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Monty was sitting, stone still, atop his sheets. Fist placed against his mouth, his teeth edging around it, body rocking slightly, back and forth. It made Edgar’s eyebrows pinch together when he entered their room, confusion and concern. He pulled at the collar of his uniform, stiff, the back of his neck beaded uncomfortably with sweat.
It had remained above 90 for three days straight, and Edgar was trying hard not to crawl out of his skin. The humid air of the Plauground was suffocating, pressing in on him, making his bones itch. He spent most of the day wringing his hands together, unable to keep his fingers still, taking at least two cool showers a day to temporarily wash off the uncomfortable sensation of the air, of his own flesh.
Their dorm itself, while slightly cooler than the outside, enclosed by stone walls and kept dark by the shades both boys refused to pull up, it was still choked with heat, stale air. There was no escape for them anywhere.
“Monty?” Edgar asked, slowly breaching the threshold. Roland and Kevin were playing board games with Ben in the common room, and the dampened echos of their joy and frustration could be heard. Monty went on rocking, the nails of his other hand scratched along his other forearm, as if trying to peel his own skin back.
Edgar flustered, glanced out the doorway and back to his friend. Twitched nervously, fought the urge to gag as his clothes touched him the wrong way. He tapped his fingers on his thigh, thoughtfully, took another step forward, fluttering, forever feeling out of his depth.
“What’s- what’s wrong?” He asked, trying to soften his voice, even as it pitched with a crack of oncoming puberty. Edgar’s hand anxiously went to the pocket of his shirt, confirming that the dark egg, like cool stone, remained there. Sighing when the compulsion was fulfilled.
Monty just let out a long groan, teeth digging into the back of his hand. He rocked, he shook his other hand, peeled out a muffled whine.
It was hot in their room, and Monty’s clothes were stuffed with sweat. He was still wearing the jacket of his uniform, and the tie hung tight around his throat. Every movement he made to soothe himself just irritated him more. A light sparked in Edgar’s eyes. Understanding.
“Oh.” He said, mostly to himself, then to Monty, “It’s- it’s the heat, isn’t it?” He picked his nails, “It- I feel- it makes it hard to breath, and think, and then my uniform gets all-” He waved his hand unable to explain. Watching with eyes deep set in concern as tears beaded in Monty’s, as he nodded an anguished confirmation.
“Do you know what I do?” Edgar asked, after a pause. Always unknowing how to help others, barely knowing how to drag himself out of moments when his skin didn’t feel right and it made him want to scream. And here he was, out of his depth, trying to help Monty.
It was a tense moment where Edgar was unsure if Monty heard, if he should repeat himself, worried that the need for a response was too much. Then came the frantic, repeated shake of Monty’s head, back and forth, in time with his rocking, struggling to keep his mouth busy as he did so. Fingers bit into, spit left along his knuckles as he tried to communicate and teethe.
But response was good. And something uncoiled in Edgar’s chest. He might not know how to help Monty, but he knew what he did when he got overwhelmed, especially in this heat. His hands gave a few flaps as he asked Monty, “Would you like to go on a walk with me?”
Another pause, but less of one. Then a shrug, then a word muffled into the back of his fist. “Shure.” He lisped, so quiet Edgar almost didn’t hear him. Pulled his fist back as Edgar placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder. Monty kept gnashing his teeth, even with his mouth empty. Tongue darting over his canines as if he expected to find them changed, needed to keep reminding himself that they weren’t.
Edgar began to move toward the door, fingers skimming the inside of his breast pocket, his breath easing out as his fingertip fell across what felt like cool stone. He still hadn’t named the egg yet.
He stumbled over the threshold as he realized Monty wasn’t following. Turning back around, he found Monty staring at the wolf mask he had made last month in crafting, having been demanded to change too many times. Scared of his own transformation, but loving the way it made him forget, made “monty” disappear for a while, all the positive attention and awe from their classmates that followed.
It was a snout that covered only the bottom half of his face, protruding just a little over his nose, made of soft leather, with a mesh on the bottom half for easy breathing. And Monty was standing, rock still in the middle of their bedroom, staring at it. Edgar’s brow pinched together.
“Do you- do you want it?” Monty’s eyes darted to him as if he had been caught red handed. Deer in headlights, mostly the whites of his eye. As if needing something was a sin. Seeing the anxious concern in Edgar’s dark eyes, the lack of judgement. Monty shrugged, shook his head, then nodded, all in quick succession. Edgar’s mouth drew into a thin smile as he slowly edged over to where the mask sat on Monty’s dresser, cautiously wrapped his fingers around it, afraid it might break, afraid sudden movements and unpredictability would hurt Monty more.
Edgar offered the mask to his friend with a reassuring smile, and after more staring, Monty slowly unstuck his limbs and placed the mask over his lower face, hooking it around his ears. Edgar smiled at him, relaxing as Monty relaxed, as Monty’s eyes tilted with some sort of comfort.
