“Is he … painting?”

  Flynn squinted. “I think he might be.”

  The dragon stood hunched over in the door frame, his head conspiratorially hovering above Flynn’s shoulder. Both of them were staring at the back of their bedroom, where the light was repelled by everlasting darkness. There, at the edge of the black globe, sat a unicorn on a small stool, its hind legs crossed in front of it to accommodate an old scaffolding with a large canvas on it.

  Rain had his rear to them, and his greasy mane ran down the back of his neck like algae. His front hooves moved through the air in graceful strokes, occasionally dipping a dark brush into a bucket of paint before splattering color onto the thick canvas.

  They watched in silence for a couple of seconds, unsure what to make of the scene that unfolded itself in front of them.

  “I guess our roommate is an artist,” Flynn commented dryly.

  The dragon craned his neck to get a better view.

  “Why is his painting all black?” he rumbled.

  Flynn scoffed. “Does that really surprise you?”

  Another gush of color hit the linen, slowly darkening the canvas in oily black.

  “It must cater to a more modern audience, I suppose,” the dragon mused.

  They watched in awe as the unicorn performed a few eccentric brush strokes.

  “Who do you think strapped that brush to his hooves?” Oscar asked after a while.

  Flynn snorted. “That’s just one of the many questions I have.”

  “We shouldn’t be too hard on him,” the dragon said conciliatorily. “It’s great to have a creative outlet. It can also help with mental conditions.”

  “Since when are you on his side? He is a horse, after all.”

  “I’m getting used to the idea.”

  “The idea of horses?”

  The dragon huffed. “The idea of accepting people for who they are.”

  It had only been three days since their arrival at the Mythical Ward, but the facility and its people had already left a mark on Oscar.

  “That’s very mature of you,” Flynn admitted.

  “Besides,” Oscar added. “He is not really a horse.”

  “To be honest, I don’t know what he is,” Flynn muttered and turned his attention back to the unicorn.

  Rain was in the process of swapping out his empty paint bucket for a new one. The canvas was already completely black, but that didn’t seem to stop him.

  “Do you think the brush is made from his own hair?” the dragon asked.

  “Gross!”

  “What? I’ve heard the best brushes are made from animal hair.”

  Flynn tried to push the thought out of his mind. “Still, that’s disgusting. I mean … look at his hair.”

  Rain paused and sighed, then slapped more paint onto dried layers of black.

  “You should really stop insulting him like that,” the dragon offered.

  Flynn exhaled slowly and rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry,” he said more loudly.

  The unicorn acknowledged his apology with a black swirl.

  “Do you think he ever talks?” Oscar murmured.

  No response.

  Flynn shook his head. “I don’t know, but I’m sure he’s fun at parties,” he whispered, just quiet enough so that only Oscar could hear him.

  “I don’t think he goes to many parties,” the dragon mused.

  “You think?”

  The dragon frowned and shifted his weight. Flynn nudged him softly, then stepped forward towards the center of the room.

  Without even intending it, he seemed to have interrupted Rain’s creative flow. The unicorn paused mid-stroke, then slowly put down the paint-covered brush and turned around. Between the mask of heartbreaking sadness and the droopy horn dangling in front of Rain’s left eye, Flynn didn’t know where to look.

  “Don’t you have any courses to attend?” he asked to break the awkward silence.

  The unicorn rewarded his question with a blank stare.

  “I know you’re not deaf,” Flynn prodded.

  Rain sighed and turned his head, making the limp horn roll over his forehead.

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk,” Oscar offered, still standing by the door. “Just know we’re here whenever you are ready.”

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Flynn scowled and turned to Oscar. “What are you even talking about? We’ve known him for about two days now — half of that time he made you feel uncomfortable.”

  Oscar grumbled awkwardly, avoiding his gaze.

  “I appreciate that,” an ice-cold voice said behind Flynn, piercing his very soul.

  Oscar squeaked and jammed his horn-covered head into the door frame. Flynn jumped and swung around, his hands instinctively reaching for a sword that wasn’t there.

  His confusion was met with Rain’s depressed face.

  “I’m sorry,” the unicorn said quietly, every letter a jolt of sadness.

  “What on earth?” Flynn gasped, staring at the unicorn with his mouth wide open.

  Oscar’s violent contact with the ceiling had spawned a cloud of dust which slowly drifted through the room. Flynn could hear the dragon wince behind him, but he could not bring himself to take his eyes off Rain. Or rather, he didn’t want to have his back to the unicorn — not again, not ever.

  “I’m sorry,” Rain repeated, sending chills down Flynn’s spine.

  Flynn pulled a face and pressed his hands against his ears. “Could you just stop, please?”

  Rain’s head drooped.

  “You know what? Oscar was right: it’s okay if you don’t want to talk.”

  The unicorn nodded limply, the droopy horn bouncing off his pale cheeks.

  “Okay.”

  “STOP IT!”

