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Despite lecturing for the better part of four years, Webs was still so boring to listen to.
Winter struggled to keep himself awake. The desk before him was such an attractive spot to lay his head. Though the mountains of Jade Mountain Academy weren't quite sweltering with summer heat yet, enough warmth permeated the air that the SeaWing lecturer's words seemed to melt right into it. It was the right temperature to hammer a sense of sleepiness into any dragon unfortunate enough to be shackled in the senior-level class for more than five horrid minutes.
His IceWing diligence precluded him from falling asleep, though the sight of Kinkajou snoring away next to him was rather convincing. He flicked his ear in annoyance, turning away from her. Why wouldn't she pay attention? he thought. These lessons are important. That's why we're here.
Then he saw Turtle, similarly concussed by the summer heat, slip off the desk that he had been lounging on. He rose back up with a terrified yelp before composing himself as quietly and inconspicuously as he could. To his utter lack of surprise, Webs failed to register the event at all, and continued to drone on and on about the Scorching (again), or the War of SandWing Succession (again), or the Tree Wars (again).
So maybe the very last class before graduation wasn’t important, he thought with a grumble. Winter idly played about with his pencil, letting it mark his parchment with careless strokes. He had half a mind to draw something, but nothing really came to mind. His scales itched in frustration; he just wanted to leave and be done with school forever.
He nearly let out an unhappy sigh, but contained it as he stared down at the parchment. In a way, Winter could hardly believe that this was the last day of school for... forever. It felt a lot longer than four years, even with his temporary absence after his exile from the Ice Kingdom.
Four years since he had been enlisted to join the Jade Winglet.
Four years since he had met Peril, and Kinkajou and Turtle and Qibli and Moonwatcher.
He snuck a glance at the NightWing, doing his best to overlook how Qibli was attempting to fold his parchment into some awkward flying contraption. In the past few years, she had grown... larger than the rest of them, so much so that her claws awkwardly covered half of the desk she sat at.
Winter turned away the moment she turned to him, not wanting her to realize that he might have been staring at her for a moment too long. He shook his head in an attempt to free his thoughts of her.
Four years, he thought, since their crazy, ridiculous run-in with an ancient NightWing animus. Four years since we had sacrificed everything to stop Darkstalker.
The tip of his pencil shattered against the parchment.
It had been four years since he had sacrificed everything to stop Darkstalker.
What did any of the other dragons lose? he wondered with furrowed brows. What did they sacrifice that could compare to what he lost? Did they even lose anything at all?
It was a melancholy thought that tortured his mind for years, inconsistent but painful. Every time it chose to surface, Winter would do his best to ignore its soul crushing weight, but he was helpless against the sorrowful blizzard of his emotions, and found himself succumbing to sharp, sudden depression over and over again.
It was so hard to overcome his negativity. Winter was cursed with realizing just how much he had lost so swiftly. He had lost his nobility, his heritage, his education... and even his father in his journey with all of his clawmates.
Narwhal, he thought dourly, shaking his head. Though his relationship with Narwhal was combative as best, it still felt appropriate to mourn for his loss. No matter how much he tried to hate his father or forget him, there was nothing he could do to stem the pain of losing Narwhal so early in life.
It was difficult not to think about the rest of his family then. Who did he have left? he thought angrily. Ruining the Diamond Trials and freeing Foeslayer had cut him off from most of his family – Hailstorm was so frigidly distant even though Winter had saved his life, and Tundra would never, ever, see him as his son again (her words, not his).
And Icicle, the only other dragon he could even hope to reconnect with, was still rotting away in IceWing prison. Even then, he had certain doubt that she would ever be released.
And his clawmates... his clawmates had everything he had ever wanted. Kinkajou had all of her RainWing friends and Queen Glory on top of that. Turtle had Tsunami and his infinite brothers in the Sea Kingdom. Qibli had Sunny and Queen Thorn, and Moon had her mother... and Qibli, too, he thought with a frosty snort. Even Peril, the obvious outcast of their group, had Clay to confide in.