Making a grabby hand motion, it was Monty who grabbed onto Edgar’s sleeves as the taller boy led both of them out of the room. Roland and Ben were competitively engaged in some version of Mario Kart that they had somehow pirated. If Edgar wasn’t otherwise focused, he would have questioned more about how they had gotten their devices, probably magic versions of them, to work. Kevin was the only one that glanced in their direction, his playful smirk quickly replaced by a frown of concern as he saw them.
“You okay?” He called, half brash, no subtly. Edgar felt Monty fist tighter into his shirt as the wolf-boy hunched, loitered behind Edgar like a young child clung to his parent’s pant leg in an unfamiliar place. Edgar nodded, answering for both of them.
“Ye-ea. We- we just- gonna go on a walk.” Kevin blinked, suspicious for a mere second before placidity ran over his face like a wave, immediately drawn back to the race at hand, and to the fact that he was losing. Calling out, “Okaty, ‘ave fun.” As he went back to swearing viciously at the screen.
Monty’s body was still tensed like a muscle, flight and fear and freeze, when Edgar turned and smiled softly at him. His darting eyes, fragile animal, scared and overwhelmed. And Edgar, boy, who when given a clear task got on with it, a hyperfocus that led his steps down the hall, slowly at first, then quicker when Monty trusted him, and relaxed enough, to unhunch himself.
The raven-haired boy still fidgeted with his hands, but took a commanding stride as he turned through the confusing halls of the school without much difficulty. A path he had taken many times before, and one he had studied on the maps of the floorplan. After two turns, Monty was already lost. Grey stone upon grey stone. The same tapestry draped under every archway.
Until they came to a pair of broad wooden doors. Intricate patterns of flora, dragons, and flames curled musically across the wood, and if you watched long enough, or visited often enough, as Edgar did, you began to realize that all the elements moved. Wooden vines grew, foxes and birds appeared, flittering across the grain, the dragon’s tail twitched in its sleep. On the top of the arched door, sat a semicircle window, glass stained beautifully.
Curious now, Monty edged out from behind Edgar, staring at a door that could lead anywhere, lost deep in the halls of Saint Churnleys. With confidence, Edgar pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside.
It was the library.
An ever stretching expanse upward, three stories tall, the roof domed, painted, decorated in carved wooden ornamentation. It changed color to reflect the sky, darkening at twilight, currently a pure blue of late afternoon, a version of the sky forever lacking the red tinge of the Plauground and its starving mists.
The center of the room rose to meet this dome, stretching out from it to a maze of bookstacks that could be miles long. Edgar, despite his best efforts, never found the edge of them, always going in one side of the stacks and ending up on the other. The librarian had told him they contained every book ever written, and Edgar had even found in the card catalog titles that were thought to be lost to time, burned with Alexandria.
Large windows cut through the dome, opened up in the walls that surrounding the tables and chairs directly under the dome, coiling out through the stacks in a way that wasn’t physically possible.
And it was cold.
Despite the lack of electronics in the Plauground, the library was perfectly climate controlled, dry with a chill that suited Edgar’s usual dress of a sweater vest. He was lacking it now, thanks to the heatwave, but the air conditioning made him wish he wasn’t.
Monty, behind him, instantly relaxed. A small noise whined out of his throat as he dropped his hand from Edgar’s shirt. He pointed half frantic, half excited, half questioning at the room before them. The comfy lounge chairs. The stacks of books. The natural lighting that somehow didn’t turn the entire place into a greenhouse garden.
Edgar furrowed his brow, trying to get his brain to keep up. “It’s- it’s the school library.” He figeted his hands, smoothed down the front of his shirt, scuffed his shoes against the carpet. “No one- no one else ever comes here really. I like it cause it’s cold. And quiet” He shrugged, seeming to want to coil into himself, embarrassed at expressing love for something so… nerdy.
But when he glanced back at Monty, the other boy’s eyes were alight. His hands flapped happily, and Edgar knew he was smiling behind the mask.
And Monty was bounding over to the comfy chairs, grabbing Edgar’s hand and dragging him along. He immediately collapsed into one, knees and hands on the cushion, sitting somewhat like a dog.
Slower, Edgar followed, sitting in a recliner next to Monty, end table with a lamp between them. He let his own body uncoil, forgetting the oppressive heat outside the room. Let the urge to claw out of his body drift away. Monty seemed to be calmer too. After a few minutes passed, the pair got used to the quiet, a small voice spoke up.
“Thank you.” Edgar glanced over to Monty, the words so quiet. The smile that split Edgar’s face was hesitant but not for lack of overwhelming joy. He hummed. Watched his hands as he picked his nails again, a slight blush ghosting his cheeks.
“Of course.” He muttered out the side of his mouth without looking up. Praise going in one ear and out the other. His hand went to his pocket again, Egg was still there.
“No.” Monty’s voice had gained some strength now. Edgar met his eyes, fierce. “Thank you.” And this time Edgar had to swallow, nod, and quickly look away. A pass of silence between them.
