The cold and chill begged him to stop, its icy fingers tearing at his clothing. But he’d almost reached the window, and if he got there… His hopes were his only warmth in the bitterness of this cold night. At last he found himself upon the outer sill of the window. One clawed hand and then another grasped the edges and pulled himself up to look through the window, chin resting on the sill. The horn on his snout lightly tapped the glass. Startled, he moved his head back, and more carefully peered inside.

The interior was vast. And warm. He could almost feel the heat siphoning out through the glass and filling himself. His breath showed on the window again as he felt some measure of strength returning to him. The house was seemingly empty and yet filled with everything he wanted all at once. A fireplace, thick carpet, and a large table with four chairs, his green eyes tried to absorb the whole scene at once. "This must be their living room," he thought.

A motion from the corner of the room caught his eye as he surveyed the room. Someone was coming, but he didn’t move. It was two children, followed closely by what must be their parents. The man sat down, and he saw the woman help the two children into their chairs. Without warning, intense pressure and pain burned through the dragon’s chest causing him to stumble backwards. Clenching his eyes and mouth shut, he gasped for air. But the air was so frigid that his insides froze and he started coughing. When finally his breath returned to him, he looked back into the window and met the stares of everyone inside.

The man inside got up and walked towards the window. James tried to read his expression, guess what he was going to do. Both afraid and hopeful, he stood unmoving and waited. "Maybe," he thought, "Maybe he knows what I’m going through. He’ll invite me in… give me some food… let me sit by his fireplace."

But as the man’s shadow spilled out into the yard over James, blocking out the light from inside, he felt that the man had no intention of talking to him. His arms groped the sides of the window as he felt for the curtains. James stood, trying to see past him, trying to think fast, figure something out.. Nothing worked. The curtains came together roughly and obscured his view of the living room. The shadow left the sill, and muffled conversation came through the wall. James had already turned and left.

James had no place in their home. Of course not – he was a beggar, a worthless bum who didn’t belong in their society. That’s what people tell him. James hugged himself but was so numb that he wasn’t even sure he had. His head swam in bitter thoughts… "My mother never touches me, unless she wants to beat me… Why was I even hatched?" James looked down, finding himself walking through his tracks back to his… the house. "I’ve got no place there either," whispered James aloud, shivering violently. The snow and fog felt close around him, tugging at what feeling his nerves had left. "But I don’t have any choice."

Nine years. Nine years old, and every moment of sorrow and sadness he could recall rushed to meet him again. Since the first ray of light touched his delicate hatchling skin, being mistreated, beaten up, and humiliated were the only pervasive parts of his past. And amid this torrent of fragmented memories, he was reminded of a photograph he once saw of his mother in the clinic. She was wearing this expression, this mock grin on her face… like what she held was something putrid and filthy. And worse, that that something should be dead.

"Drug dealers and alcoholics, that’s who your parents are!" screamed something inside James. He trudged on, unwelcome memories continuing to assault him every numb step of the way. His insides lurched and ached from what had just happened. He shook his head in the chill as more memories confronted him. Going to school, optimistic for the first time because he might be able to make a few friends, and even better, get away from home for a time. But that optimism disappeared when the outside saw a pathetic little dragon, dirty rags covering an even dirtier form. They told him.

Some days he was so poorly clothed that the teachers were forced to send him home. "You can’t come to school like that!" they yelled, he heard them! Pleading with them, he-"Arghaa!" James tripped on his feet as a sudden burst of pain racked his chest and side. He fell to his knees in the snow, holding his chest. More pain met his knees as the cold road ripped through his clothing. "Move!" he yelled at himself, feeling his joints seize up from the frozen ground. Though blinded by pain, he forced himself to run a few paces before his feet felt something besides snow underneath them. His strength gave out and he tumbled into a heap on open ground. Instinctively, he pulled his knees up to his chest, and lay there shivering. Slowly, he drew his wings around himself, curled up his tail, and just tried to breathe.

