It’s Saturday. The first Saturday in a long time that I feel like I have something to look forward to. I know it isn’t like I’ve had all the damage erased due to one chance meeting in the night, but it’s the first time in four years that I wake up with a hint of a smile on my snout. As I stare out my window, the sun seems welcoming instead of oppressive, my disheveled blinds failing at their job as usual as the rays shine around my apartment.

It’s been so long since I’ve felt like this, and it warms my heart in ways I’ve long since missed. I lounge for a while, taking in the warmth of the sun. I stretch my arms and legs before leaning up, taking time to stretch my wings. I throw the blanket off me and pull my wings up to my eyes. I grimace, seeing the sorry state I’ve left them in for so long. A pale white reflection of the four years I’ve spent lost and bitter. I suppose I’ll give them a chance of their own to recover—no more bored plucking for me.

I hear my phone rumble on the table and I reach over to pick it up. A text from Anon pops up on the screen as I unlock it.

“Hey, good morning.”

“Good morning, Anon. What are you up to?”

“Not much. I was thinking…did you wanna meet up at the bistro at the edge of Skin Row today? It’s a little nicer looking and safer than a lot of the places in this nightmare. My treat, of course.”

“Sure, that sounds great. Would be nice to have something other than fucking pizza for once. When do you wanna meet up?”

“How about in an hour?”

“Alright, I’ll meet you there.”

“Sweet. Later Fang.”

“Bye Anon.”

With that, I set my phone back on the table. A small smile lingers on my lips, an actual smile rather than one I put on just to keep people from asking too many fucking questions. I know we are both hurting, and it’ll be a while before the wounds heal, but it is nice to have someone to talk to. Someone who knows me. The only person in my life that I ever opened up to, something I used to think was the worst mistake I ever made…but perhaps it doesn’t have to be. Everyone deserves a second chance, after all, even Anon and even me.

I get up from the couch before stumbling over onto the floor. Fuck, still weak. One night of binging pizza isn’t going to make up for months of neglect. Pushing myself up off the floor, I brush myself off as a pizza crust falls from my shirt. Fucking hell…I really need to clean this place up. Not that I expect to have company over, but I don’t need to live in fucking squalor, either. I’ll take care of that later…for now, I’ve got a meet up to get ready for.

Grabbing a fresh set of clothes from the clean pile on my floor—get a dresser, dammit, stop living like a hobo—I make my way to my shower. Tossing my clothes aside I turn on the water, still as tepid as ever but it feels nice. As the water pours over the top of my head, I run my hands across the top of my stubble. I guess maybe I can let it grow out a bit. Maybe. Don’t need to get ahead of myself. I have no idea how this all will go…I want to believe that he’s changed, that he’s grown up since we last met, but I have to be careful. I won’t survive another night like the one at the beach so long ago. After a quick soaping up and rinsing off, I fling open the curtain and step out. Drying off, I put the towel on the rack for once, tossing on my clothes and putting on my makeup. My sight lingers on my old makeup for a while, but no, not yet.

Walking over to the table, I snap up my phone and check the time: 10:30. I have a half hour to get down there, so I put my boots on and head out. He, at least, has picked a nice place to go. The bistro is on the very edge of Skin Row so it’s actually maintained. Nobody from the depths of this shithole goes that far out since the police regularly patrol there. Making my way to the street I light up a cigarette, taking a deep inhale and puffing out a couple of smoke rings. After years of practice, I can make all sorts of shapes now, even shot an arrow through one. The depressing sights of the streets not getting to me, I walk with a spring in my step. I even put a small clump of bills in the hand of a desperate looking fellow. I wasn’t buying so I wanted to pay it forward, maybe brighten the day of another sad sob here.

The name of the bistro—on a sign that actually has all its letters accounted for—comes into view: Amy’s Place. It’s a comfy looking spot in this sea of refuse, polished windows and outside well-maintained tables dotted the uncracked pavement. French style doors and décor—a little out of place in Skin Row, but it feels exotic enough for me to pretend like I’ve left the whole place entirely, if only for a moment. I flick my cigarette butt into the street before checking the time. Ten minutes until Anon said he’ll be here…guess I can get us a table, provided they don’t try to throw me out thinking I’m some crack-addicted ptero.

I gently push open the doors, looking as proper as I can with how skeletal I still am. The jingle of the bells prompts the waitress at the front to glance over. She gives me a look before shifting to a plastic smile—probably has dealt with all kinds of garbage that rolls out of Skin Row. She is a short orange stegosaurus with blue eyes. She reminds me of Stella, if Stella had been knocked down a foot and with way smaller plates on her back. She holds a menu in her arms as she continues to smile at me.

“Welcome to Amy’s Place! Would you like a table inside or out?” She stands on her tip toes looking over the top of her podium.