“It- I know what- what it’s like when- when it gets too much. S’why I like to come here?” He dug the toe of his shoe into the carpet, shrugging.
“Why- why don’t we come here with you?” Monty asked.
“The other- Roland and Kevin, they don’t know about it.”
Another pause. A quiet question. “Why not?”
Another shrug, the pass of time where Edgar could, and would not, look at him. “I- it’s better when it’s quiet.” He confessed. “I know I should- ‘specially when it’s this hot- but- I-...” He faded off, guilty and choking.
Monty was stumbling over to Edgar, clambering up into his chair, wide enough for the both of them to sit comfortably, shoulder to shoulder, two eleven year olds in an empty room. He shoved his way beside him, a pressure against his side. Small boy reaching for his hand and squeezing it as if he knew exactly what grounded Edgar.
A whisper. Half embarrassed, conspirator. “They can be loud. Sometimes.” Monty trailed off into nothingness. Flinched from the touch of skin against skin and drew his hand away again, sitting with his paws in his lap, his shoulder pressed against Edgar’s.
Edgar nodded. Murmured. “Yea.” Soothed by the idea that Monty understood, this need for an escape.
“So you-”
“I-” Edgar started at the same time. Quickly shaking his head, cheeks pink, urging Monty to go on.
“So you’re fine if I…” Monty glanced around the vast, quiet room. “If I come here?”
Edgar was nodding. Twiddling his thumbs. “Yea. I can- I can show you the way if if you wanna come here by yourself.” He hurried on, “I mean, not by yourself, the librarian’s always here, but ya know, without me… when you ever need a break from-”
Monty interrupted him by dropping his head onto Edgar’s shoulder. Making the other boy draw in a sharp breath. Tense. And then lean into the pressure. The reminder that it wasn’t anything to do with Edgar that Monty needed a break from.
“Okay.” Monty whispered, sounding years younger than he was. He reached up a fumbling hand to brush his nose, found the mask, lifted his head to half shake it off, not really able to control his fingers at the moment. Then his eyebrow furrowed as he realized what Edgar had said, turning to look at him. “The librarian?” He questioned.
Edgar nodded. “That’s who keeps the room cool and dry, it’s good for the books you know. Most old books you want to preserve between 15 and 21 degrees-....” He fell off abruptly, realizing he was rambling about the wrong thing. “Sorry.” He murmured.
“Sorry” Monty apologized back out of instinct. Edgar cleared his throat and continued on.
“The librarian is usually up there-” He pointed to the dome. And sure enough, coiled almost invisible on the ledge just below the dome, there was a creature, more tail than legs. Scales across the wood. Scales that looked like wood.
Monty half jumped at the realization, a dragon sleeping in its nest above their head.
“They’re a song dragon.” Edgar continued, regarding the librarian. “Also known as a spirit dragon. They take on the form of the ancient ruins they are born from-”
“Like turtles.” Monty interrupted. Edgar blinked. Both reptiles did have a connection to the place they were born, but he consciously had to snap his jaw shut against explaining what would become arguing.
“Yea.” He continued. “That’s why they kinda blend in like that- some of their scales sorta look like marble pillars too.” Monty was nodding along, trying to distinguish the sleeping dragon from the edge of the ceiling itself. “Her name’s Celsus. Like’s to hoard books.”
“Like you.” Monty blurted, fondly.
Edgar cleared his throat, blushed, and pointed to the old mahogany desk near the entrance that they had walked past. “Melvin likes to hang out over there.”
“Melvin?”
“Yea he’s-”
A man popped up from behind the desk as if summoned. Short in stature, wearing a sweater vest over a button up shirt. His skin, dark, was coated over in places by flakes of ice. There was a patch on his wrist that he was currently scratching at like it was simply eczema. He pressed glasses up his nose and went back to his search through the stacks of papers and books behind the desk, muttering to himself, disappearing into the room behind it.
“Oh.” Monty muttered.
“He’s the one that controls the temperature.” Edgar explained.
A silence fell that bothered neither of them. Monty returned his head to Edgar’s shoulder, like a dog resting his chin on his paws. “I’d like that.” Monty whispered, and it took Edgar a moment for his whirring brain to catch up, or rather backpedal, his fingers pulling away from Egg’s shell again.
It was another way of Monty saying his thanks. The appreciation of having a room to escape to. Edgar hummed, shifted as much as he could nervously without disturbing Monty too much.
“I won’t tell Kevin or Roland.” Monty whispered, and the smile that flicked up the corner of Edgar’s mouth was small but it was there. Fell quickly with anxiety. The picking of his fingernails.
“Sorry- I shouldn’t- I should tell them but…” Guilt rotted slightly at his core.
Monty shook his head. Lisped sleepily. “It's fine. I get it.” A pause. “It’s nice here.”
Edgar smiled to himself, let his chest uncoil. Allowed himself to breathe. His safe space had another person in it, and it was going to be okay. He leaned into the comforting pressure of Monty’s body, as Monty whispered, “It can be our secret.”