Gradually his shivering stopped as he drew in and let out each breath carefully. Blinking, his thoughts cleared. Suddenly he was aware that his left hand was wet and warm… blood flowed from an open wound on his leg. He clamped his hand on tight to stop the bleeding as he looked up. He was lying under a tree, and it was shielding him from the snow and the wind. He didn’t know if this sudden warmth was really due to the tree or because he was dying and could no longer feel pain, but… Shutting his eyes caused a large tear to escape one, dripping onto his arm.

Just let come what may.

* * * * *

Sleep came uneasily and in streaks of faded colours and emotions. Nothing was clean, and everything stank. As if being beaten by his mother wasn’t enough, being beaten at school was something he had to endure. "No, stop it!" I can’t. You were stealing, and you got caught. You stole food, they found out, and after exacting their own revenge, they set the teacher on you too.

"I know, I know!" James spun through a staggering course in his mind.

She told you that your classmates said you were stealing their food, and she was going to need to call your mother to tell her about it. "I was hungry, I had no choice!"

She wouldn’t listen. You begged her in her office, and she wouldn’t listen. "She’ll hurt me, kill me!" She thought she knew better than you. But she was wrong, and you ran. Who cares if she tried to stop you? She wasn’t able to. You got home, barely keeping your breath, and tried to find your mother… explain things… stop what you didn’t want to come. She might listen, might hear you.

"Hungry?!" she screamed as she stood over you, on you, into you. You stumbled backward and hit your head on the bookshelf after she slapped you. Even before you could feel the sting, you were on your hands and knees, coughing.

James choked, hearing the too-near past being read to him. He couldn’t say anything save for a muffled whimper, he was trying to forget!

"Be happy if you ever get fed again!" You slid on the cold tiles as she kicked your legs out of the way and hurled the bathroom door shut. Pushing yourself off your face, you crawled in the corner and sat.

And cried.

And tried to sleep. Every now and again you’d hear screaming through the door. Yelling and shrieking words you hate… words of hate.

James shook his head vigorously as he spun in the black.

Until the silence fell and you moved to the door. You turned it, worked at it, pushed on it… Somehow the door fell open a crack, and you pushed it open. Straining your eyes to see anything in the dirty black, you crept towards the front door… It was cold and wet, but it wasn’t close. You needed it.

But you were too weak… You’ve stolen from the kitchen before without being caught, without the cover of blackness. And so you went, and grabbed whatever you could find to give yourself some kind of energy, something to help you last long enough to get of here.

Before long, stillness and anxiety overcame you, made you panic. And you left that place. And spent a day outside, wandering, begging, getting as far away as you could. Until you found a windowsill.

"…"

James lay still under the tree for several hours… crying and shuddering. He eventually fell unconscious, more hibernating than resting. It was too much to be loved.

* * * * *

Light streamed through two veils of green and rested upon James’ head. He wearily opened one eye, blinking and yawning. "Bright.." he murmured to himself as he stirred on the ground. Letting his wings down, he sat up and looked around himself. It was midday, as far as he could guess, and... warm. The snow melted under the sun’s warm gaze. He flexed his aching muscles carefully. Standing up and stretching, he yawned and rubbed his arms. Looking down he realized that he’d slept on little more than dirt and tree bark. "I must have blended in pretty well," James observed, most of his green skin coated in earth and blood.

Limping to a nearby park bench, he lifted his leg onto it and examined the wound. Through the remaining tatters of his pantleg, he could see that he had gouged his knee on a rock buried under the snow. The wound was closed and didn’t feel infected. A few streams of dried blood ran down his leg and also the hand that held it. James sighed miserably; he dearly wished he hadn’t been overcome the day before. Moving his leg off the bench, he sat on the cold wood with his hands in his lap.

