Vice

-1-
Snow whirled around her as she trekked the path to her home. It speckled her fur and whipped at her ears. Her gnarled antlers felt like icicles on the top of her head. Her thick coat kept her warm against the onslaught of icy wind. Though unnecessary for the most part, her cloak kept her wings warm, her hood protecting her antlers with little success.
Vice winced. She tried to keep her antlers from view as best as she could. Sometimes, she used runes or a head wrap or her cloak, but once she became so desperate that she tried to file them down. The pain she’d been in for the following week had left her bedridden.
Sheep ran across the hilltop before her. She knew some of them by name; the leading sheep was Malia, her thick woolly coat loved by everyone who saw her. She tended to them for a local farmer. It was a complete turnaround from her previous job as a haulier for Cirque de Distraction.
Puffing out warm air, watching it cloud before her, Vice cuddled an old gift in her arms, one from her oldest friend. He’d bought it for her when they were younger. The memory of the shredded paper Gleeson wrapped so poorly around it that it fell apart underneath her touch always made her smile. As soon as her teary gaze had landed on his present, she’d smiled for the rest of the week, everyone’s rumours a distant memory.
In her arms sat an old, mucky koala bear called Sonny.
Though Vice knew it was childish, she carried him everywhere with her. She took him to the market to buy fresh bread and meat, out herding and even to bed with her. A single rune glimmered on his forehead, encasing Gleeson’s scent into his fur; Preserve.Despite its age, it always smelled like him.
The scent of mint and pine was unmistakable.
Vice buried her face into the koala’s fur and sniffed. It still smelled like he’d just given it to her.
She looked up into the face of the starry night sky. Purple inked the heavens like it were parchment, oranges began to fade from view and the final hint of the light blue fought a losing battle against the oncoming night. Smiling to herself, she whispered, “I miss you so much, Gleeson.”
The wind whipped around her. Without realising it, she’d hoped the wind would carry his voice to her in an answer. It had been almost eleven months since she left him behind. As much as she hated to admit it, she’d forgotten how he sounded. She couldn’t remember how he laughed, or how he screamed when she scared him. She could remember nothing about him but how he screamed her name as she left, the train leading her away to her new home.
With a sigh, Vice turned on her heel and wandered up towards her little shack at the top of the fields. Snow crunched beneath her. Once upon a time, her sweat would have frozen as soon as it formed, leaving her fur littered with tiny droplets that made her sparkle like a disco ball. At least she was used to it now.
“You alright, Vice?”
Vice jumped. With her tiny wings splayed, her arms twisting around her koala, she turned towards the noise and glared. “Ollie, don’t scare me like that!”
Ollie chuckled, his silver-tipped cane smacking against the cobblestone pavement outside her home. His hair sat unruly at the top of his head, his antlers covered in speckles of snow. Unlike her wings, his were huge and feathery; only an Imperial had those wings. He reminded her of Gleeson. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
“I’m just tired,” she murmured. “I wish I could fly.”
“I can imagine.”
Vice’s ears flicked at the sarcasm that dripped in his words. Even though Ollie was only as old as she was, his left leg was gripped with some kind of paralysis, a limp earned after he broke his hip. His wings also snapped. He told her it was a runaway cart incident, and that the cane was a gift from the merchant who owned it.
He was the farmer she worked for. Mostly, her job revolved around the market, selling spools of wool and sometimes lambs at the market, buying food for them both and rounding up the sheep.
“Sorry,” Vice muttered.
Ollie waved his paw dismissively despite the deadpan look in his eyes. “It’s fine. I know I ask a lot of you today.”
She nodded. All at once, she was conscious of how her job hung in the balance of their silence. Ollie was indeed understanding—almost as understanding as her old ringleader—but he had a temper about him. It snapped all too often.
“Walk with me down to the barn, would you?” It was less of a question than a demand. “I need to have a look at Casey.”
Vice nodded again. Casey was Ollie oldest sheep and recently came down with a sickness. The vet called it ‘enzootic nasal adenocarcinoma’. She didn’t know what that meant. Ollie, on the other hand, did and had been dedicating most of his time to helping her heal. Each time she saw him, he looked more exhausted.
They trekked slowly down the other side to her hill. Vice, as always, helped Ollie on the way down, his leg giving way multiple times under too much pressure. He always tried to bat her away. Each time was unsuccessful.
