Over four years ago, through the last few months of the COVID-19 pandemic, I volunteered at a homeless shelter to help provide food for those in need. Every time I went, I took the time to listen to their stories despite the stigma's our society puts on those who live on the streets. This was around the time I first discovered the fandom, and while before COVID I used to help out with a podcast (never went far sadly) that allowed the homeless tell their stories, I made an attempt at my first piece of writing. Four years ago I wrote a story that hoped to provide greater insight on how someone could get into that position and what could be done to help them. Sadly, my writing ability was unable to properly deliver the idea, and so after establishing my own A Matter of Perspective Setting (Rebranded from Across the Pond in preparation for my upcoming book), I thought it would be a great opportunity to rewrite my initial idea to feature in my new setting. So, I give you the first side story of my setting called Off The Street's.

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Off The Street's

Dawn crept over another dry morning in Seattle. Or dry-ish morning at least. The old newspaper did its best for Finn Fletcher, but if it weren't summer then his dirty grey fur would be soaked clean through. Behind the raccoon’s half-lidded eyelids, he looked down to inspect the claw marks on his arms. The damage of nervous ticks on display.

Every waking morning, he hoped for a new day. A day that did not start with a stomach rumble and end in loneliness. One that would end with him being seen, and not just out of pity.

A petite, desperate rumble came from his underfed stomach. His hand rushed to silence it, but in doing so felt the outlines of his rubs. It urged him to climb to his footpaws and move before the world awakes. For this world was split between two sizes—Petritans like him, and being tall enough to be living monuments called Vastelerians. If being ostracised by society wasn’t enough, he had to live in the fear that one wrong footstep from a Vastelerian would mean the end.

Despite the fear of being snuffed out by a careless footstep, he had no option but to skulk Vastelerian alleyways for food. Scraps of discarded food for them were a full-course meal for Finn. Still, he couldn’t help but feel cheated that he needed so little sustenance compared to the giants that shooed him off their streets.

Still, he’s alive, so there’s hope. He had not been crushed yet. As long as he did not get any foolish notions about meeting a Vastelerian for a chat, he will survive until tomorrow too. Although the Petritan’s that walked past him spoke highly of their larger counterparts, he did not understand how someone of that size would see them as equal.

Even his Vastelerian fiance spoke glowingly of their Vastelerians friends, but that might be them being biased. He remembered tagging along in his partner’s pocket to visit them. Finn once recognised his reluctance to accept a Vastelerian’s generosity as fear, accepting his megalopateophobia, but after being stripped of everything after sickness claimed his, that fear had curled into envy. They had everything from biological advantage to being seen, while he remained powerless and invisible. Although Finn never hated them, he was engaged with one after all, he did long to be like them—perhaps then someone saw him.

Finn leaned up, slid off his newspaper blanket to expose his withered shirt and trousers, and took cautious steps outside his home. He pressed both hands against the edges of his cupboard-box home and sealed it one flap at a time. With his home sweet home ‘locked’ up, he let out a long, shuddering breath. To clear his head, he needed to watch the sunrise—the one constant in his life he clung to.

Keeping to the shadows, Finn took careful steps out of the alleyway. He looked up at the two apartment complex-sized Vastelerians homes that flanked his sides. Mercifully, the streets were empty. No careless Vastelerians to worry about squashing him underfoot. Thankful, Finn crossed the path and strolled down the street that led to the shoreline. The smell of the salty Pacific ocean pulled him forward like a tether.

A large valley of sand and crystal blue sea stretched out to the horizon. Fortunately, he did not miss the sunrise, but he cut it close. He treaded across the cold sand until he was a few inches from the tide and sat down.

He had made it. The same beach where his fiance proposed less than three months ago.

It was dawn, the sun just rose above the horizon. Hope of a new day started to replace the darkness. He tilted his weight back to lay down and watched the emerging blue sky. The salty breeze rustled through his fur and aggravated the potent smell that cocooned his body. He did not flinch to the scent of someone who bathed whenever it rained. Yet, he believed he deserved a better lifestyle, at least that’s what his partner used to tell him.

‘I miss you, darlin’—’ He clenched the cold sand and took a deep breath to calm his mind. That didn’t stop his idle thumb stroking his old engagement ring. A symbol of love had become the last reminder of the man he once loved. That jewellery felt heavier with the thought that it could pay for a month’s rent and give him a roof over his head again. It didn’t matter, he’d rather sleep on the streets than give up the last reminder of his love.

Suddenly, a shallow thump echoed in the distance. His ears twitched when the subtle tremors vibrated through his body. Finn registered it as the impact of the tide striking the shore. That did not stop his hand paw attempting to scratch another claw mark into his arm, but he refused to give in to his anxious tics. Instead, he allowed his nerves to subside.