James stayed there for some time, perhaps half an hour, watching the city before him getting brighter as the sun climbed over the tops of the buildings. A few people wandered by but paid him no notice. He hurt too much to care, so they passed by him as little more than indistinct memories in an indistinct mind. More time passed, his mind empty, his body dazed and listless. Eventually, weary but feeling the need to move, he urged his stiff muscles off of the bench. He started walking slowly down the sidewalk towards the residential area. Each house passed by the corners of James’ eyes, nothing more than blobs of brown, white, or grey. Every step he took felt heavier than the one before it. He struggled on, but wandering aimlessly was quickly draining of what energy he had left. His hunger was beginning to get the better of him.

Until at last something took hold of his senses. The sound!

James would not forget it, the first time his ear felt it.. Some sort of music… loud and thoroughly evocative, even as it found him. The house from which the sound came from was unmistakable – a quaint little home with a blue door. In a place suffocated with lifeless imitations, this one called to him. Just across the road and one house away it stood, and James needed to get himself closer to the sound.

Newfound strength coursed through him as he picked up his feet and verily flew across the road towards the house. The music persistently perked his ears as he flew closer, until he stood on the porch of that house. Almost wild with his newfound stamina, he reached up to the doorknob… and the song ended. At once, his hunger and weariness overtook him again and pulled him away from the doorknob. James’ arm dropped to his side as he sank to his knees. Panting, vision blurring, he fell inward and hit the door, crumpling into a heap at its foot.

* * * * *

He finished another measure. A pleased smile cracked on his face at last. "I like it," Matthew said quietly as he jotted down a few more notes on the sheet facing him from the stand next to him. He absentmindedly chewed on his pencil eraser. "Now, I wonder if-" A dull thud came from somewhere to his left, from the…

"…door?" Matthew got up and walked uncertainly in the direction of the door, not entirely sure he had heard anything at all. He stopped himself. "Umm, whatever." As he spun on his heel he heard several small taps coming from the door again. Folding his wing down he looked left, squinting. Unsure of what to expect, he warily approached and opened the door.

No one was there. "Oh, my!" he remarked to himself in mock excitement. Something nudged his foot, causing him to gasp and jump back. Snapping his head to look down at his doorstep, he saw a little green dragon lay slumped over on himself. He was only a child and.. he wasn’t moving. "…God." Matthew stepped back again, a painful knot forming in his stomach.

He froze, unable to comprehend what was going on, staring at the figure. Watching in mute terror, he realized that he was breathing. "Oh, no!" Matthew rushed forward and took the small dragon up into his arms and walked inside, shutting the door with his elbow. He was only able to take a few steps until he realized how heavy the child was, so he quickly knelt down and set him on the floor.

He sat back onto his haunches, trying to catch his breath. He was forced to turn his head away as he coughed and gasped for air. At last his breathing returned to normal, and he sighed. He realized he was sweating from the panic he felt a moment ago. His gaze turned back to the dragon that was lying on the floor. Dirty, maybe homeless… Matthew gulped as he saw the large gash in his leg, which looked a few hours old.

"What in God’s name happened to you?"

He didn’t know, but he had to call the paramedics to get him some help, and fast. Pushing himself off the carpet, he stepped carefully over the dragon and made for the telephone on the wall next to the kitchen doorway. "Okay," he breathed, feeling panicked. "9-1-"

"Wait…!"

Matthew jumped and spun around so fast he almost ripped the phone out of the wall. Instead, he bashed his wings into the open doorway next to him. "Ahhhhh, ow!" Reaching back to rub his shoulder he saw what had made him jump. His hand fell to his side as he saw the now-awake dragon, turned to face him from the floor. Matthew looked at his face, quiet and unmoving. His little green eyes held a certain sadness that his gently smiling face did not. Matthew didn’t know what to think yet, but his mouth hung slightly open as he turned and set the phone back on the receiver.

"Are you okay?"

* * * * *

"I can’t breathe, I can’t move!"

"…uh..? I’m… I’m moving.."

"Someone’s… holding me? What? Let go… Don’t hurt me…"

"Is he okay? He’s coughing, is he sick? What happened?"

James woke up as someone large stepped over him. He was lying on somewhere warm and soft, and the outdoor air he expected to be breathing was replaced with something friendlier… Breathing deep, he rolled over to see who had stepped over him. A light orange-brown unidragon stood holding a phone, very large to James’ eyes from the floor. "Wait…!"