A bleat sounded behind her, and she knew who it was instantly. He was called Billie Baa-lamb by everyone who saw him, and she loved him dearly.
“I know you’ve been letting Billie sleep in your hut, you know,” Ollie said, wincing against the pain in his leg.
Vice frowned. It wasn’t the first time they had this conversation. “He’s too cute to say no to.”
“He’s a ram, not a siren.”
“He could be, you never know!”
Ollie chuckled as his cane wobbled beneath his grip. He righted himself quickly. “You need to give him some tough love. Otherwise, if you ever leave, he’ll come to me and beg to be in my bed.”
She knew it was true. Her heart panged. Even though she could teach Billie not to clamber into her bed, just like how she’d taught him to sit and stay whenever she left him in the hut, she knew trying to convince Ollie of that was futile. His stubbornness always shone through.
Vice held out her paw for Ollie to take down another step. She didn’t miss his anxious glance towards another part of the hill; a lot less steep but a lot longer to walk with his limp. Frowning, she said, “I’ll catch you.”
“If I fall,” he growled, “I want to fall with dignity, not into someone’s arms like a damsel in distress.”
“You’re denying me of my dream already, Ollie.”
Scoffing, he gripped her paw and eased himself down onto the step. His cane missed by a few centimetres. Ollie’s foot slipped against the smooth stone. Vice caught him as he slammed against her chest. Worry sparked in her. “What’s going on with you, today?” she said, holding him upright as he tried to shake his daze away. “You’re usually fine going down these steps.”
“I dunno, alright?” he snapped.
Vice shut up, and let him go. He wobbled on his feet before he righted himself. The determination in his eyes could form a sword if such a thing were possible, or maybe a new cane.
“Come on,” Ollie grumbled, stepping down onto another step. “Let’s go see Casey.”
“Can we go see Alia first?”
His glare pierced into her soul. Her ears flattened and she squirmed uncomfortably. “We’re going to see Casey.”
“Ollie, you’re not well,” Vice mumbled. She’d never stood up to Ollie before, only watched as others did and listened as he berated them. “Please, let’s just go see Alia.”
“Alia can wait. I want to check—”
“I won’t let you.”
Her heart raced as he turned to face her in full. His shoulders looked tense, his deep golden eyes ready to envelop her, his grip on his cane turning his paw white. You could flick his temper like a switch, and his niceness would be lost on you.
Sometimes, it never came back.
“Alia. Can. Wait.”
He turned on his heel and tried to storm away. His leg lagged. His foot dragged against the loose gravel of the steps, slipping from time to time. His heart began to pound against her chest.
Vice followed him if only to make sure he got there safely. She stayed a few steps behind him. If she tried to talk to him about seeing the medic, or about anything else, she knew she’d get snapped at and told to go back to her hut. That was the last thing she wanted. Ollie’s limp worried her. It was never usually this bad.
The unfortunate thing about staying a few steps behind him was that she wasn’t there to break his fall when he collapsed.
“Ollie!”
Vice sprinted down the hill. Ollie lay teetering on the edge of a sharp ledge, his gaze unfocused. His cane lay glinting next to the barn. She ignored it. Her boss—her friend—was more important.
“Hey,” she said, clicking her digits, “can you hear me, Ollie?”
He didn’t respond. When he attempted to sit up, he fell back and groaned. What scared her most was the river of blood down the side of his face.
Cursing, she scooped his skinny figure up into his arms. His head lolled, his eyelids fluttering. She raced back up the hill, her wings propelling her onwards. Pain flared in them with each flap. She didn’t care. Ollie needed help, and that’s all she focused on. An hour later, Ollie still wasn’t awake. He passed out on the way to Alia’s, who lived half an hour away from his secluded farm. In that hour, Vice trekked the length of the hills near her home. Only Billie accompanied her, baaing along the way. When she’d come back, Alia rushed in and out of her little medic hut, hauling potion crates from just outside her door.
Someone must have dropped them off.
Vice growled to herself, the vision of Ollie tumbling down the hill intruding on her thoughts, and entered the medic hut. A little bell above the door signalled her entry. The warmth was a welcome surprise after the cold air battered down on her for an hour. After a while, she knew she’d be suffocating.
She made her way past a counter with an empty jar and towards a deep green door with the label ‘One’. Cracking it open, she spotted Ollie on the medic bed in the same position she’d left him in, a small desk cluttered with different sheets and formulas, and a single metal chair separating the two.