The same couldn’t be said for the earthquakes. A second thump came from the distance, louder this time. Then a third, a fourth…a fifth. With each successive thump, the shockwave intensified, echoing in his chest and tightening a knot in his slender stomach.

‘A…Vastelerian?!’ The devastating realisation sent his heart pounding into his fragile chest. Unable to move, unable to speak. Breathing only aggravated the strain on his body. As his handpaw claws attempted to inflict its will onto his arm, he listened to the sounds coming from behind.

A shadow fell over him and the tremors faded. His mind raced, wondering what unimaginable creature loomed above. Finn hoped that the Vastelerian might pass without noticing his fragile, trembling self around their footpaws.

He wasn’t that lucky when a voice projected up above. “Um, hello, sir. Would you mind if I sit down here?” They asked, ever so gently in a loud whisper.

If the realisation that a Vastelerian had found him did not rattle him, the volume of their voice did. That did not stop him letting out a, “Of course,” without thinking—as if he had taken on the chance to meet a fellow Petritan. “W-Wait—” he blurted too late.

‘What have you done?!’ Instinct compelled him to flee; fear paralyzed him in place to witness what his recklessness brought upon himself.

In the corner of his eye, a green scaled paw came into view. It summoned him to turn and watch that street-swallowing, four-toed sole settle on the sand. The enormous foot pressed down, each toe sinking into the sand. A subtle action that dispelled sand particles that latched onto his unattended fur.

A fragrance enveloped him—lavender soap.

The relaxing scent of lavender did not stop him from shifting away, especially when their other footpaw came into view. Finn lay frozen, but from the corner of his eye he saw the other foot settle down with a muffled thump. Just above the ankle, the rim of denim jeans peeked into sight.

Seconds later, a high-pitched whistle came above. Finn need not glance up to know that the Vastelerian was teetering his weight back. It ended with a subtle earthquake that dispelled sand straight onto the raccoon’s crown and red hair. The raccoon flinched upright to dust the sand off his body, while the scent of lavender lingered.

That did not dispel the anxious shivers riding down his spine.

“Sorry about that,” They rumbled out from behind. “I can sit somewhere else, if you want? You were here first after all—”

“No—!” His lonely heart projected out before his brain registered what he had done. “I mean, no, it’s alright,” he repeated with his usual cautious tone and summoned the courage to gaze at the Vastelerian.

It was a wingless dragon. One with a toned muscular chest that rippled underneath his black vest top. A physique that shouted athleticism. He was clothed too, all except his exposed soles.

“Alright, and by the way, I’m Hunter,” They announced, moving a single green scaled finger down to meet him.

Finn hoped that ‘Hunter’ was a name given at birth, and not an earned title. To keep himself composed, the raccoon faced the sand below and exhaled out, “It’s, um…n-nice to meet you, Hunter, I’m Finn”. A subtle stammer, made worse when his eyes strayed up to watch the dragon’s clawed finger close in. He felt his survival rate diminish inch by inch, until it withdrew.

“Oh god, sorry, I should have asked if you had megalopateophobia,” Hunter cooed down and rested his hand on his lap. “You don’t, do you?”

Finn knew that admitting to that phobia would be easier than confessing the true reason for his anxiety. “Yes, but don’t worry, it’s not severe,” He replied, comforting the dragon in ways he hoped others would do for him. “Being by the ocean keeps me calm.”

“Is that why you’re here this early?” Hunter asked, slanting forward to rest his crossed arms on his raised knees.

Finn tugged his shirt sleeves down to hide the marks. “No, to see the sunrise,” He rubbed the sleeve fabric fur, not with claws, but with fingertips. The raccoon’s eyes strayed up to lock eyes with Hunter’s.

“The sunset? What was it like?” Hunter asked with growing curiosity.

“It, um, was…beautiful,” a delicate squeak escaped Finn. A forced smile travelled across his quivering maw. “It was beautiful,” he repeated and watched the Vastelerian’s hazel eyes sparkle back to him.

“Sounds like I missed a good view, huh?” He chuckled out, while the sand shifted around them as they leaned forward to ask, “Forgive me, I wanted to be certain first, but where is your designated Vastelerian?” Hunter queried with a raised eyebrow and that same comforting smile.