Why did everybody but him get their happy ending? Where was his reward for sacrificing everything?
It was hard not to feel bitter about it. It was hard not to drown in his own despair. It was hard not to lash out at all of the others for the sheer lack of justice in what happened.
Winter's claws dug into the wooden desk as he struggled not to have a complete breakdown in the middle of class. There was no way to hide the pain that contorted his face, but there was nothing that he could do about that but hope that this very last exercise of agony would be over soon.
Maybe he would go straight to Sanctuary after this. It would be a nice reprieve from all of the nonsense plaguing his mind, and there wouldn't be anyone around to inspire more horrid thoughts, or anyone to lose his mind at. Plus, the graduation ceremony was sure to be a drag, as he had learned during the first dozen times in the Ice Kingdom...
Something tapped at his back, distracting him from his thoughts. But he wasn’t happy to have been drawn out of his despairing self-pity - he must have had a terrible expression on his face, he realized, because the scar-snouted SandWing behind him actually recoiled a bit.
But Qibli was brave enough to hold a note out, and Winter did his best not to rudely snatch it out of his claws. He turned around before opening it, though he was sure he was going to claw Qibli’s face off if it was another awful drawing of an extra-thicc Webs.
Meet up at our spot? the note asked.
For some reason, he would have actually preferred it if it was an extra-thicc Webs.
He pulled together whatever little patience left, and looked back to see Qibli’s stupid muzzle curled in concern. Moon was right there with him, worry creasing her teardropped scales.
It frustrated him so immensely that they had learned how to read his emotions so easily, but it wasn’t frustrating enough to spurn their offer. If Qibli had asked the same thing two years ago, Winter might have torn his note into a million pieces in self-righteous anger. But now, on the cusp of graduation, he was tempered with years of reflection; the edges of his sorrow had long been polished away.
He nodded heavily back to his friends.
The rest of the lecture slipped by as quickly as a glacier grinding down a mountain, but Winter endured the droning of Webs’ lecture for the last time. Though the other dragons in the classroom looked relieved, happy, or even honored to have stuck with the SeaWing instructor for all their time at Jade Mountain Academy, the congratulatory comments receded into little more than static in his ears. Even if he did summon the interest to listen, he knew that he would have nothing but snark and acidity to entertain them with.
“Hey, buddy. What’s up?”
Winter looked to his right, shaking off the golden wing that had snuck along his back. “Nothing’s wrong.”
Qibli let out a long sigh, one that he knew far too well for his liking. “You should know that excuse doesn’t work after the tenth time,” he said with a soft smile. “Come on. Moon’s just about done sucking up to Webs.”
“I’m not sucking up to Webs,” Moon protested as she padded up next to Qibli. “I was just telling him that he did a good job!”
“Did he do a good job, though?” Qibli asked. “I mean, really...?”
“He has to start somewhere,” Moon said, giving him a gentle shove. “A little encouragement goes a long way. You of all dragons should know that.”
She had that soft, contemplative look on her face, the same look that Winter found himself agonizing over for so many nights before he had come to terms with his loss. Even now, though, seeing it tore apart the stitching of his wounds, and he struggled again to keep his sorrow contained before his best friends.
His claws unconsciously felt for the skyfire pouch around his wrist, just in case Moon could pick up on the intense emotion torturing him in that moment... but it must have been so obvious enough that any old dragon could have seen it. Qibli reached out and placed a claw on his shoulder, and this time, he didn’t bother to shake it off.
“Let’s go to our spot, Winter,” the SandWing said.
The air was refreshingly cool and crisp this high up.
The three dragons spread out on the small outcrop far, far above the entrance to Jade Mountain Academy. This had been their hiding spot for the past four years, reserved for when Moon couldn’t stand hearing everybody’s thoughts, or when Qibli freaked out about his many anxieties, or when Winter broke down over, and over, and over from just about everything that plagued him.
