Chapter Text
Noelle had always noticed.
Not right away, not when Susie first showed up in Hometown last spring—dumped here, it seemed, like some adult had rolled down a window and pushed her out into the street—but not long after. It started when school ended for the day and Noelle found herself walking home alone and saw the big dark shape of her slouched behind the community center, eyes closed, her back against the brick wall, little tail curled close to her side like a sleeping dog. Then another day in the park, when it was raining. Then another behind the gas station, hunched over something she was devouring like someone was going to come and take it from her.
It wasn’t every night she saw her, but it was enough. Too many to write off as coincidence or killing time. Noelle had heard from someone that Susie and her mom had an apartment over by the old strip mall, the one with the boarded-up nail salon and the cigarette discount place. But she’d never seen her go in. She just wandered. Lingered. Slept wherever her body gave out.
And nobody did anything about it.
Not even Kris. Not even Toriel. Not the teachers or the school counselor or the office assistant with the walkie-talkie who once made Noelle cry by saying some stupid reindeer games line she’d heard a million times. People saw things and looked away. Because Susie was rough and big and loud and dirty. Because she didn’t ask for help. Because she was scary when she wanted to be, and most people didn’t know how to look past that.
But Noelle did. Noelle looked and looked and looked.
At first, she wrote it in the margins of her planner, little coded notations beside her homework or her afterschool chores. “Park (2nd time)” or “Behind lib… Rainy :(” Later she started putting it in her Notes app, in a folder labeled “school” even though it wasn’t. Just an ongoing list of sightings, a log of where Susie ended up when the day ran out.
Noelle thought she was collecting proof. But after a while she stopped needing the list. She just knew. It became a kind of pattern to her, like the way she kept her socks matched or how she always turned the light switch off twice before bed. She couldn’t stop seeing Susie.
It was fine. For a while, it was fine. Susie was proud, and strong, and mean when she wanted to be. She could take care of herself. She didn’t want anyone’s help. That was the whole point of her, wasn’t it?
But something tore and then broke in Noelle’s body after that dream that wasn’t a dream, a broken bone puncturing her skin further every time she walked past Berdly’s hospital room to get to her dad’s. The thorn was pushed in, deep, and her mind was made.
Noelle didn’t cry anymore when her mother shouted. She didn’t flinch when Kris touched her arm. She wasn’t scared anymore, not really. And when she lay in bed at night under two quilts, staring at the ceiling with her hands folded neatly across her chest like a doll in a box, she thought about what it meant to be strong.
Being strong meant not being scared. Being strong meant doing what you had to do, even if it was hard. Being strong meant protecting the people who needed it. Especially if they didn’t know they did.
Her mother was going to be gone for five days. A mayoral summit in New City. She’d left on a Wednesday, early, the car engine waking Noelle before the sun had even come up. She said she’d be back Monday afternoon. The fridge was full, stacked with meticulously labeled tupperware. There was a schedule on the table, timestamped to the very second. Don’t invite anyone over. No boys.
Noelle promised.
The moment she heard the front door click shut, she pulled off the covers and stood.
She didn’t go to school. She had a sore throat, she told the office. A fever. She said she’d wear a mask tomorrow. She said it in a voice so steady that the nurse didn’t even ask to speak to Carol. Then she made tea and drank it slowly while looking out the window, waiting until she was sure her mother’s car wouldn’t turn around and come back.
Then she went down into the basement and started to clean.
She hadn’t been down there since Christmas. Probably longer. The lights flickered at first but stayed on, casting long bars of yellow across the cement floor. The back wall had old boxes stacked in front of it—photo albums, old cords, her father’s suitcase that hadn’t moved since she was seven, piles upon piles of christmas decorations—but she didn’t touch those. She just cleared the other corner, the one with the mattress folded in half and the foam topper rolled up like a sleeping bag. It smelled a little stale but not moldy, just old. She made a space in the far corner and laid the mattress flat.
It was yellowed and a little creaky, but still soft once she tested it, and the old guest sheets from the linen closet fit it perfectly, white ones with little roses from when she was younger. She added a quilt from her own room, the one with ducks on it, and a patchwork throw with hand-stitched maple leaves. She brought three pillows, one thick and flat, one soft and bouncy, one from the couch that smelled like vanilla still. She tucked them in with her hands very carefully.
She brought three plushies, then four, then five, arranged neatly around the sides like little sentinels. She tucked them along the side of the bed and smoothed their fur down until they looked new again.
There was a space heater too, the kind they used when the furnace acted up. She tested it to make sure it still worked and dragged it down the stairs, careful not to bang it against the walls. She plugged it in and waited until the coils glowed red.
It was warm.