Despite being ostracized by society, thanks to the times he spent visiting his fiance’s Vastelerian friends, he knew what a designated Vastelerian was. For Petritans, a stroll in a Vastelerian zone was dangerous—a single misstep, a dropped object, or a heavy stride would be catastrophic. To ensure cohabitation could continue, a Petritan must be accompanied by a Vastelerian to keep them safe. While it awoke questions on a Petritan’s safety being prioritised over their independence, very few Petritan’s opposed the idea. It would have been handy to have one, but how could he if wasn’t seen?

“I-I don’t have one,” he admitted as his mind envisioned those mighty digits surrounding him. Grabbing him. Claiming him as their own Petritan toy. That is what he expected, but what he did not expect was a concerned plea from them.

“You don’t?” He shot back, voice low, but organ-vibrating. Hunter’s smile had slipped, replaced with a saddened, worried expression. “Then it’s too dangerous for you to be on the Vastelerian side of the beach.”

The words stung more than he expected, and the icy touch of the sand beneath him seemed nothing compared to the weight of that realisation. “I didn’t know this was the Vastelerian section,” he whispered back.

“Huh? Everyone in Seattle knows this is a Vastelerian zone.”, he spoke with disbelief and turned his head back around to check for bystanders.

“I guess I missed the memo,” he muttered, half in shame, half in defense.

“Missed the memo?” he repeated slowly, almost incredulously. “You shouldn’t have come ‘ere without a designated Vastelerian. They’re meant to keep Petritan’s like you safe in mixed-size sections.”

The little raccoon lowered his eyes to meet the sand. He expected chastisement, or worse—the usual request to vacate the area.

Instead, the Vastelerian let out a long exhale, a sound like a gust of wind whistling through the countryside. “I’m not your designated Vastelerian, but I suppose–” he paused to shift himself back upright, “Until someone else turns up, you can stay here, Finn.”

Instinct treated his gesture like a trap, a ploy dressed as generosity. Finn’s mind scoured for excuses to refuse, while he scratched at the crown of his head until the sting of claw on exposed skin jolted him out of the tic. The shed hairs clung to the sweat-slick rags beneath him, as if they were eager to remind him of every nervous tic he had.

For a fleeting moment, Finn let the weight of the choice sink in. He could continue to keep himself distant from people, or he could accept the closest to company since he lost everything. Hunter’s presence was overwhelming, every breath and movement reminded him of the gulf between him—yet for the first time since he lost his fiance, he was not invisible. Someone saw him. Someone acknowledged he was here, even if he barely reached their ankle. Although his instincts screamed to mistrust, it was dwarfed by his desperate longing for companionship.

“Would that be alright with you?” He asked, tenderly.

“Yes,” he replied back and watched Hunter teeter his body back to rest his back onto the sand. “I won’t be here for much longer, I need to fi…GET food,” he corrected himself midsentence, hoping that the dragon wouldn’t notice.

Hunter did notice. Just not in the way he feared. His ears flicked, his head tilted, and slipped out, “Oh,” in a mix of surprise and disappointment. “How long do you plan to stay here?”

The little one shifted. “Not long, I’ve stayed here longer than usual. I only come here for the sunset—” He explained, until a low growl from his stomach cut him off. Mortified, Finn rushed both hands down to press against his traitorous belly. “Oh, um, sorry about that.”

“You should get something to eat, dude,” Hunter said with a faint chuckle that rumbled in his chest.

Finn did not respond. His lips curled inwards into a thin line as his eyes scanned the sand dunes. He knew he had nothing with him, no rations he scavenged, not even a crumb. To admit it out loud felt like peeling away the last shred of dignity he had left. Words caught in his throat, not because they were hard to summon, but because the truth behind them was too heavy to bear.

The raccoon’s hand shifted, tracing patterns into the sand with a claw rather than his flesh. Homeless. Reduced to a shadow of himself, with nothing to his name but old clothes and shedding fur. He knew of the stigmas thrown at people like him. Lazy. Dangerous. Thieves lurking in the shadows of society.

So why would he gamble with this moment? Why would he risk it? For once, someone sat here with him, seeing him for a person and not out of pity.

A heavy exhale funnelled out of the dragon’s widening maw. “You don’t have anything to eat, do you?”

Before Finn could challenge him, his hands redirected down to watch their scaly handpaw rise off the beach. It swung into pocket, and with it came a muffled crackle that swallowed the sound of his own heartbeat. The anticipation was almost unbearable.

When his hand slipped back out, caged between those fuzzy fingers was a glimmer of foil. A Vastelerian energy bar—packed with enough nourishment to last for weeks. The sight of it made his throat tighten. Any fur that he had did well to hide the goosebumps. A quick glance up to Hunter ended with him watching their claws tear the wrapper open.

“Here you go,” he spoke, oblivious to the raccoon’s brewing nerves as he rested a handpaw on the sand between them.