In the past, he had never wanted to come to their spot. It was never for a good reason, and he never liked seeing his friends in despair... or being in despair himself. But as he gazed out at the clear afternoon sky above them, Winter realized that this was the last time that they would ever meet here.
The mountain breeze tossed the IceWing’s icicle mane, which clattered in soft musical chimes as he sat down with an immense sigh. The last thing he needed was that heavy thought on top of his current developing crisis. “You guys aren’t going to leave me alone, are you?” he asked the other two dragons.
“Nope,” Qibli said instantly.
“Not a chance,” Moon added. “Not until you’re feeling better.”
The swiftness of their answers forced a smile from his tired muzzle. “It’s not worth talking about, you know,” he said. “I’m just thinking those stupid, horrible thoughts again. You’ve heard them at least ten times already. Why do you even persist?”
Qibli spoke first. “You’re our friend, Winter. Our best friend. It doesn’t matter if we hear it once, or a hundred times. We’re here for you.”
“And even then, you don’t even need to talk about it at all,” Moon said. “We can talk about anything else, or go flying or hunting if you’d like. We just don’t want you to be alone with your misery.”
There was something about their earnestness that shook Winter to his core. He didn’t know whether it was the idea of this never happening again, or the way his sorrow rampaged within him, but all he knew was that he couldn’t look either of them in the eye. “... Thanks, guys,” the IceWing said, looking out to the desert far in the distance. He struggled to keep his emotion from falling down his cheeks. “I just... I don’t know what I’ll do without you two after all these years together.”
The silence was deafening, only interrupted by the breeze flowing over the small plateau. He could feel the awkwardness emanating from the dragons before him “I want to say that we’ll be inseparable,” Moon said carefully, scratching at the stone underfoot, “but we... we all have our obligations after graduating. Queen Glory expects me to become a teacher as soon as I return to the rainforest.”
“Thorn wants me to serve as an ambassador,” Qibli said, grinning. “I told her it was a mistake, but she believes in me for some reason.”
Winter thought back to Sanctuary and the human project he had committed himself to, but failed to give voice to his thoughts. “Then this is it, isn’t it?” he asked softly. “The last time we’ll share this spot.”
“That’s not true, buddy. We’re still here for another week or so. There’s still time for another meltdown.”
“Qibli!”
Winter couldn’t help but chuckle at how quickly Moon snapped at him. “Okay, okay... what I meant to say was that we can still meet up and spend time together,” Qibli said, though his voice betrayed his uncertainty. “It just won’t be... as often as we do now.”
“As often as my panic attacks strike, you mean.”
“Winter...”
He shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “I know I shouldn’t be snapping at you guys, but I just...”
Though he was loath to admit it, Qibli and Moon had become much larger parts of his life than he expected. No matter how upset he had become, or temperamental or sorrowful his outbursts were, at least one of them was there to calm him down. Whatever weakness that had infected him since leaving the Ice Kingdom forced him into their embrace, but now that he had so many years to think upon it... he was glad to have been weak around them, out of all the other dragons that he could have borne his heart to.
Winter looked up as the NightWing stood. For a moment, he wondered if his outburst was too strong for her tastes, but she didn’t fly away like he thought she would. Then Qibli followed, and before he could protest or even express any surprise, they flanked him and cuddled in close, sweeping their wings over him. “H-hey,” he stammered. “Guys?”
But they kept him sandwiched between his flanks. Winter didn’t have the heart or energy to shake them off, and did little more than pout and huff. Their warmth, though still unfamiliar, was no longer unpleasant to him, and he simply let his shoulders fall as he accepted their affection.
“It is a little scary,” Qibli finally admitted, “to separate after everything we’ve been through together. It doesn’t feel right.”
“Well, you and Moon will still be together,” Winter said, trying to retain the acidity of his thoughts.
Moon sighed. “It’s not the same as being here, you know,” she said. “It’s harder to be romantic when there’s so much distance between us.”