Noelle stayed down there for hours, adjusting everything until it felt right. She brought down a plastic tub with clean towels, a water cup, lip balm, tissues, wet wipes, and an old night light from her bedroom shaped like a Christmas tree that lit up by the star at the top and the ornaments peppered along the sides.
It looked childish, maybe. But Susie was rough. Susie was hardened by necessity. Susie needed somewhere soft.
The Nyquil was in the medicine cabinet. She knew where everything was. Her mom got headaches. Noelle got nervous. There were allergy pills and sleep aids and that old Benadryl, both pills and syrup, from when she had a rash in fourth grade. She took two pink tablets and crushed them with the side of a spoon in a clean napkin until they were just powder. Then she set them aside.
Noelle didn’t really remember how much Benadryl she took when she was a kid, just that she woke up in her pajamas in the tub, her mother furious, shaking her by the arms and demanding if she’d wanted to die.
That evening, when the sun had almost set and the snow outside was turning blue, she made dinner.
Pasta, just the box kind, elbows in salted water. She made the sauce from a jar, but she added extra butter and a handful of shredded cheddar to make it thicker. She stirred it slow over the stove until it steamed. She scooped two bowls. In one of them, at the bottom, she sprinkled the pink powder and swirled it in with a little sauce so it wouldn’t stick. She added the rest of the pasta and topped it with cheese.
Then she put on her warmest coat and took the thermos out with her.
The sun was almost down by the time Noelle found her.
Not behind the school—too open. Not behind the diner—too many people, too many smells. Not the gym alley either. She checked each one in order, walking steady and unhurried through the snow with the tote swinging from her arm like an errand bag. Her breath fogged in soft little puffs, boots sinking into the powder and scraping on the salted curbs.
She found Susie behind the laundromat, tucked into the crook between the back wall and the alley dumpster, half-sheltered by the caged exhaust vent blowing warm lint-scented air out into the cold. The snow hadn’t quite reached her—there was a bare patch around the pipe, and the rest of the ground was speckled with fallen dryer sheets and the shriveled skins of detergent pods, half-melted by old rain.
Susie was curled around herself like a stray, her back to the wall, knees drawn up to her chest, jacket zipped high and hunched like a shell. Her hands were shoved so deep into her sleeves that only her claws showed, and her snout was buried in her shirt, breath fogging visibly through the threads. A strip of snow clung stubbornly to one shoulder.
She didn’t look asleep. She looked like someone trying very hard not to be seen.
Noelle stopped a few feet away and just looked for a moment.
Then: “Hi,” she said, soft.
Susie flinched so hard she banged her elbow against the dumpster. Her head jerked up, eyes wide and sharp and glassy, nostrils flaring after her muzzle popped out of the stretched fabric of her shirt.
“What,” she snapped. Her voice was low and ragged, roughened by cold and disuse.
“I made dinner,” Noelle said.
Susie didn’t say anything. Just narrowed her eyes. Her breath came faster now, small fogged puffs like a cornered animal. Noelle waited.
“I thought you might like some,” she added after a moment. “You know. Before it gets cold.”
Susie eyed the tote bag like it might explode. “Why.”
“No reason.”
“You just—made food. For me.”
Noelle smiled, the way she practiced in the mirror sometimes. “It’s cold out.”
Susie squinted at her. Then, after a long pause, she slowly uncurled from the vent. Her movements were stiff, deliberate. She didn’t stand, not quite—just shifted upright enough to lean on one arm and crane her neck toward the bag like she didn’t want to get any closer than she had to.
“What is it.”
“Mac and cheese.”
“…Seriously?”
“I added extra cheese,” Noelle said. “And butter. To make it rich.”
She crouched and unscrewed the thermos, letting the steam curl up between them. The scent filled the space between their bodies—thick and salty and heavy with dairy. Susie’s nostrils twitched. Her forked tongue flicked out instinctively and tasted the air.
Her stomach let out a long, miserable gurgle.
Noelle held out the container.
Susie hesitated. Then snatched it from her with one clawed hand, half turning away again like she expected a trick.
“Not poisoned, is it,” she muttered.
“No,” Noelle said gently.
“Wouldn’t matter,” Susie added, half under her breath. Then she dipped her claws in and started eating, messy and loud and quick like someone was going to take it away.
Noelle stayed crouched a few feet off, arms wrapped around her knees. The snow was falling soft now, silent. She could feel the damp creep into her wool tights. But she didn’t move.
“Is it good?” she asked quietly.
Susie grunted without looking up. “Hot.”
“I made a lot. You could come over. If you want. There’s a shower. And it’s warm.”
That got her attention.
Susie stopped chewing, just for a second, and looked up. Her eyes flicked over Noelle’s face, then darted behind her toward the alley mouth. Measuring.
“My mom’s out of town,” Noelle said, just as quietly. “No one’s home. You don’t have to talk.”
Susie kept staring.
