Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The iron gates of Cherryton Academy loomed ahead, dark and intricate, curling like the branching antlers of a stag. Beyond them, the school rose in staggered layers of brick and glass, its tall windows reflecting the warm evening light.

The tall, imposing structure seemed to breathe with an ancient kind of elegance, its design an uneasy blend of old world and modernity.

A quiet hum of life stirred within, like the buzz of bees in a hive, as students passed in and out, each one contributing to the school's ever-present energy.

The students were a careful mix—herbivores on one side, carnivores on the other. Their movements unconsciously mirrored the unspoken divide between them.

They walked with a quiet rhythm, speaking to each other in low tones. Their steps were purposeful, their eyes locked on familiar faces or the pavement beneath their feet.

The air was thick with an uneasy kind of tension—the kind that comes with living in constant awareness of the predator-prey divide.

And then there was you.

A human.

Your presence rippled through the air like a foreign scent, subtle but undeniable. Conversations slowed as you passed, voices dipping into hushed tones.

Some students only spared you a glance before looking away, uninterested. Others weren’t as discreet—stares lingering, expressions ranging from curiosity to wariness to something edged with suspicion.

Every step you took felt like a disruption in the natural order of things, as though the very air around you shifted with your presence. A lion, tall and broad-shouldered, watched you from the side of the walkway, his golden eyes following your every step.

His gaze was unwavering, steady, as though trying to read the mystery you represented. A rabbit, no taller than your waist, nearly tripped over herself trying to get out of your way, her large eyes wide with a mix of fear and curiosity.

It wasn’t just you they were reacting to; it was the very fact of your being there, in a world that was never meant for humans.

You weren’t sure which reaction felt worse.

---

Inside the main building, the air was cool, scented with polished wood and faint traces of fur and feathers. The walls, a muted cream, stretched endlessly down the hallway, lined with high windows that allowed the fading sunlight to spill in.

The halls were quiet, yet somehow heavy with expectation, as if the building itself was watching you. Every footstep echoed louder than it should, reminding you that you didn’t belong here—not really.

The hall stretched long and winding, past a series of classrooms with doors slightly ajar, showing students hunched over desks, lost in their work.

The faint sound of pens scratching against paper and the murmur of voices blended into a soft, almost hypnotic melody.

The paintings of headmasters from decades gone by lined the walls—mostly herbivores, but a few carnivores here and there, each one painted in a regal, almost stoic manner.

Their eyes followed you as you passed, and you couldn’t help but feel that they were judging you, measuring your worth.

Your footsteps barely made a sound against the floors as you walked, your hand clutching the strap of your bag tightly, the cool leather comforting in your grasp.

The building seemed to get older the farther you walked, the air filled with the scent of old books and faint traces of dust, as though time itself had settled here.

By the time you reached the administrative office, you could still feel the weight of eyes on your back, the quiet but insistent hum of curiosity surrounding you.

You paused at the door, hesitating just for a moment before you slid it open. The office smelled of paper and ink, the kind of scent that clung to old books and freshly printed paper.

The low murmur of voices died down as you stepped inside, and for a moment, everything felt impossibly still. A few students lingered near the front desk, but their attention snapped to you the second you entered, their faces a mix of curiosity and wariness.

The air in the room felt thick and heavy, as though everyone was waiting for something—anything—to break the silence. The front desk was manned by an older tapir, his brown fur flecked with gray. He sat with a stack of forms in front of him, his round glasses perched at the end of his snout.

He glanced up at you as you approached, his eyes flicking over you with a quiet assessment before he let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh. He seemed to recognize your presence instantly as if he had been expecting you.

"Ah… you must be the human student." His voice was soft but not unkind.

It wasn’t a question. You nodded, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. The weight of his gaze felt like it was piercing through you, and you couldn’t help but shift your weight from one foot to the other.

"That’s me." Your voice was almost too quiet like you were trying to make yourself less noticeable, less foreign.

The tapir made a low sound in his throat, something between acknowledgment and thoughtfulness. He didn’t say anything for a moment, as if considering the best way to proceed, but the few students lingering in the office had gone silent.

Their attention had shifted to you in a way that felt less curious and more calculating. You could practically feel the weight of their thoughts pressing in on you, the atmosphere thick with unspoken questions. The tapir, however, didn’t acknowledge them; his focus was completely on you.

After a moment, he slid a neatly folded uniform across the desk, followed by a crisp sheet of paper.

"This is your schedule. Classes begin at 8 a.m. sharp. And this—" he placed a small key next to the paper, its tag labeled Herbivore Dormitory, Room 103, "is for your dorm."

You stared at the key, your fingers brushing it lightly as though it might burn you.

"Herbivore section?" you asked, unable to keep the disbelief from your voice.

"Yes." The tapir's voice was even and matter-of-fact. "Given the… unique nature of your enrollment, the school has decided it's the most suitable placement."

Most suitable. The words sat heavy in your chest, a cold, uncomfortable weight. It made sense, didn’t it? If they had to put you somewhere, it would be with the herbivores. You weren’t a predator. But you weren’t prey either. You were just… you. But that didn’t seem to matter to them.

Still, you nodded and took the items.

"Understood."

The tapir adjusted his glasses, his eyes never leaving yours.

"If you have any… concerns, the faculty office is always available." His tone was polite but pointed, the kind of sentence that carried a hidden meaning. It was a reminder, almost a warning, that you were being watched.

You didn’t bother responding. Instead, you turned away from the desk and walked toward the door. The tapir’s gaze lingered on your back as you left the office, but you didn’t look back. You could feel the eyes of the other students still on you, their whispers buzzing just beneath the surface of the air.

You stepped out of the office and into the dimming evening light. The sun was dipping low, casting long shadows across the campus. It wasn’t quite dark yet, but you could already feel the chill in the air as the evening settled in. The buildings around you seemed to close in, towering and imposing.

You didn’t belong here—not really.

---

The herbivore dormitory smelled of fresh linen and something faintly floral, though it was hard to tell if it came from freshly washed sheets or the quiet presence of the students who lived there.

The walls were a soft, neutral color, the lighting warm and even. Everything was designed to feel safe, welcoming, and like home.

Your room was at the end of the hall, Room 103. The door creaked softly as you stepped inside. There were three other beds. Two were occupied by students already settling in, while the fourth remained untouched—the blankets were perfectly folded, the pillow undented by sleep.

The two girls in the room barely acknowledged your arrival. One—a gazelle, long-legged and effortlessly poised—sat on her bed, flipping through a magazine. The other, a spotted squirrel, was folding a stack of clothes with meticulous care.

The gazelle spoke first, not even looking up from her pages.

"Haru’s not coming back tonight."

The squirrel let out a soft hum of agreement.

"She never does."

You blinked. The name wasn’t familiar yet, but it had to belong to the owner of the empty bed.

"Does she always stay out?" you asked before you could stop yourself.

The gazelle finally turned to look at you, her dark eyes sweeping over you in a way that felt more appraising than curious.

"Yeah." She stretched out the syllable like she was deciding how much effort you were worth.

"You’ll get used to it."

The squirrel, still folding clothes, let out a small sigh.

"It’s better not to ask too many questions."

The gazelle smirked, flipping a page.

"Especially about Haru. She has a reputation, you know."

You frowned.

"What kind of reputation?"

The squirrel hesitated, eyes flicking between you and the gazelle.

But the gazelle seemed amused, like she was waiting to see how much you would prod before you learned the rules of this place on your own.

"Let’s just say she’s very… social." Her voice was light, but the implication was heavy. "Not the kind of person who cares much about sleeping in her own bed."

The squirrel made a sound that might have been a giggle, but it was too quiet to be sure. Something about the exchange didn’t sit right. You didn’t know Haru. You hadn’t even seen her yet.

But the way they spoke about her—like she was an idea, a whispered rumor rather than a person—left an uneasy feeling in your chest.

Still, you didn’t push. Not tonight. Instead, you turned toward the window, watching as night fell over Cherryton. You had a feeling this school would not let you remain an observer for long. Somewhere in the distance, laughter echoed through the campus—sharp, fleeting, swallowed by the dark.

You wondered where Haru had gone.

---

The wolf stood in the quiet hallway, his senses sharp as usual. The afternoon light filtered through the tall windows, casting a glow over the corridor. He didn’t need to see the students moving around him to feel their presence. His focus was elsewhere.

And then, the scent. It came to him unexpectedly, washing over him in a sudden rush. It was faint at first, a whisper, something delicate that he couldn’t immediately place. It lingered in the air, floral, soft, but with a certain sharpness that made it feel oddly familiar yet foreign.

It wasn’t the usual earthy scent of the herbivores nor the musky trace of a carnivore's natural scent. No, this was something else entirely, something that piqued his curiosity.

He inhaled, the scent filling his lungs. It was subtle, but it carried weight. Something about it stirred something within him—an instinct, a pull. It was like a memory trying to surface but staying just out of reach.

The aroma wasn’t sweet, but it wasn’t unpleasant either. It was almost like something hidden beneath the surface, too elusive to be fully understood. As the scent washed over him, it seemed to settle, surrounding him for a moment before fading as quickly as it had arrived.

The wolf’s muscles tightened, his focus sharpening. He couldn’t see the source, but that scent—so distinct, so strange—left an impression. And just as quickly as it had come, it disappeared, leaving him with nothing but the aftertaste of curiosity.

Chapter Text

The morning light filtered through the curtains, weaving gold into the quiet hush of the dormitory. It was the kind of morning that felt suspended, caught between the last vestiges of sleep and the slow bloom of wakefulness.

The air was still, save for the gentle rustling of sheets, the murmurs of movement, the subtle cadence of a new day beginning. Outside, the scent of damp earth and distant herbs curled in through the open window, threading itself into the still air like a whisper.

Your eyes fluttered open, the world around you still swimming in that delicate haze between dreams and consciousness. It took a moment before your gaze shifted, searching for something familiar in the quiet space.

Haru's bed. Empty.

You stared at the smooth, untouched sheets for a beat longer than necessary, the noise of the room pressing in on you. The girls you’d met—the ones you’d been assigned to share the dorm with—had mentioned Haru’s tendency to leave—slip away.

But hearing about it was one thing, and seeing it for yourself—well, it felt different. A kind of absence lingered where there should have been a presence. Had she always been like this? The thought curled in your mind, unanswered, like a question suspended in midair.

You could almost hear her footsteps—soft, deliberate—fading as she disappeared into the world beyond the dorm. But why? Was it a habit? Or perhaps something more? You shook the thought from your head. It didn’t matter, did it?

She was still a stranger to you, after all. The absence, though, felt odd, like a shadow hanging just out of reach. You wondered briefly if she’d left behind any trace of herself, any sign of where she went or why. But maybe that was just it—maybe Haru wasn’t someone who left traces.

Maybe she was a presence built on absences, a quiet, unspoken figure that drifted in and out of rooms, never truly staying long enough for anyone to know her. You sighed quietly, blinking. After a beat, you rose from the bed, moving through the ritual of getting ready with quiet deliberation.

Your fingers grazed the fabric of your uniform—a white long-sleeved dress with a tie that felt as much like a costume as a uniform, and a beige-colored belt.

When you finished, you stood before a mirror, staring at the reflection of yourself. The stiffness of the material, the unfamiliarity of its fit, whispered of something not yet lived-in, not yet yours.

You had already adjusted the dress into place, adjusted the ankle-high socks, and slipped into the black Mary Janes with practiced ease. The necktie felt constricting as you fastened it, a delicate noose around your throat, a reminder that you were stepping into something far larger than yourself.

The mirror reflected an image that was both familiar and strange—a version of you still teetering between comfort and unease. Behind you, the soft swish of fabric signaled movement. The gazelle stood by her bed, smoothing out the last creases of her dress with an elegance that seemed effortless.

She moved with a kind of practiced grace, the kind that made it seem as though the uniform had been made for her and had settled over her like a second skin.

"Are you okay with everything?" Her voice was light, almost casual, yet there was an undercurrent of quiet understanding woven through it.

She wasn’t prying, but she was offering—a bridge, a moment of connection if you chose to take it. You hesitated, fingers grazing the hem of your sleeve. "I think I’ll be fine." You forced a small smile. "I have everything I need."

Her gaze lingered for a fraction of a second longer before she nodded, the corner of her mouth tugging into something warm, something knowing. "All right then. Good luck with your first day."

The squirrel, focused on putting on her shoes, spoke without looking up. "It’s not so bad." She murmured, "You'll get used to it."

You weren’t sure if she meant the uniform, the school, or the feeling of not quite fitting in. With a final glance at your reflection, you nodded to yourself.

This was it.

---

You stepped out of the dormitory into the crisp morning air, the scent of freshly cut grass mixing with the distant murmur of students beginning to stir. The campus stretched before you, paths winding like veins through the green expanse, leading to places you had yet to explore.

The unfamiliarity of it all pressed against you, but you pushed forward, schedule in hand, eyes scanning the layout of the school. As you walked down the hallway, the chatter of students swirled around you.

You caught fragments of conversation—frivolous words, idle gossip—but then one phrase broke through, sharp and unsettling.

"Did you hear about Tem?" A voice—low, hushed, but undeniably clear. You paused mid-step, the words hanging in the air like an unwanted weight. Tem.

The name sent a chill down your spine, a strange feeling pooling in your chest. The gossip continued, though it wasn’t loud enough to make out every detail. Still, the words you did hear were enough to piece together the fragmented truth.

"...found... club... blood... another... predator."

A dark knot formed in your stomach. You had been warned—told about the divisions between herbivores and carnivores—but this? To sink so deeply into violence, to tear each other apart—no, it didn’t make sense. It couldn’t.

---

A bulletin board caught your attention, its surface littered with announcements, club invitations, and reminders scribbled in varying handwriting. Among them, a neatly printed flyer stood out:

"Drama Club – Seeking New Members! No Experience Necessary. Join Us!"

The letters were bold, inviting, promising a place, a purpose. Your fingers hesitated over the pen attached to the board. It was just a name, just ink on paper.

But in a way, it was also a tether, a step toward something unknown yet strangely reassuring. With a quiet breath, you signed your name, watching as the ink settled into permanence.

A small, almost imperceptible weight lifted from your chest.

Turning away, you resumed your path toward class, the morning unfolding around you in quiet anticipation. The lecture hall was vast, the rows of seats rising in a steady incline, each one offering a vantage point over the room.

You chose a seat near the top, tucking yourself into a corner where you could observe without drawing too much attention. Your bag rested on the floor against your feet, a steadying presence against the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

Below, a couple of rows down, your gaze landed on an unlikely pair—a golden-furred Labrador, bright-eyed and animated, gesturing as he spoke, and beside him, a larger, more subdued figure.

A gray wolf slouched slightly as if trying to disappear into his shadow. They were an odd contrast. One vibrant, the other quiet. And yet, something about their dynamic felt balanced, natural.

The wolf’s ears twitched slightly, and for a brief moment, his gaze flickered toward you. A beat passed before he turned away.

---

The wolf smelled you before he even saw you.

A scent—faintly sweet, tinged with something familiar yet unfamiliar—drifted into the room, threading through the air like a whisper against his senses.

It was different from the usual mélange of scents that filled the lecture hall, different from the ones he had grown used to. He straightened slightly, his ears shifting, instinctively attuned to the new presence.

He turned his head just as you entered, watching as you scanned the room, eyes tracing the unfamiliar territory before climbing to the highest row.

There was something deliberate about your movements, measured yet uncertain as if you were still feeling out the edges of your presence here.

Beside him, the Labrador's voice droned on, a familiar cadence dulled by the distraction now settling in his mind. "Who's that?" The wolf murmured, his voice low enough that only his friend could hear.

The Labrador blinked, following his friend’s gaze. "Oh! That must be the new student. The human. I heard about her this morning. Guess she has the same class as us."

He said nothing, only watching as you settled into your seat, your expression carefully composed. A human at Cherryton. It wasn’t unheard of, but it was rare. Rarer still for one to join in the middle of the year. He wondered, fleetingly, what had brought you here.

And then, as if realizing he had been staring too long, he turned back to his notebook, gripping his pen just a little tighter, the ghost of curiosity still lingering in the quiet spaces between his thoughts.

---

The day stretched ahead, a canvas yet to be filled. Uncertainty clung to its edge but so did possibility. And as you sat there, the weight of your name newly inked onto the drama club’s list, the feeling of eyes lingering for just a moment longer than necessary, you couldn’t help but wonder.

Was this the beginning of something

Or had it already begun?

Chapter Text

The last bell of the day rang, signaling the end of classes. You grabbed your bag and stood up, stretching slightly as you glanced at the time on a nearby clock on the wall.

You had signed up for the drama club earlier in the day, and now was as good a time as any to check it out. With a quiet sigh, you navigated your way to the clubroom, your footsteps echoing down the quiet halls.

As you approached the door, you paused. The voices inside were loud and unmistakable. Taking a peek, you observed a tense standoff between two distinct groups. On one side stood a collection of herbivores, their words sharp and defensive. On the other side were the carnivores, their voices low and challenging.

The tension in the air was palpable, and you found yourself hesitating just outside the door. "Maybe tomorrow." you muttered to yourself, stepping back. You didn’t want to walk into the middle of whatever was happening. Drama club was supposed to be fun, not a battleground.

You made a mental note to try again the next day when the mood might be different. With nowhere else to go and still unfamiliar with the school, you wandered through the halls.

You found yourself aimlessly walking until you reached the roof. The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of light escaping from the crack. You nudged it open, the cool air greeting you immediately.

You stepped onto the roof, taking in the space around you. The view was calm—flowers bloomed along the edges, their delicate petals swaying slightly in the wind.

There was peace up here, far from the chaos of the school. You let out a breath, appreciating the tranquility. As you wandered further into the space, you saw them.

A tall, well-built red deer stood with his back to you. His posture was stiff, as though he was preparing to leave. And, as if on cue, he turned sharply and walked toward the exit of the roof, barely sparing a glance in your direction. As he passed, he scoffed, his eyes flicking over you with barely concealed disdain.

The encounter felt brief, but you couldn't shake the feeling that you'd just witnessed something important—something you weren’t yet a part of. The rabbit who remained, standing near the edge of the roof, turned her head when she noticed your presence.

She was a small, delicate rabbit, her features soft but sharp at the same time. She studied you for a moment, her gaze curious but not unfriendly. You shifted on your feet, unsure of how to approach.

"Well," She said, breaking the silence. "You’ve found me." There was faint amusement in her voice, and you could tell she wasn’t put off by your unexpected presence.

"What brings you up here?" you furrowed your brows, a little unsure of how to answer. "I was just…looking around. I didn’t know where else to go."

She raised an eyebrow, her expression softening as she nodded. "You must be new then." She seemed to appraise you for a moment, a small smile forming on her lips.

"I’m Haru." You nodded, understanding. "I’m—" You stopped yourself, realizing you didn’t even know how to introduce yourself without sounding awkward. You say your name.

Haru tilted her head slightly, her ears twitching in recognition. "Wait… you’re my dorm mate, aren’t you?" She grinned, the words coming out with more amusement than you expected. "I've seen you once or twice now that I think about it. You are kinda popular, you know. I’m surprised we haven’t crossed paths sooner."

You blinked, trying to make sense of it. Popular. "I didn’t realize we were roommates. You weren’t in the dorm." Haru's grin faded just slightly, but she didn’t seem uncomfortable. "Oh, well, I don’t stay there much." She spoke casually, her voice light, but the way she said it made it hard to know whether it was a full explanation.

"I prefer it up here. It’s quieter, you know? It’s my escape." Her response seemed to hang in the air for a moment, and you noticed the way she glanced out toward the city, as though avoiding the question without fully answering it. You couldn’t help but wonder what she meant by that.