“I...” Wouldn’t know anything about that, he wanted to say so badly, but he had grown enough to know that a comment like that wouldn’t get him anywhere. “I’m sure you two will figure it out.”
“We thought about asking Turtle to enchant something for us, like the dreamvisitors,” Qibli said. “Or like that little piece of parchment we used long ago when Darkstalker was around. And hey, before you get any funny ideas, you’d get one too. Don’t think we’re leaving you out of the picture.”
Winter’s sad smile faltered on his muzzle. “I appreciate the thought,” he said, “though I don’t know how appropriate it is, or if it’ll be enough. Truthfully, I’m not too sure I want to keep being your third wheel.”
“Do you think you’re our third wheel?” Moon asked suddenly. “I... think you need to give yourself more credit than that.”
“And what does that mean, exactly?”
He felt her shrug shyly against him. The look she gave Qibli was unmistakably sharp, though he had little idea of what the implication was. “You know you weren’t the only one who realized that we wouldn’t be sharing this spot together anymore, buddy,” he said with a soft, comforting grin. “Moon and I talked about it a few nights ago, and the thought of us splitting up is... well, it’s rough.”
Winter wanted to feel offended that the thought occurred to Qibli before it did for him, but curiosity overtook him. “But what can be done about it?” he asked, scratching his claws against the ground.
“Well... I think something that’s important to realize is that this, here,” the SandWing said, gesturing to the plateau around him, “isn’t really our spot.”
“Really. You’re saying this after all these years?”
“It was an absurd thought for me at first, too,” said Qibli. His voice trembled with the brilliance of a new idea. “But if you think about it... why is this our spot, specifically?”
Usually, it took some time and prodding to get Qibli to explain himself, but somehow, Winter understood instantly. “That’s clever of you,” he said shakily. “Our spot... isn’t a location, or someplace we decide on. Our spot is where we’re together, no matter where that might be.”
“I told you he’d get it,” said Moon, her wing reaching over to nudge Qibli. “See?”
“You know,” the IceWing said with a shaky, harrowed laugh, “from the way you guys are talking, I would have thought that you were asking me to join you guys in a relationship, or something stupid like that.”
He expected a laugh, or some instant remark that spurned the hopeless idea. But when nothing but the whistling of the winds came, Winter suddenly became very nervous, aware of how their eyes bored into him. “Wait, wait,” he said with a half-hearted chuckle. “That was a joke. I was joking. You get that, right?”
“I mean,” Qibli said in a tone that he barely recognized at all, “we’ve... we’ve been together for so long. And we’ve been through so much together. With all of that time, obviously, I- well, we care for you a lot more than any other friend reasonably should, like, to the point where we feel pretty differently, and-”
“Qibli is trying to say that we care a lot about you,” Moon said softly. “... Some dragons might even say that we love you.”
Winter’s breath paused in his chest. “Hold on,” he said. “There’s... no way you just said that. Moon? Qibli?”
He looked to the Sandwing first, and he desperately wished for the comical, silly grin that he knew so well. But there was only a single emotion set deep in his sparkling eyes, one that he thought only Moon could summon. Stunned, he looked the other way, and the way she stared at him reminded him of how desperately his younger self wished she would love him so.
But now he didn’t know how to feel at all. Fear and trepidation flirted with hope and excitement; his heart couldn’t figure out where to be in his chest, soaring for one moment before sinking down into the pits the next. He had eyes for Moon, certainly, and he couldn’t deny his attraction to Qibli, but they had dated each other for their entire time at Jade Mountain Academy.
Not once in the past four years had he entertained the possibility of being with either of them, and now they were offering... for him to join both of them?
“Guys,” he said, his voice cracking. “What is this? You can’t just lay this in front of me now, of all times. Why now? Why not before?”
“The thought of going our separate ways was too much,” said Moon. “Even with letters... even with animus-touched scrolls... well, you said it yourself. It doesn’t feel like enough to stay together.”
“So what?” Winter asked with a brittle laugh, struggling to keep his muzzle still. “If we’re all in a... relationship of some kind, how does that change anything? It doesn’t close the distance.”