“I just thought you might want more,” Noelle said. “And a warm place to sit down. For a while.”
Susie didn’t answer. Just looked down at the thermos again. Her hand wobbled slightly as she scooped another bite.
Then she blinked. Slow.
Her jaw paused on the next bite. Her eyes slid off focus for a moment before snapping back. She squinted hard and shook her head once, like clearing water from her ears.
“…huh.” She said, intelligently.
Noelle tilted her head, concerned. “What?”
“I dunno. S’just—” Susie rubbed at her eyes with the back of her sleeve, and when that didn’t seem to work, she rubbed with her palm, gooping orange sauce on her eyebrow. “Everything’s kinda, like… everything’s....”
She snorted, shook her head again, and took another bite. Halfway through chewing, she blinked again. This time, it took longer for her to reopen her eyes.
“Huh,” she muttered. “That’s weird.”
“What’s weird?” Noelle asked softly.
Susie sniffed. Blinked again. “I feel—I dunno. Kinda woozy. Like—like when I get too hot and stand up too fast.”
“You’re probably just tired,” Noelle offered. “You were asleep before I got here.”
“I wasn’ asleepuh.”
Her voice was sharper now, but slurred around the edges.
Noelle stayed crouched. Watched her carefully.
Susie shifted like she meant to stand, one arm braced against the wall, but her legs didn’t quite catch her weight, boots scuffing as they slipped on the damp concrete. She swayed, stumbled back against the bricks, and grunted.
“What the hell,” she hissed. Her claws scrabbled at the thermos, leaving sticky prints. “What’d you—”
“You’re okay,” Noelle said gently. “You’re just a little dizzy. It’ll pass.”
“Did you put something in it?”
Her pupils were blown wide now. Her voice was louder, hoarse with panic. “Did you—whuddahell did’ju—”
“Just something to help you sleep,” Noelle said quickly. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
Susie’s hands twitched like she meant to throw the container. But her grip had gone weak, her claws sagging against the metal like wet paper. Her tongue slipped out again, limp, and tasted the air.
“Why’d yough—why—” she started, but the words bled out. She braced herself against the wall again. Her knees buckled slowly, not all at once but in a confused, unwilling sort of collapse, like her body didn’t know how to carry her anymore.
She slumped hard against the bricks. Her breath fogged in slow, uneven bursts.
Noelle stood up.
“It’s okay,” she said. Her voice was low, sweet, like someone soothing a scared dog. “You’re just sleepy. It’s the cold and the food. Your body’s tired. That’s all.”
Susie’s mouth opened, “Ough,” then closed. Her eyes fluttered. Her limbs twitched, useless.
Noelle stepped closer, knelt, and touched her arm.
She felt it tense, like a threat. But Susie didn’t move outside of a twitch.
“You’re okay,” she said again.
And this time, Susie didn’t answer.
She just stared up at the caged vent, her head lolling slightly to one side, breath slowing. Her tongue flicked once more from her slack mouth and didn’t return.
Noelle crouched in front of her and gently pried the thermos out of her hand. Susie didn’t resist.
“That’s okay,” Noelle said softly, cradling the container in both hands. “You’re just sleepy. That happens sometimes.”
She took a breath and looked at her. Really looked.
Susie was enormous.
Noelle had always known that, of course—everyone knew it—but looking at her now, slack and slouched and boneless, her bulk barely contained in that tattered old jacket, it really hit her. How much there was of her. Her thick legs folded awkwardly to the side, claws resting dumb and twitchless on her knees, her thick forked tongue just barely visible when her mouth drooped open. Her snout had softened too, nostrils flaring once, the weight of her skull lolling slightly forward. Her whole body looked like it was melting, like someone had unplugged her and let all the energy drain out.
Noelle hesitated. Then she reached out, slipped her arms under Susie’s, and hauled.
It didn’t go well at first.
Susie was almost all dead weight now, and heavier than anything Noelle had ever carried. Her legs scraped against the sidewalk, her arms dragged, and her head kept slumping sideways onto Noelle’s shoulder like a sack of wet laundry. They made it about half a block before Noelle had to stop, panting, her hooves slipping on the salted curb, her arms wrapped tight around Susie’s chest from behind to keep her from collapsing again.
“It’s okay,” she said, her breath coming out in misty puffs. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Susie made a low sound. Not a word. Not really. Just a breathy grunt, some sluggish part of her brain trying to protest, maybe. But her legs gave out again when Noelle tried to guide her forward, so she stopped trying to get her to walk. Instead she crouched, got her arms underneath again, and dragged.
One slow block at a time.
They passed two cars and a man walking a dog, but no one looked. Noelle kept her head down. If anyone had asked what she was doing, she wasn’t sure what she would have said. That her friend had too much to drink? That she was sick? That it was okay, she was just taking her home to help?