I look at the list of specials scrawled onto a board on the front of the podium before looking up to her. “Inside, please. I have someone coming to meet me in a little bit; he won’t be long.”

“Of course! Got a comfy booth right over here, follow me.” With that, she beckons me over as I follow, taking in the view of the inside. The lamps are bright, very different from the lights of the pizzeria that can hardly illuminate the tables they are over. All the chairs are solid with cushions on top and the booths don’t have any claw marks or questionable stains on them. It is definitely a far cry from what I’ve grown used to, and I like it.

“Here you go!” Her voice snaps me out of my drifting thoughts as she gestures to the booth. I slide in and take a seat as she sets a menu in front of me.

“Did you want to order now or wait for your friend?”

“I’d like to wait. He’s paying and I’d hate to rack up a bill before he even shows up.”

“Okay! What does he look like?”

I shrug. “He’s human. Probably going to be wearing a black beanie and sweatshirt, about the most nondescript face you’ve ever seen so you’ll recognize him straight away.”

“Alright, I’ll let you be then till he arrives.” She nods to me before turning around in place and going back to her station. It is nice to be waited on for once. Normally the fanciest I get is when the top shelf BBQ sauce is on sale and I splurge on the expensive nuggets, the ones made with chicken instead of “chicken.” I lounge in the seat with a content groan. This booth feels like heaven compared to my couch that I am sure is trying to fucking kill me. I need to rip that goddamn spring out before it puts any new holes in my ass.

As I sit there, a small spike of panic hits me. What if he doesn’t show up? What if I’m getting my hopes up again and I’ll be sitting here all alone looking like a weirdo before eventually giving up and going home? I shake the thoughts from my head. No, I can’t go shutting down and throwing myself back into my misery. He’ll be here. I flip through my phone for a bit, checking local news stories: surprise surprise, someone else got murdered overnight. It sucks to think that the only thing keeping me safe is a heavy metal door and three locks. One night on the streets is all it’d take, and I’d be toast.

I hear the door jingle again and I glance over. It’s Anon, looking the same as always. Funny to think that out here he actually sticks out with his blank face—nobody in Skin Row looks like him. The waitress leads him over to my table and he takes a seat across from me. The bags under his eyes have lightened up a bit, so guess he got a good night’s sleep for once too.

After a small awkward silence, he sets his menu down and clears his throat. “Nice place, huh?”

I nod, putting my hands up on the table. “Far nicer than anywhere I’ve been in ages. No graffiti on the walls and the tables don’t shake.” I kick the underside of the table as an example and it doesn’t budge an inch.

He looks nervous, chuckling and rubbing the back of his head. I stare at the dweeb for a bit before smiling. “I’m not going to bite you, Anon. Get comfy, relax.”

He takes a deep breath before slowly exhaling. “Sorry, Fang. I haven’t really been around anyone for ages. Not since I got back from the Navy and even then, I was avoiding everyone I could in that steel tomb.”

I raise an eyebrow at him with a smirk. “So that’s where you ended up, huh? I’ll be honest…never really saw you as the Navy type, or any military for that matter. Your greatest enemy being a set of stairs.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, inanimate objects seem to always get the better of my dumbass. But yep, I joined the Navy a bit after dropping out. My lease was going to be up soon and I had zero college prospects. I ended up stuck on a ship with a pile of people I wanted nothing to do with and nothing but salt and steel for miles around.”

“Sorry to hear that, doesn’t sound like anything even slightly fucking fun. Still, you’re alive, at least. No one blew you up at sea.”

“Not for lack of trying,” he says as he crosses his arms over his chest. “A few times some fucker would try to sink us and it’d be hell on Earth dodging bits of metal and shells. Still, never killed me, obviously.”

“Well duh.” I roll my eyes playfully with a smirk. “Else you are the most talkative corpse I’ve ever run into.”

“You’ve run into talking corpses?”

I stare at him in disbelief for a moment. “No…dweeb…of course I fucking haven’t. Plenty of real ones, though. I’ve learned to stay away from the alleys even if the walk would be shorter.”

He sighs before leaning over the table. “Sorry…sorry. I forget you’ve been here a lot longer than me. So, what have you been up to these past four years?”

I frown, looking down at my hands, wringing them together. “Nothing good. I left home with barely a word, don’t talk to my parents outside of telling ’em I’m not dead, with Naser being my only family I really talk to. I spent four years here in this shitty corner of Volcaldera playing in that pizzeria getting nowhere and making just enough to stay alive. It…hasn’t been a good life for me, Anon.”

