Dino — X Everyone

Dino did the only thing he could. He stopped visiting.

Dino would rumble a low, melodic note—his version of a greeting. He didn't speak English, but Samira understood. He’d nudge a basket of wild berries he’d gathered from the forest towards her.

Dino listened, his head cocked. He didn’t understand the words, but he understood the cadence, the care. When Mr. Hemlock got to the sad part, Dino reached in with his long, prehensile tongue and gently licked the old man’s wrinkled hand.

Not with one person. But with everyone.

The trouble started when the town council got jealous. Not of Dino—of each other.

The mayor called a town meeting. Dino stood outside the town hall, his head bowed, his crest a dim, sad gray. He heard them shouting. Who does he love most? Who is his favorite?

Mr. Hemlock grumbled that Luna got to ride on Dino’s back, and he was too old for such adventures. “Favoritism!” he huffed. dino x everyone

He didn’t understand. He had never chosen. He had simply… loved.

Dino rumbled—a deep, vibrating sound they felt in their chests. It wasn't a word, but they all heard it anyway: There is no favorite. You are all my heart.

Luna just cried, “He’s my best friend!” Dino did the only thing he could

Mr. Hemlock wept. Not from sadness, but from being seen. After that, he used Dino as a bookmark—literally. He’d place his place in a book between Dino’s warm toes while he went to make tea.

“Morning, you big loaf,” Samira would say, wiping flour on her apron. She was all sharp edges and loud laughs, with arms strong from kneading dough.

And he loved them. Every single one. Unfairly, completely, and without reason. Because that, Dino knew, was the only way to love. He didn't speak English, but Samira understood