“Ah!” Alia cried from a room she couldn’t see into. “Alexander, could you—?” Surprise flashed in her eyes as she peered around the doorframe and giggled with embarrassment. “Sorry, dear. I thought you were Alex.”
“It’s okay,” she assured with a smile. “Who’s Alex?”
“My new assistant. He’s been helping me look after Ollie.”
Vice frowned but nodded all the same. She’d never seen Alex before. It didn’t mean much, considering she rarely wandered the lair, but she visited Alia often enough for Ollie. Surely she would’ve met him by now.
“He’s like you, now that I think about it,” Alia continued, her delicate digits sifting through vials of various colours. They all sat in a crate beside the door.
Vice could barely keep from rolling her eyes. No one is like me. “What makes you say that?”
“He’s a Gaoler.”
“I’m not a jailer,” she pointed out. “And nor is he. He’s your medical assistant.”
Alia snorted. “Not a jailer, silly. You’re a Gaoler, as in the breed of dragon Gaoler.” She patted her arm as she passed her, heading towards Ollie’s bed. He lay on his side, a drip led into his wrist and his face buried in Sonny the Koala’s fur. “That’s a good joke, though. A lot better than the ones Alex makes.”
Vice’s heart stopped. Numbness overcame her. She felt tense and relaxed—stressed and relieved—all at once. Her mind raced with questions. Like a gumball machine, however, only one came out. “There’s a name for me?”
Alia’s movements slowed to a halt. She stopped replacing the vial connected to Ollie’s drip and stared at her with uncertainty flickering in her tired eyes. “You... didn’t know?”
She shook her head, her knees buckling beneath her. Her gaze began to blur. “There’s a name for me,” she repeated shakily. “And... and there’s more of me.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Alia fussed. She sat down in front of her and dragged her paws through her mangled mane before lifting her face so she stared her in the eyes. “You didn’t know, did you?”
“No. No, I didn’t.”
The medic smiled warmly and brushed away an escapee tear. “Well, you’re a Gaoler, and there are tons of you. I’m surprised you haven’t come across another before.”
Vice shrugged with her eyes downcast. “We used to move around a lot—my circus, I mean—and I guess I just had rotten luck.” A strangled sound, halfway between a sob and a laugh, escaped her. “I always thought I was a malformed Tundra.”
“But,” Alia began, “it’s the other way around. Tundras are Gaoler descendants, so in all actuality, Tundras are just malformed Gaolers if you think about it!”
Despite her tears, she giggled. Every insult she’d ever received—freak, mutation, burden—came to mind and shattered. Alia wasn’t wrong. She, as a Gaoler, and Tundras looked remarkably similar, yet she was bigger with thicker fur and nasty horns ready for battle.
For once, she felt a flutter of pride. I’m a Gaoler.
The door to the medic hut cracked open. Vice jumped and stared at the paw covered in a blanket of fur gripping the handle. Alia peered over Vice’s head, a bright beaming smile across her face. “Heya, Alex!”
A face peered through the crack in the door and smiled back at her. Vice’s jaw dropped. He had a ragged mane of light browns and blues, his fur a deep oil colour covered in silver runes. “Hey, Doctor. Sorry, I’m late. Wylan wanted to see me.”
Alia stood and waved her paw dismissively. “No worries. Come say hi to Vice! She’s Ollie’s herder.”
Alex’s gaze locked onto hers and his smile wavered. The more he opened the door, the more shock drowned her emotions. “Hi, I’m Alex. It’s lovely to meet you. Alia talks about you a lot.”
She didn’t answer. Disbelief clouded her mind and cut her off from reality. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The male before her looked identical to her in his figure, except his eyes were smaller. His antlers stood gnarled and proud on his head, his mane in plaits to keep it from his eyes. Even his tail looked identical.
Without thinking, she wandered over to him and analysed every inch of him. He was smaller than her, his jaw more angular and mouth in a constant frown. His wings, as tiny as hers, held tense against his coat.
“You're like me,” she whispered, at last, her gaze finding his.
“Uhm, yeah?” he said, brow furrowed in confusion. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Vice tried to explain, but words melted on her tongue like sherbet. Sorniethan felt like a foreign tongue. How could she explain to him she’d never seen someone like her before, or that she’d never even known there was a whole breed like her with a proper name, up until a few moments ago? How could she explain how she’d thought she was the only one?
