she was in her own little world. It was pointless. You lowered it, running your thumb over your second knuckle.
"You- Fucking- Ugh!" Without warning, Emory collapsed into her pillows in a heap. What little storage shelving still remained in the garage trembled on impact, some coming dangerously close to toppling over and spilling their (very breakable) contents all over the concrete floor. Still clutching her head, an almost-growl erupted from her throat- one that was quickly cut off as soon as she noticed just what sound she was making. Her eyes watered, and her whole face buried itself into a pillow to cover it up. "Fuuuuuuck."
"... Ems?" You took a cautious step in, hand still hovering just over the light switch. She raised her head for just a second to look at you, but it was gone from sight just as quickly. You sighed, shuffling down the steps and into her makeshift bed, cozying yourself up against her chest. She didn't speak, but she did wrap her wings around you. Hopefully, a good sign. "Ems, what's going on?"
"... 'M fine."
"You don't look fine." Behind you, you could feel her breath catch. Your hands buried themselves into the feathers, ruffling gently through them in that way you knew she liked. Now, it didn't seem to have any effect. "What... What did you do?"
Her chin dug deeper into her pillow. "Went through town. Tried to... Tried to visit my mom again."
You sucked a breath in through your teeth, recoiling at her very mention. Emory didn't seem to appreciate that. A murderous glare directed itself at you not a second after. How could you be this bad at reading her? "Why'd you do that? You know she treats you like dirt, Ems. It's not worth it."
"Terri." Her voice went deathly serious, clutching you against her chest until her claws dug into your skin. Not enough to break it, but still sharp and very, very present. "Terri, you don't get it. My whole life is in there. Every last memory from kindergarten to college. Hell, my kid sister is in there. She thinks I'm dead, Terri. I'm supposed to be dead."
You bit your tongue. She sniffled. You bit your tongue harder.
"Three years. They had me out there for three years. The search parties? They couldn't find shit. Couldn't find me, alive or dead. They just... gave up. Left me out there to rot. Alone."
"Well, clearly, you're not dead. 'N you've got me now! Things could always be w-"
"I might as well be. I- I already tried going back home. I don't know why I keep trying. My own mother wants nothing to do with me. Acts like I've grown a second head or something." Her hands moved downwards, clawed fingers tracing along the lines where the slim human torso faded into feathers and sinewy, robust muscle. You could hear her choking back a sob. "They just- They won't hear it. God."
"Just- Just forget about 'em, Ems. If they won't have you, you've always got a place with me. Swear it. Just keep your chin up, okay?"
"You don't understand," she hissed, claws pressing you harder against her chest. "I don't care if they don't want anything to do with me. I want to go back home. I'm- I'm going to go back home someday. It might sound crazy to you, but that's just... how I am. I'm never going to stop trying. It's... It's going to pay off someday. It is. It can't not."
"Ems..."
Her grip on you loosened, wings tucking themselves up under her chest as she shook her head into the now tear-soaked pillow. "God. I'm just- I'm so sorry. I shouldn't just dump all of that on you. It's... I don't need to bog you down with my own problems. They're just... stupid. I'm stupid. Just- Sorry for not being... normal."
You swore you tasted blood in your mouth before you unclenched your jaw, tongue still stinging. What were you supposed to say to that? It was all too much to address. No concise way to put it. You slouched into the pillows, burying your face in her chest to hide your deepening scowl. You wanted to help. You wanted to be able to reach out to her and tell her that, no matter what, you'd always stick by her. That if her blood family cast her out, they didn't have to be her family anymore. That there was so much more out there, hiding just under her nose. That you could see it together.
Your hands slipped under her chest, idly reaching out for her wings. The claws wrapped around your wrists, loosely, still trembling from the sudden outburst of emotion. Far above your head, you could hear her sobbing into her crossed arms.
"Mmph." Your fingers gripped tighter around her claws, fingers tracing the outlines of her scales. "Don’t worry about it."