Finn’s eyes moved down to the laid out palm. A large cookie-dough protein bar stretched from one side of their hand to the other. The intoxicating scent of cookie dough washed over him. His rumbling stomach craved to indulge into it, but he restrained himself to avoid giving away the true reason for his hunger. It was almost unfair to draw him forward.

Slowly, Finn dug his claws into the chocolate coating, and raised it up to meet his maw. His eyes stared at it impolitely before he took a bite. An explosion of sensation followed. It took him longer than normal to swallow, but when he gulped it down, it felt alien to feel a bulge travel down his throat. Hunger overtook him, and he tore into it with an almost feral nature.

After Finn finished snacking, he realised he devoured less than one Vastelerian bite. His eyes diverted back up to Hunter, half expecting a visage of shock and worry. Yet, he smiled back at him.

“Damn, you were really hungry,” He giggled down, interlocked his fingers around the bar, and raised it up to take a bite himself. Only he did so out of sight, but that didn’t stop Finn from hearing the prolonged crunch of Vastelerian fangs tearing through the bar.

A flush of embarrassment crept over him. His claws twitched on the sand as he mumbled, “S-Sorry…I didn’t mean to—”

The Vastelerian held up a finger and cut off his apology. “It’s okay,” he said in a warm voice. “It looks like you needed it.”

“I did, thank you,” He confessed, while a glimmer of curiosity overcame his nerves, and he asked, “So, what brought you to the beach this early, anyway?”

“I come here sometimes to think,” Hunter breathed out. “Before I hit the books for my project.”

The little one’s eyes brightened slightly. “What project?” He asked, voice tinged with awe.

The giant scratched his chin. “My project? It’s silly, but it's a Petritan platform installed onto a Vastelerian’s chest vest,” he began, and before Finn chimed in, Hunter cascaded into an excited monologue. The dragon listed the many ways this would help Vastelerians in emergency services to support Petritan’s with megalopateophobia. Every now and then they looked down to Finn, only to beam down, leaving the raccoon in awe of their willingness to help Petritan’s.

The giant paused to give the little one a chance to catch his breath from the flood of information. “That’s about it,” he finally said, voice softer now. “I get it’s not the most interesting stuff, but it could help people.”

Finn sat in silence. When the giant finally paused, he whispered out, "You're an inventor?”

A chuckle like rolling thunder erupted from his maw. “Kinda. I’m a mechanical engineer,” Hunter corrected with a playful tilt of his head, “but yes. Speaking of, I should probably get going to the library.”

The little one’s smile faltered, the light dimmed from his eyes. Disheartened, he watched as the giant placed a hand onto the sand and shifted his weight. A longing for this moment to last ached in his chest. If only time would stall, just enough for him to hear about any more inventions, believe that someone saw him.

Instead, all he saw was the grains of sand cascaded down their ascending body. Glittering streams that caught the sunlight before they landed back to the earth. His throat tightened as the distance between their eyes widened. With every foot the giant rose, that warmth they offered slipped away, and his empty chasm of insecurity and loneliness returned.

Hunter glanced down at Finn before his eyes drifted to check for bystanders at the beach. Once it was clear, he returned his attention to the little raccoon. “I can’t leave you here alone without a Vastelerian,” he said gently, squatting down and resting a hand on the sand. “I’ll need to stop by the library for some books before I head to my apartment, but…do you want me to give you a lift to your place after the library?”

Finn hesitated. His voice trembled as he whispered, “Are you sure?”

Hunter’s gaze softened, the faintest curve of a smile tugged at his lips. “Yes. I did a Uni course on handling a Petritan for some friends of mine,” he replied.

The raccoon gulped and took a step forward. With a mix of awe and fear, he climbed onto Hunter’s massive, scaled hand, feeling the palm’s heat comfort his body. His tiny hands clung to the dragon’s index finger as the scaly digits curled and the palm lifted to bring him closer to eye level.

For the first time since his partner, Finn felt a strange mixture of exhilaration and vulnerability—tiny yet protected, small yet seen. As the wind brushed past him and the beach stretched out past Hunter’s fingers, he took a deep breath and listened to the rhythmic thumps of the dragon’s footsteps.

A moment of calmness that ended with a single realisation. As his mind cleared, a knot of anxiety tightened in his stomach. After the library session, he would have to explain to Hunter where he lived—the cupboard box he called home. What if Hunter’s eyes softened with the worst expression? Pity.

Even in the safety of Hunter’s hand, Finn felt the weight of that fear pressing down. He drew in a shaky breath to steel himself. If Hunter knew, he hoped their gaze would meet him with understanding, not pity.