Alia, thankfully, stepped in and said, “The poor dear’s had a rough day. She only just found out some life-changing information.”
Alex nodded hesitantly and walked towards a clipboard hanging on the wall. He crossed something off the list pinned upon it. Refill lollipop jar.
Lollipops...
A cold dread iced her blood. “Gleeson.”
The one friend who accepted her for who she was – how could she only just remember him? The dread worsened when she realised how worried he must be about her. In the last eleven months, she hadn’t even sent him a letter. How much pain have I caused for him?
“Who’s Gleeson?” Alia inquired from the desk, staring at a torn out page covered in scrawled notes.
“He’s my best friend.” Vice’s voice came out a broken murmur. How much pain is he in because I left? She went up to Alia’s side and ignored her startle. “Have you any spare parchment?”
Soon after receiving a single spare slip, she yanked an idle quill from an inkpot. Her paw flew as she wrote everything down. She didn’t care about how the Doctor and assistant murmured behind her. Gleeson’s glimmering blue eyes buried itself in the forefront of her mind. I’m coming back. Don’t worry.
“Here,” she breathed, folding the parchment in a hurry and handing it to Alia. “Give this to Ollie. It explains everything.”
“Where are you going?” Alex asked, frowning up at her. “He’ll need your help, you know.”
“I’ll come back and help as soon as I can, but I need to see Gleeson.” Vice sighed and dragged her paws through her mane. “I need to show him that I’m okay.”
Alia and her assistant glanced at each other, worry evident in the biting of their lips and avoiding gazes until Alia sighed and took the letter with a small smile. “I’ll give this to Ollie for you, I promise. Go see your friend.”
She didn’t hesitate any longer. After a brisk hug, she was in the outside world. She broke into a sprint towards the train station. Her clock flapped behind her. Gleeson’s promise from their younger years swam around in her mind. They spurred her on.
I’ll always be here for you. 
-2-
The soft scent of incense and cinnamon drifted through her caravan, the flakes burning with rapid succession as she sprinkled them in her bedside lamp. A mug of hot chocolate, freshly brewed, warmed her paws. Two blankets hugged her shoulders to defend her from the cold of the caravan. One was hers, and one was Gleeson’s.
It took a week to get from the Southern Icefield to the Shifting Expanse. Unfortunately for everyone else, the train had a broken boiler throughout the majority of the trip, leaving everyone shivering against a cold they couldn’t bat away. Vice counted herself lucky. As a Gaoler, she had thicker fur, and most passengers had nothing but skin to keep them warm. It kept her lukewarm for the majority of the ride.
She smiled. It still feels weird to have a name for what I am.
Shuddering against a sudden blast of cold, she turned to the notebook in her lap. Gold coiled around the edges, the rough leather texture just as she remembered. The swirling ink on the inside cover read her name. Vice. As much as she wanted to have a look at her old notes, she couldn’t. Not without Gleeson by her side.
He’s changed, she told herself yet again, her frown returning. His voice was scratchier than what she remembered, his eyes turned tired and dim from the bright blue they’d once been, his lollipops now replaced by cigarettes. Her heart panged every time she noticed. She’d begun trying to wean him from cigarettes a month ago, as soon as she got back.
So far, she wasn’t doing a good job.
Vice sighed, closed her eyes, and focused on the warmth radiating from the mug she held. The warmth made its way up her arms like a slow snake. It loosened her muscles after a day of lugging materials around.
She didn’t miss the slight minty smell that accompanied it.
The door clicked, and her floorboards groaned. She didn’t need to open her eyes to see who it was, not when the faint waft of mint and smoke filled her nose. “Hey, Gleeson,” she said with a smile. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” Her friend sounded the exact opposite of fine; he sounded exhausted, a fresh scratch to his voice. “What about you?”
“I’m worried about you.”
When he didn’t answer, Vice cracked open an eyelid and frowned. Gleeson stood beside the door, his mask still on and golden overcoat dumped over her desk chair. Only a thin, red-white shirt kept him from the cold of the caravan.
Vice grabbed her blankets and held them out. “Come join me, valiant knight. You look frozen.”
She couldn’t tell whether or not he found that amusing. Gleeson merely shook his head. “You need it more than I do, Vicie.”
