The flaming sun was slowly setting over the skyscrapers of New York. The city looked as it ever did; a mixture of squarish towers of different heights and ages, some sparkling with glass and steel framing, some reflecting the orange sun dully on cement surfaces. Jake observed the profile of the city stand out in massive shadows. The remnants of sunlight and hot breezes were warming his scales. He was sitting at a protruding ledge on one of the many tall concrete buildings like a gargoyle. His tail and one leg was dropping lazily off the edge, and he was leaning on his other leg, arms crossed. He stared at the maroon streaks in the sky with a sigh. Just above him was the roof of the building, holding an open stage. A jazz musician was singing in comforting tunes about an anniversary that had gone terribly wrong. His dragon ears picked up every detail; the many people present, shushing each other and humming along, the random wails of the corked trumpet, the easy, playful keys of the piano, the deep, slow floorbass, ringing below it all, and the drums, keeping the loose rhythm with hi-hats and cymbals.
They had started about an hour ago. He assumed they were about the end of their concert. He did not mind them. They were not why he had come. This spot was one of the only places where he did not have to watch out for passers by or people in windows. The higher part of the building had no windows, it was too high for anyone to notice him, and it was turned towards the harbor, so nobody would catch him from an odd angle. And it had a spectacular view.
The pleasant drunken tingling and the spinning sensation in his head were both slowly starting to subside. He had rendered himself massively drunk for the last many hours, and he could already feel the weight of the punishment in the back of his head, in the form of a dull, throbbing headache and a parched taste in his mouth. It will only get worse, he thought. Serves me right.
He fumbled for the framed picture that was next to him where he had dropped it. It was of Rose and him, taken at the homecoming. He had dreamed about her last night. He had been convinced it was one of her dreamcharm tricks, so he had started sleeping with his again. It had stung a little when it had not worked. He still would not take it off, though.
Deep down he knew it had been just a dream. There was no Rose anymore. She never knew he even existed. He rubbed his temples softly – time manipulation made such a mess in his mind. There was simply a portion of his existence that he had never really experienced. But he remembered every shred of it. It had existed. Once.
He let a clawed finger slide on the glass, tracing her hairline. He supposed he would just have to forget about it all, like everyone else. Impossible as it seemed.
He frowned. Was this really going to be his existence from now on? No commitments, no love to speak of, only working tirelessly to save a community that nobody knew was there? The only ones who had so far understood his world were other magical creatures and Rose. Rose, the one human who had ever well and truly been a part of his world, not by design or by some mistake, but because they were simply in it together. He had really thought it could last, stupid as he was.
His grandpa had said something about that once: "Dragons are to be felt, never held"
Back then, he had dismissed it as just another Chinese proverb, but it just now occurred to him that there might be some truth behind it. The entire magical world could be effected if he slipped up. But he would never be loved by someone. Not truly. He and Rose had been a fluke; something that was not supposed to happen. He should, by all rights, have found a magical creature like himself.
He snorted at the notion. The creatures were different: they would be thankful, they would love him as a hero, but nothing more. None of the ones who knew all of him would ever see him as anything but the American Dragon. And the ones that only knew half of it... no way he could base love on lies. He had been down that road before and had no desire to tread it again. He sighed. Maybe that was why she had felt so special. She had actually liked him, not the American Dragon.
The magical world was really no place for a human, nor was the human world any place for a magical creature. So what if both worlds are same? And I am both?
Behind him, the singer worked towards his finale. "Happy anniversary" he sang. "Happy anniversary." Yeah, just rub it in.
He felt like swearing. He felt like shouting, roaring and breathing fire. But he could not find anything to direct all that energy at, so he just let out another long sigh. He had long since convinced himself that it was nobody's fault. So he rested his muzzle on his forearms, and watched the last streaks of sunset disappearing below the horizon, rendering the sky purple-black and dotted with stars. The trumpet wails behind him finally did their finish, and people gave the appropriate applaud. Jake felt like clapping along, but he did not do that either. He did not want anybody to hear him.
There was some commotion as all the people rose and left, now that the concert was over. After that, it became oddly quiet. Jake replayed the song again and again in his head. "Happy anniversary" he thought. Like I'll ever have one of those. With anyone.
He took his picture from beside him, and threw it over the ledge. He saw it drop, further and further towards the street, flipping around again and again in the wind. Before he knew what happened, he was airborn and racing towards the ground in a backbreaking dive with a cold lump in his chest. He was only a few hundred feet from the ground when he caught the delicate frame and corrected his flight path to once again race above the clouds. He hugged the picture tightly to his chest scales as he, with angry wing flaps, started the night's first patrol.