Smolder wondered whether it showed.
The small, two-story teahouse was almost empty, having only just opened its doors for the day. The ponies who had already visited had been mostly stallholders and morning commuters, ordering to go, and that was exactly how Smolder preferred it. Sitting in the candle-lit, low-beamed building and sipping tea from—admittedly very cute—decorated cups was something that could still make her stomach perform somersaults, and having so many witnesses to the deed was a particularly lame bonus.
It just wasn't a dragon-y thing to do, was it? And until recently that fact hadn't bothered her as much as it used to.
So when Ocellus had offered to reschedule her morning study classes, and her book club, and her meditation sessions so that they could have their tea dates together without Smolder feeling uncomfortable, the dragon had naturally made the only right decision and snapped her foreleg off.
Still, the curious glances she was getting from the few ponies inside were enough to make her regret even that concession. Smolder lowered her gaze to the table and kept it there, feeling fire in her cheeks. She wondered whether the attention had been provoked by her appearance—perhaps the bruises and cuts had made them think that she had been getting up to no good rather than the reality.
That she was a dragon who was becoming less dragon-like by the day.
With a tightness growing in her throat, Smolder lifted the teacup to her lips and slurped extra-noisily. However the mildly offended stares she received did little to ease her worries.
You picked a fine day to be late, Ocellus.
It hadn’t showed in the mirror, either. Smolder had stared at her reflection for the best part of an hour that morning. Whether she was scowling or smiling goofily, she was still the same lithe shape and her horns were still awesomely long. Her wings were still growing and her eyes still carried the right amount of sass and greed.
So then why did it constantly feel as though she was being turned inside out?
It must have been that book she had borrowed the other week. That had to be it. She would be pinning that on Ocellus too, as soon as she found a way to do it that didn’t involve telling her the difference between ‘dragon borrowing’ and ‘everybeast else borrowing’.
It had been a pretty useful guide to all things romantic, and as much as Smolder wouldn’t usually be seen dead reading such literature, desperate times and strange feelings called for desperate measures and strange decisions. Besides, she reasoned, it wasn’t like anyone would ever know. She had read it in her dorm room at night. Under her blanket. With the door locked.
Smolder fiddled with her teacup and glared at the door. There were things in that book that scared her, as much as she hated to admit it. All the references to making sacrifices, compromises and acts of giving. Was she expected to be like this with Yona? Because she wasn’t like that, and she wasn’t sure if she could ever be like that. Sure, she had made small concessions during her time at school, but being in an actual relationship with someone of a different species sounded a lot like having to be less of a dragon and more...
A horrible warmth seized her heart, and the skin beneath her scales sang out for air.
More like what exactly?
Smolder reached across and plucked loose one of the crocheted mice that were decorating the menu-holder. It was disgustingly cute, with its little pink nose and top hat and suit, but there was no denying that whoever had made it had put in a lot of time, effort and care.
Smolder thought about toasting it right there and then in the middle of the teahouse, but after a brief internal struggle she settled on just stealing it.
Could she do this? Being a good friend was one thing, but being even half of the things written in that book was something else entirely. She had meant what she said to Yona, and meant even more the things she hadn’t yet said but only thought, but if she couldn’t make enough changes then what would that mean for them both? Her dragon blood demanded that she shouldn’t care, but this was Yona.
Smolder swallowed. Her head was beginning to feel as though someone had shoved a cart full of yarn in there.
This was Yona. The Yona who had made herself a home inside of Smolder's head. She had to make it work.
Further ruminations were interrupted by the jingle of a bell, and Smolder refocused her gaze on the tearoom door. Ocellus had just stepped inside, her head snapping around in those quick, rapid movements that Smolder had once found a little creepy, but which now seemed cool. Her compound eyes grew wide upon seeing Smolder and her wounds, and she scuttled across the room towards her. Smolder gave her a casual wave before inhaling deep. Hopefully the changeling could help her make some sense out of all these thoughts. After all, she had once gone through something similar.
“Smolder, what happened to you?” Ocellus’ face was creased with concern. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Smolder tried on a smile, but it trembled as much as her stomach. “And, I guess, I’m not. I’ve got some pretty big news. You should order some tea.”
“Oh, uh, sure.” Ocellus sat down, her eyes darting to and from Smolder, and pulled loose a menu. Smolder drained her cup and watched her as she browsed it, her lips mouthing the list of teas.
“You might wanna make it a strong one,” she added.