Vicie. She grinned when he called her that. It was his little nickname for her from when they were kids.
“Come on, we’ll warm up quickly if there’s two of us.”
Something flickered in his deep blue eyes, lighting them up like the sun would a darkened sky. Her grin grew as he sighed. “Fine then, move up.”
Vice shuffled to one side, keeping the blankets wrapped around one shoulder. Gleeson plucked the other corner from her grasp and joined her beneath them. For selfish reasons or otherwise, she curled up against his side and soaked up some of his remaining warmth.
“Why are you so warm and cold at the same time?” she muttered, holding his paw in hers. Though his glove separated skin from skin, she only had to touch the glove to feel just how cold he was. Vice put her drink to one side clasped her paws around his to warm it. “How many cigarettes did you have?”
“Two,” he admitted sheepishly. She glared at him before he rushed to say, “Quitting smoking isn’t an overnight thing, Vicie.”
“I know it isn’t, but I’m still worried. It could...” Vice’s voice trailed off. She forced herself to focus on the rough texture of his worn gloves rather than the danger his habit showcased to everyone who knew.
“I know. I’m trying.”
She believed him. Each day, she could see the effort he put into keeping his cigarettes out of sight and out of mind. He kept them in his pocket or with Vice or in a locked drawer in Hugo’s desk. Sometimes, it only made his cravings worse. It got so bad at one point that he was in pain for hours until Vice begged Hugo to let him have one.
They now let him have one cigarette half-an-hour before a performance to keep him from the agony.
Gleeson squeezed her paw. It sent a rush of warmth through her cheeks. “Are you mad at me?” he muttered, gaze averted.
“Of course I’m not!” Vice cried, dread dropping into the pit of her stomach. “I know you’re trying.”
“Are you sure?”
Vice raised an eyebrow at him, her Plague-red eyes latched onto the blue behind the mask and nodded curtly. “I’m sure. Besides, you used to be a lot worse, if what Hugo told me is correct.”
“Not much worse.”
“You’re still admitting you’re getting better,” she pointed out, smirking.
He stuck his tongue out at her from beneath his mask. She giggled. Her paws let go his right paw and picked up the left. In his light pink glove was a tiny hole revealing a tiny sliver of copper marking that looked like a wing. Vice grinned.
“What’s so funny?”
“Remember when we used to chase each other through the woods?” she asked wistfully, rubbing her thumb over the hole. “Remember when we were Copper Wing and Black Streak, the two valiant knights of Sornieth?”
Gleeson’s chuckle—a deep rumble in the pit of his throat—was answer enough. Her grin grew. Even though she’d never admitted it, she loved everything from his tiny chuckles to his hearty laughs. No matter what mood he was in, he always found a way to make others laugh. Now it was her turn.
“We should do that again sometime,” Gleeson suggested, his eyes sparkling with renewed motivation. “Maybe we could do it for a performance.”
“Shall we make some prop trees and get some special effects?”
“Yeah, we should!” The excitement in his tone and the grip on her paw was unmistakable. “We should get some real armour and weapons, too. Maybe Hugo has some.”
Vice snorted. “I’ll leave that side of things to you. I wouldn’t know real from fake if they both slapped me in the face.”
“If they dared slap you in the face, Vicie, they’d have to answer to me.”
She gaped at him and he snickered, squeezing her paw once again before he stretched. She stared at the bell at the end of his tail as it swished from side to side, the gold glinting in the lamplight. Her gaze fell onto his exposed stomach, a frown forming. Gleeson was thinner now. How hadn’t she noticed?
“You’re so scrawny,” she groaned, prodding him in the side. Her grin returned when he yelped. “Eat more!”
“Don’t poke me, vermin,” he sneered, tugging his striped shirt back down.
Vice poked him again and chuckled when he giggled. “You need more food!”
“Stop it!”
“No!”
Gleeson tried to escape, batting her attacking paws away unsuccessfully, until she dragged him down until he lay on the bed and tickled him relentlessly. His giggles turned into breathless laughter, and his attempts to shove her away turned into attempts to protect himself. Neither of them worked in his favour.
“Stop!” he cried, clutching his abdomen.
“No!”
A strangled snort escaped him as she found his ultimate weak spot; a sensitive patch of skin below his ribcage. “Please!”
“Never!”