But no one asked.
By the time they reached the door, Noelle was sweating under her coat and her arms ached so badly she couldn’t feel her fingers. Her legs buckled a little on the steps, but she kept going. She opened the door, propped it with her hoof, and slowly, inch by inch, dragged Susie inside.
The house was warm. Still. The kind of silence that only settles in once the furnace’s hum fades into your bones and the lights are all low and the whole neighborhood feels like it’s gone to sleep.
She got Susie to the living room and laid her down on the rug. Just for a second.
Noelle knelt beside her, catching her breath. Susie didn’t move. Her breathing was slow and thick and even, like she was already dreaming something she’d never wake from.
“It’s okay,” Noelle whispered, brushing a piece of matted hair from her eyes. “I’ll take care of everything.”
She sat with her like that for a while. Just kneeling, watching her chest rise and fall. She looked gentler this way. All the tension gone from her face. Her teeth just slightly parted, her jaw slack, her whole frame folded up on itself like an exhausted animal in a den. Noelle couldn’t help it—she reached out and cupped her face in both hands, carefully, like she might wake if she wasn’t gentle.
“You’re so tired,” she murmured. “I know.”
She kissed the top of her snout, just once, then got up to prepare.
It wasn’t that she expected to get this far—part of her thought Susie might wake up on the sidewalk, bolt upright and snarl, shove her away and vanish into the alley shadows. Another part thought maybe she’d just flop over and refuse to get up, too heavy to lift, too stubborn to help.
But here she was.
Noelle had to rest again after getting her across the threshold. Just long enough to catch her breath, hands braced on her knees. Then she crouched and started the long haul to the tub.
It took another half hour to get her to the bathroom.
Noelle had to take breaks. Not long ones—just a breath, a repositioning of arms under dead weight, a few seconds to rest her forehead against the wall with her eyes shut, whispering to herself that this was okay, she could do this, it was fine. The tile gave her better traction than the icy sidewalk, but Susie was still heavy, and most of Noelle’s strength was in her legs.
Her jacket was soaked through by then, slushy and cold where it had brushed the snow. Her hair had come loose from its clip and clung to the sides of her face, and her breath fogged the glass of the bathroom mirror when she finally pushed the door shut behind them.
She laid Susie out on the floor again. This time on the bathmat. The bathroom light was harsh after so much dimness. Cold white, buzzing faintly. Noelle blinked into it and rubbed her palms on her coat. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears.
Susie’s little tail had dragged behind her the whole way, picking up slush and grit. Her pants had slipped halfway down her hips during the drag, exposing the thick, dark root of her tail where the scales of her back met the creased base.
But more importantly, exposed her boxers.
They were stretched and faded and too small for her, fraying along the waistband where the elastic had started to go. Noelle blinked at Scooby’s cheesy little grin, a sandwich in his paw and a googly eyed ghost behind him, the little ‘S’ on the collar tag smeared from too many washings. Looked like a pair from a three pack you could buy at any big box store. It made her chest ache. For a second she imagined Susie as a kid, picking them out. No one buying them for her.
She set her jaw and moved to turn the water on. The tub looked impossibly far away.
The faucet groaned. The water ran loud.
Noelle tested the temperature with her fingers, adjusted it, filled it up a third, then half. Steam curled into the corners of the small room, softening everything. The mirror fogged over completely, and the light took on a hazy halo.
She turned back to Susie and knelt beside her. Her heart was pounding.
This was the part that felt strangest. Not wrong, exactly—Noelle didn’t feel wrong—but something tight and new, coiled low in her belly. Like standing in front of a stage curtain just before it lifts. Her hands trembled a little, so she sat on them.
Susie wasn’t awake. Not fully. Her eyes cracked open once, then closed again. Her limbs twitched when Noelle touched her—reflexes—but her body didn’t move with intention. She wasn’t helping. She wasn’t resisting either. Just existing. A warm, heavy mass of girl on the bathmat, chest rising and falling slow.
Noelle started with her boots. Thick-soled, scuffed black, the laces long since snapped and replaced with two mismatched ones—one neon green, one frayed and purple. She undid them gently, worked them off with effort, and peeled off the socks underneath. They were damp. One had a hole at the heel. Her feet were cracked and dry and stained on the soles, with long dull claws. Noelle made a mental note to clip them.
Then her jacket.
It was harder. The zipper had rusted in place and stuck halfway down. Noelle had to brace her knee against Susie’s belly—soft, warm, yielding—to get enough leverage to tug it loose. When it gave, it came all at once, and she nearly fell backward.
The shirt underneath was worse. Stained, stretched, thin with age. There were holes near the seams, and it smelled sour up close. Noelle tried to pull it up over her head, but Susie’s arms flopped loosely in the way, her body slack. So she shifted her, gently, looped one arm out at a time. She pushed the shirt up from the bottom and exposed inch after inch of scaly belly.