By the time that James realized he had only whispered it, the dragon suddenly spun around, hurting himself on the door. He cried out and looked hurt but then he looked straight at James. He smiled back; he thought the way the he was acting was kind of silly. James watched the dragon carefully as he turned around and hung the phone up. James noticed his long blonde hair, all the way down to his wings. It looked strange on a guy, especially as such a contrast to his skin color.

"Are you okay?" the big dragon asked him as he turned to face James again.

"Yeah, but I can’t talk loud," replied James, with difficulty.

"I found you on my doorstep. You passed out or something and I was just about to phone the paramedics." The dragon motioned towards the phone. James’ expression had changed since he mentioned calling the paramedics. Now, he appeared scared and worried. "Um, it’s okay, I don’t have to call them now unless you’re really hurt," he began again awkwardly.

James tried to push himself up onto his elbows, but his head throbbed as soon as he started moving. He fell to the carpet once more and looked at the ceiling. "My head hurts, but I’ve hurt more, and I’ll be okay." He almost whispered the last part, slipping into another memory.

The large dragon walked over to James and crouched low next to him. "I’m Matthew, little one. What is your name?" James’ face met Matthew’s, smiling warmly.

"James." He opened his mouth to say something else, but James started again suddenly. "Why… am I in here?"

"Just a moment ago I heard you… on my doorstep. I opened the door and I found you lying there. I carried you inside to try to help you." Matthew’s face looked kind and earnest, and James felt bewildered seeing it. Never before had he read such an expression from someone’s face… especially not when they were looking at him.

Matthew paused, looking over his small friend. "Well, he looks alright, thank God," he thought. Matthew sighed with immense relief. "I’m… I’m so glad that you seem to be okay, James. I was really frightened for you when I saw you lying there; I didn’t know what to do at first. James only looked back confused.

"James, what happened to you? Why did you pass out?" Matthew moved to sit closer to James.

"I-… I-…" James faltered. He felt like crying, or screaming, or laughing, or… All of his thoughts had been contradicted in just a few short moments. His thought process broke the instant he realized that Matthew was calling someone to help him. "I just don’t… understand… why you’re… doing this." James’ eyes wavered as he looked away from his new…

"I’m doing this because you needed my help, and I’m more than willing to give it.."

…friend.

James rolled over and grasped Matthew’s leg and tightly held onto it as several tears rolled out of his eyes. Matthew set his hand on James’ back and spoke softly to him. "Hey, hey… it’s alright now…" James quietly sobbed for a minute or so before he sniffled and squeaked out, "Thank you…" muffled by his arm and Matthew’s pantleg.

Matthew's strong arms carefully lifted James to his knees. "How’s your head? Are you feeling all right? I have something you can take for it if it’s still hurting." James could only nod slowly, and Matthew nodded back. Getting up, he went to the kitchen. James sat on his knees watching Matthew. After rummaging through a few cupboards and filling a glass with water, he returned holding a white pill and the glass. "Here," he said, offering both to James. "It’s a Tylenol, just a standard pain killer. It should help your head."

James took them, quickly downing the pill and the entire glass of water. Matthew studied James as he guzzled the water. He looked so poor and disheveled, and… hungry. "James," Matthew began as James set the glass on the floor. "When is the last time you ate something? You… you look like you’re starving." James stared in disbelief.

At last, James spoke. "Sometime yesterday, but it wasn’t much." He didn’t want to say much more than that. Matthew nodded. "I think he understands," thought James.

"Umm, I can’t let you go like this, not until I’m sure that you’re better. Your leg looks pretty bad, you’re covered in dirt, and you don’t look like you’ve eaten much of anything for days." Matthew stood up and asked James to follow him. "Can you come with me?" He extended a hand towards James.