"Isn’t it a bit lonely, though?" you asked before you could stop yourself. "Lonely? Maybe. But I don’t really mind. People think being alone is a bad thing, but sometimes it’s better. Less trouble that way."

She turned to face you more fully, arms loosely crossed over her chest, her expression unreadable. "Let me guess, you heard things about me, didn’t you?" The way she said it wasn’t accusatory, but rather as if she’d gone through this conversation dozens of times before.

You hesitated, feeling slightly exposed. "I mean… people talk." Haru let out a small, breathy laugh, shaking her head. "Of course they do. Let me guess—the usual? That I get around? That I don't know my place? That I’m ‘trouble’?"

She spoke the words without a hint of shame, rolling her eyes slightly. "People love a story. And if they don’t have one, they’ll make one up." You watched her carefully, unsure of how to respond.

"So, what people say about you, it’s not true?" Haru tilted her head, looking at you with something close to amusement. "Does it matter?"

The question hung in the air, heavier than you expected. You opened your mouth to respond, but she cut you off before you could.

"People think they know me, but they don’t bother asking. They just assume." She gave you a look a little sharper, more pointed. "But you did ask. That’s different." You weren't sure what to say to that.

Instead, you just stood there, letting her words settle. The wind picked up slightly, causing the flowers to sway gently. Haru turned to face them, her expression serene. "It's nice up here." She said softly. "You’ll see."

You nodded, moving beside her, allowing the silence to stretch comfortably between you for a moment. Haru didn’t seem to mind it, and neither did you. Something about the stillness of the roof and the quiet hum of the city below made it feel like this moment was just for the two of you.

"Are you staying here much longer?" you asked after a while. Haru shrugged, looking back at you with a casual smile. "For a little while longer. Why? Are you planning on staying?"

"I might," you said, feeling a little more at ease than you had before. "It is nice up here." With a soft chuckle, Haru turned toward the door, pulling it open to leave. "Well, if you need a place to escape, you know where to find me."

As she disappeared back into the school, you found yourself lingering just a little longer. There was something oddly comforting about the quiet. Maybe this place, this school, wouldn’t be so difficult after all.

---

The day began with the soft hum of the campus stretching wide and full of promise, but you weren’t quite awake yet, not in the way that made you feel ready to face it.

The sunlight filtered lazily through the curtain, casting thin lines of light that cut across the room like an artist’s brushstroke.

You rubbed your eyes, stretched, and for a moment, let the silence settle on your shoulders. It was a slow morning, the kind that tugged at your limbs, urging you to stay curled beneath the covers. But then the clock's quiet tick brought the reality crashing back in.

Class, that thing that never quite felt right, always waiting for you to move forward, even if you weren’t sure you were ready. With a sigh, you got up. Showered, dressed, gathered your things, and made your way out the door.

The campus was beginning to stir, the faint sounds of voices and footsteps mixing with the breeze. The air was crisp with the early morning chill, but it didn’t matter much—there was something warm inside on the campus that made the cold feel distant.

You descended the stairs of the dorm building, each step echoing against the walls. The campus was alive with murmurs from your fellow students, but something about it all felt slightly off like you were listening in on a conversation you weren’t invited to.

You kept your head down, your mind far away, until something caught your eye. At the base of the building, Haru was crouched down, carefully watering flowers that spilled from their pots along the edge.

The sight of her, so deliberate in her movements, made the world slow down for a moment. There was something serene about the way she moved, her gaze soft as she tended to the flowers with a quiet dedication.

And then, you heard them. Whispers. Quiet and hasty, like secrets being shared in the shadows. Look, it's the human... one voice murmured, barely audible above the rustling leaves.

"What's she doing here with Haru?" Another, less kind, added, "I heard they carry diseases." Really, diseases? You roll your eyes. You didn't turn to see where the whispers were coming from, but you felt them linger, cold and sharp in the air around you.

It was nothing new, but it still stung like a sudden chill on a warm day. The idea that you were different, that you didn’t belong, still felt like an echo you couldn’t shake. You tried to ignore it. Focus on the moment. Haru didn’t seem to notice you right away, her focus entirely on the delicate flowers.

You hesitated for a moment, then stepped closer, the gravel crunching softly beneath your feet. Her head snapped up when she heard you, her eyes bright but guarded.

"Oh." She said, offering you a small, tight smile. It wasn’t unkind, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "Didn’t see you there." She added, looking back at the plants.

You shrugged, trying to shake off the heaviness in the air. "I saw you." you replied softly. "Thought I’d come over." She didn't look up at you, still bent over the flowers, but her movements seemed to slow a little.

"Mm, you’re up early." she said quietly, as if almost to herself. "It didn't feel early to me, but yeah," you answered, your voice tentative. "I needed to get out of the dorm."

She nodded without looking up. "I get that." There was a long pause, a breath of silence hanging between you both, before she finally straightened, brushing the dirt from her hands onto her dress.

"You shouldn't be seen with me, you know." she said, almost too quietly for you to hear. You frowned, puzzled. Reputation seemed to be quite the deal at this school.

"What do you mean?" Haru glanced up at you, her eyes sharp for a brief second before softening again. She took a breath, and you could see the quiet frustration in the way her shoulders tensed.

"People talk," she muttered, the weight of it in her words. "You don't want to get caught up in that. It’s... complicated." You didn’t know whether it was her warning or her tone that made you bristle, but you didn’t want to let it go.

"I’m supposed to avoid you? Just because... people talk?" Haru shifted to the ground, and she let out a soft, bitter laugh.

"Yeah, well, you wouldn’t want your reputation dragged down because of me. Trust me." There's something heavy in her words, a mix of resignation and caution that makes your heart ache.

You took a step closer, determined. "I don't care about that." you say, your voice firm with hypocrisy as an undertone. "I don’t care what anyone says about me."

Haru looked at you for a long moment, as if trying to decide whether to argue or to let it go. Finally, she gave a small, weary sigh and nodded, though she didn’t look convinced.

"Just be careful. Not everyone’s as... accepting as you are." Before you could say anything more, there was a sudden clattering noise above, followed by a loud, mocking voice.

"Hey Haru!" a voice called from above. You looked up, startled, as your roommates, the gazelle and the squirrel, leaned out of the fifth-floor window. Were those bunny ears in between them?

They were carelessly tossing her books and bedding to the ground below. It was a cruel, thoughtless display, and you could feel your temper rising instantly.

"Sorry, are you okay? The wind must have blown it over." the gazelle said before she went back inside. "Of course you're fine; there's always a boy who will come and rescue you, right?" the squirrel quickly added.

"Hey!" you shouted up at them, your frustration bubbling over. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" The gazelle’s face appeared, leaning out of the window with an air of practiced indifference.

"It’s not our problem." she said, her voice dripping with condescension. "Maybe if you didn’t hang around that one, you wouldn’t have to deal with this."

Your stomach twisted in anger. "You shouldn't treat her like this." you said, glaring at her. The squirrel standing behind the gazelle raised an eyebrow. "You’re really going to stick your neck out for her?" she sneered. "You should really think about your reputation."

Without a word, you moved forward, picking up Haru’s scattered belongings. She watched you, her expression a little surprised, a little resigned, but she didn’t stop you. "You don't have to do this," she said, almost pleading. "It’s not worth it."

But you didn’t stop. "I’m doing it anyway." you said, your voice quiet but resolute. She hesitated for a moment, then took a step forward, accepting the books you handed her.

"Thank you." she said, her voice barely above a whisper, a mix of gratitude and something else—maybe hope, maybe doubt, you couldn’t tell.

You nodded. "Anytime. You shouldn't let them get to you." But even as you said the words, you could feel the weight of the situation pressing in on both of you. But maybe, just maybe, it didn’t matter as much as it once had.

You and Haru worked together in silence as you carried her mattress up the stairs. The weight of it wasn’t heavy, but the atmosphere around you both was thick with unspoken tension. Each step felt like a small act of defiance, a rebellion against the disdain that had been directed at her.

You both remained quiet as you moved, the soft thuds of your footsteps in rhythm. It wasn’t until you reached the door of the dorm room that Haru finally spoke.

"Thanks again." she muttered, looking at the door as if it might have some answer to the silent weight in the air. "I didn’t expect you to do all this... but, well, it’s kind of you."

You smiled faintly, feeling a strange warmth rising in your chest. "I told you, I don’t mind. Besides, they shouldn’t have thrown your stuff down like that."

Haru didn't respond. Instead, she quietly pushed the door open and stepped inside, with you following closely behind. The room exuded a cozy charm, just as you remembered it—not sterile, but alive with the familiar chaos of scattered books and clothes.

The warm aroma of something freshly baked wafted through the air, infusing the space with comfort. It felt genuine in a way that the rest of the campus didn't.

Once the mattress was settled, Haru turned to face you, offering a tired smile. "All right, that’s done. Now, you’ve helped me enough."

Before you could reply, the door swung open again. The gazelle and the squirrel stepped into the room, their eyes narrowing the moment they saw you. You could feel the judgment radiating off them, sharp as ever. The air turned thick, and you knew what was coming.

"You think it’s a good idea to keep hanging around her?" the gazelle asked, her voice dripping with that familiar condescension. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe, looking at you with a mixture of disbelief and disdain. "We told you. It’s not just about you getting caught up in her mess, you know. It’s about your reputation."

You held their gazes steadily, refusing to flinch under their scrutiny. "I don’t care about what people think of me." you replied, trying to hold onto the certainty in your voice. "I’m not going to let you treat her like that."

The squirrel let out a scoff, stepping forward to stand beside the gazelle. "You really don’t get it, do you?" she said, her tone sharper now. "It’s not about her; it’s about the consequences. You’re putting yourself in a position that’s going to cost you more than just a reputation. People will start talking, and once that happens, you’re no longer a student in their eyes. You’re just—"

"A target?" you finished for her, your voice low. The gazelle rolled her eyes, brushing past the squirrel to take a seat on her bunk. "You think she’s worth that trouble? Look, it’s not personal. It’s just how things are here."

You glanced at Haru, who was standing off to the side, her expression unreadable. She wasn’t saying anything, but the way she was holding herself—almost as if she wanted to disappear into the walls—made it clear that she was used to this.

The sharpness of their words wasn't new to her. Maybe she’d heard it all before, and maybe she’d just learned to shut it out. But you weren’t ready to let them win.

"It's not about whether she’s worth it," you said, your voice firming with each word. "It’s about how you’re treating her. No one deserves to be discarded like that just because you don’t like them."

The squirrel exchanged a quick glance with the gazelle, and for a moment, it looked like they might just let the conversation die there. But the gazelle’s lips twisted into a smirk, as though she couldn’t resist pushing the boundaries further.

"Fine, do what you want," she said, her voice colder now. "But don’t come running to us when everything starts falling apart around you. We told you. We tried to warn you. But if you really want to be the exception, well... you’ll see how long that lasts."

There was a long silence as Haru looked towards nothing, her expression unreadable. The gazelle and squirrel exchanged another quick glance before both of them turned to leave, their footsteps retreating, the door clicking shut behind them.

The room fell quiet again, the air still thick with the weight of everything unspoken. Haru stayed quiet, her eyes a little distant. Finally, she broke her silence, but her voice was soft, almost hesitant.

"Maybe they’re right." she muttered, looking at you. There was a flicker of doubt in her eyes, the kind that made your stomach twist, but she quickly masked it with a weak smile.

"It’s not easy, you know... being who I am here." You stepped forward without thinking, standing a little taller, and offering her a steady gaze. "I don’t care what anyone else thinks about you. Not here, not anywhere."

Haru let out a long breath, glancing at you with something that might have been gratitude—or maybe it was just a weary kind of acceptance.

"Thank you," she said quietly, her voice carrying the weight of all the things she didn’t say. "But... you really should be careful. It’s not about me, it’s about what happens when people start looking at you like you’re... different."

You didn’t have an answer to that. You didn’t know how things would turn out. You weren’t going to back down. Not now. Not when it came to standing by Haru.

"Haru.. I'm already different," you said, your voice quieter now, but just as firm. But "I’ll handle it, just... don’t push me away."

Haru gave you a soft, tired smile, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, but it was there all the same. "Okay. But just remember, things here aren’t always what they seem."

You nodded, taking a step back, and the room fell into another long silence. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t tense. It was just the quiet that comes after everything has been said.

---

The evening air was warm, but there was a light breeze that helped cool you down after the chaos of the day. You and Haru walked side by side, the cafeteria bustling with students, the sounds of trays scraping against the counters, and laughter filling the air.

You had chosen the carnivore option from the cafeteria, which seemed like a safe bet, as it had all the right flavors and textures to fill you up. The dishes were made with plant-based substitutes that resembled meat in both look and taste, but you couldn't help but feel like something was missing.

Still, it wasn’t too bad. However, when you both tried to sit down with your food, it became clear that finding a place wasn’t going to be easy. Every time you asked, the response was the same—"This seat’s taken," or "Sorry, I’m saving this spot."

It wasn’t long before you both ran out of options, and Haru decided you should both eat outside, where it was quieter, though still a bit chilly. You found a spot at the edge of the building.

There was a calm in the air, with flowers gently swaying in the light breeze, their muted colors soft in the dimming light of the evening.

"Are you sure you don’t mind?" Haru asked, glancing up from her food. "You could probably find somewhere inside if you went without me."

You shook your head. "It’s fine. It’s kind of nice out here." you said, digging into your meal. Your quiet moment was suddenly interrupted. A sharp voice rang out, and you looked up to see a harlequin rabbit walking towards you with two others trailing behind her.

The harlequin rabbit's eyes locked onto Haru immediately, and the look she gave her was nothing short of hostile. "Well, well, if it isn’t Haru." she sneered, her voice full of venom.

"I thought you’d be hanging around with someone else tonight," she said, eyeing you, "considering you’ve already had your turn with my boyfriend. I didn’t know you swung both ways."

Haru's expression didn’t falter. She leaned back slightly, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. "Oh, really? If he were actually your boyfriend, he wouldn’t have come crawling to me. Maybe you should keep him on a leash next time."

The harlequin rabbit’s eyes narrowed with fury. "You think you can just walk away from this? You think I’m going to let you get away with this?" Haru's posture remained calm, her tone cutting.

"If you think you can intimidate me, you’re wasting your time. You should focus more on your boyfriend’s commitment issues and less on me."

The harlequin rabbit fumed, her hands balled into fists at her sides. "You’re lucky I’m letting you off easy." she spat. "But don’t think this is over. You’ll regret this."

Haru merely raised an eyebrow, a smirk still in place. "I’ll take my chances." she said. The harlequin rabbit's ears looked familiar. She shot a glare at Haru before turning to you. "What are you looking at?" she asked.

"Um..." The harlequin rabbit shot one last glare before turning away, her two companions following close behind. Haru watched them leave, a hint of amusement in her gaze.

"You don’t have to worry about them," she said, her tone lighter now. "They’re just mad because they have no one to blame but themselves."

You gave a small nod, trying to shake off the tension that still hung in the air. Haru’s easy confidence made it seem like nothing had happened, but you couldn’t shake the discomfort the encounter had caused.

---

The moment of calm didn’t last long. As you and Haru finished your food, a careless slip had you tumbling into a bucket of water. Haru’s light-hearted laugh rang out as she helped you up, her hands gently pulling you to your feet.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her concern evident, though her grin was barely contained. "I’m fine," you said quickly, but your uniform was soaked, and you could feel the water dripping down your back. "It’s just water."

"Well, we'd better get you dried off before it gets worse." Haru said, her voice full of purpose. She grabbed your wrist, gently pulling you towards the building.

"Come on, let's head to the bathroom." As you followed her, your thoughts were a bit scattered from the day's events. When you reached the bathroom, Haru moved quickly, pushing you into a stall. "Give me your uniform." her voice a mix of command and lightheartedness.

You peeled off the damp fabric and handed it to her. She draped it over the neighboring stall door, ensuring it caught the breeze from a small window.

"I'll leave you to it." she said softly, her voice now less playful and more considerate. "But don’t take too long, okay? It’s getting late." she added, her voice almost a whisper. "I’ll catch up with you later, Haru. Go ahead." you said, peeking your head out of the stall.

Haru hesitated for a moment, glancing back at you with a concerned look. After a brief pause, she gave a slight nod and left.

---

Stepping out of the bathroom, you shivered as the night air pressed against your damp skin. It was darker than you expected, the campus eerily quiet, save for the faint trickle of water from the fountain in the nearby square.

You tugged at the sleeves of your uniform, feeling the fabric now dry against your arms. The thought of hurrying to your dorm crept in. It wasn't safe out here, especially after what happened to Tem, or so you had heard.

Trying not to dwell on it too much, the thought lingered. A student was killed on school grounds. It felt unreal, something that shouldn’t have happened, something that couldn’t happen. But it did. You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as you picked up your pace. Then something shifted.

A feeling crawled up your spine—slow, suffocating. Your body tensed before you could even think. It was sudden, primal, an overwhelming sense of wrongness.

Something was here. A thought barely formed before you felt it. A weight crashed onto you from behind, knocking you off balance. You barely had time to scream before you were slammed against the ground, your breath leaving you in a sharp gasp.

Your mind blanked in shock. What—?! Hands. Strong. Too strong. Holding you down, pressing you into the cold stone. Your vision blurred for a second, panic rushing in like a flood. You thrashed. Kicked. Clawed at the grip. It didn’t budge. Whoever—whatever—this was, they were too strong.

Your heart pounded, your lungs burning as you fought for air. Who—Why—?! This was how you'd die; not even a week into school, you already found trouble. The pressure shifted. A moment of hesitation. A breath, too close to your skin. That's all you needed.

Adrenaline shot through your veins, and you twisted violently, breaking free just enough to shove against your attacker. In the chaos, something sharp tore across your arm.

Pain flared—hot, searing, immediate. You barely had time to register it before you were on your feet, running. Your breath hitched as you bolted through the darkness, your mind screaming at you to move, move, move.

Blood trickled down your arm, warm and sticky, soaking into your sleeve. You didn’t dare stop. The world blurred around you—shadows, pavement, the dim glow of dorm windows in the distance.

You didn't stop. Not until you reached the dorm building, shoving the door open, heart hammering against your ribs. The air inside felt too warm, too normal. As if you hadn’t just—.

The thought settled like a stone in your gut. You didn’t even know what had just happened. You just knew you wanted to forget. Your breath came in sharp gasps as you hurried through the hall, your body trying to calm down. Please don’t let anyone be awake.

Your arm burned. You could feel the blood, sticky against your skin. Every movement sent another pulse of pain through your nerves. You clenched your teeth.

You'd have to clean it up before anyone noticed. When you reached your dorm room, you hesitated, fingers trembling as you gripped the door handle. A deep breath.

Then you stepped inside.

Haru wasn’t there.

The realization hit you harder than you expected. You hadn’t even realized how badly you wanted to see her, to have someone—anyone—there. But instead, the room was still. Silent.

Your eyes flickered to the bunks, where your other two dorm mates, the spotted squirrel and gazelle, were asleep. You swallowed, barely sparing them a glance before slipping past them as quietly as possible.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind you, the lock sliding into place. You exhaled shakily. The mirror reflected a pale, shaken version of yourself. Your uniform was ruffled, your skin still prickling with lingering fear.

And then, you saw it.

Blood.

A deep, jagged claw gash carved across your left arm, raw and smeared with crimson, clinging to your skin in damp patches. Your breath caught in your throat.

You turned on the sink, scrubbing your hands, your arms, anything to rid yourself of the feeling. The water ran red for a while before fading to clear.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, staring at your reflection.

---

The evening had taken a quiet, tense turn as the wolf stood outside the rehearsal room, leaning against the wall. He wasn't here by choice—he was just waiting for a certain red and his fellow clubmate to finish their practice.