His face sinks into sorrow as he reaches across the table to put a hand on mine. “I’m sorry, Fang. When I saw you in that place, I thought maybe there was a chance you were living something of your dream to be a rockstar but after hearing your last song…”

I sniffle and swipe away a tear with my shoulder, chuckling weakly. “Yeah…. No, it’s just been me and my small band playing for the tiny desperate crowds of people, no one really ever paid us any attention…or even worse, would leave when we started playing. I won’t lie to you, Anon. It wouldn’t be a good place to start but…last night when you found me on that beach, I wasn’t planning on going home. I was just going to wait until someone knifed me for my bass and well…” I look away, ashamed of admitting I was going to kill myself one way or another that night.

He frowns before flipping over one wrist to show me the scars. “I’m not going to judge you for shit, Fang. I had given it a few tries myself, always chickening out at the last second before getting deep enough. But that doesn’t matter. Nothing does, except going forward as we are now. Gotta be something to look forward to, right?”

I turn his hand back over before giving it a squeeze. “Right. I mean, we hit rock bottom so we can’t get much lower…nowhere to go but up!” I smile as I point up at the ceiling, Anon letting out a chuckle. “I have to ask though, why aren’t you still in the Navy? I would think you would have just stayed…gotta pay better than anything out here.”

He fidgets a bit before looking me in the eyes. “Promise not to laugh.”

I cock an eyebrow before nodding. “Okay…sure, I won’t laugh.”

He rubs the back of his head, looking about as embarrassed as he could. “I, uh…I fell off a ladder and busted my coccyx. It was going to be a long recovery they didn’t want to wait for, so I got discharged with a pension and never looked back.”

I take a deep breath, preventing my laughter from escaping. “You…you fell off a ladder and busted your ass?”

He nods. “Yeah, that’s about as apt a description of my stupidity that could be put on it.”

I clamp my beak shut as I feel the rumbles of laughter and giggle fits slowly overwhelming me and he sighs. “Just let it out, Fang. You are going to explode if you don’t.”

Not a second later I break out into loud guffaws, bashing my fist into the table as my eyes water up. I must look like I’m losing my mind as I throw my head back in laughter, gripping my sides as my face begins to sting from the strain. A couple minutes later, I recover and I suck in a gulp air before I black out.

“I’m sorry, Anon. I’m sorry…but that is just the funniest fucking thing I’ve heard in who knows how long.”

He waves it off with a smile. “It’s alright, it’s worth getting laughed at to see you look that happy again.”

My eyes snap open wide, and a small hint of pink spreads across my snout before I look away. “S-Shut up dweeb. I haven’t had a reason to laugh in ages so I had a lot stored up.”

“I’m used to being the butt of the jokes. It’s my specialty, that and falling down stairs, ladders, and being regularly defeated by gravity and my own dumbassery.”

I sigh as I flick away a happy tear from my eyes. “Still the same Anon from so long ago. Maybe a bit buffer, but still as coordinated as someone having a stroke. Though we better order something before they throw our asses out.”

“Fuck, sure, you got a point. Whatever you want Fang, it’s all on me.”

“You might regret that.”

“I can deal with a few less smokes this week.”

I peruse the menu and see a veritable feast of options in front of me. Crepes piled high with whipped cream, eclairs with all sorts of fillings, piles upon piles of breakfast options, and sugary confections to obliterate me into the deepest sugar coma I could ever be in. Resisting the urge to order the whole menu, I settle on a stack of crepes and a large coffee. I haven’t had a coffee that didn’t taste like burnt ass in so long I can’t wait to have something with a pleasant flavor. Didn’t take long before they slide our food out to us, Anon having ordered a stack of pancakes and a hot chocolate.

Exercising some incredible self-control, I take a knife and fork and start eating like a regular person instead of a ravenous beast. As the first bite hits my tongue, my pupils shrink as the flavor overwhelms my senses. After years of cardboard pizza, cigarettes, and booze this is the first thing I’ve had with actual taste. I am in heaven, and I let out a low shuddering moan as I savor the flavor.

Anon is chewing away at a half a pancake he shoved into his mouth before snickering at me. “That good, huh?”

I take another bite before nodding enthusiastically, not caring how embarrassing the sound I just made is. “It’s fucking delicious. I haven’t had real food in who knows how long.”

“Take your time and enjoy it then, we are in no rush. Not like we’ve got anywhere else to be.”

“True enough.”

 I cut a larger piece off and stuff it in my mouth. Piece by piece, the first crepe evaporates into my waiting maw. I take a sip of my coffee, sending electricity surging through my veins. Is everything here made of pure heaven or am I so used to mediocrity that standard fare has become the finest of meals? I suppose so, not that I’m complaining.

Setting my utensils aside for a moment, I glance over at Anon. “So, you got any dreams yourself these days or is just skating by on your pension the current plan?”