James stared at the hand in front of him, his heart beating fast. In that moment, when he took Matthew’s hand, and was helped to his feet, James gave Matthew his trust. "Here, come." Matthew led James slowly through the kitchen and back into his room. As he entered, James saw that the room was colored much like Matthew’s skin. The brown walls were lit by two lamps sitting on a bookcase and a chest of drawers, giving the entire room a golden-brown hue. Several boxes lie in the corners of the room, but otherwise the room looked normal. With one exception – next to a stand and a chair leaned something James did not recognize.

"What is that?" James asked, pointing to it. Matthew looked and saw that he was pointing at his guitar.

"It’s my guitar," Matthew said. "I was actually in the middle of writing a song when I heard you at the door." James’ heart skipped a beat as he remembered the music that had brought him to this house.

"I came over here because I heard the music you were playing and I loved the way it sounded. I’ve never heard any sound like it before." James looked really excited as he looked at the guitar, his eyes unmoving from its smooth surface.

"Well, James, we can worry about that later. Right now, we’ve got to deal with you." Catching his attention, James saw that he was holding a pair of blue jeans, a winged shirt, and a small belt in his hands. "I want you to go take a bath and clean yourself up, and once you’re done, put these on. They were my son’s, and he doesn’t need them anymore." Matthew paused, thinking. "While you’re doing that, I’ll see if I can find you something to eat. Alright?"

"Yes, thank you… so much." James walked forward and Matthew crouched in front of him. He gave Matthew a hug, which Matthew returned earnestly.

"Do you see the bathroom? It’s that door to your right in the kitchen. You’ll be okay, right?" Matthew felt kind of silly – he hadn’t been around children much recently.

"Yeah, I’ll be okay." James said smiling.

"Good." Matthew gave James the clothes and then nudged him towards the kitchen. Once James had shut the door and was out of sight, Matthew sighed and put his face in his hands. Overcome, he sobbed quietly in his room until he heard the water running into the tub. Wiping his eyes, he got up and walked into the kitchen.

* * * * *

James had never felt so calm as he relaxed in the warm water of the tub, washing himself carefully with shampoo and taking special care of his leg. He scrubbed off the dried blood with his small claws and tried to wash the area as best he could. Once finished, he got out of the tub and saw that the water had turned a rather sickly shade of red and brown. He unplugged it and sat watching the tub’s dirty water empty into the drain. His feelings were so rested and peaceful now that it was all gone and away from him. He hadn’t felt clean in as long a time as he could remember.

Putting on the clothes that Matthew gave him, he realized that they were indeed just a little bit too large. He briefly wondered how Matthew might have guessed that, but he shrugged off the unimportant thought as he put the belt around his waist. He sighed contentedly as he heard something beyond the door, so he pushed it open to see.

Matthew stood over the sink washing his hands, a steaming pot sitting on the stove next to him. He shut off the water and turned around, seeing James standing in front of the bathroom door, damp. He smiled and said, "Hey, there! Much better… But you could have dried yourself off, you know." James realized he’d completely forgotten to do that, but then Matthew chuckled and continued. "It’s perfectly alright, you’ll dry eventually. Come here for a second, I have something else for your leg." James took a step forwards as Matthew grabbed some bandages that had been lying on the table. Setting those on a nearby chair, he took a medical spray and aimed it at James’ knee. "Don’t worry, this won’t hurt.." James nodded, knowing it wouldn’t. Matthew sprayed his knee and then wrapped the bandage around it, holding it there with a small metal clip. "That should help it heal faster, okay?" Matthew patted James on the back.

"And this," he said while getting up, "is also for you." He poured some of the stuff from the pot into a bowl, put in a large spoon, and set it on the table. "I made you some soup.. ah, canned soup that I had. Two cans, really. I-I didn’t know how much you’d want." James almost didn’t hear him as he watched the food bowl being carried over his head to the table. He could feel himself breathing in slow motion as Matthew lifted him up and onto a chair in front of the bowl, and his voice said distantly, "Dig in, it’s all yours…"

James’ thoughts were reduced to a singular course as he ate the soup. Later, he couldn’t even recall what kind of soup it was, or even how it tasted. All that he could remember was how it made him feel; revitalized, because for perhaps the first time in his entire life, he actually had enough to eat. Finishing the first bowl, he looked up at Matthew and some of the soup dripped back into the bowl. He looked down to the bowl and back to Matthew’s face, laughing with embarrassment. Matthew handed him a napkin, and once he was done wiping his face off, the rest of the soup was poured into his bowl. "Have the rest, James. It’s perfectly alright, I’m not hungry. Besides, you really look like you need it."