They’d been at it for hours now, and the rhythmic sound of their movements drifted through the walls. How long was this going to take? He thought, his mind drifting as his sharp, wolf-like senses tuned out the sounds.

The moon hung low, casting faint shadows over the empty courtyard, and his fingers twitched, restless. He could already feel his instincts crawling under his skin, urging him to move, to hunt, to do something. But he stayed put, his thoughts turning inward.

He could already hear Louis scolding him for not keeping a lookout, for lingering out here when he could’ve been doing something more productive.

In a distracted move, his gaze shifted to a small bug crawling on the stone near his feet. He crouched down, his large hands gently picking it up.

"Hey there," he muttered, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he examined the tiny creature. "What are you doing out here?"

But as he studied the bug, something shifted in the air. A familiar, sweet fragrance reached his nose—soft, warm, and entirely distinct. His breath hitched in his chest, his pulse racing as the realization hit him like a shock.

You were close. The scent flooded his senses, sharp and intoxicating. The heat of you, the swan, was almost overwhelming. His head snapped up, scanning the shadows. Without thinking, his body reacted before his mind could catch up. The weight of his instincts hit him like a hammer.

Your scent. That sweet smell. He felt it settle in his chest like a pressure, tightening. He couldn’t stop himself. He needed to find you, needed to get closer.

Just as quickly as the thought passed through him, he moved, almost without control. His long legs carried him toward the source, drawn to you as if magnetized. His hands found you before you even realized what was happening. They were on you, grasping, pulling, firm.

He could hear the thrum of his heartbeat, drowning out everything else. All he could think of was blood. Your blood. Before he could even process it, you ran. He stopped, frozen in confusion and guilt battling inside him.

He froze for a second, remembering the softness of your body beneath his touch. The wetness of your uniform pressed against his chest, making you feel all the more fragile and delicate. His large fingers brushed against your arm, and that’s when he remembered it, felt it—the gash.

His grip had been too tight, too fast. The fabric of your uniform tore beneath his fingers, and his nails—sharp and involuntary—caught the sensitive skin of your arm. The flesh gave way, a gash of red blossoming where he’d touched.

His senses flared immediately. The rich, warm scent of blood hit him in an instant, making his heart race even faster. He froze again, staring at the pool of blood on his hand, the way it glistened under the moonlight.

His instincts screamed at him to focus on it, to taste it, to understand it, to claim it. The smell was intoxicating, filling the air around them like a thick, suffocating fog. The blood... it was warmer than he expected. Almost like it had its own warmth, its own life.

His throat tightened, and for a split second, he thought he might lose control. Remembering the sensation of your skin, so delicate under his touch, paired with the blood, he could feel the heat of it rushing up to his head. It made his vision blur, his senses flooding with too much.

This wasn't him. This wasn't right. He dropped his hands down immediately, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. He could still feel the warmth of your skin, the soft, smooth texture of your arm beneath his fingers.

And the blood—it was still there, still fresh, still tempting. He swallowed hard, trying to control his breathing. But it was no use. He could still smell it, still feel the weight of the moment pressing on him.

What the hell just happened? His body was still trembling, his hands shaking, but the overwhelming sense of dread and instinct was slowly beginning to subside. He didn’t even realize how close he had gotten to crossing the line. His teeth clenched, and he cursed under his breath, feeling the tightness in his chest as the adrenaline started to fade.

What was he even doing?

Chapter Text

The morning air in the Cherryton Academy dormitory was cool, tinged with the scent of fresh linens and the lingering warmth of slumbering bodies. Sunlight creeps hesitantly through the curtains, painting pale streaks across the room where the wolf lies, motionless beneath his blankets.

The rhythmic breathing of his canine roommates fills the space, a comforting cadence that should have lulled him back to sleep. But sleep had not been kind to him last night.

His body felt heavy, yet his mind was weightless, drifting in a sea of uncertainty. The memories of the previous night clawed at him—your fragile body beneath his own, the rush of predatory instinct surging through him like wildfire, the horror of nearly losing himself.

He flexed his fingers against his sheets, recalling the sensation of you trembling beneath his grip. A sharp inhale. His chest ached, a suffocating mix of guilt and confusion tightening around his ribcage.

A voice shatters the morning stillness. "Legoshi ?" The Labrador's voice is gentle but insistent. Legoshi blinks, his gaze finding his golden-furred friend staring at him with concern.

Jack knelt next to his bed, ears perked, tail still. There is a quiet understanding in his eyes, one that makes Legoshi shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

"Are you okay? You were tossing and turning all night." Legoshi hesitates, the words lodging in his throat. How can he explain what happened?

How can he voice the gnawing fear inside him—that he came so close to devouring someone, not out of hunger, but of something far more terrifying? His grip on his sheets tightens.

"I’m fine," he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep. "Just... weird dreams." Jack didn't look convinced. "You sure? You've been acting strange lately. You can talk to me, you know."

Legoshi exhaled slowly. Jack was always like this—intuitive and patient. It was comforting, but also unnerving. He didn't deserve that kindness.

"Yeah, I know." His voice was quieter now, almost lost beneath the rustling of sheets as their other dormmates began to stir. "It’s nothing."

Jack hesitates, his gaze lingering on Legoshi for a moment, searching for any cracks in his façade. After a final look, he decides he has seen enough and turns away, leaving Legoshi behind.

With a groan of exhaustion, Legoshi collapses onto his bed as fatigue washes over him. Just before Jack walks off, he glances back. "You know we have class, right?"

---

Waking up, the soft glow of morning light filters through the curtains. The events of the previous night press against your mind like an ache, heavy and surreal. Alive. Somehow, despite everything, here. But then, a dull throbbing in your hand pulls your attention downward.

Your bandages are stained, deep red seeping through the white fabric. Glancing nervously at the sheets, you let out a quiet sigh of relief—thankfully, they remain untouched, the pristine fabric free from any sign of the chaos that unfolded.

Another sigh escapes your lips. If you hadn’t found those bandages in the bathroom last night, you would have had to make an awkward trip to the nurse’s office. Rising from your bed, careful not to disturb your still-sleeping roommates, you gather your uniform and quietly slip into the bathroom.

The water is warm and soothing against your skin, with a slight sting on your arm as you wash away the weight of your thoughts. Memories of sharp teeth, overwhelming force, and fear linger in your mind. You press your cheek against the warm tile of the shower for a moment before finishing.

Afterward, you wrap fresh bandages around your wound and put on your uniform, rolling the sleeves up to hide the hole. Hopefully, no one will question the bandages.

When you step back into the dorm, your roommates—the gazelle and the spotted squirrel—are already stirring. The gazelle eyes you with thinly veiled disapproval, arms crossed as she watches you from her bed.

"You're really not helping yourself, you know. I thought we could be friends despite your weirdness." she says, her tone sharp. "You're already an outcast. Now you're just giving people more reasons to talk."

The spotted squirrel, always quick to agree with her, chimes in. "Seriously, you’re drawing attention, and not the good kind. Do you even think about how this affects us?"

You say nothing. There is no point in explaining yourself—not that you even could. Instead, you grab your things, brushing past them as you head for the door.

As you walk down the hallway, a new thought pushes its way in—Haru. You wonder how she is, what she is doing at that very moment. Whispers around you blend into the background, but your mind is only focused on her.

Will you tell her what happened? Should you? The weight of your concern pulls you deeper into your thoughts, drowning out everything else.

---

Breakfast. That was the next step. Something normal, something routine. You opt for the herbivore breakfast instead of the carnivore one, something simple and predictable. The cafeteria is busy, but luck is on your side—you manage to find a spot to sit alone.

As you settle in, your gaze drifts across the room. There, at a table not far from yours, sits the wolf, the golden Labrador, a sheepdog, a coyote, and a hyena. You recognize them, well, two of them—not by name, but from class. The Labrador’s enthusiasm had stood out, and the wolf, well...

You watch them for a moment, their easy conversation, their quiet camaraderie. And then, just as quickly, you turn your attention back to your meal, shaking the unease curling in your stomach.

The cafeteria buzzes with expected chaos, a symphony of clinking trays, idle chatter, and the occasional burst of laughter. Sitting alone at a small table, you absentmindedly poke at the last remnants of your meal.

Your selection proves to be a decent choice. The past day's events still linger in your mind, an uneasy weight pressing against your thoughts.

A sudden commotion pulls your attention away. At a nearby table, two carnivore students have risen to their feet, their voices raised in a heated exchange. The air around them crackles with tension, and you feel the collective shift in the room as students turn to watch.

Before you can fully process what’s happening, one of the students a fox lunges forward, sinking his teeth into the arm of the other, a canine of some sort. Gasps rippled through the cafeteria as the injured student yelped and tried to wrench himself free; his face contorted in pain.

The sight makes your stomach tighten. It’s not unusual for tensions between carnivores to flare up, but seeing an actual bite unfold in front of you is jarring.

Then, from the other side of the room, a voice cuts through the cafeteria.

"Hey, stop it!"

Your eyes snap toward the source—the tall, gray wolf standing rigidly near the scuffle, his ears flattened against his head. There is something about the way he carries himself, the firmness in his voice, that makes you pause.

He doesn’t shout, doesn’t bare his teeth, or puff out his chest like some might expect from a large predator. Instead, his stance is oddly careful, as if he’s calculating his every move.

The fox, still seething, shifts his glare toward him. "You think you can take me? Give me your neck. I'll bite into it softly." he barks, stepping forward aggressively.

The wolf doesn’t move. If anything, he seems to shrink slightly, his gaze flicking downward as if already anticipating defeat. You can’t help but furrow your brow—he’s big, easily larger than the fox, but there’s no aggression in his body language.

He looks more reluctant than anything else. Before the situation can escalate further, another voice slices through the air. "Enough. Being a carnivore is not so easy, is it?"

The voice is calm, yet undeniably authoritative. The fox freezes, his aggression momentarily tempered. Heads turn toward the speaker, and you follow suit.

A red deer strides toward the scene with practiced confidence, his posture poised and assured, the same deer from the roof with Haru.

Shouts, along with squeals, spread through the crowd, whispers of recognition and respect. "It’s Louis!" someone breathes nearby, and you blink, absorbing the name. Louis… So that’s who he is. The way the other students react to him—awed, almost reverent—makes you curious about his influence.

Louis regards the fox with disapproval. "They're not always lucky enough to have both personality and fighting strength." he adds. The fox retorts with a venomous tone. "Well, well, if it isn’t Louis himself, the superstar rich kid."

"Showing your fangs in public is considered bad manners." Louis replies, dismissing the fox's jab. "You're in a tough spot, aiming for the next Beastar. You’ll need to put in a lot of effort to attract attention."

"Have you ever stopped to think about why we need a  Beastar in our world?" he asks, his voice measured and steady. The question hangs in the air, heavy with implication, and the fox shifts uneasily from foot to foot.

Louis doesn’t wait for a response. "Instead of wasting your energy worrying about me and fighting, maybe try improving yourself." Chatter erupts from the previously hushed cafeteria. The onlookers, once eager spectators, now nod in agreement with Louis’s words. "Get out of here."

"Get lost." The fox and his companion exchange glances. "Hey, come on, let’s go." the other student urges. "Impressive how you spin everything to come out on top." the fox laments with annoyance.

"That’s enough, let’s go." his friend insists, dragging him away as the tension defuses. "Everyone, please return to your meals." Louis says to the crowd, restoring order as they comply.

As the crowd begins to disperse, Louis turns slightly, his gaze flickering toward the gray wolf. A conversation ensues between them. You watch as the wolf hesitates, looking as though he wants to say something, but Louis doesn’t give him the chance. He turns on his heel and walks away, leaving the cafeteria murmuring in his wake.

You exhale slowly, the tension finally leaving your shoulders. So his name was Louis. The red deer commands such attention with just a few words. You glance at the gray wolf, still standing there, an unreadable expression on his face.

And you wonder, not for the first time, just what kind of place you’ve found yourself in.

---

You step out of the cafeteria, the distant hum of conversation fading behind you. As your mind lingers on the scuffle you just witnessed, are fights like that really so common here? It seems so.

You shake the thought away. There's no point dwelling on it now. You have free time, and you've signed up for the drama club.

The theater looms ahead, grand and inviting. Pushing open the door, you step inside, greeted by the cool hush of the empty auditorium. The faint scent of sawdust and old curtains lingers in the air.

After asking around and getting cold responses from frankly rude, unfriendly students, you finally manage to discover where the club is meeting. As you take a few tentative steps in, a voice calls out, breaking the silence of the space.

"Who are you?" A pelican standing near the stage squints at you, his clipboard tucked under one wing. You give your name, watching as his gaze flicks to the list in his hands. Recognition dawns in his eyes. "Oh, right. The human." His tone isn’t unkind, just observant. He nods. "Well, welcome."

A ripple of murmurs spreads through the scattered students. The reaction isn’t hostile—more intrigued than anything. A few hushed voices whisper words like "cool." and "never had a human before." You feel the weight of their curiosity but push through, stepping further into the room.

Up ahead, on the stage, a rehearsal is in progress. Your eyes catch on a figure moving with effortless precision, commanding the space with every step. That red deer from earlier in the cafeteria, Louis.

You watch him, his movements sharp and deliberate, his presence magnetic. He hasn’t noticed you yet. The pelican clears his throat. "Come on, let’s introduce you to everyone." You follow him, the whispers growing softer as you step forward, ready to meet the club.

The pelican claps his wings together, calling out, "Everyone, gather around! We have a new club member." The students shift, turning toward you as they assemble.

Louis strides down from the stage with confidence, his presence commanding without effort. Others join their expressions, ranging from polite curiosity to mild surprise.

"This is our newest member." the pelican announces, then gestures for you to introduce yourself. You clear your throat. "Hi, my name is —. I've recently transferred."

A few polite greetings follow. Some nod, others murmur a quiet "Welcome." The pelican wastes no time before continuing. "The only role we have available right now is costume and design. Do you have any experience with that?"

You consider it for a moment, then nod and reply. "Yes, that sounds nice." The pelican nods approvingly before turning to scan the group. "Where's Legoshi?" he asks aloud. A tall, gray wolf hesitantly raises his hand from the side of the group.

"There he is. And over here, we have Els, the head of props." An Angora goat gives you a friendly wave. "Sheila, lead choreographer." The cheetah standing near some equipment nods. More names follow, filling in the faces of the drama club members.

You barely have a moment to process the introductions before someone steps toward you with an easy, self-assured gait. A Bengal tiger, Bill, if you're remembering correctly—bold stripes, sharp amber eyes, and an unmistakable energy that feels almost too big for the space around him.

"Hey." he says, stopping just a little too close, his sharp eyes roaming over you. There’s nothing outright inappropriate in his gaze, but there’s a boldness to it like he’s testing the waters, seeing how you’ll react.

"Didn’t expect to see a human here." His tone is casual, but there’s a glint in his eye, something testing, almost teasing. There’s a flicker in his eyes—a spark that intrigues you.

You catch the way he shifts, broadening his shoulders, seemingly conscious of how he presents himself. It’s almost theatrical like he’s both performer and audience simultaneously.

"You know," he continues, flashing a sharp-toothed grin. "Costume and design, huh? That’s important work." When he mentions your role, you can sense the lack of interest behind it, a compliment wrapped in charm.

But then he leans in slightly, and that spark turns into a playful challenge. "But I bet you’d look good under the stage lights, too."

His words are smooth and practiced as if he’s used to charming his way into conversations. There’s a beat of silence before he leans in just a fraction. "By the way, you got a phone? Could be fun to hang out sometime—get to know each other better."

You hesitate for just a heartbeat, but the thought of refusing feels wrong. After all, he’s not being outright aggressive; it’s more like he’s inviting you into a game. So, you nod, heart racing a little, and pull out your phone.

You can’t deny the thrill that courses through you when you exchange numbers. But it would be rude to refuse, right? Maybe he’s just being nice.

The moment the contact is saved, he flashes that triumphant grin. You can’t help but feel a mix of excitement and apprehension. There’s something about him that tells you this encounter might lead to unexpected adventures.

He steps back, leaving you with the distinct feeling that you’ve just agreed to something more than you fully understand. "Cool. Guess I’ll see you around, then."

After wrapping up your interaction with Bill—his energy still lingering like static in the air—you turn back to the pelican. "Can I leave for today? I’ll be back tomorrow." you say. The pelican studies you for a moment before giving a slow nod. "Yes, but don’t be late. We have work to do."

You can't help but think that you joined this club just two days ago and are already slacking. Hopefully, it isn't noticeable. The thought makes you feel a bit nervous as you prepare to dive into whatever lies ahead.

With that, you step out of the stuffy theater, finally able to breathe again. The day has been overwhelming, and there’s one person you want to talk to—Haru.

---

As you make your way up to the rooftop garden, the scent of flowers is thick in the air, and the warmth of the sun softens the cool breeze rolling over the edge of the school.

Haru is already there, tending to her plants. She glances up as you approach, brushing soil from her fingers. "You look like you’ve had a long day." she notes, tilting her head slightly. You exhale, sitting down near her.

"You have no idea." As you sit there, the weight of the day hangs heavily on your shoulders. You think about the attack, the chaos, and the fear that came with it. It would be easy to share it all with Haru, to find solace in her understanding.

But would it do more harm than good? You glance at her, so vibrant and innocent in her concern. It's not something she needs to carry. After all, she already has enough on her plate.

You decide to give her a reassuring smile instead, opting for silence. As the two of you begin conversing, the conversation drifts between small things—how the drama club operates, what to expect, and the school. It’s nice, easy.

After a moment, she leans in, a spark of excitement in her eyes. "Hey, do you want to help with the gardening? I could use some extra hands, and I guarantee it'll be fun." You nod, feeling a wave of enthusiasm. "Yep, I'd love to help out."

As she gets up, ready to get you your tools, she glances at your hands, a question forming on her lips. "What happened to your hand?"

You chuckle, a bit sheepishly. "Oh, that? Just a freak accident." She raises an eyebrow, a hint of suspicion in her voice. "Really? That sounds… interesting. You sure that's all there is to it?"

You laugh again, trying to brush it off. "Yeah, seriously. I should really work on my coordination." She smirks, still curious but deciding to drop it for now. "Alright, if you say so. Just be careful with the gardening tools, okay?"

"Of course! I’ll try not to cause any accidents." You both share a light laugh, and she changes the topic.

---

The wolf's ears twitch as he steps onto the rooftop, the warm, humid air immediately wrapping around him. The faint scent of damp earth mixes with the delicate fragrance of roses and freshly watered soil. His sharp nose catches another scent—familiar, distinct—before his black eyes even land on you.

There you are, standing among rows of vibrant blooms, with the sunlight above casting a soft glow on you. The way you move—carefully tending to the plants—seems almost effortless, your figure framed by the gentle sway of the plants.

Legoshi feels his stomach tighten, an odd mix of nerves and something else twisting inside him. His mind reels. It is you. His gaze lingers a moment too long before he snaps out of it, clearing his throat just as Kibi pushes the door open.

"H-hey," Legoshi says, but his voice barely carries over the sounds of rustling plants and the faint trickle of water from the nearby hose.

Kibi doesn't seem to notice his hesitation and speaks up first, addressing the rabbit. "We need roses for the welcome ceremony." The rabbit, busy with a potted plant, looks up and nods.

"Figures. Everyone always comes last minute." she mutters, brushing some loose soil from her hands. Before he can come up with an excuse to leave, Kibi suddenly slaps his forehead.

"Oh no! I forgot something—I'll be right back!" the anteater exclaims. "Hey! I’ll get the ant shakes next time; you’ve got this! Thanks a million!" he says, whispering to Legoshi, and with that, Kibi spins on his heel and hurries out, leaving Legoshi frozen in place. His mouth goes dry as the rabbit turns her full attention to him.

