I'm going to strangle him. If it wasn't leaving dirty dishes around, it was leaving his muddy boots on the coffee table. If it wasn't him draining the entire cistern so I had to lug buckets out to the river and back, it was him draining my food supply. Anderson had clearly never done a gods-damned thing for himself in his life. I was a servant in my own home! A housewife!

The state of my wings didn't make things any better. The feathers I was missing were growing back slowly, and the bald patches were still obvious. In fact, the patches of skin you could see were red and irritated. When I got nervous about the state of them, I went to go see Nathan and Drake, hoping they'd give me some kind of cream to put on. "Get some rest," Nathan had said. "Relax, and you'll heal faster." Except how was I supposed to rest when I was cleaning up after a dragon who couldn't take care of himself?

Anderson wasn't much of a talker. He'd say a few words to me, usually in the evenings and the mornings. During the day, he'd be out and about on the island. It was mind-boggling that someone who was barely there could make such a mess all the time. It was slowly driving me up the wall. Eventually, I'd start hallucinating, maybe raving madly in tongues.

The final straw was when he started smoking in the house.

He was sitting in my favorite chair once again, a hand-rolled cigarette between his lips. He had a crease between his eyebrows, and he was focused entirely on the ugly, bulky laptop in front of him, his leg bouncing up and down absentmindedly.

"That is it!" I slammed my hands down on the table, rattling it. My voice was loud. I knew I should've reigned it in, but I was shaky with fire in my veins. Cigarette smoke was clogging my throat. I would have rathered the too-strong smell of his cologne. At least that was made to smell nice.

He startled in his seat, red eyes wide and snapping immediately to me.

I had a death wish, I guess. That's the only explanation for the way I stomped over and pulled the cigarette from his mouth. I crumpled it in my hand, ignoring the short-lived burn in my palm as I smothered the cherry. There was a wounded look on his face as I closed my fist around his cigarette, and I almost felt bad. Almost.

He blinked up at me as he slowly started to close his laptop, ending the artificial glow that lit up his face. My wings flapped in agitation, my feathers were ruffled, and I knew they'd smell like cigarette smoke until I washed them next.

"Honestly, I think you're the worst house guest I've ever had," I said, voice tinged with acid. "You track mud all over my house, you leave dirty dishes everywhere, you drink all my water, eat all my food, and now you're smoking? Inside?" Anger straightened my spine, and I felt righteous standing over him. "I'm fucking sick of it." I was panting by the end, surely red in the face.

"I-I'm sorry."

And if that didn't take the wind out of my sails.

I could feel the anger evaporate as he looked up at me. His usually stoic face was downtrodden, his eyes frantically moving about the place as if cataloging all the things I complained about. He held his closed laptop between us like a barrier, like a shield. I almost snorted at that. He acted like I was the scary one.

Suddenly, my entire body felt like lead. I plopped down onto the coffee table, sitting across from him. He blinked at me again, his shoulders tense.

"Do you...want me to leave?" he asked softly, and the air around us weighed heavily on my shoulders. And suddenly the big bad dragon that'd been taking over my house looked so...small. His huge hands were curled into weak-looking fists, his shoulders folded down and in. It was as if he'd done his best to make himself shrink.

"No," I admitted because I didn't. I was angry. No. Beyond angry, irate, about the state of my house. But kicking him out felt like a step too far. I was unlikeable. I knew that much. But I wasn't that much of an asshole. "Can you just—" I sighed. "Can you just be a little more mindful?"

With my elbows on my knees, I rubbed my face. My eyes were hot and heavy with exhaustion. My skin and hair felt oily, dirty. My wings weren't much better. They'd progressively gotten worse over time because I was having trouble cleaning them. It was hard to do alone, doubly so when extending them still hurt. Normally, I kept them clean enough that basic hygiene wasn't an issue, but my injuries had put me behind.