Her skin wasn’t like a snake’s. Not shiny or clean. It was patchy in spots, dry in others—flaky at the edges, pale where the scales had started to shed. Between the joints—under her arms, at the crook of her elbows, around her neck—the skin was gunked with grime, dirt sunk deep into the ridges where water didn’t often go. There were little flecks of black where lint and sweat had mixed with shed skin.
She hesitated when the shirt caught on her snout. She was definitely on the heavier side, her belly sort of hung over her jeans, but there were no real impressions of breasts and no nipples at all, which Noelle wasn’t sure how to feel about. Nothing but flat, scaled pecs and a line of pale lavender leading down her middle. Her breath let out in a little puff. She kept going.
When she finally tugged the shirt off, the smell was worse. Sweat and mildewed clothes and something like motor oil, something metallic, baked in from days of dirt and sleeping in her own skin. Noelle didn’t flinch. She folded it, carefully, and set it aside.
Noelle reached out and touched her side. Her fingers sunk in slightly, indenting soft fat that folded above the waistband of her boxers.
She hesitated.
Her cheeks burned. She stared down at the printed pattern—Scooby grinned back at her—and tried not to think too hard.
Then, gently, slowly, she peeled them down.
Susie didn’t stir.
There was nothing surprising underneath. Not really. Just more purple scale. A wiry mound of hair covered anything too private, and her belly spilled just slightly over her thick thighs after being fully untucked from the waistband. Noelle didn’t look too long. She didn’t need to.
She folded the boxers and placed them on top of the pile.
Then she looked at her.
It was overwhelming. Not bad. Just a lot. The size of her. The length of her legs, the curl of her claws, the way her hair—thick and snarled with dirt—had started to dry into stiff, matted tangles.
Noelle touched her wrist and lifted it slightly. It flopped. Boneless. Then, carefully, she reached under her arms, got a good grip under her shoulders, and dragged her the last few feet to the tub.
It was like trying to haul a waterlogged plush. Slippery and soft, unbalanced, too big to hold in one go. But eventually she got her there. With one final heave, she let gravity take the rest—Susie slumped into the tub with a splash that soaked Noelle’s front and sloshed water over the edge.
The sound she made wasn’t quite a groan. More like a murmur. Her chest rose and fell in a slow, even rhythm.
The water clouded immediately.
Not with blood—Noelle was afraid of that, for a second—but with filth. Layers of it. Dark streaks of grime blooming out from her shoulders and hips, swirling like dye. Little flecks of something too, like scabs or bits of old skin. The water went from clear to gray to brown in seconds. Noelle had to drain half and refill it again just to see where her hands were.
She took a cloth from the side of the tub and soaked it. Warm water and peppermint soap. She started with Susie’s shoulders.
The first pass with the rag turned the fabric dark. Noelle dipped it in the water, wrung it out, and started again.
The scales were rough there. Caked. Flaking in patches. She scrubbed gently, afraid of hurting her. Little bits of dead skin lifted off like petals.
Down her arms next. Over the elbow, the back of the hand, the long knuckled claws. Noelle held one of her hands in both of hers and turned it over, thumb brushing over each callus like she was memorizing the story of it.
Then her back. She knelt on the side of the tub and leaned in, working in slow circles. The cloth turned black.
She was careful near her tail. Noelle wiped at the creases of her neck, the place behind her jaw, the crook of her elbow, and watched the brown foam rise and dissolve.
When Noelle lifted Susie’s arm, she blinked at the coarse, thick hair of her armpit, damp and a bit matted with days of sweat. Noelle weighed her choices, and if she buried her muzzle there and inhaled until her vision turned black and spotty at the corners, she’d never tell anyone.
The hair on Susie’s head took the longest. it had tangled into itself, and Noelle wet it slowly, then lathered in shampoo—double, then triple, working it into the mess with both hands. Noelle had to soak it three times before the water ran clean. She worked her fingers into the snarls with conditioner, carefully teasing out the worst of it with a comb. It was long, almost to her shoulder blades when it wasn’t tangled. Beautiful, in a strange way. If someone took care of it.
Noelle rinsed her slowly. Poured warm water over her head with a cup, shielding her eyes like she was a child.
Susie stirred once. Mumbled something, incoherent. Noelle stilled, heart in her throat.
But she didn’t wake. She just slumped again, mouth open, snoring faintly.
Noelle set the cup aside.
For a long time after, she just sat on the floor, watching the water swirl gray around Susie’s slack legs. Steam curled from the surface, soaking her own clothes. Her knees were numb. Her arms ached.