"Oh? He left already?" the rabbit tilts her head. "Was he scared? Or... was it you who was scared?" Legoshi stiffens. "N-no, it's not that. I mean, I—" He stops himself, shoulders tensing. She shrugs, brushing off the question as she moves toward a set of watering cans.

"Doesn't matter," she says. "If you're here for the roses, I can't give them out for free. Can you help me carry those to the back and help me out for a bit? I could use the extra hands." Legoshi hesitates but steps forward, his large frame moving cautiously between the rows of plants.

He steals another glance at you, watching the way you hold the watering can, the gentle way your fingers trail the leaves. The scent of roses clings to the air, mixing with something subtly sweet—your scent. It's overwhelming.

As he reaches for a nearby hose, his eyes flicker down to your hands. A fresh bandage wraps around your hand, standing out against your skin. His brow furrows as memories rush back, shame and guilt mixing within him like a storm.

Legoshi can sense the weight of the moment, and awkwardness washes over him like a tidal wave. He wants to say something—anything—to bridge the silence. Maybe a joke? But nothing feels appropriate, and he fears that humor would only deepen the distance between you.

The tension is thick, wrapping around you both. He fumbles with the hose, trying to think of a safer topic, perhaps asking about your day.

Yet, every cheerful idea flits away like startled prey. Finally, in an unguarded moment, he blurts out, "What happened to your hand?" Before he can catch himself.

The concern in his voice is evident, and as soon as the words leave his mouth, he winces internally, regretting that he has taken the route that leads straight back to the pain. You pause, glancing at your hand as if only just remembering. "Oh, freak accident."

Legoshi stares for a second too long, his ears twitching. He wants to ask more, but he can't find the words, though his mind remains restless.

---

The weight of Legoshi’s questions lingers in the air, wrapping around your thoughts like vines creeping through an abandoned structure. His words replay in your mind as you stare down at your bandaged hand, flexing your fingers absentmindedly.

The cool air of the rooftop settles around you, carrying the earthy scent of damp soil and blooming roses. You exhale, shifting slightly from where you stand.

Your gaze flickers up to Legoshi. He’s still standing there, tense but not exactly uncomfortable, just... awkward. His ears twitch every so often, his tail swaying slightly in a way that betrays his uncertainty.

There’s something almost endearing about it. You realize you don’t know much about him beyond the very few encounters you’ve had. You break the silence, tilting your head slightly.

"So, Legoshi, was it? Do you always stare off into space like that, or are you just practicing for a staring contest?" He blinks, clearly caught off guard, and a puzzled look breaks through his otherwise stoic demeanor.

"Well, I’d like to think I’m just, um, mentally preparing myself for the next encounter with a... very intimidating vegetable. You know, zucchinis can be quite... uh, scary if you think about it."

You can't help but chuckle, the sound bright and warm, filling the space between you. "Intimidating zucchinis? Who would’ve thought?" Watching his reaction is priceless—relief mingling with disbelief washes over his face. You can almost see him replaying his words in his mind.

"Y-yeah! I mean, I didn’t mean to say I actually fear them, just that they’re… um, bigger than they seem, right? Like, uh, they can really catch you off guard if you’re not careful?" His response comes out a bit nervous and hesitant, stumbling over his words.

"What I meant was, uh, not that I have a whole, like, fear of zucchinis! I mean, I like vegetables! Just not... like, um, at a staring contest. The zucchinis, I mean. Not the competition—uh, I mean, they just... You get it, right?" His panic is endearing, and you can see the heat rising in his cheeks.

Nodding, you’re grateful for the conversation, feeling the air between you both lighten. It’s warming, comforting even, and as his nervousness somewhat begins to fade. After a moment of comfortable silence, you ask. "So... what year are you in?"

Legoshi blinks, seemingly caught off guard by the question. "Oh, uh... second year." His voice is quiet but steady. You nod, digesting that information. "Me too." you say with a tinge of excitement.

"What position do you have in the drama club? The club leader didn't mention earlier." His ears perk up slightly at the question, and he hesitates for a moment before answering.

"Stage crew. I handle lighting, set movement... stuff like that." You tilt your head, considering what he said. "You’re pretty tall. I would’ve thought you’d be an actor or something."

Legoshi scratches the back of his neck, his claws barely grazing his fur. "Yeah, a lot of people assume that. But I don’t really like being in the spotlight."

You hum in understanding, then pause before asking, "I’ve seen you around before. Who’s that Labrador that’s always hanging out with you?"

"Oh, Jack?" Legoshi’s expression softens, a hint of fondness slipping into his voice. "He’s my best friend. We’ve known each other since childhood."

You nod again, there’s something about the way he talks about his friend that makes you smile a little. You can easily see how much he cares for him.

A comfortable silence settles between you, filled with the soothing sounds from the plant blowing in the wind and the rhythmic drip of water from the irrigation system, harmonizing with the gentle rustling of leaves.

Eventually, you set down the watering can and let out a soft breath,  stretching your arms slightly. "Well," you say. "I should probably get going." Legoshi straightens slightly, his posture becoming rigid for a moment before he nods.

"Oh, right. Um... thanks for talking with me." You offer a small smile, grab your bag, and adjust it over your shoulder. "See you around, Legoshi." And with that, you step past him.

"I'll see you around, Haru." Haru nods, wiping her hands on her apron. "Alright. See you later?" You give her a small smile. "Yeah, see you later." With that, you step out, the door clicking shut softly behind you.

---

The wolf watches as you turn to leave, a strange pang settling in his chest. He doesn't understand it, and he doesn't have time to dwell on it either, because soon after, he hears the sound of footsteps approaching, quick and purposeful.

"Hey." a voice calls out, breaking the moment.

Chapter Text

As you step away from the garden, the scent of fresh roses still lingers in the air as you descend the stairs. Your mind drifts back to Legoshi, how stiff he seemed, the way he hesitated before speaking. The way his ears twitched when you looked at him. It was...charming, actually.

There was something odd about him, not in a bad way, but in a way that made you wonder what he was really thinking. Maybe it was just his nature, or maybe there was something more beneath that quiet demeanor.

You shake your head, exhaling sharply. Why were you even thinking about this? Maybe it was because you were a little awkward, too. The whole exchange felt like you were tiptoeing around something, though you weren’t sure what.

The whole exchange replays in your mind again, and you can’t help but groan, covering your face with your hands. Feeling a weird mixture of secondhand embarrassment and something else—something lighter, like amusement.

You remove your hands from your face and glance down at your still-damp hands from watering the flowers. You sigh. "Ugh, I probably looked so weird."

"Oh my gosh." you mutter as you start to walk a little faster. "That was so awkward. What was I even saying?" You let out a breath, slow and uneven, heat pooling beneath your skin. Why did he have to look like that? The way he tensed up when he thought he said something embarrassing... it had been strangely endearing.

Stopping in your tracks, you press your palms to your face. "No. Don’t do this." you whisper, voice muffled. "It was just a conversation." But your heart taps faster against your ribs, traitorous and giddy. You shake your head, trying to will the thoughts away.

"Seriously. Get a grip." You exhale sharply, forcing yourself to calm down. Your hands grip the strap of your bag as you scan the area, suddenly aware of how loud you’ve been. Your eyes dart around, making sure no one was nearby to witness your little meltdown.

Once you're certain you're alone, you groan again, crouching briefly before straightening up and taking a deep breath. "Okay, okay, just relax. It’s fine. It was just a conversation. A weird, awkward conversation, but still… just a conversation."

With another deep breath, you shake off the lingering nerves and continue walking, though the memory of Legoshi’s expressions still lingers in your mind.

Lost in thought, you barely notice as you slowly stop in front of a bulletin board. A flyer for the welcome ceremony is pinned there, reminding you of why Legoshi and the anteater, whose name you had yet to remember, had come in the first place.

There's also a poster for the Adler play, which, if you remember correctly, was sometime the next morning. This was overwhelming. Why couldn't you have joined another club?

The moment passes, and you shake your head, ready to continue. Just as you start walking again, a nagging thought creeps in. You take a few more steps before pausing. Your phone.

A wave of annoyance washes over you as you realize you left it in Haru’s room when you were putting your things away. Of course. Why did you spread your stuff around in the first place? With a small groan, you turn back and retrace your steps toward the garden.

The air is still fresh, and sunlight filters softly through the foliage. Looking around, you notice that Legoshi isn't there.

"He must have left." you mutter. As you approach the sliding door to Haru’s room, you hear something—quick, heavy footsteps. Suddenly, the door slides open, and Legoshi rushes out, shutting his tail on the door before screaming and shimmying through and nearly colliding with you.

"S-Sorry!" he stammers, barely pausing as he dashes by, his eyes wide with a mix of panic and desperation. He’s running, his expression wild and his breath uneven.

You freeze for a second, watching his retreating figure. You frown, mumbling under your breath. by "What was that about?" Your brow furrows, something uneasy twisting in your gut. That was... weird. Really weird.

Shaking it off, you slide the door open, but the uneasy feeling comes back crashing on your chest as you see what is inside the shed.

Stepping inside Haru’s room, your breath catches, and then you see her. Haru is on the floor, partially covered by a blanket, her bra straps slipping off her shoulders. Her breathing is quiet, her expression unreadable. The sight sends a jolt through you.

Your stomach drops. "Haru...?" You step cautiously into the room, shutting the sliding door behind you. Haru is still on the floor, wrapped in a blanket, her small frame barely shifting as she turns her head to look at you.

Her expression is unreadable, her eyes half-lidded, dark with something you can't quite place. Shame? Annoyance? "Haru..." You take a hesitant step closer, scanning her face, her body. There’s no obvious sign of harm, but that doesn’t mean anything.

"Are you—are you okay?" She exhales sharply through her nose like she’s amused, but there’s no humor in it. "What, did he send you in here to check on me?" Her voice is flat, unimpressed. You blink, caught off guard. "No, I—he ran past me and I just... I saw you on the floor, and—"

"And what? Thought y, ou'd come to save the poor, helpless rabbit?" she interrupts, shifting so she can pull the blanket tighter around herself. "That’s not how this works."

Your stomach twists. The way she says it—so tired, like she’s had this conversation a hundred times before—makes your chest ache in a way you weren’t prepared for.

"I didn’t say that. What are you talking about?" you murmur, but even to your own ears, it sounds weak. Haru sighs, tilting her head back to stare at the ceiling.

"Look, I don’t need you looking at me like that. I know what people say about me. I know what you’re probably thinking. That I did this to myself.

That I just throw myself at guys and then act surprised when things go wrong." Your throat tightens. "Haru, I came into your room, meeting a guy running away, and you on the floor. I'm—"

"You don’t have to pretend." she cuts you off, her gaze sharp now, focused entirely on you. "I know what I am. And I know how this looks. But you don’t get to stand there and act like I need saving. He didn’t do anything. I misread the situation. That’s all."

There’s a beat of silence.

The words hang heavy between you, but Haru looks unaffected, like she’s already decided the conversation is over. You swallow hard, shifting from foot to foot.

There’s so much you want to say, but none of it feels right. She won’t accept sympathy, and she’s already dismissed your concern. But still—. "I'm only worried for you." you say quietly.

Haru’s eyes flicker, just for a second. A tiny crack in the mask. But then she scoffs, rolling her eyes. "You really are something else." She shifts, starting to push herself up, and you instinctively move to help. She swats your hand away.

"I said, I’m fine." You hesitate, then slowly pull back. "Okay. Okay."

She stands up, adjusting the blanket draped over her shoulders, and fixes you with one last unreadable look before turning away.

"Go. You’ve seen enough." You linger for a second longer, then nod, stepping backward toward the door. There’s nothing more you can do—not now.

As you slide the door open, you glance back one last time. Haru isn’t looking at you anymore. She’s staring out a window, her expression lost in the afternoon light. You step out, closing the door softly behind you.

You pause outside the door for a moment, still stunned by everything Haru just said. The air feels thick and heavy with the weight of her words. You don’t know how to fix this. You don’t think you can. But at the very least, you can try, even if she doesn’t want your pity. You had just become friends, too.

You're halfway across the garden, the sunlight warming your shoulders, when a sudden thought jerks you to a stop. "Crap—my phone, again? Really?" you mutter, patting your bag as if it might magically be there. No luck.

With a quiet groan, you spin on your heel and head back through the garden. The afternoon air feels colder now. When you reach the sliding door again, you hesitate. You don’t want to barge back in and upset Haru more… but you need your phone.

You slowly slide the door open just a crack, peeking in. She’s still there. Standing. She doesn’t look at you. Your eyes flick around the room and spot your phone lying beside the flower-patterned pillow on her bed. You open the door fully and walk over quietly, before scooping it up, the smooth surface cool in your hand.

"I... I just came back for this." you mumble, holding it up. The moment feels so small now, so unimportant compared to everything else.

Haru doesn't say anything, just nods faintly. She's still uButr the blanket, arms wrapped around herself, eyes unfocused. You hesitate again in the doorway, fingers tightening slightly around your phone.

"If you ever want to talk again... not with someone who pities you, but just someone who wants to understand... I’ll listen."

Still no response. You step back out through the sliding door, closing it shut gently behind you.

---

The wolf watched as you turned to leave, a strange pang settling in his chest. He didn't understand it, and he didn't have time to dwell on it either, because soon after, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching, quick and purposeful.

"Hey." a voice calls out, breaking the moment. As he followed the rabbit's voice into the shed, he was enveloped by a warm embrace that felt like stepping into an entirely different realm.

The air was infused with the subtle scents of grass, rich soil, and an earthy note that lingered just out of reach of his identification. An undercurrent of nervousness coursed through him, making his fur feel uncomfortably warm and his shirt too constricting.

He instinctively kept his arms close, unsure of what they might do if he allowed them to relax. He found her sitting by a window, going through a magazine.

"Thanks a lot for helping me out," she says. "Now that my roses are in a sunny, happy spot, I know they'll get better." she adds, looking up from her magazine. "I want to pay you back. What do you like to eat?"

He tensed, lost in his thoughts; he didn't need anything. "Well, um... give me a second." he replies. His hands moved over his ears before he shut his eyes, his mind wandering.

"Ah, so that’s how it is," the rabbit mumbles, dropping her book and closing the blinds to the window before standing up. "I'm usually not too up for it after caring for my plants," she says, shedding her clothes. "To be honest, I've never been with a carnivore before." she adds, her tone unwavering.

The wolf shook his head, lamenting in his thoughts with his hands over his ears. "Is this your first time with a herbivore?" she asks, completely removing her clothes. "Hm." the wolf mutters, opening his eyes and removing his hands from his ears. His eyes adjusted to the scene in front of him, while nervousness crept in.

"Huh?" The rabbit walks towards him, her demeanor calm. "Don't worry, it's fine," she says. "You can be rough; I can handle it. I think it will be fun." she adds, looking up at him. His thoughts raced with nervousness.

"Are you nervous? Just relax," she says, her hands roaming over his suspenders. Her voice isn’t teasing—at least, not really. It is calm and matter-of-fact, as if this were completely natural.

"This is my first time with a carnivore, too, you know." she adds. His throat dried as her hands continued to roam. Is this some kind of greeting? He thought, as her hands brushed against his stomach fur.

"The fur on your stomach is the same as your face," she says. Maybe this was something exclusive to small animals. "Such a beautiful cream color. I want to know… where it leads to," she says, unbuckling his pants before looking up at him. "Is that okay?" she adds.

He quickly dragged his pants up, his thoughts racing. This was definitely not what he came here for. "No, it's not okay!" he exclaims.

"What's wrong? I need you to be cooperative to create a romantic atmosphere," the rabbit exclaims, crossing her arms. "That's what you came here for, wasn't it?" she adds, then stops and looks at him as if he were a puzzle whose pieces had just rearranged.

He didn’t say a word. “I’m—...” she starts, but doubt creeps in. Oh gosh, did I jump to conclusions? Her thoughts raced as she touched her cheeks. It didn't make sense; he let me take off his belt.

"Here, you'll catch a cold. You should get dressed," he says after fixing his belt, before grabbing a blanket and draping it over her. "I'm going back. You should put on your uniform. Have a good day." he adds.

But she couldn't respond; he was already leaving. He opened the door swiftly, slamming it right behind him, hitting his tail, and as he shimmied out, he screamed and ran in pain.

Thud. He almost bowled someone over. His heart nearly stopped again. It was you, your smell so intoxicating and light. You were standing there with that quiet look you always wore—half-curious, half-nervous.

Your eyes widened when you saw him, and he could only imagine what he must’ve looked like: disheveled, eyes wild, belt half-loose, fur bristled from stress. "S-sorry." he mumbles before running away.

---

You wake up late. Not late for class—just late. The kind of late that means everyone else has already moved on with their day. Your roommates are gone; they didn't even wake you up. What jerks, even if you weren't on good terms, they could have at least tried to do a good deed.

There’s no stomping around half-dressed, no pointless arguing—just silence. Empty bunks. A folded blanket that lacks warmth. You sit up, remaining still for a moment with your blanket pooled in your lap.

Blinking, you glance down at your legs. The sunlight filtering through the curtains feels too bright for how tired you are. You swing your legs off the bed and stand slowly, your joints stiff as though they haven't moved in weeks.

The bathroom tiles feel cold under your feet as you twist the knob on the shower until the water runs hot—too hot at first, making you flinch. Steam fills the room, fogging up the bathroom mirror before you even step in.

As you enter the shower, the heat sinks into your skin, and you lean into it. Your mind drifts straight to Haru. You replay the moment in your head like a broken loop: her voice was sharp and defensive, her eyes burning as though you had insulted her simply by caring.

You hadn’t meant to pity her; you just wanted to help. You thought she was in trouble. You thought— but maybe she didn’t want help. Perhaps she just wanted you to leave her alone.

Your throat tightens as the water rushes down your back. Were you ever really friends? Or were you just a temporary distraction from something worse? Did you even pass the “acquaintance” stage? You remember how quickly she shut down, how she looked at you as if you had crossed some invisible line.

You sigh and tilt your neck under the stream. She probably just needs space. You get that. You do. Then your thoughts shift, like they always do now, without permission—Legoshi. Awkward, lanky, perpetually confused Legoshi. The way he was running from Haru yesterday, like she’d tried to bite him.

Or like he’d almost bitten her. You don’t even know what to make of it. He’s a walking contradiction—quiet but intense, gentle but sharp around the edges. And the way he looked at you… not like that, but still like something. Something that stuck with you.

You realize you’re staring at the tiled wall, heart skipping a beat. You’re also blushing. You blink rapidly, cheeks burning for more than one reason now, and quickly shut the water off before you overheat. Steam clings to your skin as you towel off, but it’s the sting in your arm that pulls you fully back to reality.

You glance down at your right forearm. It doesn’t hurt like it did before—it’s more of a dull sting now. The weirdness of that moment hasn’t left you. Whatever that was… it didn’t feel normal. After bandaging it, you press your fingers against it lightly. Still tender.

Still confusing.

You get dressed slowly, pulling on your uniform and moving humid hair out of your face. Silence still sits thick in the room. No talking. No voices. Just your own heartbeat, still a little too fast. And then you open the door. Time to face whatever the day thinks it’s got planned for you.

---

By the time you step outside, the weather is already beginning to change. The morning sun breaks through the clouds, casting a warm light that promises a beautiful day ahead, just as things start to get exciting.

Everyone seemed to be heading toward the theater. Did you miss an announcement or something? Not wanting to look out of place or make a fool of yourself, you decide to follow along.

As you enter the theater, you take in the dim lighting while the seats gradually fill up. Plush chairs are in neat rows, and the stage is empty except for a pedestal with a microphone.