“Well, that’s not the only thing we thought of,” said Qibli. “If I was naïve enough, this kind of relationship would convince us to find some place to settle down together. And that’s actually possible, believe it or not. There’s no reason for me to stay in the Sand Kingdom if I was an ambassador, right?”
“And I can probably talk myself out of a teaching role,” said Moon. “There’s a lot more I want to learn about my mindreading and future-sight powers, something that can’t be managed if I’m around a bunch of dragonets.”
Winter couldn’t help but chuckle. “I remember the hatchery,” he said. “They were so... loud.”
“They were cute,” Moon said, prodding him. “And you know it.”
“... Fine,” Winter said, rolling his eyes. “Maybe they were. So what?”
“The point we’re making,” Qibli said in a firmer voice, “is that we’re able to go wherever we want after graduating. But you...”
Winter cut him off. “I’m stuck in Sanctuary with all of my human projects. I don’t have that freedom to move around.”
“But we do.”
The earnest, tender look that Moon gave him was what finally broke him. “We’d do it for you,” she said. “It might not be the easiest thing in the world, but it’s something that Qibli and I would do in a heartbeat if it meant we could be with you.”
Winter finally succumbed to his emotions at last, bowing his head as tears began to stream down his cheeks. “What... why are you guys sacrificing so much for me?” he asked with a broken laugh. “What do you even see in me that’s worth loving? I don’t think I’m even worth liking.”
“C’mon, Winter. You’re so dramatic. You know well why we’re here for you,” Qibli said, snuggling in closer to him. “But I’m sure we can put a list or something together. Sunny did teach us about that.”
“A list,” Winter repeated with a choked laugh. “As if we needed to be educated on how to make a stupid list.”
He continued to laugh and cry between his two friends. He didn’t expect their patience, but they remained silent and supportive despite being witness to his weakness on parade. “You know that I can’t just say yes, right?” he whispered with a loud sniff. “I’m not even sure how to feel about this.”
“We weren’t expecting you to say yes right away,” said Moon. “Or yes at all, honestly. But we still have a week together before the graduation ceremony. You’ll at least stay with us for that, right?”
It was funny to Winter. He had been so adamant on leaving right after Webs’ class had concluded, even ready to bolt had Qibli not intercepted him. But now, in their spot with his best friends... or mates, even, he didn’t want to leave Jade Mountain at all.
Mates, he thought again. A shiver rolled down his spine. How would that even work? Would he get jealous of how Qibli loved Moon? Would... would he get jealous of how Moon loved Qibli? How could their emotions ever be compatible together? How would they explain it to the rest of their friends? Whose dragonets would Moon even have?
The last thought made him laugh. As if any of us are even ready for dragonets.
“Just take your time, like Moon said,” said Qibli gently. “There’s no pressure. We won’t love you any less if you deny us. We just thought that, well... you get it. Hopefully.”
“Maybe,” he said. “I don’t think I get it yet, to be honest. It still sounds so... crazy. Strange. Absurd”
“Trust me, it wasn’t easy, buddy. You have no idea how much we talked about it for the past few months.”
“Months!” Winter exclaimed. “You were talking about this for months?”
“Hopefully you didn’t think this was some sudden thought that someone like Blaze would have. Give us some more credit than that.”
Winter scowled as he laid his head down. The other two dragons filled in the space he left, squeezing him tight, and he hated how warm and nice it felt to be pressed up between them. “... I’ll think about it,” he said. “But...”
“But...?”
Both dragons trailed off, and Winter became acutely aware of how they stared down at him. “But don’t leave me here alone just yet,” he said. “It feels good being in our spot. Give me just a little longer... please?”
“Of course, Winter.”
“We wouldn’t ever think of leaving you alone, buddy. Not even once.”
So Winter laid there on the plateau, smiling and crying, and surrounded by the wonderful, overwhelming comfort that only his two best friends in the entire world could offer him.