I almost didn't hear him start talking again. "I'm sorry," he said, sounding genuine. "I didn't mean to be so inconsiderate about your home. I'll do better. I promise." I looked back up at him, and he kept going. "I have ADD, assuming that's still the accurate term for it. I haven't seen a doctor for it in...several years actually, now that I think about it," he murmured. "I know it's not an excuse. I wouldn't— I don't want it to sound like I'm trying to brush off anything I did. I was being inconsiderate. I shouldn't have smoked inside. I knew that was dumb when I lit it. And then with the dishes—" He was rambling, and I was too dumbfounded to stop him. "I just, get too into a project sometimes, and it makes it hard to focus on anything else, and I meant to do the dishes, but then I forgot they were there, and by the time I got back they were gone and I knew that you'd taken care of them, and I wanted to talk to you about them, but then I got back into my work and—"

"Hey," I said, wanting that panicked look on his face to disappear. It was jarring to see someone so powerful look so young and unprepared. "It's okay."

He blinked at me, and if I didn't know any better, I would say that his eyes looked wet. He didn't cry, though. I don't think he'd let himself cry in front of me. If it were Sacha, I would've thought the whole thing an act, a ploy to make me calm down. But Anderson's heart was beating pretty rapidly in his chest. Whatever emotions he was feeling, they were real.

I wanted to wipe that wounded expression off his face. "Can I give you a hug?" I asked, the fingertips of my right hand just barely brushing his wrist.

He looked down where our skin met. He nodded wordlessly before leaning forward. I almost laughed at how awkward he was being, but the moment was too heavy for that. So I swallowed it down. He buried his nose in the skin where my neck and shoulder met, and I could feel his hot breath tickling my skin.

His laptop was more of a nuisance than anything, so I pulled it from his grasp and set it behind me. Then, I wrapped my arms around his middle and pulled him into a proper hug. I dragged my palms down his back, feeling the spot near his shoulder blades where his wings would be if he were a Harpy. His back was a wall of tension, but slowly, it eased from him. The hug wasn't perfect. We were still sitting, so we were awkwardly leaning into each other, our knees bumping together.

Sitting so close to him, there was the briefest hint of a smell grazing my nose. Buried underneath the perfumes of deodorant and cologne was something natural, something sweet. I tried to be subtle about the way I pressed my nose against his neck. Sweet but not sugary. Tart maybe?

"Citrusy," I murmured, and Anderson made a questioning sound. "Your scent," I said before I could second guess myself. "You smell citrusy. Like oranges. Blood orange maybe? I like it."

"Thanks," he said softly, voice barely there. His face felt hot against my neck.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you," I said, guilt gnawing at my stomach. "I should've talked to you like an adult."

"I don't blame you for getting mad," he said. "And to be honest, I kind of deserved it."

"No," I said, shaking my head. If my nose brushed against his skin again, sending a waft of fresh blood orange my way, it was a coincidence. "No one deserves to be yelled at that way, not for the stupid stuff that upset me."

And then Anderson chuckled, his back and shoulders shaking with the force of it. He pulled back from me, and I let my arms fall away. We were still close, though. His eyes were soft when they looked at me, still shiny but no longer tear-filled.

"We're just gonna send each other in circles apologizing," he said, and I couldn't fight the smile that wormed its way onto my face.

"Yeah," I agreed.

"How about we start over?" He extended his hand to me for a handshake. "I'm Special Agent Anderson of the SDF, and I'd like to commandeer your house for a while."

I was never particularly fond of my laugh. To me, it always sounded like a goat choking on a tin can, but Anderson grinned when laughter tumbled out of me. It was breathtaking to see him smile like that, and I found myself winded when he looked at me.

I shook his hand grinning like a fool. Who would've thought that such an uptight dragon shifter would have a sense of humor? "You can stay here on one condition."

He raised a single dark eyebrow at me. "Name it."

"What's your first name?"

He blinked, and his ears grew red. "That's it?"

"Dude, it's been eating me up inside. Is Anderson even your real name?"

He laughed then, and it was deep and wonderful and sent my insides tumbling. "Dragons don't really do last names," he shrugged. "Had to make one up when I became an agent. I figured I'd make it one all my human coworkers could pronounce."

"And your first name?"

"Yoryn," he said.

"Yorn?"

"Yor-yn," he corrected. "Two syllables."

"Nice to meet you, Yoryn."

"Nice to meet you, too, Seamus."