You find a spot a few rows back in a corner and slide into the seat. You glance at the empty seat beside you. No one’s going to take it; you can feel it.

Before the silence can stretch too long or look too obvious, you casually drop your bag into the seat. There. Now it looks intentional. Not pitiful. You lean back and cross your arms like you’re completely unbothered.

Which is a lie. But hey, it’s the thought that counts. Pulling out your phone, you scroll through your notifications, having neglected it during your first couple of days here.

Your eyes flicker to a notification, a day or two old, from an unknown number, which you suspect belongs to that guy, Bill, the Bengal tiger. Clicking on it, you read the message fully:

Unknown sender
Hey, it’s Bill.

You read the message again. How do you respond to this? You had already seen it, so that was that, and you didn’t really want the conversation to continue. But you didn’t want to be rude either. Maybe, hmm...

You
Hi, just added you to my contacts.

Good enough. Your eyes drift toward the stage, but your brain doesn’t register what it’s seeing. Instead, it drifts—again—to him. Legoshi.

You don’t understand. You’ve only had one conversation with him—just one. And yet, here you are, daydreaming like a lovesick teen in a cheesy romantic comedy. He wasn't even the first guy to talk to you—Bill was.

Bill made his intentions very clear. What even was that interaction? A flirtation? A threat? Some strange mix of both? His presence was intense and oddly magnetic.

And then there’s Louis—the red deer with a stick so far up his spine you’re surprised he can walk. Everyone seems enchanted by him, whispering his name like it’s gospel. But all you see is arrogance and theatrics wrapped in a perfectly pressed uniform.

You grimace. Right. Louis. You’re supposed to meet with him later. He’s the club head or something. Of course, he is. You groan internally and slouch lower in your seat.

A voice cracks through the air—probably the principal, though you’re not paying attention until you hear something about “Drama Club contributions” and “exemplary performances.”

A line of familiar faces lines up on the stage, and you immediately stiffen—your club members. Your name’s technically on that list.

You could go up there. But you’ve been in the club for all of like two days. Showing up on stage now would be peak awkward energy. You stay firmly planted in your seat, half-shrinking behind your bag.

You zone out. For who knows how long. By the time you tune back in, someone’s already walking center stage, accepting a paper scroll, bowing dramatically.

Louis. Of course. You watch him soak in the applause, expression smooth and noble, and so obviously performed, it makes your eye twitch. His speech is full of pretty words, faux humility, and subtle self-congratulation.

You squint. What a little rat. The crowd eats it up anyway. And just like that, the ceremony ends. Voices rise. Applause fades. You remain seated, staring at the stage like it’s personally offended.

---

The hallway outside the drama club is quiet, bathed in late afternoon light. Most students are gone, and their voices fade into the distance. Your footsteps are soft against the floor. You’ve already finished classes for the day. Now it’s time to check in with Louis.

Which… you’re not exactly looking forward to. You wish this didn’t feel like a punishment. The last time you crossed paths, he barely acknowledged your existence—just a glare and a scoff like you’d stepped on his stage by accident.

You sigh. You’re not here for praise, just to do your job. Costume design. Nothing glamorous. As you enter the clubroom and approach the office door, it swings open suddenly, and you nearly crash into someone, the door closing behind them.

"Ah—!" The tall grey wolf in front of you freezes. "S-sorry! I didn’t mean to—" Legoshi stumbles back, ears flattening, his arms raised slightly as if he thinks you might actually bite him.

You blink. "It’s fine. I wasn’t looking either." you say, your cheeks turning red. This is the second time you’ve bumped into each other—what the hell? Legoshi avoids your gaze. "Um—are you okay? You’re really red."

"Yep, I’m just a little overheated." you reply, hoping you don't look like an idiot. A brief silence passes. "l-I was just talking to Louis. He’s inside. Are you going in?"

"Yeah, just for a check-in." you manage to get out. He nods. Awkward pause. "Right." he says again. "Um… good luck." And with that, he ducks past you, shoulders hunched like he’s trying to fold into himself. You glance after him, bemused. Wow.

You turn back to the door, take a deep breath, knock once, and push it open. Louis doesn’t look up right away. He’s seated at his desk, flipping through papers. The office smells like ink and fresh wood shavings—props from the clubroom, probably.

"Come in and close the door." he says without looking. Not a greeting. Not even a glance. You step inside, closing the door behind you. You stand a few feet from his desk, awkward but trying not to show it.

The room feels colder than the club room—sharper, somehow, like everything in here is made of glass and judgment. "I’m here to report on the costume work," you say. "Just checking in." you add.

He finally glances up. His stare is piercing, eyes sharp and unreadable. You resist the urge to look somewhere else. His eyes scan you once, head to toe, before he speaks.

"You’re late." You blink. "The meeting time wasn’t specific." He arches a brow. "You should’ve known better." You clench your jaw. Okay. Deep breath. He's definitely doing this on purpose. You clear your throat. "Inventory’s up to date, and I repaired the coat for Act II."

Louis hums, turning back to his papers. "You’re efficient." he says. Not praise. Just an observation. You stay silent, nodding a little, unsure if you’re supposed to reply. He stands, walks over to a cabinet, and pulls out a binder.

"The club needs more from that department. We’ve had too many last-minute disasters. I don’t tolerate that." You nod again. "I can handle extra work."

"I’m not asking if you can. I’m telling you to." Gosh, he’s so infuriating. So stiff. So self-righteous. Like the world revolves around his monologues and immaculate posture. He hands you the binder.

"This is the full breakdown for the next performance schedule. Start pre-designing concepts for the meteor festival. Work with the lighting team to coordinate tones."

You blink. "That sounds complicated—usually a third-year job, isn’t it?" He raises an eyebrow. "Do you want to be treated like a novice? Or do you want to be useful?"

You take the binder without arguing. He watches you for a second longer, then says, "I don’t care about feelings. I care about results. If you mess up, I’ll find someone else."

You meet his gaze. "I won’t mess up." A short pause. Then Louis gives a small nod. "Good." You turn to leave. Just before you reach the door, he speaks again.

"One more thing —." You glance over your shoulder. He finally softens—barely. "If you want to prove yourself, show up. Work hard. Don’t waste my time."

There’s no warmth in his voice. Just expectation. You meet his eyes. And for the first time, maybe ever, you don’t feel like he’s looking down at you. Just… at you. "Got it." you say, and you mean it. But somehow, you leave the room standing a little straighter than before.

---

The walk back to the dorms was quiet, your thoughts still caught on your conversation with Louis. He was insufferable, there was no denying that, but he wasn’t... entirely awful.

His attitude was rotten, sure, but underneath all that bravado, you got the sense that he wasn’t a bad person. Maybe he had a reason for it. Maybe he didn’t. Either way, it wasn’t your problem.

You sighed, shifting the weight of your bag as you made your way down the hallway. Getting to the dorms, it was as quiet as when you left, the scent of polished wood and faint traces of fur still lingering in the air. The herbivore dorm. The place they put you because they didn’t know where else to put you. It still felt weird.

Just as you sat down on your bed, the intercom crackled to life. "Attention students, a reminder that Biology Hour will begin shortly. All students must report to their assigned rooms promptly. Attendance is mandatory."

You frowned. Biology Hour? That wasn’t on your schedule. You grabbed the crisp sheet of paper the tapir had given you out of your bag and scanned it again. Nowhere did it mention anything about an extra class. So why was this suddenly a thing? And more importantly, where were you supposed to go?

Annoyance bubbled in your chest. First, you get shoved into a dorm that wasn’t meant for you, and now you're being thrown into a class that wasn’t even on your schedule? If you were supposed to attend, someone should have told you where. And if you weren’t, then why was it being announced like you had a place to be?

There was only one person who might have an answer. With another sigh, you pushed yourself up, slipping out the door. The tapir at the front desk—whatever his name was—had been the one to give you your schedule. If anyone knew what was going on, it would be him. Time to talk to the tapir guy.

---

The front desk was manned by the same tapir as before, thank God. His brown fur, flecked with gray, seemed even more pronounced under the dim office lighting. He glanced up as you entered, adjusting his round glasses before recognizing you. His sigh was almost imperceptible, but you caught it nonetheless.

"Back so soon?" he murmurs, setting aside a stack of papers. You hesitate for a moment before stepping forward. "I had some concerns. About the biology hour." The tapir's ears flick slightly, though his expression remains neutral.

"Go on." You shift. "I don't know where to go, and I'm pretty sure I don't have a room or section." The tapir is silent for a moment as if carefully choosing his next words.

"You're right. Given your... unique status, there was no prior arrangement for your placement in that activity. It's an oversight, one that the faculty is still discussing." His calm, measured tone does little to ease the knot in your stomach.

"So what am I supposed to do in the meantime?" He adjusts his glasses again. "For now, you should remain in your dorm during that period. We will inform you when a decision has been made." You frown, your fingers tightening around themselves.

It isn’t an ideal solution—not even close—but what choice do you have? You nod slowly. "Alright. I understand, thank you." The tapir inclines his head slightly, already reaching for another stack of forms. "Good. Get some rest."

Without another word, you turn and leave the office, the weight of unresolved questions pressing heavily on your mind. Back in your dorm again, you let out a slow breath. The room is quiet, the air still.

You had expected to feel more settled by now, but instead, everything still feels uncertain. You sit down, staring at your feet, waiting. Waiting for a decision. Waiting for the next step. As you sit there, lost in thought, a sudden memory jolts you from your haze.

The Adler play was happening the next morning. You needed to gather your energy and shake off the lingering uncertainty. With a sigh, you stand up and stretch, trying to dispel the heaviness that clings to you.

"Okay, no more moping." you mutter to yourself, glancing outside the window. Time was slipping away, and the anticipation of the performance started to stir something within you—a flicker of excitement amidst the uncertainty.

You change out of your uniform, put on some lounge clothes, and grab your blanket, wrapping it around your shoulders as you settle back onto your bunk.

Pulling your phone out of your bag, you scroll through mindlessly, hoping it will help clear your mind. Deciding to look in your contact list, it seems empty; the most recent contact being Bill. Wow.

If you reconcile with Haru, which you hope you will, you'd need to ask for her number. Maybe you could also get Legoshi's and a few other club members' numbers. Hours pass as you continue to look through your phone, and eventually, your roommates return, chatting away.

"Oh, it's you." the gazelle says. "Why are you awake?" the spotted squirrel adds quickly, as usual. "Because I am. That's a dumb question." you reply. "Whatever." the squirrel says, rolling her eyes as she moves to her closet side.

"Are you still hanging out with Haru? Your funeral, honestly." the gazelle remarks as she walks into the bathroom. Haru, you hope to reconcile. Getting out of your bed, you put your phone on the charger, making sure your alarm is set before returning to bed.

You could catch up on some sleep and rejuvenate before the performance tomorrow. With that thought, your head hits the pillow, and you close your eyes, letting the warmth of the blanket soothe you into a gentle slumber, feeling hopeful for the day ahead.

---

You move slowly between bodies. You are almost done. Clipboard in hand, you glance at the checklist, eyes scanning the names you've already marked off.

One name left… no, two. Your eyes land on Louis. There's no check mark next to his name. Right. He waved you off earlier with a firm, "I don't need it checked. It's perfect." You didn’t argue. Not with him.

You stare at his name a second longer, then add a tiny check next to it anyway. "If it rips mid-scene, that’s not my problem." You slide your eyes to the last name. Bill.

You pause. Of course, it had to be him. You’ve only spoken once—and even then, it was mostly him doing the talking. You still remember the way he asked for your number like it was a casual formality. Like he was supposed to have it.

At this point, you decide you don't like him. But even as you think about it, you feel a tug of doubt. There is something about him that sticks in your mind; maybe he has a certain allure. You take a breath, straighten your back, and walk over.

He’s half-sitting on a prop crate, running a hand through his fur. He notices you immediately. Of course, he does. His grin clicks into place like it’s waiting for an audience.

"Hey there, costume boss," he says. "You saw my message." he adds. "Yep." you say, pointing to your clipboard. "Come to admire my fit?" You stare at him for a beat. "Costume check." He stretches out his arms theatrically. "All yours."

You step forward carefully, eyes on the stitching. You don’t like how casual he is. Not because it’s bad, but just because you don’t know how to handle it. He fills the air too easily. Leaves no space for you to disappear into. "Don’t worry." he adds, voice low and amused.

"I’m not gonna bite." You blink up at him, squinting a little, fingers adjusting the hem of his sleeve. You don’t say anything. He chuckles, more to himself than to you. "You’re quiet. That’s cool. Mysterious."

You frown just a little. Your hands hover at his collar. "Hold still, please." He doesn’t. He stretches dramatically. "You like working backstage?" You nod. He doesn’t wait for more. "You ever think about joining the acting side?"

Your face must’ve made a weird expression, because he grins wider. "No, I already told you this, didn't I?" you say, your voice quiet but final. Bill chuckles. "Yeah, but shame. You’d look good under lights."

You don't answer that. Just tug his belt into place, pretending not to think too hard about that sentence. "Anyway," he says, shifting again, "you done?"

"You’re good." you mumble, stepping back. "Next time, don’t lean on the hanger rack. Your hem’s wrinkled."

"Thanks." he says, with a flash of teeth that might be a smile. "You’re good at this." You mumble a quick "Thank you." But don’t linger.

You scurry off before he can say anything else. You walk away quickly, finding yourself a place behind the curtain where the lights don’t quite reach. Clipboard against your chest like armor.

You wonder where he is. Legoshi. You haven’t seen him since yesterday afternoon outside Louis's office. Since he does lighting, he's probably already up there, hunched over the board, headphones on, eyes heavy with something you can’t name.

He always looks like he’s apologizing for existing. Or like he’s thinking about something terrible and beautiful at the same time. You wonder what he’s thinking about now. If he’s looking down at the stage and imagining himself anywhere else.

"Understand?" The sudden voice slices through your thoughts like a cue line. You snap your head up—Louis stands center, staring everyone down with that sharp, unshakable presence.

"This is a special club. What we show on stage is how both carnivores and herbivores live to the full extent." You straighten up as others around you respond. "Yes!"

You don’t say it. As you watch Louis for a moment longer.

The lights dim.

Louis steps forward.

The play begins.

Chapter Text

You’re standing just offstage, partially concealed by the heavy velvet curtain, your fingers anxiously fiddling with the clipboard in your hands as if it might somehow ground you. The stage lights blaze overhead, their shine blinding you, but your gaze remains riveted on Louis.

He’s center stage, delivering his lines with what should be confidence, yet something feels distinctly amiss. His posture is rigid, betraying an unseen tension that clings to him like a second skin.

His movements are jerky and awkward, as if he’s a marionette struggling against tangled strings, merely mimicking the role rather than fully embodying it.

Suddenly, he staggers—subtly, almost imperceptibly to the audience, but to you, it’s glaringly obvious. It’s as if he’s roping in an extra weight that threatens to pull him down.

"Weird." you mutter under your breath, your heart racing as you observe the light dance over him. He was so smug about nailing his performance, running over every detail with fierce pride. But now? He struggles on.

His voice, usually rich and powerful, begins to slur ever so slightly—a mere whisper of imperfection. Halfway through a key monologue, his breath catches, a brief falter that almost feels like a plea for help, and yet he pushes through with an intensity that suggests he’s trying to outrun his fraying limits.

Applause erupts, filling the space with an electric vibrancy, loud and alive like a burst of fireworks. He hasn’t crashed and burned, at least not in the eyes of the audience. Points for that, you remind yourself, allowing a sliver of relief to seep in.

Louis steps forward to bow, but as the curtains drop in front of him, it all comes crashing down. He collapses onstage as if someone has deftly cut the strings controlling his puppet, and all you can do is watch in stunned silence.

---

The infirmary is thick with the unmistakable scent of antiseptic mingled with the acrid tang of sweat. It hangs heavily in the air, a sterile reminder of the seriousness of the situation, and leaves an unpleasant taste clinging to the back of your throat.

The atmosphere is unnervingly quiet, interrupted only by the faint hum of buzzing overhead lights and the soft, anxious whispers of worried voices nearby. A particularly overpowering cologne, likely Bill’s, adds an intrusive layer to the oppressive air, almost suffocating in its intensity.

Louis groans, shifting uncomfortably in the narrow bed, the sheets crinkling softly beneath him. "Ngh… Ugh…" he mumbles, each sound laced with fatigue and discomfort.

"Louis!" Sanu bursts forward, urgency snapping through his voice. "Louis!" Ellen echoes, her tone equally urgent as she positions herself opposite him.

He pushes himself up a fraction, his eyes barely open, a pained expression etched across his features. "Did I… No, tell me this first. Did the audience see me?" His voice is barely above a whisper, a mixture of worry and determination.

Sanu shakes his head vigorously, relief flooding his expression. "Don’t worry. You didn’t pass out until the curtain was down. The audience didn’t see a thing."

With a slight roll of your eyes at his singular focus, you can’t help but admire his instinct. Louis—prioritizing performance above all else. "Haa… Good." he murmurs, allowing a fraction of tension to dissipate, though the worry lines remain etched on his brow.

From your vantage point at the back of the room, you observe him closely, sweaty, pallid, and with that stubborn glimmer of composure clinging to him like a lifeline. It seems to take far too long for him to succumb to the inevitable.

Bill glances at his watch, the ticking sound practically echoing against the sterile walls. "So, it’s 8 PM now. You’re in the nurse’s office, and apparently, your left leg is fractured. You’re in no shape to perform tomorrow, according to the nurse."

His voice is matter-of-fact, though it carries an undercurrent of worry. "Bill, hey!" Sanu exclaims, caught between frustration and concern.

"What?" Bill shoots back, raising his hands defensively, his gaze unwavering. "We can’t very well keep it from him. It’s Louis we’re talking about."

"But still..." Sanu frowns deeply, his worry palpable. Louis winces at their dynamic, the pain clearly etched on his face. "The president is right." Sheila interjects firmly, her tone brooking no argument. "We need to face the reality of this situation."

"Take a hint." someone mutters from the side, though the sentiment does little to ease the tension that hovers in the room.

One of the onlookers whispers in awe, "Louis made it through the whole first performance with a fractured leg."

"Louis, your performance was amazing!" someone enthuses, her voice bubbling with admiration, a wide grin on her face as she recalls the highlights.

Ellen takes a breath, her expression softening somewhat. "We were discussing what to do about tomorrow." she explains gently.

Tao, shifting uncomfortably, hesitates for a moment before speaking up. "Everyone is coming to watch you, so it pains me to suggest, but..."

His eyes dart to Louis, filled with a mixture of concern and respect. The room holds a heavy silence, as everyone awaits Louis’s response, knowing that whatever comes next will shape the course of events unfolding before them.

You shift your weight, narrowing your eyes. The room is now filled with pity, and Louis looks like he is suffocating under its weight. His gaze drops, and though he doesn’t say it aloud, you can tell he is thinking, What is happening? Why are you all pitying me?

"Hey, are you treating me with kid gloves over a simple fracture?" Louis says, disdain in his voice. "Uh, n-no..." Sanu stammers. "That’s not really what we’re—" he tries to explain, but Louis cuts in.

"Bill."

"Huh?" Bill blinks in confusion.

"Take my place."

Your jaw almost drops. The air in the room shifts as if everyone has forgotten how to breathe. You tighten your grip on your clipboard. "You’re playing Adler tomorrow."

"What? What?! You’ll let me play him?" Bill's voice cracks halfway through that last line. He is stunned. You can’t blame him. You stare at Louis, trying to figure out if this is generosity, pride, or something else entirely.

You let out a short, almost startled gasp. Was the fever getting to him, or were you hallucinating? You look at Louis. He is serious. Stupidly, frustratingly serious. Either he is growing as a person, or he has hit his head too.