That statement wasn’t exactly true. She continued to attack him for a few minutes until she flopped onto his stomach and listened to his pounding heartbeat. Gleeson was too busy panting and trying to stop giggling to notice. Vice smiled against his abdomen. Much to her surprise, she could feel his warmth through his shirt. It didn’t take her long to curl up against him and soak up some of his warmth.
As Gleeson calmed down, he brushed his paw over her cheek repeatedly. She could’ve sworn he lingered each time. “You’re a horrible friend,” he coughed.
“What, for exposing your weakness?” Vice cooed, her tail brushing against his neck. She smiled at his choked laugh.
He was quick to smack her on the wrist. “Stop it!”
Despite her temptations, she obeyed. To keep herself occupied as he calmed, she focused on his breathing, on the gentle strokes of his digits over her cheek and through her mane. Unlike her paws, his were still free of calluses. Feeling their softness was enough to relax her.
When Gleeson’s giggling fit ended, when his breathing levelled out, he sat up against the wall behind her bed, bringing her up with him. She frowned. “My cushion isn’t allowed to move.”
Gleeson’s eyes glinted with a softness that turned the deep ocean in his eyes into a tamed lake. He patted his shoulder, tugging the blankets free from underneath them. “Come snuggle up here, then.”
Vice didn’t need to be told twice. She scurried over to his side and placed her head on his shoulder. It took mere seconds to get comfortable; she threw her legs over Gleeson’s lap, tugging the blankets back over them and nuzzled his neck. She told herself it was for extra comfort.
Whether or not that was true was debateable.
“You’re so warm,” she muttered, practically sitting on him in an attempt to warm up. The loss of the blankets let the cold of the caravan blast her. “How?”
“I’m smarter with what I wear.”
Vice snorted. “Is that all?”
“Well,” he said, burying his face in her mane, “it can’t be because of my attractiveness. You’ve no doubt had many more males come flocking around you than females around me.”
“Please. No one came near me while I was in the Southern Icefield. At least, no one came near me but Ollie.”
She felt Gleeson tense as she mentioned his name. It wasn't the first time she mentioned her old friend, and it wasn't the first time he appeared uncomfortable. She never understood why. Even when she showed him what he sent her from the farm--a sketch he did of Billie Baa-lamb after he left Alia's care and a sweet letter hoping they could stay in contact--he looked uneasy.
Before she could ask him what was wrong, he mumbled, “Who... was Ollie to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, was he just a friend, or—?”
“He was just a friend,” Vice informed him, confidence in her tone. “He was aromantic, I think, so even if I had developed feelings for him, he wouldn’t have been interested.”
Gleeson laughed into her mane, rippling with relief. “At least he didn’t want you.”
Both of them started. Vice lifted her gaze to peer at him, confusion wrinkling her brow, only to see him deliberately avoiding her gaze once more. He still had his performer’s mask on. The white porcelain shone in the candlelight, the copper lines mingling with his rusty contour. She knew he loved his mask, but not as much as to keep it on constantly.
She flicked the snout. It sent a vibration through her claw. “Take this silly thing off.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to see you, not some white mask.”
“But you know how I look.”
Vice raised an eyebrow at him as he snickered. She hooked a digit underneath the rim of the mask, just above his chin, and lifted it. A small smile appeared beneath, the lips chapped from the bitter winter wind. The more she removed the mask, the more she realised how exhausted Gleeson looked. His skin looked closer to white than grey with his cheeks flushed a bright red and eye bags hanging above his jawbone.
“Have you not been sleeping?” Vice murmured, gently placing the mask on the bedside table, next to her lamp.
His smile wavered. “I’ve been sleeping, just not very well. It’s been a bit cold in my caravan.”
“Why not come here on a night?”
“Because it’s your personal space, and I’d hate to invade.” He chuckled. “Plus, I think your coat might suffocate me.”
Vice went to protest but frowned as she realised he was right. She was better off than most dragons in winter, even if she was still cold. Though the bad sides were huge, including constant knots, how her fur always got caught on something and excessive malting, at least her fur kept her warmer than others.
“Surely you’ll be warmer if you stay with someone,” she reasoned. She wasn’t quite sure why she was so desperate to try and get him to stay with her. Maybe she was afraid of losing him again.
Vice didn’t miss the twitch of his lips or the mischievous glint in his eyes. Even so, he said nothing.
Frowning, she fiddled with a loose bit of material on the blankets they shared. “I have a question.”
