The air is crisp and cold this evening, damp lingers, a ghost of the rain that fell so heavily earlier. It’s not uncomfortable, though, just enough to keep the mind from drifting off.

Not that Riven would have fallen asleep.

Somewhere in the distance, down below a siren wails and fades, swallowed by the hush that follows after a storm. The clouds above hang low and heavy, bloated with the promise of more rain. The sky is a pale, bruised gray, the kind of color that makes it hard to tell how late it is.

He’s been couch surfing lately, finances were never his strong suit. After his landlord kicked him out, there wasn’t really much choice left to him. He can’t hold down a job, he can’t save any money. He’s tried, he truly has. But some people just have perpetually bad luck. They keep getting handed the worst hands of cards. Riven is certainly one of these people.

For months now, it’s been one doorstep after another. One friend after another. One stranger after another. He doesn’t expect warmth. He doesn’t expect kindness. Just a place to stop moving for a night or two. A floor is enough. He doesn’t ask for more.

It’s worse because he’s a hybrid, he knows this. A man-made joining of a feline and a human. A body never meant to exist. There’s very few places that will take him as an employee. Hybrids, after all, aren’t human, there’s very little protections for them in the law. That’s why his landlord kicked him out, Riven supposed. Something about fur in the carpets. It was never about fur, just getting him out the way for a renter with deeper pockets.

He’s stood in some strangers balcony once again, this evening. Staring down, silently, at the quiet streets, still glistening from the rain of the day. The metal railing is cool beneath his fingers. The city breathes below: slow, shallow, tired. Like him.

With a twitch of his ear he looks up instead, the sky is still overcast, it’ll probably rain again tonight. A shame. Riven doesn’t like the rain much.

He sighs, turning on his heel to head inside again. He tries to avoid making too much noise when he’s in other people’s places. He’s already pushing his luck. He shouldn’t be afforded this nicety. He’s done absolutely nothing to deserve it, he has absolutely nothing to offer in return.

This place is cluttered, messy. But he’s in no place to be a critic. He steps over the papers, the strange collections of radios and CDs, old tech he wouldn’t be able to name.

When he gets to where he can see the couch, where he assumed he’d be sleeping tonight, there is someone else there. Already asleep. Another hybrid.

It catches him off guard.

He stands there too long, watching the gentle rise and fall of their chest. He doesn’t know who they are. Doesn’t know where they came from. But they got there first. That’s enough.

He won’t wake them.

His ear twitches.

Floor it is.

Riven makes his way closer over to the couch anyway, careful not to disturb the quiet. He’ll sleep on the floor in front of it. There’s no space anywhere else.

“Sorry,” he mumbles under his breath at the rustling of his clothes. He knows they probably aren’t listening, but he says it anyway. He has to.