After he finished his second bowl, he wiped his face once more and whispered, "Thank you mister…"

Matthew, who was sitting across from him, only smiled warmly. James didn’t know it, but Matthew’s eyes burned, aching to cry. "Umm.." James’ small voice brought Matthew’s attention back. "What was that you were playing a while ago?"

"I was practicing something on my guitar." Matthew paused for a beat and then continued. "I’m… heh… trying to write a song."

"It’s beautiful." Matthew watched the little green dragon’s face and took a deep breath.

"Thank you, James. I’m not done yet, but-"

"Can you play it for me? What you have?" James interrupted.

"S..sure James." James started to move his bowl, but Matthew stopped him. "Don't worry about that, I’ll take care of it later." He couldn’t feel surprised by Matthew’s kindness any longer. He hopped off the chair and walked after Matthew who was already heading into his room. No longer blinded by hunger, he felt the warmth of the room envelop him.

Matthew walked over to his chair where he had been playing earlier, picked up his guitar which rested on the side of it, and sat down to play. James looked at the music sheet that Matthew had been writing on. "So, that’s your song?" James asked.

"Yes, what I have of it so far.."

"I really like the way it sounds."

Matthew grinned at James. "Good, so do I." And with that, he began to play. James stood next to the earthen-colored bookshelf as he listened to the melody Matthew created. This part didn’t sound familiar, but it still made him feel more alive, just as he felt before. As he played, James felt entranced by the beautiful sound and notation, until at last he heard the part that lured him to the house to begin with. His heart swelled as he heard it now in full spirit, bothered by nothing. Matthew played through the final bar, and James still resonated with the sound.

"Whoa, are you okay?"

James realized that he had shut his eyes and was leaning on the bookcase. He shook his eyes open, and as his vision returned, he said, "That was amazing. I have got to learn how to play that!" James’ eyes widened as he realized what he said and clasped his hands over his gaping mouth. "What did I just say?! Am I crazy?" he thought to himself wildly, turning away from Matthew.

Matthew set his guitar down quickly and ran to James’ side. "Hey, what’s wrong? You were only speaking your mind, it’s fine… I’m glad that you can do that." Matthew turned James to face him and hugged him under his chin. "I will teach you.." he whispered.

James’ heart froze and he almost choked on his breath. "What?" he could only think, because his throat would not say it. "You will? How? I can’t pay you.." he whispered, his voice shaking as it started to return.

"You don’t need any money. And…" Matthew cleared his throat. He seemed.. nervous or something, James couldn’t tell. "… I have something more for you." Gently letting go of James, Matthew rose and walked to one of the boxes James noticed earlier. James gasped, his mind in another flurry of emotions as Matthew came back holding a guitar. A guitar… shining as though new and unused and smaller than the one he used. He offered it to James. "Take it." Matthew held the end towards James. "Please."

James lifted the instrument from Matthew’s gentle hands. As he held it, he realized that it wasn’t as heavy as it looked and he could easily carry it. It was, however, a little large and not knowing how to hold it he set it down beside himself. "Thank you," James whispered towards Matthew.

"I think I understand." Matthew said. James wasn’t sure if he knew what he was referring to or not, but Matthew’s tone gave him the sense in his heart that… that he did understand. "C’mon, let’s see if I can even find out where to begin." Matthew chuckled and pulled over another chair for James to sit on. James climbed into it and Matthew smiled as he got himself settled in. Taking a deep breath, Matthew began speaking.

"I guess I’ll start with how you hold it. Pick it up, I’ll show you."

