Silverware clinked on our plates as the older dragons in the room ripped and tore through a roast ham. Mom, the only one in the room without a bottomless appetite, was quietly watching as she brought her drink to her lips, a contented smile on her face. If the slight pallor in Baba’s cheeks were any indicator, I knew exactly what that drink was. 

I had sat down with the intention of holding myself together — of being as in control of my own appetite as possible — but as soon as Mom’s cooking reached my nose I knew I was fighting a losing battle. Moving away was what was best for me, but nothing could ever match the food she made. She often laughed about the fact that she was the best cook despite never being able to eat herself, and I couldn’t help but agree. Even Ian’s cooking, good at it was, couldn’t compare to her own.

But no matter how good Mom’s food was, I just wasn’t all that hungry. I ate something, of course, I’d never disrespect my mom by not eating her cooking, but part of me just couldn’t bring myself to eat, especially every time I looked at my other two parents.

Papa tore through another serving of mashed potatoes while Baba finally took a moment to breathe, and wiped their mouth. When they realized that I had stopped eating well before they had, they raised an eyebrow. “Everything okay, son?” They asked, with the bottomless well of compassion I’d come to expect from my family.

Unfortunately, this brought all eyes on me, which was the very last thing I wanted. My parents were amazing, but it meant when they were worried they were worried. As soon as the question was asked, Mom tensed up and Papa put down the meal that had seemed insatiable to him before. The very last thing I had wanted was for my own problems to distract from our time together with my own problems.

And that didn’t even touch the endless pit of awful I felt whenever I was addressed as ‘son’. They never did it with malice, but my nickname had always been far and away better than anything else. It was something I picked, I wanted it used.

“I don’t— it’s not important,” I tried lamely to push aside the conversation. It was nothing I hadn’t always dealt with. I could deal with this alone, too.

“No,” Mom said almost immediately. “It’s bothering you, so it’s important. We talked about this, Ollie.”

What she meant was she talked about this. One of the rules of the family growing up was that we talked about our emotions. Mom said that, when she grew up, holding in her emotions was what literally killed her, so she’d always been passionate about communication. The older I got, though, the less I wanted to burden my family with my problems. I knew how much they all had on their plates, they didn’t need their adult child going to them with every problem they had.

However, I knew my mom. This was a losing fight from the moment Baba called me out. My secrets would be revealed whether I wanted them to be or not. The idea of disappointing them, of not living up to the kind of dragon my parents wanted me to be, was too much to bear. How would my Baba or Papa feel if they learned that I didn’t want to be the same kind of dragon as them? How would they feel if they knew I entirely hated the concept of masculinity that I had lived with for so long?

I wouldn’t, couldn’t, tell them the full truth of what I was dealing with, but staying silent would earn me nothing but more concern from my family. So, instead, I focused on something else that was bothering me.

“I think Ian’s been avoiding me. We had a talk a few months ago, right after your birthday, Mom, and after it I thought things would be okay, but…” I thought back to the immediate aftermath of the talk. Things had been going so well. We talked more, we got to hang out again, I was even learning to deal with my stupid feelings.

But then a month later, he started coming home late. When I asked he’d say work was just giving him more hours, but it only grew worse with time. Only a few weeks later he began returning home even later, and even started working on the weekends. He kept saying work was just giving him more hours, but a growing part of me worried he was just using the same excuse to ignore me that I’d used.

Ian never came across to me as vindictive, but maybe this was just a hidden trait of his. Perhaps my treatment of him just rubbed him the wrong way enough that he felt he couldn’t spend time with me anymore. It hurt, but I couldn’t fault him for his reasons.

I finished explaining the story to my parents (neglecting to mention what exactly I told Ian when we made up), who had all more than once shared meaningful glances as I was talking about Ian. I wasn’t sure what it meant to them, but Papa spoke up before I could ask. “Son, do you have feelings for your friend?”

My face lit up bright enough to outshine my scales. Papa had always been known for how direct and to the point he was. I focused on the leftover green beans still on my plate, instead of facing the judging glances of my family. Of course, my complete silence was an answer in and of itself.

Mom agreed. “It’s okay if you do, sweetheart. Ian’s a fine young man, and he cleans up well.”

“That’s not— that’s not what matters here!” I barely managed to sputter. I couldn’t deny the accusations, not in the slightest, but the very last thing I wanted was my family teasing me for a simple crush.

“I think it is,” Baba interjected. “You have feelings for him, so you’re noticing more when he’s gone. He’s obviously working himself harder, though for what reason I’m not sure. Maybe he is avoiding you, sure, but maybe not. What if it’s just something he’s trying to do to surprise you?”