He shrugs, swallowing down his bite before answering. “I mean, it gives me enough to live on without worry for the most part. Not that I can afford any luxuries on the pittance they pay, but it keeps me fed and in home. As for plans, not many…at least, not yet. I’ve only been back for a little while. My whole plan so far was hanging out watching you every night, trying to not look like a fucking creeper at the same time.”

I smirk at him. “I mean, you didn’t look like a total creeper, but I will say I did wonder if you were some guy who was gonna murder me on my way home. Nobody in Skin Row is really anyone I’d want to hang out with, well except you now, of course.”

“Of course. At first, I kind of wanted to melt into the background, hide at home like I always did playing my vidya and watching shit movies. When I saw you in that pizzeria I wanted to walk away, pretend like I got what I wanted out of life and needed nothing else, but something kept me there…I couldn’t just leave.”

I reach out giving his hand a squeeze. “I’m glad you didn’t. It was nice to have someone in the audience that looked like they wanted to be there. Far different from normal casual disregard we get.”

He blushes again before turning his head to the side. “G-glad to do it, Fang. I’ll still be there every night.”

“You damn well better be. Talking to me again doesn’t mean you get to slack off. On that note, why did it take you so long to come up to me, anyway?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t think I had any right to but after I watched you wasting away…and then with that last song you sang, I knew I couldn’t just sit there doing nothing. I had to say something before…before it was too late for both of us.”

“Yeah, I must look a sight. Scale and bones and barely a feather to my name.”

His mouth barely moves as he stares into my eyes. “She’s still the same beautiful Fang to me.”

I blink at him in shock before speaking. “Uh…Anon, you still mumble.”

His face turns beet red as he hides inside his sweatshirt. “Oh, son of a fucking bitch, I thought I had a handle on that!”

I laugh at the dork, my hand resting on my cheek. “Good to see some things never change, dweeb. Well, thank you for the compliment even if you meant to keep that inside.”

“You’re, uh…you’re welcome! Goddamn mumbling…” He stabs another piece of pancake, ramming it in his mouth to stifle any further mishaps.

I chuckle at him before finishing off the rest of my plate, the last heavenly scraps fading into the void in my stomach. The first real meal I’ve had in so long and some fun conversation, more than I could have hoped for even a week ago. He pays the bill, and we take our drinks outside as he walks me home. Skin Row is a lot less scary when you aren’t alone, especially with someone who can probably snap a brick in two with his bare hands. As we reach my apartment we turn toward each other, awkwardly shifting in place.

“Well, I had a wonderful time, Anon. Thank you for treating me to breakfast…best meal I’ve had in ages.”

He rubs his hands together, looking unsure of himself as he kicks a rock down the alley. “Not a problem, Fang. Glad to do it. I’ve got a lot of making up to do and breakfast is the least I could do.”

“That you do. I’ll catch you later Anon, don’t get shanked on the way home.”

“No one would mess with me these days anyway. See you later, Fang.”

We stand there looking at each other for a minute before I break the awkwardness, giving him a hug, which he returns with a happy sigh. Breaking off, I wave to him. He waves back, watching me walk up the steps before turning away as I walk out of his sight.

I bounce up the stairs before pushing open the door and falling on my couch, the spring currently digging into my back doing nothing to spoil my mood. That food was to die for, a luxury I will not soon forget. Not that I expect him to be buying me food all the time, he is no richer than I am. But still, it is nice to do something other than mope around my apartment all day.

On that note, I sit back up from my couch taking in my surroundings. It’s time for some spring cleaning. I spend the rest of the day tidying up the place, tossing out old pizza boxes and piles of bottles left scattered about, sweeping up all the cigarette butts I left everywhere, and cleaning off the counters. After a whole day of work, it looks a lot more like a home; a home with a bunch of holes in it, but not an eternally depressing shack of disappointment. I have a few spare quarters, so laundry is on the table as I stuff a bunch of clothes and my blanket and pillowcase into the rickety washing machine.

After putting up my clothes and resetting my bedding, I plop back down on the couch. The blanket feels a whole lot comfier when it doesn’t have crusty spots all over it. I fluff my flattened pillow as best I can and deeply inhale the fresh scent of detergent floating up from the case. I check my phone: a single text from Anon letting me know he made it home safe. I quickly respond with a happy yay before setting it back down.

He showed up—not only showed up but kept his word, and honestly that’s all I had hoped for. The fact he still finds me beautiful even now…. Shut up, heart, we’ve got a lot more to do before we go jumping off the deep end into a relationship. We are making progress, but we have to be sure he’s changed. I don’t doubt it, really, but I need to know that he is exactly the man I saw today, the best Anon he can be. With a smile on my beak, I cuddle up under the covers, my eyes heavy but shining brighter tonight, with a heart full of dreams.