If he makes a habit of being likable, you might actually lose it. Bill is still stammering something grateful and disbelieving, but the atmosphere is shifting. The crisis has passed. The drama club is beginning to scatter, voices softening, movements hesitant, as if they aren’t quite sure how to leave without seeming rude.

Moro says something about needing to call home. Tao offers to help carry props tomorrow. Ellen gives Louis one last, meaningful glance before stepping out.

You hang back as the last of the well-meaning goodbyes fade into the silence, leaving the room eerily empty. A palpable tension lingers, charged with unspoken words, as you stand there, frozen in place like a statue.

You busy yourself with your clipboard, scanning the checklist as if it holds the answers to the questions swirling in your mind, anything to avoid the raw urgency of the moment, waiting for the opportune second to break the silence.

Louis is positioned across the room, seemingly unaware of your presence. His posture is relaxed yet defiant, leaning back in his bed with his head tilted slightly, eyes trained on the ceiling as if it has personally offended him. You clear your throat, the sound echoing in the stillness, but he doesn’t react, lost in his thoughts.

"...Why didn’t you tell anyone about your leg?" The question escapes, stark and flat, tumbling from your lips too quickly. You scrunch your brows, the weight of your curiosity and concern colliding with a sudden wave of self-doubt. You’re not someone he knows well—more like a passerby in his world.

For a split second, his gaze flickers toward you, a brief acknowledgment that feels heavy with tension. "Excuse me?" His voice, laced with incredulity, cuts through the air, and you instantly regret your decision to speak up.

"I just—" you stammer, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. "You were limping. You didn’t think to... I don’t know, mention it?"

He exhales sharply, a scoff barely concealing his disdain. The air feels thick with unspoken thoughts, and you know you’re treading on a precarious ledge.

"What would that have accomplished?" he retorts, his tone piercing with cold finality as if he’s already winning an argument you never meant to start.

You fumble for words, the tension enveloping you like a shroud. "I mean—maybe people could’ve helped? You didn't have to power through a fracture like that."

"Help?" His eyes narrowed, a flicker of fire igniting behind them. "This is the stage. No one helps you. You either perform, or you don’t." The weight of his words hangs in the air, and you can’t help but frown.

"That’s... dramatic." you reply, trying to infuse some lightness into the gravity of the conversation. He straightens, and for a moment, pain flits across his expression like a shadow before he clutches it back down, masking vulnerability with bravado.

"I didn’t ask for your opinion." The finality in his tone pierces deeper than you expected. You exhale slowly, fighting to keep your cool. You never intended to lecture him; all you wanted was to understand the whirlwind that had gripped him so tightly he couldn’t see the damage he was inflicting on himself or those around him.

"I wasn’t trying to pick a fight," you say, your voice softening almost instinctively. "You scared people. That’s all. It was hard to watch." Something in his demeanor shifts, the edges of his anger softening ever so slightly. A twitch at the corner of his mouth and a subtle drop in his shoulders betray a flicker of realization.

A long silence stretches between you, filled only by the relentless hum of flickering fluorescent lights overhead. From somewhere in the distance, a faint crack of shoes echoes through the hallway, amplifying the stillness.

The lingering scent of iron in the room hangs heavily, a stark reminder of the struggle that has just taken place. Louis sighs, but it’s not a concession; it's more of a release, like letting go of a heavyweight he didn’t even realize he was carrying.

You regard him for a moment longer, the unspoken connection hanging between you, then glance down at your clipboard. Something inside you shifts, begrudging and small, prompting you to step forward and turn toward the door. "Get some sleep, Louis."

You don’t wait for a reply, but just as you’re about to leave, his voice reaches you, low and almost vulnerable— "...Thanks for staying."

---

You’re pretty sure this jacket used to fit Louis just fine, hugging his frame in all the right places. But now? With Bill trying to shove his linebacker-sized ego and broad shoulders into it, it’s practically a crop top on him.

You’re crouched in the corner of the drama room, half a dozen safety pins clenched between your teeth, desperately plotting a way to modify the seams without the entire back panel exploding mid-monologue.

The walls echo with the scattered sounds of actors rehearsing and a faint whir of the overhead lights, creating a chaotic ambiance that heightens your focus. Your eyes dart between the jacket and the measuring tape sprawled across the floor like a snake waiting for its next prey.

That's when Bill stomps over, his footsteps heavy with self-importance. His tail twitches with excitement, and a grin stretches wide across his face, almost splitting it in half. He strikes a goofy pose in front of you, arms spread wide as if he’s about to be knighted on stage.

"Well? How’s it looking?" he asks, his voice booming with an eagerness that almost drowns out the clamor around you. You put the jacket on him, but the coat seems to have a mind of its own, halfway falling off one shoulder and visibly straining at the seams, desperately clinging to the last threads of its integrity.

You squint at the fabric straining across his chest, your irritation barely masked. "Like it’s in pain." you say flatly. Internally, you can’t help but envision the catastrophic moment when the jacket finally gives out mid-performance, a loud rrrrrip echoing through the theater, followed by a chorus of gasps from the audience.

But knowing Bill, he wouldn’t even bat an eye at the wardrobe malfunction; he’d probably strike another pose, reveling in the chaos.

Bill bursts into laughter, his booming sound way too loud for someone who clearly missed the sarcasm dripping from your words. "Right? That’s what power looks like!"

Oh, is that what we’re calling it? You resist the overwhelming urge to grab fabric chalk and scrawl “OVERCOMPENSATING” in block letters across his forehead.

Instead of responding, you huff in annoyance, snatching up the measuring tape. You circle him like a cautious wildlife observer inspecting a rather volatile animal. Honestly, it’s kind of the same thing.

"I mean, I get it," he continues, leaning in closer, his confidence radiating off him like heat from the stage lights. "It’s a big role. A big moment. Adler’s no joke. Louis trusted me with this, y’know?"

You mumble something that sounds like "sure," forcing yourself not to roll your eyes too obviously. "I was kinda born for this." he beams, a broad grin spreading across his face as he flexes his bicep with exaggerated enthusiasm.

The movement is so animated that it sends a stitch in his sleeve popping with a satisfying yet alarmingly loud snap, echoing across the room.

You shoot him a glare, your irritation palpable, but he dares to wink back at you, completely unfazed by the wardrobe malfunction. With an exasperated sigh, you hastily peel the jacket off him. Just then, he struts confidently toward the stage, radiating charisma.

It’s as if he’s completely oblivious to the ticking time bomb of his jacket, the fabric taut and threatening to give way at any moment, while you can only shake your head at the chaos he seems to invite with every bold move. You get back to work, muttering under your breath,

"Born for this, my ass." It feels therapeutic.

A couple of feet from you, Legoshi stands awkwardly with a practice sword in his hands, gripping it as if it might come to life and bite him. Poor guy looks like he’s ready to apologize to the floor for damaging its dignity. Bill, on the other hand, is practically oozing confidence, puffing up his chest like a peacock flaunting its feathers.

His energy crackles in the air around him, as if someone has cranked his ego up to eleven. "Yes, of course. You’re among the hardest-working actors," he begins, his voice dripping with over-the-top drama.

"And above all, I like your guts for letting me know about my injury right away." He raises his hand dramatically as if accepting a grand award from an invisible crowd. "I choose you!"

Rolling your eyes, you whisper, "Oh, brother." and jab the needle into the jacket with more force than necessary, wincing slightly as it pricks your finger.

Just then, Sanu’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife. "Ahh… Please, Bill. We have to go all-in with the rehearsal tonight." His tone is calm, a reminder of the seriousness lurking beneath the surface.

Bill brushes Sanu’s comment aside with a laugh, his bravado unshaken. "You worried, President? I’ve got both the lines and the movements down. I’d be more worried about…" He trails off, his gaze landing on Legoshi, that familiar smirk returning. Because, of course, God forbid Bill doesn’t have someone to pick on during rehearsals.

Kai walks past Legoshi, carrying a box of props, and rolls his eyes. "Stop acting so upset about it. Some of us want to perform but can’t." A hint of frustration laces his voice, and Legoshi mumbles something under his breath, looking down at the floor.

Bill, however, doesn’t miss a beat, swinging an arm around Legoshi’s shoulders as if they’re the best of pals. "You’ll be fine." Bill assures him, his voice dripping with false camaraderie. "I’ve played it myself, so I know. It’s a tiny role, so it won’t matter if you flub your lines."

You glance up sharply, a sharp pang of indignation slicing through you. Rude. You’re not even the one being talked to, and yet you find yourself offended by the dismissive tone. But then, much to everyone’s surprise, Legoshi bites back, his voice steadier than you expected.

"Then why don’t we just go without it?"

The room falls eerily silent, your hands freezing mid-stitch as you process his words. You can feel the tension crackling in the air.

"Legoshi..." Bill says, shifting from playful to serious in an instant, his facade slipping as he realizes everyone can hear him being a jerk without hesitation.

After a while, they both go on stage, you assume it's to practice, and then the sparring begins. You watch, sewing half-forgotten in your lap, as Bill lunges at Legoshi with an intensity that most people reserve for their fiercest battles.

It’s a flurry of movement, like a whirlwind of raw energy, and surprisingly, Legoshi—a figure often defined by his nervousness—actually blocks the incoming strike.

It’s like witnessing someone who’s been stuck in the shadow of the lighting booth step out and embrace the spotlight for the first time. A glimmer of confidence shines through, transforming the atmosphere in the room.

"Heh… Wow. Not bad, not bad!" Bill cackles, clearly enjoying himself despite being parried by someone who's never held a sword before. They clash again, this time with genuine intensity. It feels authentic, not staged or forced—just something real. You lean forward without even realizing it.

"This is just practice, right?" Sanu asks from the sidelines. Aoba hums in response, remaining focused on the stage. "But it probably reflects how he genuinely feels."

You can see it in the way Bill grips the hilt of his sword, the confidence in his voice, and the wild excitement in his eyes when he declares,

"There’s no reason why we carnivores can’t stand in the spotlight." You blink, taken aback. Huh. That’s surprisingly profound for him.

"Tomorrow," he continues, breathing heavily, "I’ll finally show everyone how brightly someone can shine when they use their strength to its fullest!"

Then, out of nowhere, Legoshi shoves him back. For the first time tonight, Bill looks genuinely surprised. "We’re wolf and Tiger." Bill pants. "We don’t need any fancy theatrics for a fight scene!"

You glance down at the costume and then back at the two of them, locked in a strangely perfect balance of chaos and choreography. You sigh. "Well, if the jacket survives tomorrow," you mutter, "then I’ll be impressed."

---

It was too quiet outside, the kind of silence that settled heavily in the air, making everything feel sharper, more defined. The chill that hung around him seemed to seep into his bones, yet the tension in his chest was a deeper cold altogether.

Footsteps echoed behind him—his own—but they didn’t sound familiar, like a distant rhythm tracking a ghost rather than a living presence. He pressed on, hoping to shake the unease clinging to him.

Bill's words from earlier sliced through his mind like a knife—their sharpness a constant reminder. "We're predators, Legoshi. Stop acting like you’re broken for it." Predators. The idea gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

He wasn't like Bill; he wasn’t loud and boisterous. The notion of embracing that primal identity felt foreign and unsettling. Yet, just as he tried to dismiss the thought, it slipped into his mind uninvited—your presence.

Your scent lingered in his thoughts, an intoxicating mix of warmth and sweetness that sent a rush of conflicting emotions coursing through him. It was dangerously alluring, twisting something deep within him until he felt his breath hitch.

That night—how could he forget? A fleeting moment that stretched into eternity, a heartbeat where instinct had taken over, nearly leading him to—No. He clenched his jaw, trying to expel the memory. You didn’t know it was him; you couldn’t possibly understand how close he hovered on the edge of control.

He remembered how you sat at the edge of the rehearsal space, your demeanor quiet yet undeniably present, as if you were absorbing the very heartbeat of the room. You seemed to seek a rhythm to belong to, and the thought twisted in his chest like a thorn.

But it was more than merely wanting to fit in; something about the way you held yourself captured his attention. His thoughts spiraled, each recollection of your essence scrambling his mind, making every effort to push you away feel increasingly futile.

He knew he should keep his distance, yet each stride felt heavier as he tried to evade the pull of your presence. Then, as if conjured by his thoughts, your scent washed over him again, flooding his senses. Turning, he looked back, locking eyes with you.

"Hi, Legoshi." you say, your voice a soft melody breaking through the tension that had enveloped him.

---

You saw him before he even noticed you—his head tilted down, deep in thought, ears lowered like he was trying to block out the world. For a moment, you considered slipping away unnoticed, letting him remain lost in his contemplation.

But just as you made that decision, he looked back, his gaze meeting yours with a hint of surprise, causing him to halt in his tracks. "Hi, Legoshi." you say, your voice soft yet steady. He blinks, the surprise still dawning in his eyes. "H-Hey." he replies.

"You looked like you were thinking really hard." you add, trying to break the slight tension that lingers between you. He glances down almost immediately, a nervous habit surfacing as he scratches the back of his neck.

"Ah... yeah. Sorry. I do that a lot." he mutters, his voice dropping slightly. "I’ve noticed." you say, trying to soothe whatever anxiety hangs in the air. "It’s kind of interesting." You watch as his ears twitch at your words, and you realize how that must have sounded.

"I mean—not like, creepy interesting—just. You’re… thoughtful. That’s cool." When his gaze meets yours again, there is something almost curious in his expression.

"You think that’s... cool?" he asks, the surprise evident in his tone. "Yeah." you assure him, though you hesitate for a moment longer. "Better than being loud for no reason."

As those words escape your lips, you see a flicker of relief pass over him. "I guess you’re right." he responds, a hint of newfound confidence in his tone.

You shift your weight, emboldened by the growing ease between you. "So," you begin, cautiously testing the waters between the two of you. "How do you feel about getting the role?"

He pauses mid-step, surprise etched across his features. "Huh?" he echoes, shifting uncomfortably, his thoughts racing. "Oh... yeah. I guess."

You raise an eyebrow, trying to gauge his true feelings. "You guess?" His hand drifts back to his neck again, a gesture that reveals his inner discomfort.

"It’s not really... I don’t know. It’s not something I wanted." You study him closely, noting the small frown that forms at the corners of his mouth, almost as if the whole idea is bothering him deeper than he lets on.

"I’m not really good with... being seen." he admits, his voice low and hesitant. "I like helping backstage. Quiet stuff. Blending in."

"You don’t exactly blend in, Legoshi." you state, the words escaping before you can filter them.

He freezes for the briefest moment, his ears twitching in surprise, before he looks away, the weight of that statement resonating with him.

"Yeah... I know." he murmurs, a canvas of emotions painting his features as you both fall into a comfortable silence. "You’re not excited about it at all?" you venture, breaking the delicate silence.

"I don’t like performing." he replies, almost wistfully. "...You’ll be good. Even if you don’t like being watched." His gaze flicks down to you, and in that moment, you catch a fleeting glimmer of something softer in his eyes—maybe surprise, or perhaps a hint of gratitude.

Another pause hangs between you, both awkward yet comforting. "...We should talk more." you blurt out suddenly and immediately cringe inwardly. "I mean—if you want to. We’re always around each other, and—"

"I’d like that." he replies quietly, his sincerity striking you unexpectedly. As you connect with his gaze, you feel a pulse of warmth in your chest, a sudden urge to bridge that gap between the two of you.

Just as you are about to say something more, a familiar voice calls out from a few feet away, interrupting the moment.

"-, Legoshi!" Both of you turn in unison, breaking the spell that had enveloped you. Els jogs up, waving enthusiastically, her smile wide and knowing. You blink, the moment shifting as she glances between you two with a teasing sparkle in her eye.

"I didn’t know you two were hanging out."

"We weren’t." you interject quickly, your cheeks warming slightly as you feel the need to distance yourself. "Just ran into him." You step back, giving Legoshi a small nod, a lingering touch of reluctance edging into your heart. "Good night, Legoshi. Bye, Els."

He opens his mouth as if wanting to say more, but the words get caught in his throat. Before either of you can delve deeper into the conversation, you turn away, your heart fluttering in a way you can’t quite comprehend.

---

You wake up in the dorm wrapped in quiet. "Cool." you mutter to yourself, your voice rough with sleep, each word a reluctant acknowledgment of the morning.

As your eyes squint open slowly, still heavy with the remnants of dreams, the soft morning light spills through the half-closed curtains, casting golden rays that dance across the floor in warm, inviting strips.

Your limbs feel leaden beneath the cozy blanket, each muscle hesitant to move as you lie there for a moment, cocooned in comfort. But your mind is already racing, refusing to stay still. Bill. As Adler.

The realization strikes you like an unexpected chill. You turn, burying your face into the plush fabric of your pillow, groaning in disbelief. Of all people, Bill? After everything he said yesterday and the smug grin plastered across his face, it’s as if he expected a parade to celebrate his triumph.

And there was Louis, handing him the role like it was nothing more than a passing thought, a careless toss of the dice. Reluctantly, you sit up, tossing your blanket aside. Your bare feet touch the cold floor, and the sharp contrast sends a jolt of awareness racing through your body, chasing away the last remnants of sleep.

You remember how Louis looked yesterday—his face drawn and weary, a stark contrast to his usual buoyancy. The worry lingers in the back of your mind, and you can't shake it. You hope he’s okay and pray for his swift recovery.

The shower beckons, and you pull yourself up, stepping in and letting the hot water engulf you. It pours down like a cleansing rain, washing away the fog of sleep and wrapping you in a comforting embrace of steam. The warmth coats your skin, curling around your ears and filling your senses, creating a small sanctuary where worries swim in the mist.

And then there’s Legoshi. You don’t intend to think about him this much; it just happens, like an uninvited guest who refuses to leave. His image flutters through your mind—last night’s memory of him, all hunched shoulders and soft, tentative words, lingers like a song on the tip of your thoughts.

You can’t pinpoint when it began, this gentle crush that has settled beneath your ribcage, making itself known like a persistent heartbeat. It’s undeniably present, rising to the surface in moments like that one—his gaze almost pleading, as if he hoped you would stay a little longer, weaving the threads of your lives together in that fragile, fleeting moment.

You dress slowly, each piece of clothing feeling like a step further into the day. By the time you finally step outside, the morning has blossomed into a vibrant scene. The air carries a fresh, earthy scent tinged with dew and the fragrance of budding leaves, while a light breeze brushes gently against your skin, invigorating and playful as you walk toward your first class.

As you pass a group of students, their laughter fills the air, a bright cascade of sound that dances just out of reach, its meaning lost to you but somehow familiar in its warmth. Their joyous noise softens into the background, becoming part of the morning's symphony.

Your mind, however, begins to wander yet again, drifting uninvited to thoughts of Haru. A frown tugs at your lips; the memory of that argument still stings like an unresolved itch. It felt as though you were each speaking an entirely different language, words crossing paths but never truly connecting.

Leaving things unfinished gnaws at you, a feeling of discontent that lingers. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll find her later to clear the air. The hallway around you hums with the busy chatter of early class-goers, a blend of voices echoing off the polished floors as shoes squeak their way through the throng.

The familiar smell of ink and paper infiltrates your senses, anchoring you in this academic world. And then you see him. Legoshi is already settled in his usual spot in the lecture hall, his notebook wide open but untouched, empty pages awaiting thoughts that seem to have taken flight.

He stares forward, caught in a daydream, completely zoned out. The absence of Jack makes the moment feel quieter, a bubble of stillness hanging in the air.

Suddenly, his head snaps in your direction, as though pulled by an invisible thread. You raise your hand in a small wave, deliberately understated—not too enthusiastic, just enough to catch his attention.