So soft. So dirty. So tired. It made something ache in Noelle’s chest. Not guilt. Not quite. Just the unbearable knowledge that nobody else had done this. That no one else would.
“You’re so clean now,” she said. “You’re okay.”
Susie didn’t answer.
The water had gone lukewarm by the time Noelle pulled the stopper.
Her legs were stiff. Her back ached from hunching. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms—wet sleeves clung to her, heavy and limp—and stood slowly, joints creaking in protest.
It swirled down the drain in ribbons of brown and grey, bits of skin and hair clinging to the porcelain edges. Susie didn’t stir when the water left her. She just slumped lower, her body folding on itself like a marionette with the strings cut.
Noelle dried her carefully. With towels warmed on the radiator. She started with her shoulders, worked down over the curve of her belly, around her thick thighs and the ridge of her tail. When she was finished, she draped the last towel over her like a blanket and sat for a minute on the closed toilet lid, catching her breath. Her arms shook. Her hands were raw from the hot water.
Her own clothes were soaked. Her jacket clung to her like a second skin. She peeled it off, then her sweater underneath, fingers trembling slightly from cold and exhaustion. She tugged the loose clip from her hair and let it fall. A headache throbbed behind her eyes. But she didn’t get up right away.
Susie looked different like this. Soft, pliant. Scrubbed pinkish in places where the scales thinned, like at the base of her throat or the soft insides of her thighs. Her face, with the layers of grime gone, was gentler than Noelle remembered. Not pretty, not exactly, but younger. Her eyebrows were heavy and unplucked. Her cheeks still carried the shadow of old acne, and there was a dark mole-like freckle on her upper lip Noelle had never noticed before. Her jaw looked so heavy in sleep, slack and bare of tension.
Noelle sat there until her legs ached. Then she stood. She stepped out quietly, shut the bathroom door behind her, and padded into the hall.
The house felt wrong without her mother in it. Too quiet. Too sterile. There was a certain coldness that clung to everything—the kind that came from polished wood floors and recessed lighting, from rooms where nothing got touched. Noelle’s wet hooves clicked faintly as she moved, and the hallway light flickered once when she passed the thermostat.
She went to her bedroom first. It was clean, always. Everything tucked away in boxes and drawers. She didn’t have anything that would fit someone like Susie—Noelle was narrow, bird-boned. Even her oversized hoodies were more suggestive than practical. But she opened her closet anyway. She checked the drawers. Nothing. Everything she touched felt too small.
She paused at the door to Dess’s room.
It hadn’t changed much.
Inside, everything was exactly the same.
The curtains were shut. The old posters were still on the walls—band names curling at the corners, faded print of some anime girl with a massive sword. The bed was unmade. The closet still overflowed. A pair of Converse lay on their sides near the window, laces tied together.
It smelled like dust and something sweet and old. The ghost of incense, maybe. Her throat tightened.
She opened the closet slowly.
Mostly flannels, but Asriel’s things were still there. From when he used to come over. A few hand-me-downs he’d forgotten, or left on purpose—sweaters too warm for summer, pajama pants with holes, a hoodie from a band he used to like. There was one big knit sweater shoved into the far corner. Hunter green striped with buttery yellow, stretched around the middle. Pills on the sleeves where it had rubbed against something. The collar frayed in two points where his (or Dess’s) horns must have caught.
Noelle pulled it out and held it to her chest. It smelled like dust. Faintly like boy.
Then she crossed the hall.
Her parents’ bedroom still smelled like antiseptic and memory. Her father’s slippers were still tucked under the nightstand. His pill bottles lined up neatly on the dresser, labels facing out. She didn’t look at them. Just went to the dresser and opened the top drawer.
Boxers.
She picked a pair that looked clean and soft. They were gray, no pattern, worn thin at the waistband. Probably hadn’t been touched in weeks. She folded them over one arm and shut the drawer.
Then she went back to the bathroom.
The steam had started to clear. Susie hadn’t moved. Her body lay where Noelle had left it, one leg slightly bent, mouth open just enough to show the tip of a fang. Her breath made a faint wheeze now, soft and slow.
Noelle knelt again.
She slipped the towel off her shoulders and draped it over the bathmat. Then, gently, she lifted Susie’s arms—heavy, boneless—and threaded them through the sleeves of the sweater. It took a few tries. The fabric kept bunching at her elbows, catching on her scales. She shifted her on her side to get the bulk of it down, tugged it into place with careful hands.
The sweater swallowed her. It was wide in the middle but short in the arms, exposing her wrists and half her forearms. Still, it worked. The hem pooled over her thighs.
Next the boxers.
She tried to be quick about it.
She averted her eyes, but her hands were firm. She threaded them up over her feet, past her knees, and gently tucked them around her hips. Her tail made it awkward. She had to lift it with both hands and slide the waistband under it.