* * * * *

James stayed there for many more hours, learning everything he could from Matthew. It all made sense to him and his instructions seemed only natural. Things fell into place more naturally than James thought it could. But as the light outside grew dark, Matthew began to worry about what was going to happen. James also felt more anxious as night fell, and just before it got completely dark, he spoke about it.

"Mister.."

"Matthew," he reminded James. "You can call me Matthew."

James nodded and continued. "I think I have to go home now."

Matthew felt both relief and sickness hearing this. "He has a home, but they let him wander around like that? Nearly starving?" Matthew thought in disgust.

"I’ll be okay Matthew," said James. Matthew jumped – he must have let his emotion show on his face. "I think I can handle it now… but…"

"You can come back absolutely whenever you need to. I’m almost always here, you’ll find me."

And the next thing he knew, Matthew had hugged him, told him that he’d keep the guitar safe with him, and reluctantly set him on his way. James’ shoes met the cold pavement of the walkway leading out to the cement sidewalk. He walked forward, turned right and headed home. His leg was healing, his stomach was full, and he had a friend. The feeling Matthew gave him kept him going all the way to his house.

As he pushed the door open to his house, only a flickering overhead light lit the interior. Through the wavering gloom he saw two large shapes lying on the living room floor, one propped up against the dirty couch. Neither moved as he entered, or as he shut the door. Stepping over several bottles and a broken mirror as he slipped past them, he heard labored snores. James entered his room and closed the door silently. He sat leaning against the door and hugged himself. The heat was off, but James knew by now how to keep warm. He folded his light green wings around himself as he did the night before and huddled there until he fell asleep.

* * * * *

After those two winter days, James found things in himself he never knew he had. Things like confidence and a sense of worth that his parents and everyone else had tried to take away from him every day. And when James came to Matthew’s door, some times more bruised than before, Matthew took him in. James’ parents hadn’t remembered locking him in the bathroom or even noticed his absence the next day, so James worried less about returning home than he used to.

School had unfortunately changed little, even though his appearance was less ragged than before. Still, James did his work whenever he could find a quiet moment and spent the rest of his school time avoiding everyone he could. Matthew and he ate dinner almost every time he came, so he no longer stole food from the other students. All he wanted to was to make it through the day so he could see Matthew again.

Their relationship continued to grow in the months since they met. On his birthday, James celebrated it at Matthew’s house. He had even gotten a small cake of his own from Matthew. That alone was more of a party than he’d ever received, and they spent the day like they spent every other together -- practicing and talking and laughing. And each time James left Matthew’s house, the reassurance that he could contend with what happened to him elsewhere stayed with him.

Five such birthdays passed, and on one, Matthew’s present for James was the very guitar he’d been practicing with. "It’s yours," Matthew had said. James thanked him for everything that he had done, and they spent the rest of the day talking quietly. Although Matthew was deeply concerned about what he knew must have been going on in James’ home, the sadness he perceived in the dragon’s eyes had long since ebbed away. Matthew sensed that he was already doing everything he could to help him, and his worries also vanished.

In all the years they spent together, James could only recall a few strange incidents. More than once he had gone to Matthew’s home but found nothing but darkness and silence within. Matthew had once told him not to come on weekends because he couldn’t be there, but these days were not weekends. And then there was Matthew’s coughing – it hadn’t stopped soon after he met him. It never stopped. James reasoned to himself that it was just a cough, but he didn’t really believe it even as he thought it.

Also strange was Matthew’s long blonde hair -- It never seemed to change since the day James first saw him. Maybe he was just being too paranoid about things that didn’t matter, he didn’t know. All he knew for certain was that Matthew and he had become close friends, and he trusted him. Trusted him with everything.

But buried down in his mind, James knew that something was wrong. And his subconscious fear became realized and clear a few weeks after his fourteenth birthday. The day itself hadn’t stood out until the end, as James gathered his things together.

"Wait, James."

James put down his backpack that Matthew had given him for his recent birthday and turned around. "What is it?"