He returns the gesture, shyly surprised, a flicker of warmth igniting in his eyes and causing your chest to swell a little too much for comfort. There’s something genuine in that exchange, something that settles in your heart like a soft glow.

Sliding into your seat as the bell rings, signaling the undeniable start of the day, you can't help but feel that familiar flutter, a mix of excitement and apprehension. But even as the day unfolds with its routine, your thoughts begin to drift once more towards the evening, to the stage waiting in the dim light.

You envision Bill standing confidently under the spotlight, embodying Adler, an icon blossoming before the audience. And in the shadowy corners of your mind, you wonder about whatever comes next—about the possibility of crossing paths with Haru, the unresolved tension knitting itself into the fabric of the day.

---

The low murmur of the audience beyond the curtains vibrates softly underfoot, akin to the gentle hum of bees encapsulated behind glass. Stage lights bleed past the edges of the curtain, casting long, amber slits across the dark, worn floor and painting fleeting shadows that dance with anticipation.

The air in the room is thick with the echo of pre-rehearsal energy, a palpable buzz that hints at the excitement and nerves swirling among the cast. Your eyes flick over to a mirror, its surface lined with smudges and the remnants of the night’s cosmetics, surrounded by an eclectic collection of costume jewelry sparkling in the dim light.

The scent of sawdust lingers, a reminder of the set's recent construction, mixed with the faint, lingering odor of sweat from previous warm-ups—a testament to the hard work and dedication of those involved. You stand off to the side, a silent observer of the organized chaos enveloping you.

Actors dart back and forth, adjusting costumes with nervous energy and meticulously double-checking props as they prepare for the looming performance. The sound of rustling fabric and hurried whispers fills the air, creating a symphony of pre-show activity that thrums with excitement.

Suddenly, the door swings open, and Bill strides in with an undeniable air of confidence as if nothing could possibly faze him. His presence commands attention, and the atmosphere shifts slightly as if the room itself holds its breath.

Sanu steps forward, his eyes bright with concern, wrapped in cheerfulness. "Are you ready? Did you sleep well?" he asks, his voice cutting through the chatter.

"Yeah, I’m good. Why wouldn’t I be?" Bill replies casually, though a flicker of something unspoken lingers in his tone.

Just then, Legoshi, who has been slouched in a dim corner, quietly reciting his lines with his head bowed, emerges from his quiet reverie. His posture straightens as he turns to look at Bill, his nose twitching as if sensing something in the air that the others have missed.

"What is it?" Bill’s casual demeanor remains, but a hint of tension punctuates his words. "Louis and I were just out in the hall gossiping about you—nothing bad, I swear." he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Legoshi stands, his movements deliberate as he inhales deeply, sniffing the air around Bill with an intensity that catches everyone’s attention.

"You’re acting even more strange today." he challenges, his voice low but steady. "What? Hey, you’re making me nervous, pal." Bill adds, his bravado faltering slightly, a trace of unease creeping into his tone.

"Bill." Legoshi begins, his voice pressing forward with urgency, but Bill, suddenly flustered, interrupts. "Oh, I’ve got to go to the bathroom!" he blurts out, his voice rising in pitch as he bolts from the room, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft thud.

"I’ll be right back!" Legoshi calls over his shoulder, his steps quick and determined as he follows Bill, a mix of concern and irritation etched into his features. Just then, Don’s commanding voice breaks the moment, slicing through the tension.

"We go on in ten—hurry up!" he urges, the urgency in his tone drawing everyone’s focus back to the task at hand, the energy in the room sparking back to life as the countdown begins.

What a strange interaction, you think, processing the sudden shift in atmosphere; a mixture of curiosity and amusement dances in your mind.

---

That smell. It hit him like a brick—blood. But this wasn’t the warm, earthy scent of rabbit blood or the faint copper tang of deer. No, this was different. This was human blood. It clawed at his senses—sharp and metallic, an odor both foreign and maddeningly familiar. A cold dread settled in his stomach.

Legoshi felt his breath catch in his throat, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm. He inhaled again, more slowly this time, allowing the scent to seep into his lungs. The richness of it was unmistakable, the metallic bite cutting through the air like a knife. Fresh. Recent.

He turned his head with deliberate caution, his gaze snapping to the tiger who had just swaggered into the room. Bill. The scent clung to him like a second skin—soaked through his shirt, lingering on his breath, clinging to his claws, as if he had just emerged from a slaughterhouse.

But what unnerved him the most was Bill’s demeanor. He was chatting casually with Sanu, weaving words like silk while beneath the surface, the tension in the air crackled like a live wire. Legoshi's muscles locked in place, a shiver running down his spine that he couldn’t shake off.

It wasn’t just the oppressive scent of blood; it was the awareness that human blood was mingling with the words they exchanged. Bill was soaked in it, and yet he acted as if everything was completely normal. The incongruity sent Legoshi’s mind spiraling.

---

Bill slammed the door behind him with a force that echoed through the sterile bathroom, and Legoshi followed silently, the tension thick in the air. The room was saturated with the sharp scent of disinfectant, mingling uncomfortably with an underlying metallic tang that hinted at something more sinister.

The bathroom light above was dim, causing the evening light to cast an unflattering glow in the room, an illusion shattered by the potent smell of blood that hung heavily in the air, almost suffocating.

Bill flinched in surprise as he caught sight of Legoshi standing in the corner, his demeanor unsettlingly calm. "Oh," Bill chuckles nervously, trying to mask his unease. "Didn’t realize you came in behind me, big guy."

But Legoshi remained silent, his piercing gaze locked onto Bill, an intensity that sent a shiver down the other’s spine.

"I should have known a wolf like you would have picked up on it," Bill continues, a hint of bravado in his voice as he reaches into his pocket. "You want a taste?" He pulls out a small vial, its contents glistening ominously in the dim light.

A heavy beat of silence follows, stretching between them like a taut string, punctuated only by the faint hum of the flickering overhead light. "That’s—" Legoshi starts, his voice barely above a whisper, disbelief etched across his features.

"Human blood," Bill finishes, his tone almost casual.

"Hey, it goes without saying it’s not -'s" he catches himself, correcting the implication. With a sly grin, Bill adds, "A rebel senior slid it to me. Thought it might come in handy, you know? And, well, I’d say this definitely counts as an emergency, don’t you think?"

His eyes sparkle with a mix of mischief and desperation, waiting for Legoshi’s reaction, the tension still thick as they stand amidst the unsettling embrace of the bathroom’s sterile façade.

His blood surges with a fierce heat, drowning out all rational thought as the pounding in his ears grows louder. Every instinct screams out a warning—not for himself but for you.

Uninvited images flood his mind; your laughter ringing through the air, your presence weaving through the classroom and hallways like a sweet, intoxicating scent that clings to his senses.

"I should tear your throat out." Legoshi growls, his voice a low, trembling threat that barely masks the tempest roiling within him.

Bill steps forward, his grin fading into a tight line of disbelief. "You’re not going to do anything." That was the spark he needed.

With a surge of adrenaline, Legoshi lunged forward, a blur of raw emotion and repressed anger.

---

Backstage, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation as Sanu rifled through his clipboard before checking his watch, a frown deepening on his brow. With a sharp sigh that cut through the din of muffled voices and rustling costumes, he glanced up at you, concern etched on his face.

"They’ve been in the bathroom for quite a while," he says, his voice low and tense. "Can you go and check on them? The play’s about to start." You nod, determination propelling you forward as you jog down the dimly lit hallway.

The clamor of backstage chaos gradually fades into a hushed stillness with each step. As you approach the bathroom, the sterile smell of cleaner mingles with the faint scent of sweat—a sharp reminder of the adrenaline that fills the air before a performance.

You stop at the door, which stands ajar, revealing a sliver of a dull fluorescent light spilling into the hallway. With a sense of urgency building inside you, you raise your knuckles and knock firmly, the sound echoing in the quiet space. Inside, you hear a soft thump and the shuffling of feet, leaving you momentarily on edge.

Then there is silence. You blink.

"Hey." you call, your voice cutting through the stillness. "The show’s starting. Are you coming or not?" After a brief pause that feels like an eternity, a familiar voice emerges, rough and slightly breathless.

"Yeah. We’re coming." You let out a small sigh of relief, hoping they would hurry before the audience lost their patience.

---

From your hidden vantage point, you watch as Bill and Ellen occupy the center of the stage. Dancers surround them, awash in a harsh, unyielding spotlight that casts sharp shadows across their faces. The tension in the air is so suffocating that it feels almost tangible, pressing against your skin like a heavy cloak.

You find yourself immersed in the drama, a silent observer caught between reality and the world of the play. Who wouldn’t want to be up there, feeling the rush of adrenaline and the thrumming heartbeat of the narrative?

Bill exudes an aura of confidence, yet there’s an unsettling chill in his demeanor, something predatory lurking just beneath the surface. In contrast, Ellen is the embodiment of anxiety, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps as she grapples with the gravity of their predicament.

"Why are those flames chasing after us?" Ellen's voice trembles, her wide eyes reflecting sheer terror. Bill’s response slices through the tense atmosphere with a sharpness. "You were supposed to die three days ago."

"Water, wind, fire—all the messengers of the elements want you dead," he declares, swinging his sword with an exaggerated flourish. You can't help but think how theatrical it all is. Ellen, bewildered, glances around as if expecting the elements themselves to appear before her.

"So, you mean they’re not just chasing us?"

"That's right." Bill replies, his words imbued with an unsettling finality. "That’s what it means to defy fate."

You lean back against a nearby cool wall, letting out an involuntary sigh. Fate? Really? It’s a cliché as old as time, and yet, here you are, unable to tear your gaze away from the spectacle.

Bill’s exaggerated villainy has a strange attraction, a melodrama that draws you in despite your better judgment. Ellen's fear feels raw and authentic; you can almost reach out and touch it. The air around you thickens, with the temperature rising in response to the intensity of their confrontation.

Bill freezes momentarily, as if he has forgotten his lines. It serves him right for his big ego.

"It’s okay, leave this to me," he says hurriedly, urgency wrapping around his words like a noose. "I’ll end your life—that’s my duty." The conviction in his tone is unmistakable.

"Don’t forget," Bill continues, his voice deepening into a declaration, "I’m Adler, the reaper!" The audience erupts, their murmurs swelling like a tempest brewing in the distance.

A ripple of confusion washes over the faces in the crowd. "That Adler isn’t Louis, right?" one student whispers, peering at the stage with wide eyes. "Yeah, it looks like it." another replies, a touch of incredulity coloring their voice. "No antlers, for one."

"What a fraud." several voices echo, a chorus of discontent surfacing among the audience.

Bill’s face contorts in anger, emotions churning within him like a storm. Clenching his fists, he fights to regain his composure.

"I-I won’t let… anyone…" he stammers, each word a struggle, his thoughts racing like wild horses. Calm down, he urges himself, but his voice trembles under the weight of his resolve.

With fierce determination, he grits his teeth, anger igniting a fiery resolve within him.

"Until then, I won’t let anyone lay a hand on you!" he declares, grasping Ellen’s arm with a protective urgency and swiftly leading her offstage.

As the lights dim momentarily, enveloping the theater in an eerie stillness, they flicker back to life to reveal Bill standing alone at center stage. His silhouette is cast strong against the backdrop, an unwavering figure of determination as he gazes out into the sea of faces, a storm of emotions roiling within him.

"Ellen," Bill calls, his voice steady and resolute as if it carries the weight of finality. "With the rose thorns you wished to see, even I—a reaper—could end my own life." His words hang in the air like an ominous gust, whispering secrets only he understands.

"Don’t worry," he adds, though the reassurance feels hollow, a fragile veneer over deep-seated despair. "There is no one left to chase you."

Bill’s voice grows colder, more definitive. "This is farewell, Ellen. This is the path I choose. I will decide my own resting place."

As if summoned by fate, Legoshi emerges, his presence commanding immediate attention. His footsteps echo hauntingly through the hall, resonating like a heartbeat, as he strides onto the stage, eyes locked fiercely on Bill.

Legoshi's gaze never wavers; it bores into Bill’s soul with an intensity that feels almost predatory. Hey, Bill, he thinks, darkness tinging his inner voice. If you claim the human blood you drank justifies your actions, then let’s see what you’ve truly gained from it.

Bill’s lips twist into a sneer, disdain dripping from his words. "So you’re the last demon?" he spits, his sneer betraying a mix of contempt and irritation.

You whisper under your breath, "Huh—Legoshi? His part isn't for like another two scenes." Your eyes widen as he advances onto the stage.

Legoshi clenches his fists, resolve igniting within him like a flame. I’ll tear it all to shreds, he thinks, determination surging through his veins as he tosses aside his prop sword like a mere toy. Without a moment's hesitation, he lunges at Bill, unleashing a powerful punch that catapults Bill backward, the speed and force almost supernatural.

"Ugh!" Bill gasps, the wind violently expelled from his lungs. The audience erupts in shocked gasps, a wave of disbelief rippling through the crowd.

"What the—" one student murmurs, incredulity coloring their voice. "Ahh!" another shouts, the surprise evident in their tone, as if the stage has come alive with an unpredictable energy.

Bill struggles to regain his footing, desperation in his voice as he croaks, "H-Hey! Hold on, are you nuts?" His protest falters, overshadowed by the looming threat of Legoshi, who is already on him, tackling him to the ground in a decisive movement.

When Legoshi slams Bill down, you nearly jump. The sudden intensity of the scene takes you by surprise; he is so unrestrained. You find it impossible to look away. The audience roars with excitement, but their cheers fade into the background of your mind.

All your focus is on Legoshi, captivated by the precision of his strikes, each blow landing with calculated ferocity. You feel your breath hitch in your throat with every powerful impact. This is definitely not part of the play; what is he doing?

"I won’t forgive you!" Legoshi shouts, his voice fierce, resonating with unyielding anger as he pummels Bill relentlessly. The sound of fists meeting flesh echoes across the stage, a stark rhythm to the chaos unfolding. Forgive him for what?

Bill fights back, frustration and pain etched on his features as he barely manages to catch one of Legoshi's fists.

"Dammit!" he curses under his breath, his voice strained and desperate. But before he can regain control, Legoshi retaliates with another punch, yanking Bill's mask off in one swift motion.

The crowd is enraptured, their collective energy crackling in the air, drawing them even deeper into the unfolding drama. The once-structured performance has transformed into a raw, emotional spectacle that pulsates with life, leaving everyone on the edge of their seats.

And then, just as quickly as it started, you feel a pang of something—maybe pity? But Bill’s face doesn’t inspire much sympathy. His mask of bravado slips, and you can almost see the fear beneath it.

Legoshi has been punching Bill for God knows how long, the stage lights catching the sweat on their fur. Bill suddenly grips Legoshi’s hand.

"That's enough, Legoshi." he sneers, standing up and pushing Legoshi back. "Is this your idea of punishment? Are you really such a perfect carnivore yourself?" Legoshi’s chest heaves as he meets Bill's eyes.

"Dammit…" he mutters, his mind swirling with conflicting thoughts. Bill turns Legoshi away from the stage before hugging him tightly.

"In the end, you’re no different from me. You’ve smelled human blood before, haven’t you?" Bill says quietly, pressing tighter, his fingers digging into Legoshi’s flesh as he continues to taunt him. "Was it your prey? Did you kill it?" A smirk forms on his lips.

Legoshi winces, his hands trembling as his thoughts race. "Now, silence! You’re no different from me. You’ve got blood on your hands, too." Bill shouts. His grip tightens further, scratching the wolf's back.

"Legoshi," he says softly, almost pityingly, "I’m leaving these striped marks on your back as a token of friendship. You can barely stand. Give it up already. If you fall down, the play will be wrapped up nicely."

The blood dripping down my back, the blood of a carnivore—I am just like him, the wolf thinks. It’s warm, yet it revolts me. I’ve always struggled with blood.

Bill steps back, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as the wolf falls. "Pathetic wolf, surrender." Bill says. He picks up his prop sword, raising it high for the final blow.

"I'm the star! At least let me land a cool finishing blow." he taunts, putting his foot on Legoshi’s chest, his voice dripping with arrogance.

But before he can strike, a figure moves quickly through the chaos: Louis. The crowd cheers as he appears on stage, his presence commanding. "Wow, Louis." you mutter under your breath. He’s still limping.

Bill’s sword clatters to the ground as Louis knocks it from his hand. Holding a prop sword and wearing the Adler mask, he says, "You seem to be having fun here." His voice is filled with disdain. The students erupt in applause.

"Sorry, but you’re back to being a villain," Louis continues, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He dons the Reaper mask with ease, which fits him perfectly.

"I know your true identity," Louis says, jabbing the sword at Bill, his voice rising as he circles him. "False ghost, let me show you who the true reaper is."

The audience erupts in cheers, and the tension between them grows thicker with each passing second. "Legoshi, keep your back to me. Don’t let the audience see it," he says to the wolf quietly.

He turns his attention back to Bill.

"The sins you’ve committed... I know all about them. Why don’t you have a taste of my blood, too? That way, you can become a true reaper."

As the scene unfolds, you realize you’re not just watching the performance; you’re living it. Every punch, every word, every glance... It’s like you're in the middle of it, with your emotions and thoughts tangled up in the story.

"Now, begone!" he shouts. "An impostor has no place here!" Bill hesitates for a moment before retreating, his steps hurried as he flees offstage, defeated.

The lights shift, focusing on Louis and Legoshi. "Now you, too, must disappear with the morning dew, along with me, my life fading," he says softly, extending his hand toward the injured wolf.

"It’s okay, you’re alright now," he says to Legoshi. The wolf, shaking with exhaustion, reaches out and grasps Louis’s hand. The crowd cheers as they stand together.

Legoshi’s thoughts swirl as he gazes at Louis’s slender hand. Louis’s hand... it invites him to stand up straight.

As Louis stands there, putting on his best "I’m so powerful despite my injury" act, you just shake your head. You don’t dislike him, but it feels like watching a privileged kid play superhero. You wish he’d take a step back sometimes.

The applause continues to thunder through the theater as Legoshi and Louis stand side by side, united in their final act.

In that quiet moment between them, you feel a rush of emotions.

What beautiful improvisation!

Chapter Text

The unforgettable performance from the night before had undoubtedly set the student body abuzz, creating a palpable energy that crackled through the halls like the charged atmosphere before an impending storm. Whispers echoed off the walls, carrying exuberant tales thick with an intoxicating blend of excitement and incredulity.

“Extra! Extra! Find out the truth behind the drama’s second performance! It’s a special issue you won’t want to miss!” a voice shouted. “Who is this wolf? What a freak.” a student remarked, glancing at a newspaper with her friends.

“Yeah, I missed the performance yesterday.” a parrot chimed in. “I went.” her donkey friend added. “Really?” she replied. “You were there? How was it?” another friend asked.

“It was so violent! There was hitting, kicking, and—can you believe it?—A wolf pulled out a machine gun!” the donkey exclaimed, her eyes wide and gleaming with a mix of thrill and absurdity.

The sheer outrageousness of the night’s events seemed to ignite imaginations, with each retelling adding new layers of exaggeration and drama, transforming the ordinary into an extraordinary spectacle.

Come on, the Labrador thought in disbelief as he rolled his eyes. He strode purposefully down the brightly lit hallway, the muted sounds of his footsteps echoing against the cold, hard walls.

The hallway stretched longer than he had anticipated, and as he walked, sunlight streamed through the windows. That story’s way too distorted to be true, he mused, shaking his head as if trying to dispel the absurdity of the tale from his mind.

The air felt heavier as he approached a set of large double doors. As he pushed them apart, a refreshing breeze enveloped him, welcoming him to the expansive rooftop terrace where a deserted swimming pool lay waiting.