Once they were on, she sat back. Noelle brushed a lock of damp hair from her face.
Then stood, quietly, and went to get the nail clippers.
It was a cheap pair, bright pink plastic, something left over from a stocking stuffer years ago. They barely worked on hooves, probably much less claws, but she was patient.
She started with her toenails.
They were long. Thick and dull at the ends, crusted slightly under the edges. Some of them had cracked sideways. One was broken nearly to the quick. Noelle worked slowly. She pressed her thumb into the pad of each toe, held it firm, and clipped just a little at a time. The little half-moon pieces pinged softly against the tile. She lined them up on a tissue like a forensic display.
Fingers next.
These she knew better. She’d seen Susie use them—rip open snack bags, scratch at scabs, tap-tap-tap against the desk during class. Up close, they were worse. Yellowed in places, caked near the beds. She cleaned each one with a swab before she clipped. Some of them bled when she got too close.
She said sorry, even though Susie didn’t flinch.
After that, she brushed her teeth.
Then she took the toothbrush. Her own, pink with a faded bunny on the handle. She ran it under warm water and added a smear of peppermint paste, then knelt by her side.
Susie’s mouth was half-open already. It was strange, intimate—lifting her chin, prying her mouth open gently. Her breath was pretty bad, dense with sugar rot and unbrushed days. Her teeth were jagged, mismatched, some too small, some too sharp. The back molars looked ground down. There was a chip in one of her canines. She reached carefully, wary of the sharpness even in unconsciousness. The bristles caught against tartar. Her tongue twitched once, sluggish.
Noelle worked gently. Brushed in small circles, the way the dentist always told her. Foam built in the corners of her mouth and dribbled down her chin. Noelle wiped it away with the towel. Then rinsed the brush and did it again.
She did it three times total. The final rinse came back pink.
When she was done, she set everything aside and stood.
The room was warm. Susie lay still, dressed now, scrubbed and clipped and brushed. She looked like someone just returned from surgery. Like a patient, clean and helpless, and waiting to be woken.
Noelle gathered up the dirty clothes and carried them to the laundry room. She put them in the washer—boots, socks, boxers, jacket, shirt, jeans, even the laces—and added a double scoop of detergent. Lavender scent. Then started the cycle and stood there while it churned.
The noise was loud in the empty house.
When she came back to the bathroom, Susie hadn’t moved. Noelle sat on the floor beside her and took her hand again. Just held it. Thumb over knuckles. Watching her sleep.
“You’re better now,” she whispered. “You’ll feel better when you wake up.”
The house ticked faintly around them. Pipes creaked. The washer rumbled. Outside, the snow had started again.
“I’m gonna move you now,” she said quietly. Her voice felt like it belonged to someone else. She didn’t expect Susie to respond. “Just downstairs. It’s nicer down there. You’ll sleep better.”
It still wasn’t easy to drag her. Susie was a weight and shape that didn’t cooperate—tall, broad, awkward in ways you didn’t realize until you had to maneuver her deadweight around corners. Noelle did her best to make it gentle. The towel on the floor helped for a while, but it kept snagging against the bathroom threshold, so she had to pull Susie into the hallway by her arms, then her underarms, and finally her shoulders. Her bare heels bumped against the trim. Her claws scraped gently along the baseboard, catching now and then in a way that made Noelle wince and pause.
She didn’t think about the stairs until her feet hit the top of them, and by then there was no going back. They loomed long and narrow, dim even with the hall light on. At the bottom, the open door of the basement yawned like a mouth, light filtering out of it promising a space heater and warm bed. Noelle stopped and breathed in through her nose. Susie’s sweater bunched in her fists. Her legs were already trembling from the drag down the hallway.
But, she wrapped her arms around Susie’s ribs from behind, pressed her chest to her spine, hooked her hooves on the edge of the top stair and braced her knees wide and pulled until Susie tipped, slowly, and slid down the top two steps like a sack of mulch. Her tail thumped once against a stair edge—Noelle whispered an apology—and then she maneuvered the rest of the way, backward, step by step.
Down into the dark.
Step. Drag. Step. Drag. A breath between each. Susie kept slipping. The sweater bunched beneath her. Her claws caught briefly in the baseboard, then went slack again. By the time they reached the bottom, Noelle’s arms were shaking.
The basement was warmer than she remembered. The space heater still hummed in the corner, its coils a dull, steady red. The scent of old cardboard and fabric and faint stale sugar filled the air—candy canes, from the Christmas box maybe, or that one candle jar no one ever lit.
The bed still looked beautiful.
It had taken her hours to get right earlier. The old rose-printed sheets, the duck quilt, the maple-leaf patchwork throw she’d rescued from the attic and beaten clean. The pillows were fluffed and stacked neatly, and the plastic tub sat near the foot of the bed like a makeshift nightstand, filled with neatly folded towels and wipes and other things she’d thought of in the middle of the night.
