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“Do they hurt?”
Billy looked up from his bat with a questioning glance. They were resting in the hideout after a particularly rough premonition, mainly because of that brick wall of an Abrams. Pocket sat on a soft chair near the fireplace, their face bathed in warm golden light. Billy on the nearby stairs was trying to look tough.
“What?” Billy asked.
“Do they hurt? The nails?” Pocket gestured above their head, mimicking the shape of Billy's horns. The goat snorted.
“Why would they hurt? It's just a buncha dead stuff.”
“Don't goat horns have a core though? That grows the horn?”
“And what's it to you, huh?” Billy snapped back. “What are you, some expert on goats?”
Pocket looked calmly at Billy, a twinge of something else in their expression. It looked like pity. He hated pity. They stayed silent.
“Somethin’ else you wanna say to me?” Billy sneered.
“I’m not an expert on goats.” The other replied. “However…” They continued before Billy butted in.
“Professor Dynamo gave me a few books to look at. He said they were old ones from the zoology class.” Pocket said before looking away to think. “They felt pretty new though…” Billy scoffed, leaning his bat against a step.
“So Prof just decided to find books about goats—”
“Ranching animals, specifically.”
“About goats—” Billy repeated, his anger rising, “to just give them to you? On a whim? Who would want that sorta thing? What, did you ask for those or something?” He teased. Pocket averted their gaze.
“Well, yes.”
Billy… didn't know what to feel right now. He sat there with his mouth slightly open for a bit. For some reason it felt so personal. After all, as far as he was aware, he was the only goat-adjacent creature in New York City. Was he embarrassed? Confused? Touched (Ew)? Angry? Probably angry.
“But– I– Why???”
No, no that was the confused option. He meant to be angry.
“I wanted to understand your condition better. YOU better.” Pocket replied, still not looking at him. Oh. Oh there was the anger.
“What, am I just some specimen to you? A puzzle to solve??” Billy threw his arms in the air. “Am I supposed to say ‘Oh, woe is me, if only someone could understand my pain’?!” He clasped his hands together, fluttering his eyes as he spoke in a mocking tone. “How would you like it if I—”
Wait, where'd they go?
Suddenly, he felt something at the base of his left horn. Some sort of scratching sensation. It was actually really nice, calming. He sat there for a moment, just enjoying the feeling. Eventually Billy turned his head to see Pocket carefully, wordlessly, scratching his horn away from the protruding nails. He wanted to be angry. But he couldn't. He actually hadn't felt this calm in a while. The two stayed like that for a bit before Billy opened his mouth.
“They do.” Pocket raised an eyebrow. Billy clarified. “They do hurt.”
Pocket nodded but stayed silent, continuing their work reaching over the banister.
“I did it in a fit of rage.” He said, leaning towards Pocket. “The adrenaline stopped me from feelin’ anythin’. It wasn't until after that I noticed the nails had blood on the ends. Then I felt it. Still feel it, actually.”
They went back to their comfortable silence after that. Billy could feel Pocket’s gaze as they looked at his horns, analyzing every nail. His face began to heat up.
“Alright that's enough. Petting zoo’s closed.” Billy said, slapping away the other's hand. Pocket stifled a laugh.
“So I read right, goats do love a good scratch down the horn.” They said with a soft yet smug grin.
“I WILL BASH YOUR HEAD IN—” Billy shouted, jumping up from his seat, bat in hand. Pocket began laughing uncontrollably as the goat chased them around the hideout.
Billy couldn't help but think it was a sound he wanted to hear more often.