Matthew walked towards James, wearing the gravest expression James had ever seen on his friend’s face. "Listen to me, please." He pulled up a chair for James and himself at the kitchen table and motioned for him to sit. "You have even more talent than me with a guitar, James. I saw it in your eyes when I first played my song for you. You felt it exactly as I meant it, and that’s one of the reasons why I wanted to teach you."

"Your song!" James had entirely forgotten about it. "You never finished it, did you?"

"No." James looked ashamed, but Matthew waved his hand. "I had something much more important to do."

As Matthew talked, James felt a stinging pain in his torso as he looked at Matthew’s face closely. He seemed… wrinkled, old, frail. His eyes were scared but he tried to hide it with a smile, warm as the color of his skin. "I don’t know if I will ever finish it, but my song isn’t important. I need to tell you something." Matthew hesitated before finishing his thought. "I’m afraid that I’m not going to be here for you for very much longer. I might have to leave soon… too soon."

"What do you mean? Can’t I come with you? I will! I swear, I…" but James fell silent as Matthew’s expression clearly told him to do.

"No, you can’t. You don’t want to. I don’t want to, but…" Matthew sighed. "I’m sorry. James.. Take your guitar with you this time, I want to be sure that you have it." What..? Why?

James slid off his chair and walked back into the room where he’d left his guitar. He knelt to pick it up as it was now actually a little too small for him. No longer shiny as it once was, it looked worn and used, but… James only saw the instrument, felt what it could do, as he always had. He carried it out gently and set it next to the door leading out into the living room. He sat back in his chair in front of Matthew.

"You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I need you to know that."

"I do.. You’re the best friend that I’ve ever had, Matthew."

Matthew nodded and closed his eyes. "You have everything now. I think you’d better go home, it’s a little later than usual."

James didn’t really understand what was going on, but he felt himself aching worse than any physical pain he’d felt before. "I’ll see you on Monday, Matthew." Matthew started shaking, but otherwise he kept his eyes shut and didn’t move. James’ feet echoed faintly as they moved across the tile floor, a light scraping sound as the guitar was lifted, several dull thuds as he moved across the living room, and finally died away as the front door shut leaving Matthew alone. The sound jarred his senses and he felt several tears already fallen down his neck and under his shirt. Matthew sobbed, leaning back, until a sudden lack of air caused him to gasp, which sent him into a coughing fit. But his breath wouldn’t come back. He choked and gagged, falling out of his chair and onto the floor. Lacking the strength to stop himself, he slammed his head painfully onto the counter and collapsed onto the floor unconscious.

* * * * *

James' mother beat him that night. This time she had noticed that he was gone, and she had no idea where he had gone. She yelled, she slapped, but James couldn’t hear or feel anything. His very soul felt injured and sick, and nothing else could get through. Once he made it to his room and shut the door behind himself, he almost passed out from anxiety. He didn’t want to be alone in his thoughts now, not like this. "You don’t have any choice," a voice inside him said. Falling down to his knees he realized that his mouth was bleeding. He fell backwards onto the floor, the cold wood freezing his bones in place. He tried to cover his bleeding face with his hand, apply pressure to make it stop… but the room was too dark, and he felt too sick. James felt his consciousness leave him…

His dreams tortured him, tormented him, tore off his eyelids so he couldn’t shut them as he watched Matthew dying again and again just out of his reach. He outstretched his arms to push him out of the way from the horrors that only he could see, but his arms were gone. He tried to yell, but his throat was cut open, blood spilling down his chest, darkening his muddy shirt. Coughing, unable to stop, he fell through more of his dark visions. He broke under the crushing pressure of this evil force, thrown down into the ruins of his tortured feelings. Hours passed, though time had seemed to be halted in place.

At last…

…he woke. The night had left, but his illness remained. His guitar lie next to him, dropped alongside his backpack last night. Trying to calm himself, he deliberately drew in and let out each breath slowly as he pushed himself up straight. Facing the door, he reached towards the knob and once he felt the frigid metal in his hand, his wrist turned.

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