She guided Susie toward it like leading someone blindfolded to their surprise party.
It took several tries to get her onto the mattress. She pulled the covers back, then lifted her by the arms, dragging and shifting until she could bend Susie’s knees, ease her down, guide her head gently to the pillow. The sweater rode up, exposing her thigh and a strip of belly. Noelle tugged it back down, smoothed it flat. The bed looked smaller now, with Susie in it. She didn’t quite fit the way Noelle imagined. Her feet stuck out past the quilt, and her arm hung off the side like she’d simply collapsed there after a long day. Noelle folded it over her chest gently.
The warmth in the room clung to them. It made everything soft around the edges. Dreamlike.
Noelle sat beside the bed for a moment, just breathing. Then she stood and went upstairs again.
She made the tea slowly. Back in the kitchen, bare feet on cold tile. The quiet of the house wrapped around her like a heavy coat, and the sound of the kettle was sharp in it—boiling too fast, a little angry. The pot of mac and cheese still sat on the other burner, congealed and uncomfortably orange under the lid.
The kitchen was dim in the glow of the stove clock. 3:04 AM. She didn’t feel tired. Her limbs felt like jelly, but her mind stayed sharp, clear, almost light. Like floating. She moved through the motions the way her mother used to when she was sick and sniffling into a couch pillow—careful, efficient, quiet.
One bag of mint chamomile. Two spoonfuls of honey. Half a splash of lemon juice. She stirred it clockwise, then counterclockwise, her hands trembled faintly when she crushed the other half of the pink tablet between two spoons. She scraped the powder into the mug, stirred it with a honey stick until the granules dissolved.
Back down the stairs again, carefully. She cradled the mug in both hands, watching the liquid ripple gently with each step.
Susie hadn’t moved. Noelle set the mug on the edge of the bed, then crouched beside her.
“Just one more thing,” she whispered. “Then you can sleep.”
She sat behind her on the mattress, gently pulling her upright with both arms looped under her armpits. Susie’s head lolled against her collarbone. The heat of her breath warmed Noelle’s throat.
The tea was still hot. That was good. Noelle reached forward and rested a hand on Susie’s chin, thumb gently grazing her lower lip.
“Come on,” she whispered. “Just a little. You’ll feel better.”
She tilted the mug and brought it close.
The first sip didn’t go in. Just pooled in her cheek and dribbled down the side of her face.
Noelle wiped it quickly with the hem of her pajama top. Frowned. Recalculated.
“Okay,” she murmured. “Okay. Swallow reflex. You just… you need help.”
She angled her head again. Tilted the mug back further. Another sip. This time she pinched gently at the top of Susie’s snout—fingers over her nostrils, holding just enough. Not squeezing. Not hurting. Just… pressing. Firm.
Susie made a soft grunt in her throat, a small panicked sound like an animal startled from a nap. Her tongue moved. She swallowed reflexively.
Noelle let go.
“Good girl,” she breathed. “That’s it.”
She gave her another sip. Same process. Again. And again.
It took time. She went slowly. Too fast and it might spill, might go down wrong. Might choke. The last thing she wanted was for her to cough—get scared—wake up gagging.
Still, there was something raw about it. Something wrong. Guiding her mouth open, covering her nostrils, coaxing her to drink like a child or a dying bird.
When the cup was half-empty, Noelle stopped. That would be enough. The rest could cool. She wiped Susie’s lips with a washcloth and set the mug on the tub beside the bed.
Then she tucked her in.
The covers came up to her chest. Noelle adjusted the pillows—flat one under her neck, bouncy one beside her in case she turned. She pulled the patchwork throw up last, folding the corners just so. The plushies were already in place. Noelle adjusted them too.
The one with long ears—a bunny—she tucked beside Susie’s hip like it had always been there. The frog went near her pillow. She hesitated before placing the bear with the pink bow. That one was special. Her father had won it at the fair. She tucked it under the quilt against Susie’s side anyway. Just for tonight.
She lay down after that. Not under the blankets, but on top of them, curled gently along Susie’s side like a comma. One arm over the quilt, not touching. Not quite.
Just near.
The space heater hummed. The night light on the plug glowed faintly—red and green and yellow ornaments, and a star that pulsed faintly like a real one might through clouds.
Noelle didn’t sleep at first. Just lay there, breathing slow, eyes wide, staring at Susie’s profile in the dim. The curve of her jaw. The small scar at her temple. Her collarbone under the old green sweater.
“Tomorrow’s going to be better,” she whispered.
She didn’t expect a reply.
Still, she watched. Just in case.
And eventually, when her own eyes finally fluttered shut, Noelle dreamed of snow. Of people who stayed where you put them.