  “Are you asleep?” the dragon rumbled quietly enough for Flynn’s bedframe to vibrate.

  Half expecting an earthquake, Flynn woke up with a start, hastily pushing away the scratchy blanket.

  “What?” he muttered in confusion, his hands aimlessly moving through the air.

  “I asked whether you are asleep,” Oscar repeated innocently.

  Flynn rubbed his watery eyes, his senses slowly returning to him. It was still pitch-black in their room, and a depressed snoring filled the air.

  “I’m pretty sure I was,” Flynn grumbled and let his body sink back into the sheets.

  “Did I wake you up?”

  Flynn responded with a practiced sigh.

  They fell quiet for a moment, listening to the chainsaw of Rain’s labored breathing.

  “I can’t sleep,” the dragon said.

  Flynn snorted. “I’m not surprised. For someone with depression, his sleep is rather deep.”

  The dragon shifted in his bed, the wood creaking alarmingly.

  “It’s not that,” Oscar admitted. “I’m scared about tomorrow.”

  “Why?” Flynn asked, even though he knew the answer.

  Tomorrow, Oscar was going to have his first official therapy session with his group. It would be a nerve-wracking experience for the dragon, even though Elli had assured him it would be great fun. Flynn wasn’t sure what part of it would pass as fun, but he could already envision the dragon squirming in agony when asked to share his feelings in front of others. He was still skeptical of this whole endeavor, and seeing Oscar stress about it only strengthened his distrust.

  “I’m sure it will be better than you think,” he lied.

  Oscar puffed, and a tiny yellow glow radiated from his nostrils.

  “That’s a low bar,” the dragon grumbled.

  “You asked for this, remember?” Flynn paused, then added, “Or at least you didn’t mind the prospect.”

  “That was days ago.”

  “And?”

  “It’s a lot more real now.”

  Flynn sighed. “According to Elli, this is the first step of your journey towards mental stability. I have my issues with all of this …—” he gestured at the space around him, even though no one could see him, ”but it’s worth a try, I suppose.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to try,” the dragon murmured. “Maybe I just want to go home.”

  “I’m afraid home is not a place we can go right now.”

  A moment of quiet passed before Flynn could hear a grumbling sob.

  “Hey, now!” he said soothingly. “You’ll be fine. And I’ll be right there with you.”

  The dragon sniveled quietly. “Okay.”

  “Remember how excited you were about coming here,” Flynn tried. “This is the place you read about! And you are here — isn’t that great?”

  The sound of scales on scales filled the air.

  “I suppose,” Oscar grumbled.

  Trying to push his momentum, Flynn continued, “I’m sure you will learn all sorts of fascinating … things … about psephology.”

  “That’s not —” the dragon began, but broke off. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Thanks.”

  Satisfied with himself, Flynn crossed his arms as a pillow.

  “Maybe you will even meet someone you like.”

  “You mean … friends?”

  “Why not?”

  The dragon considered the question for a moment.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never had any friends.”

  Flynn frowned. “What about me?”

  “You don’t count as a friend,” Oscar responded with his gravelly voice.

  Flynn didn’t dare to ask what he classified as instead. It was the kind of talk that made him uncomfortable, so he steered the discussion into smoother waters instead.

  “Why shouldn’t you make friends here? I’m sure there are plenty of mythical creatures like you here.”

  “You mean broken like me?”

  Flynn jumped out of bed and faced the darkness with a stern expression.

  “You are not broken,” he snapped. “You hear me?”

  If the dragon nodded, he couldn’t see or hear it.

  “You are the finest dragon I’ve ever met. Anyone who doesn’t see that is broken.”

  Oscar hummed quietly. “Thank you.”

  Flynn sat back on the bed and massaged his thighs.

  “I hope you will learn to think better of yourself as part of this therapy.”

  “I hope so, too,” the dragon admitted.

  They fell silent for some time. Flynn’s eyes had slowly adjusted to the darkness, and he could make out Oscar’s massive frame next to him. The dragon was sitting cross-legged on his bed, wings folded tightly.

  “You know,” Flynn mused, “one day you might even find more than a friend.”

  “What do you mean?” the dragon asked skeptically.

  Flynn snorted. “A mate.”

  “That’s gross.”

  “No, it’s not, silly.”

  “I would be too shy for that, anyway.”

  Flynn clicked his tongue. “Well, there is that.”

  “From what I’ve read,” the dragon continued, “most dragonesses prefer strong and dominant partners.”

  “How much exactly are you reading?” Flynn scoffed.

  “I’m a fast reader.”

  “I’m not sure all that reading is doing you any favors.”

  “Knowledge is power,” the dragon placated, happy about the change of subject.

  “I’ll take your word for it. But now that big brain of yours should get some sleep.”

  “You are probably right.”

  “I am. And I didn’t even have to read a book for that.”

  They shuffled back under their blankets, bed frames creaking in unison.

  “Good night, Flynn.”

  “Good night, Oscar.”