When Owen slid Claire's toast under the door the next day, he heard a deep groan. There was a muffled muttering coming from inside the room, and he was sure it comprised of actual words, though he couldn't make anything out distinctly. He pressed his ear-hole against the crack between the double doors.

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you. You'll have to speak up."

"Shhh! Not so loud!" she whispered furiously, "I was asking if you have any water."

Owen smiled.

"I do. I also brought orange juice. I can't slip them under the door, so I'll just leave-"

"Come in, then."

Owen was petrified.

"In?"

"Yes, come in."

"Into your room? . . ."

"Yes! Hurry!"

Owen jimmied the door handle with his beak, then balanced the two glasses on his tail as he made his way towards Claire's bed. The sheets were tangled, as was Claire's hair, and she looked like she had been run over by fifty horses. She reached for the water and downed it in one swallow, wincing in pain.

"I don't remember much of last night," she confessed.

Owen breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh, good."

"I remember you kissed me . . ."

He gulped.

"Nevermind."

She rubbed the space between her eyes.

"Didn't you also say something about your mother and father?"

Owen shook his head.

"No, I don't think so."

"I must have dreamed it, then."

"Probably."

"There are things that almost certainly happened, though. I'm positive you said 'I love you'."

"I never said you love me."

"No, I mean, the other way around."

Owen's eyes darted back and forth.

"You must have dreamed that, too."

"So, you don't love me?"

"No."

He gave a little jump.

"I mean, yes."

His eye twitched.

"I love you in the sense that you're my friend, but it's a purely platonic relationship . . . not that I was thinking about the alternative . . ."

"So why did you kiss me, then?"

"I . . . Well, I was drunk."

"At your weight, I'm surprised you even got a buzz."

Owen shrunk away with shame, and Claire bit her lip.

"That came out meaner than I wanted. Anyway, whatever happened last night was a mistake. I probably made a fool of myself, too."

"Not as much as I did."

"I dunno. I was thinking about it, and if you did say that you love me, there's no harm in that on its own. I mean, if a dinosaur goes after a human, that's just their animal nature."

"Thank you," he said flatly.

"I don't mean it in a bad way. All I'm saying is that there's nothing wrong with you liking me. You can't help it. You're governed by instinct. If I had feelings for you, on the other hand, it would be . . . questionable."

"So the kiss was no big deal?"

"It was."

He pointed at her accusingly (if extending his front foot could be considered pointing).

"Ha! You wouldn't be saying that if you didn't have feelings for me!"

Claire frowned.

"For your information, kissing someone without their permission is rather rude, and what do you care, anyway? We just established that you aren't allowed to like me."

"I thought it was in my 'animal nature'."

"Real mature."

"Mature? You got plastered last night and led me to believe that I could confess my deepest, darkest secrets to you, so don't lecture me about being mature!"

She grabbed her head.

"Stop yelling."

"Then stop being a jerk!"

She crossed her arms.

"At least I don't kiss people without their consent."

There was a long silence. Owen glared at her as she glowered at the foot of the bed, refusing to make eye contact. This hostile ambiance continued until Owen turned away without saying a word. Claire uncrossed her arms, grabbed his horn, and pulled him back towards her.

"Wait. Let me explain myself."

She took a deep breath.

"What happened last night was as embarrassing for me as it was for you. I've never really been exposed to wine, much less the expensive kind, so things got a little out of control. What we said last night doesn't matter-"

"But it does," he interjected, "You used that excuse before we went to bed, but we can't just ignore what happened. The things we said may have been fueled by alcohol and loneliness, but that doesn't mean they came from nowhere. We need to clear the air."

"Fine. Tell me why you kissed me last night."

Owen grimaced, but gave a sigh of defeat.

"The truth is, you're the first person who's shown me compassion in a long time, and I mistook that for attraction. You're very kind and pretty, and I like you a lot, but I won't ask for anything more than friendship, because I'd rather have a platonic companion than risk everything by trying to fan a flame that doesn't exist."

Claire nodded.

"Okay. I have to say, I'm a little worried about the way you feel, but I believe you when you say you can keep it under control."

"Good. On an unrelated note, last night, you said if I were human, things would be different . . ."

Claire groaned.

"Oh, for the love of god . . . Fine. I did say that. What I meant was that you have a tolerable personality, but we just can't be together. You have to understand that if- IF- I had feelings for you, it would be really, really weird, and I just can't have that kind of label slapped on me."

Owen held up his foot.

"I understand. You have a reputation to uphold, and you must deny your throbbing lust."

Claire sat up straight.

"HOW DARE-"

She saw that he was smiling.

"Oh . . . It was a joke."

He nodded sheepishly.

"I'm not good at jokes."

Claire smirked.

"No, it's fine. I've been told that I have a poor sense of humor."

"That's not true," Owen beamed, "You've made me laugh several times since you got here."

"Like when I beat you with a stick?"

"That was pretty funny."

She patted his cheek.

"Alright, then. Enough goofing around. We need to start our lesson."

"Does that mean you're feeling better?"

"I can deal with it. Just don't let me drink wine ever again."

"I don't intend to."

Bleh. Can't we just end this now?

Why do you never support me when I write?

Because it's my job to be your biggest critic.

You're just acting like a dick, actually.