I stared at them for a solid few seconds, before shaking my head. “That doesn’t make any sense. There’s nothing he could do that I want.” I tried to think about things, but nothing came to mind. More jewelry would have been nice, but my hoard was already massive. And, of course, between the two of us I had a far more robust income, my job made that a bit of a guarantee. No, there really was nothing I could have thought of.

“Nothing you can think of, dear. But people we love always find ways to surprise us,” Mom reached a hand to Baba’s neck as she spoke, and gently began to scratch the reversed scale on their neck. I ignored the slight twinge of jealousy as I thought of how nice it could be to trust someone that much. “Even after three hundred years, we’ve all got tricks up our sleeves.”

“She’s right, you’re not even thirty yet. You’ve got centuries of surprises ahead of you. Maybe some of those years are with Ian, maybe they aren’t. No matter what, though, you could do much worse than him,” Papa said just before he began—slowly, this time—taking more bites of his meal.

The conversation couldn’t continue if I stopped engaging, so that’s exactly what I did. My family all seemed content with understanding the source of my anxieties, even if there was no true fix for them. 

“Speaking of hoards,” Baba cut in after about three minutes of blissful silence, “how’s yours coming along?” 

“Expensively,” I said tersely. This was a subject I had long struggled with, compared to both of my dragon parents.

Humans thought dragons were just what their stereotypical stories described, particularly when it came to gold. Humans had the strangest notion that most dragons were addicted to creating massive hoards of their wealth, but such a thing only really mattered to a rare few. While it was true that all dragons had hoards, what made up those hoards couldn’t have been further from what the stories claimed.

My Papa, for example? He collected snow globes. Before that he collected mini building replicas. My Baba, on the other hand, spent their centuries collecting romance novels—the trashier, the better. Neither cared much for gold.

Honestly, I was the closest thing to a stereotype. My hoard never felt complete without jewelry, so so much jewelry. Necklaces, earrings, rings, you name it. I never wore any, the prettiest of my treasures never fit my body, but they were still so comfortable to have around. The actual physical value didn’t even matter to me, so long as they scratched that itch in the back of my mind that said ‘pretty’.

I bet that dragon in my dreams could make my jewelry work.

Papa gave a smile as he made an offer so predictable that I barely even needed to listen. When I did, I was only met with disappointment. “Olrexus, I know your hoard can get kind of expensive, so you know we could always—”

“— For the last time, I don’t want help.” I cut him off before he could finish. It was my hoard, not his. These were my things, I would not fill my treasure trove up with charity from my parents, not now or ever. Worst still, he said my full name as if that had any connection to me in the slightest. Did he still not realize how much I despised that awful name? “And my name is Ollie.” 

That did a better job of shutting my family up than anything else I’d tried. I gladly took in the silence even as I regretted my outburst. Anxiety flooded me for a moment as I saw all three of my parents share A Look. I immediately thought to speak up again, to take back what I just said.

The words were on the tip of my tongue when Mom turned back to me with endless quantities of love in her red eyes. “Alright, Ollie. Thank you for telling us,” she spoke as both of my other parents nodded. “If that changes, or there’s anything else you want to tell us, just say so. Alright?”

I wasn’t quite sure what she meant, and raised an eyebrow. Mom seemed to register my confusion, but didn’t explain. Instead, one by one we took our plates to the kitchen and began cleaning after ourselves.

Confusion about what Mom mentioned still filled my head, but she didn’t pull me aside until I was beginning to get ready to leave. Her pale hands were still damp from washing the dishes, which struck me as odd considering she hated her skin being wet. She used to say it felt uniquely uncomfortable to her skin.

“Everything okay, Mom?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, Ollie. I just wanted to make sure I caught you before you went out the door. Follow me to my office?”

Her office? This was serious. I only felt more nervous as I gave her a nod. 

The house my parents lived in was easily classified as a manor. They had enough rooms within that everyone had their own bedroom and office, and even then there was more than enough room to spare. Coming home and seeing all of this wealth while living in a two bedroom apartment always felt odd to me. Ian had more than once expressed his distaste with the sheer amount of wealth my family displayed, and recently I was coming to agree with him.

I’d never say it to their faces, but looking back it did sometimes feel as though my parents did hoard wealth, even if they’d never admit it. I grew up with money, and the knowledge that I’d always have access to more. If I hadn’t insisted on living on my own, if I hadn’t met and befriended someone with a vastly different living experience, I might still have been ignorant of just how much money my family had. If you asked Ian, I could still be ignorant at times.

Like with the pendant.

Nope, nope. Nope. Regret flared up in my chest as I imagined using it for myself, and I shoved those thoughts deep down as far as they’d go. Ian looked amazing and his new body was perfect for him. I wasn’t about to regret giving that necklace to him when I had no reason to actually want one of my own.

When Mom opened her office door and ushered me in, I was almost relieved. I took a deep breath as I followed her in, not at all ready for whatever it was she had to say to me.