[Story] She's Self-Conscious About Her Snout (Patreon)

The lake glows amber, ripples catching fire from the sunset, but all I see are shadows—places to hide. I tug my hat lower, until the straw scrapes my eyebrows. Don’t look up. Don’t let the wind win.

He’s beside me, fingers laced with mine, thumb tracing circles on my knuckle. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he murmurs, and for a heartbeat, I think he means me. But no—he’s gazing at the horizon, all golden and guileless. I nod, my jaw clenched tight.

A laugh erupts from a picnic blanket nearby. My head snaps toward the sound, hat tilting like a broken satellite dish. The couple isn’t even facing us, but my pulse riots anyway. They know. They always know. My free hand drifts to my face, index finger pressing the bridge of my snout, willing it smaller, softer, human.  

“Hey.” His voice is a warm hand on my spine. “You’re doing that thing again.”  

“What thing?” I rasp, pulling my finger away like it’s been burned.  

“The thing where you try to disappear.” He turns my chin toward him, and I let the hat tip back just enough to meet his eyes—hazel, always crinkled at the edges, like he’s mid-laugh even when he’s serious. His thumb brushes the edge of my hat, and I flinch.  

“Don’t,” I whisper. “Someone’ll see.”  

“See what? My favorite part of you?” He leans in, breath a whisper against my muzzle. “The way your nose wrinkles when you’re nervous? The way it snorts when you laugh?” His grin is a dare. “C’mon. Do the thing.”  

“No!” But he’s tickling my ribs now, that spot he knows turns me into a wheezing mess. A snort escapes—loud, undignified, equine—and I clamp both hands over my face. The hat topples to the ground.  

I hold my breath.

Then he’s laughing, not at me but with me, forehead pressed to my temple. “There she is,” he says, and when I finally peek through my fingers, the strangers are still strangers, the lake still burns, and his gaze hasn’t flickered once.  

I leave the hat in the grass.

Note: This story was written with the help of AI.