“What’s up?” Gleeson inquired, tilting his head. As always, when he was curious, his ears stood upright, perked for any hidden information.
“What did you mean when...?” She sighed, trying to find the right words to say before they spilt out like beans from a can. “What did you mean when you said ‘at least he didn’t want you’?”
If such a thing were possible, Gleeson’s face looked as if it went paler, his cheeks burning brighter. He knew exactly what she referred to. He hated it, too. How could she tell? His ears flattened and his digits fiddled with the cuffs of his shirt.
Still, she persisted. “What did you mean, Gleeson?”
In that moment, she noticed how her heart thrummed, her eyes scanning for any hidden signals in his features. After all, she knew everything about him. She knew he always looked away when he lied or stammered when being confronted. She knew that he was ticklish everywhere except his tail and that when he thought no one would notice he’d eat an entire jar of lollipops while reading history books.
Yet, as much as she searched, she couldn’t find anything. Such an absence terrified her.
After what felt like too long, Gleeson sighed and stared her in the eye. Vice could get lost in the oceans trapped inside, the silver highlights twisting like fish. Even with exhaustion dimming them into darker colours, she knew she’d be safe if she swam there.
“It slipped out,” Gleeson murmured.
Vice spotted how he avoided her gaze as he said it. “Tell me the truth, Gleeson.”
“I am—”
“I know you, so I know when you’re lying.” She frowned, sitting upright so she could look him in the eye properly. “Please, Gleeson, just tell me the truth.”
She could see the cogs whirring behind his eyes to think of an appropriate answer. All she hoped for was the truth. He knew that all too well.
He sighed, rubbed his eyes with his paws, and began to stutter as he spoke. “When you went missing—well, I say missing, you just went to the Southern Icefield—I was hoping that I could...”
“That you could what, Gleeson?” Vice knew she was pressing him, something she also knew would make him uncomfortable, but she wanted to know.
Gleeson still avoided her gaze. He fiddled with the hole in his glove, and she sighed. “I don’t want you to lie to me, Gleeson. Please tell me the truth.”
“I will,” he said, his eyes on hers once more. “I just don’t know how to put it.”
“Just say it as it is.”
He nodded, took a deep breath, and mumbled, “I was hoping that on the day you went to the train station, I could ask you out to dinner.”
All responses she’d planned faded into the nothing.
Gleeson continued in her absence. “I was hoping that I’d be able to take you somewhere nice, just the two of us. If you didn’t want dinner, we could’ve, I dunno, gone for a walk or—” He shrugged, pain in his eyes. “Just do something else, just the two of us.”
Vice tried to think of something to say to bring back the light from earlier. She wanted his smile to return, to erase the worry and sadness that wrenched at her heart. Nothing came to mind.
“That’s why I said it,” Gleeson said. “I’ve liked you for years, and I was always afraid that I’d ruin our friendship.” He chuckled the sound dark. “Its kinda funny how, when I get the courage, you disappear.”
“I’m so sorry,” Vice breathed, clutching his paw in hers. “I’m so, so sorry. I...”
He squeezed her paw and smiled. “Don’t be, it’s okay.”
“Would you like to try it again now?”
His breathing hitched, but a new light appeared in his eyes. “Sorry?”
She grinned. “Would you like to go out for dinner now that I’m back?”
“Sure—”
“You’ve got to ask me properly, though.”
“Why?” he chuckled, crossing his arms. “You already know the question.”
“Make it official! Ask me!”
Gleeson’s eyebrows shot upwards, but he still smirked as he declared, “Vice, even though you already know the question, would you like to go out—?”
“Yes, but on one condition.”
His face fell, and his shoulders dropped. “What is it?”
“Tell me, will we be doing this as friends or—” Vice sighed, biting her lip. “Or as something a bit more than that?”
“It’s up to you,” he muttered. “You can de—”
She didn’t let him finish. Without thinking, she closed the distance between them and threw her arms around him, her face buried in the crook of Gleeson’s neck. “Something more would be nice.”
At first, Gleeson didn’t respond. She tensed. Just as she was about to pull away and apologise, he wrapped his arms and wings around her, cutting them off from the rest of the world. She could almost hear his smile. “Then something more it is.”
Vice let a huge grin spread across her face as they stayed there, shocked silence heavy between them. She didn't mind. As long as she had Gleeson, she could take on the world.