He stepped closer, a rush of anticipation coursing through him as he prepared to climb down the empty pool. The tiled floor, once alive with vibrant splashes of color, now lay quiet and still. Its surface shimmering under the golden sun above.

With deliberate strides, he approached the wolf, who sat poised at an edge inside the pool, a serene guardian of the tranquil scene. Suddenly, he tossed the plastic bag in his hand. "I'm back, think fast." he said as he climbed down the pool.

Walking over to the wolf, he said, "An egg sandwich and plain soy milk." His tone was casually warm. The enticing scent wafted invitingly through the silence, causing the wolf’s stomach to rumble in response. "Thanks."  He replied.

As the wolf opened the container, he looked at the sandwiches, the wrapping crinkling softly in his grip—an audible reminder of the comfort contained within. Jack chuckled softly, a small piece of bread in his mouth as he sat down.

“Legoshi, you’re smart, avoiding the cafeteria or the kiosk today.” he said, a playful glint in his eyes before he pulled up a newspaper beside him.

"I thought so. What was it like?" he said. "Uh, let's just say your little improv last night made the front page of the school newspaper. Everybody bought one." Jack replied. "The front page? Are you serious?" the wolf asked.

The wolf's breath hitched, and his heart pounded as the bold, sensational headline jumped out at him from the page. Each letter felt like a jolt of reality that snapped him into stillness. The air seemed to thicken around them, the world outside fading as the weight of the moment settled in, charged with unspoken questions and apprehension.

“I bought myself a copy as well.” Jack announced, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “It says, ‘Birth of a Dark Hero.’”

Hadn't Jack realized that his performance had transcended mere acting? The thought lingered in the back of his mind like a haunting melody he couldn't quite place. But if he was spending time with him as usual, he probably didn't notice that he wasn't exactly acting on that stage. Laughter broke through his thoughts.

"This photo is really incredible! I mean, since when did you and Louis get so close?" Jack said, looking through the newspaper. "Well, it's not like that. A lot happened up there, which is why this article doesn’t exactly show what—" he started to explain. "Huh?" Jack interrupted.

"In short, Louis is the one who should be praised." he said, acknowledging the trouble he had caused. What was he supposed to say when he saw him?

---

“Listen to me, forget what I said. I'm taking back my words,” Louis said, the weight of shared secrets and unspoken connections surrounding them. “The play was a success, just as we rehearsed it,” Louis added, his voice steady and calm, cutting through swirling emotions like a beacon. “Act it out till the end. Understood?”

“Yes.” he and Bill responded in unison, their voices filled with a mix of apprehension and commitment. Was that message aimed at him? The weight of Louis’s words settled heavily, stirring a storm of implications that were both thrilling and daunting.

---

“Legoshi. Has your anger settled?” Jack teased, a playful grin casting a stark contrast to the thick tension that hung in the air as if it were the calm before a storm. “Anger?” he echoed, the memory of the brawl scene streaking through his mind like a lightning flash. “Yeah, of course, that brawl scene wasn’t an act, duh.”

"What-how did you..." he stuttered, dropping his sandwich, the realization crashing over him like a cold wave on a frigid shore. “Hey, don’t let it go to waste. Remind me how many years we've been friends.” Jack said, offering him the fallen sandwich. His smile was warm and unwavering, a beacon of familiarity amidst the tide of uncertainty. “Eat—five-second rule, you know you want it.”

Grabbing the sandwich, he took a bite. "Cheer up already! You get depressed too easily." Jack said with a grin that warmed Legoshi’s heart. Jack always seemed to see right through him, peeling back layers with each shared glance and revealing vulnerabilities he had never intended to expose.

"That's how I've wanted to live: getting depressed and cheering myself up," he muttered, the weight of unacknowledged emotions hanging heavy in the cool afternoon air. "What?" Jack said, "I've always preferred to stay unnoticed.

But yesterday, for the first time, I didn't want that. I just wanted to vent my anger. I didn't want to keep it under control. I mean, my feelings are my own, so... I can't really explain it." He stood up, gazing at the sky. "It's okay to feel like that sometimes. You don't like it?"

"I don't like the fact that I don't mind it," the wolf admitted, looking back at his friend with a hint of confusion mixed with the weight of newfound emotion. "Stop whining. No, I’m glad. You’ve never been so lively before, Legoshi." Jack declared, radiating encouraging cheerfulness. "Really?" Legoshi said, his voice full of surprise.

"You're fine."

---

“To be honest, you look a bit drained lately. Is there any particular reason I should know about?” Jack asked as they walked, his eyes shining with curiosity as he leaned forward, eager for a revelation. “A reason? I don’t really know.” Legoshi mumbled, his gaze flickering away as the weight of the question pressed down on him.

“Could it be that you’ve fallen in love?” Jack teased, a playful smirk spreading across his lips, his voice light with mischief.

Suddenly, Legoshi froze, his heart racing as the question hung in the air. His thoughts turned to you, thick with the tension of unspoken secrets. The laughter of distant students faded into the background as Jack began to dance, twirling with exaggerated flair and a bright grin.

"Oh, my tail is swinging; maybe I’m in love! Le-Le-Legoshi, Le-Le-Le-Le-Legoshi!" he sang, his voice rising like a joyful melody.

Jack gasped, his wide eyes sparkling with realization as he noticed Legoshi's silence—a silence that spoke volumes.  "Your tail's wagging—wait, really? After 17 years?! You've never had a girlfriend since the beginning of never. Wow, you really have changed." he exclaimed. "Let's hurry to class." The wolf said desperately, trying to redirect attention away from himself.

“Who is it? Let's see... female wolves in our class... that one and that...” Jack mused, his voice tinged with uncertainty as the warmth of the sun reflected off Legoshi’s fur.  “A canine, then? We have four options in our class... unless I'm completely off track,” Jack chirped.

"Well, that part is true." the wolf added. "She’s not a wolf? Is she a canine?" he asked, speed walking after his friend as onlookers observed the scene.

For a moment, the world seemed to fade away as Legoshi struggled to come to terms with the weight of his revelation.

---

You wake to the pale morning light spilling gently through the blinds, casting soft golden lines across the floor like delicate brush strokes on an artist’s canvas. Dust particles float lazily in the air, catching the sunlight as they dance slowly, shimmering like tiny stars in an invisible sky.

The dorm room is enveloped in a serene silence, the stillness only broken by the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock—a gentle reminder of time marching on. Your body feels heavy, burdened by the weight of last night’s stress, which clings to you like a thick fog, wrapping around you in an uncomfortable embrace.

The sheets are twisted and crumpled around your legs, warm from sleep yet strangely suffocating, a cocoon from which you must emerge.

With a slow push, you lift yourself, rubbing your eyes until the sleep-induced haze begins to dissolve, revealing the room’s familiar contours. The faint scent of yesterday clings to you—a blend of backstage dust, stale sweat, and that peculiar stage fog that lingered in the air.

Thoughts drift uninvited back to the play, memories flashing vividly in your mind: lines veering off-script, the weight of silence hanging heavily in the wings, and yet—everything somehow falling into place. The audience remained blissfully unaware, entranced. Perhaps it was merely good acting. Or maybe, just perfectly orchestrated timing.

But the amusement fades quickly, replaced by a heavy knot tightening in your chest. Your gaze is drawn, almost against your will, to the phone next to you, its faint charging light blinking steadily—like a beacon reminding you of the outside world you’ve tried so hard to keep at bay.

With a resigned sigh, you push yourself out of bed, your fingers brushing over your disheveled hair, a wild bird trying to free itself from its cage. The floor is icy against your bare feet, the chill creeping up your legs like a playful specter, contrasting sharply with the warmth of the sheets you’ve just left behind.

You shuffle into the bathroom and turn on the shower, the old pipes groaning in weary protest before releasing a sputtering stream of water that gradually grows steady. You step in, embracing the cascade.

Steam rises quickly, wrapping around you like a comforting fog, obscuring the mirror and clouding your thoughts with warmth. The water, almost painfully hot, kisses your skin, the burn becoming a welcome sensation that seeps into your weary muscles, loosening tension and clearing the cobwebs from your mind. You lean your cheek against the cool tile, eyes closed, surrendering to the soothing torrent.

You’re thinking about her.

About Haru.

The last time you saw her plays in your mind like an echoing refrain… that look on her face, a swirling cocktail of hurt, defensiveness, and anger still lingers, settling deep in your heart like an unsettling shadow, each emotion sharper than the last, prickling at the edges of your consciousness.

Once dressed, you move quietly, the weight of your bag slipping over your shoulder, the fabric of your dress brushing against your skin as you head out into the hall. The outside air is crisp and invigorating, the kind that bites at your skin and stirs your senses.

The path to the rooftop garden should be mostly deserted at this hour; the early risers have yet to emerge from their dreams, leaving the world in a hushed stillness.

Your shoes create an oddly loud echo against the silent floor, the sound stark in the tranquility, as you walk, stepping briskly up the stairs. You slow down as the door to the building's rooftop comes into view, knowing she’s likely there.

You push open the door, and the hinges creak softly, breaking the morning silence. The rooftop garden is barely awakening, shrouded in morning dew that glistens like tiny jewels scattered across the leaves.

Each drop clings stubbornly to the petals, catching the faint light of dawn and scattering it in soft rainbows. The planters, dark with moisture, seem to pulse with life, the soil freshly turned in places, inviting the sweet promise of spring.

You catch the earthy scent of damp soil and the intoxicating sweetness of blooming flowers on the breeze, alongside the faint trace of fertilizer, the sweet aroma soaking into your clothes and mingling with the memories of your past conversations.

With each breath, the air fills your lungs, vibrant, a blend of renewal and nostalgia. The garden seems to breathe with you, the gentle rustling of leaves and the soft cooing of distant pigeons creating a symphony that envelops you.

You notice the vibrant greens of the plants amidst splashes of color from early blooms, and the way the light dances through the branches, casting playful shadows on the ground.

It's a world filled with potential, but all you can think about is her—her absence like a tangible weight, pulling at your heart as you step further into the sanctuary, searching for her gaze among the flourishing life all around you.

And there she is.

Kneeling in front of a bed of tulips—pale lavender ones, their delicate petals trembling slightly in the gentle breeze, like a whisper of color against the muted backdrop of morning. The faint scent of earth and blooming flowers intertwines in the air, a soft perfume that grounds the scene.

She wears gloves, her small hands moving methodically, each motion imbued with purpose as she gently loosens the soil with a hand trowel, the faint scraping sound mingling with the distant chorus of birds greeting the dawn.

Engrossed in her task, she occasionally pauses, her ears twitching ever so slightly, attuned to sounds you can’t hear, perhaps the flutter of wings or the rustle of the grass.

She hasn’t noticed you. Or maybe she has. Maybe she just doesn’t want to engage. You clear your throat, the sound echoing against the quietness of the morning, your voice catching slightly on the departure. “Hey.” She doesn’t turn. “Took you long enough.”

You hesitate at the arch, your hand brushing against the rough frame, feeling the texture of the brick beneath your fingertips. The air is crisp, stirring a sense of uncertainty as you contemplate your next move.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me.” you admit, the sincerity of your words hanging in the chilled air, a tangible weight between you like the dense fog that hangs just above the ground. “I didn’t.” she replies, her voice flat, devoid of warmth, like a winter's breeze sweeping through a desolate landscape.

“But I hoped you’d show up anyway.” You take a few tentative steps closer, the air crisp and laden with the scent of dew-soaked earth.

Kneeling next to her, the sharpness of a rock pricks your finger as you stabilize yourself, the exterior biting into your skin. The ground beneath your fingers is slightly damp, a reminder of the morning’s chill.

It’s cold and rough, a jarring contrast to the delicate softness of the vibrant tulips that sway gently nearby, their colors bright against the muted backdrop of early spring. You flick it away. “I just…” You start, your voice low and edged with vulnerability, as if each word is a fragile crystal ball waiting to shatter. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

That gets her to pause; you can almost see the thoughts racing behind her narrowed gaze. Her fingers stutter in their movements, and her ears flick back, turning your way, the soft twitch a sign of her curiosity mixed with caution. “For what, exactly?” she inquires, her tone sharp, cutting through the heavy morning quiet like a blade easing through the fog.

“For misreading the situation.” you explain, feeling the weight of regret settle over you like a heavy cloak. The sun peeks through the clouds, casting a diffused glow around her, highlighting the tension in her posture. “I thought you might’ve been hurt.”

She carefully pulls off her gloves, one finger at a time, the soft crinkling of plastic punctuating the silence between you, echoing in the stillness of the morning. “You were worried.”

“Yeah.” you reply, the word thick with unexpressed emotions, swelling in your throat like a tide threatening to overflow its banks.“But you also didn’t trust me to handle it.” The words hit you harder than you expect. “Yeah. That, too, I guess.”

The silence that follows is empty. It hangs in the air, thick and palpable, like the humidity before a storm, filled with everything you’re not saying and the things you wish you’d expressed sooner.

“I overreacted.” she admits at last, her voice barely above a whisper, softening like a fragile melody carried on a gentle breeze. “You didn’t deserve that. I was just—embarrassed and scared, I guess. I thought that wolf had told you everything, and it left me feeling… weak. Like I needed someone else to speak for me.”

“I wasn’t trying to speak for you,” you murmur, your tone gentle, careful as if handling a delicate piece of glass. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I know.” she replies, letting her gaze drop momentarily to the ground, where the sun spills warm rays over the patchy grass. The vibrant greens sparkle as they dance in the light, and you can almost feel the warmth seeping into your skin. “And I’m sorry. I get defensive. It’s just—I'm not used to people caring that much.”

When she finally meets your gaze again, her eyes, dark and clear as a deep pool shimmering beneath the noonday sun, lock onto yours. The tension in her expression unfurls like a bud blossoming into a flower, revealing the exhaustion intricately woven into the fabric of her being. A hint of sadness lingers there, a shadow whispering at the edges of her smile.

“I’m not a fragile little herbivore.” she adds, a faint smile tugging at her lips, illuminating her face in the soft light like the first blush of dawn. You let out a faint laugh, the sound a little cracked around the edges, like an old record playing a nostalgic tune. “I know that. You’re probably stronger than most herbivores.”

“Damn right, I am.” Her confidence adds warmth to the moment, sparking a lightness between you and filling the air around you with an almost palpable energy.

“You know that wolf has a name.” you say, curiosity weaving through your words, urging her to share. “Tell me about him.” The sun climbs higher in the sky, casting a golden hue over the garden as if the world itself is basking in warmth.

Light filters through the slats in the railing, creating playful stripes that wink across the ground, mingling with the shadows of nearby flowers, brightly swaying in the breeze.

Bees hum lazily near the far corner, their gentle buzz punctuating the stillness, while somewhere in the distance, a bird begins to sing—a sweet, melodic tune that carries through the air, lifting the moment into something almost ethereal.

You both linger a while longer in that garden, wrapped in the cocoon of conversation, where the air is thick with warmth and the scent of blooming petals and fresh earth. The world feels vibrant and alive, buzzing with possibility.

Teasing.

Catching up.

And the air between you begins to feel whole again, like the threads of a tapestry weaving back together, each moment stitching you closer in an intricate design of connection and understanding.

---

It’s been a month since you transferred to Cherryton, and already the seasons have shifted, though you hardly noticed. Summer has crept in softly, like a warm sigh filling the air with promise.

The school uniforms have transitioned to short sleeves and polos, the fabric lighter and more breathable, yet the humidity clings stubbornly to your skin, making you acutely aware of every bead of sweat trickling down your back.

The colors of the clothing around you seem slightly faded, worn down by the relentless sun. Outside, cicadas fill the air with their loud, buzzing chorus, punctuating the hazy afternoon. The scent of anticipation mingles with the earthy smell of asphalt and something sweet, possibly blooming flowers, as the Festival of the Meteor approaches.

Everyone is buzzing with excitement, discussing outfits, potential companions, and secretive plans to slip away without a permit.

You find yourself seated cross-legged on the floor in the back of the drama club, surrounded by your fellow clubmates: the chunky red panda named Fudge, the agile mongoose Kai, Don the imposing peacock, the meticulous anteater Kibi, and the enigmatic Legoshi.

The nostalgic smell of paint, paper, and worn wood fills your nostrils, a comforting reminder of countless afternoons spent in creative bliss. You fidget, glancing at the cracked, uneven floorboards and feeling the cool wall against your back. Your legs are criss-crossed, and you can’t help but wonder what kind of summer adventures await.

Suddenly, Sanu, the enthusiastic club president, strides in, clutching a colorful flyer with a broad smile plastered across his face. “Like last year, we’re invited to participate in the Festival of the Meteor again. And of course, we plan on accepting!”

His announcement sends a wave of cheers rippling through the room, igniting the excitement in everyone except your art team, who remain seated with varying expressions of resignation.

“Hurray! We can go out to the city without a permit again!” Sheila pipes up, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. “Count us in!” adds Tao, pumping a hand up in delight.

But Sanu quickly reminds everyone, “Hey, you guys, you’re not going there to have fun. You’re helping out with the festival.” A chorus of “Okay!” erupts, almost instinctively, as if everyone has been programmed to comply.

“The art team will be busy this year.” Don announces, his voice commanding attention. “Let’s have a meeting at the warehouse.” You shift on the floor, hugging your knees, a mix of excitement and apprehension swirling within you.

A weary “Okay” sounds through your group, and you think it might be Fudge, who is still contemplating the looming workload while vibrant thoughts of summer dance in your mind.

Arriving at the warehouse, the air is thick with the musty scent of aged wood and dusty treasures. Nearby, a giant papier mâché dinosaur is falling apart, surrounded by other items that have seen better days. Don paces once and says, “I guess we shouldn’t reuse last year’s work.”

You share an unspoken understanding, even if you don’t say it out loud. “Why dinosaurs, anyway?” Kai asks, stretching his arms overhead as the fabric of his shirt pulls taut across his shoulders. Without missing a beat, Don replies, “Dinosaurs are the ancestors of all animals and are treated as gods.” You can’t help but doubt that idea; it doesn't seem logical for humans.

“They say when they were wiped out by the meteor, it was summer,” he adds, his voice dropping, laced with a reverence that hangs in the air like smoke. You can tell he’s getting into it now; his passion is infectious. “The season of endings. And beginnings.”

The anteater finally speaks, his voice carrying a hint of erosion, like old stones weathered by time. "A festival to welcome the ghosts of extinct dinosaurs? That’s just a front. Everyone is just looking forward to the lighting ceremony on the last day." You can't blame them—the festival itself sounds boring.

“They say,” the aardvark continues, “that if a couple places a lighted candle on a meteor, they’ll be together forever.” You can't help but think about this unique activity as a way to relieve some stress from school. Would Haru participate in the festival?

By now, you've all left the building, walking into the evening and wandering toward the unknown. "How can I put it?" the anteater murmurs, and you sense a shared understanding in the quiet hum of anticipation. "It’s an event for social animals." He sounds exceptionally jealous.

But you know what he means. The dancers, the actors—they’ll all be there. Each person pretending it’s just another tradition when really, everyone’s just looking for an excuse to hold someone’s hand under the stars, the night wrapping around them like a warm blanket.

The sun has already begun to dip, casting a warm, heavy glow over the bricks and pavement, turning the world golden. Everyone from the meeting walks in a loose line, footsteps echoing in pairs, the sound creating a rhythm that wraps around you.

You find yourself walking next to Legoshi, his tall frame a comforting presence beside you now that you’re looking at it. His pace slows slightly, instinctively matching yours.

"I'm sure all the actors will be busy after the event," Kai says, shaking his head, a hint of annoyance on his face. "Partying with their lovers."

"Dancers, too." the aardvark chimes in, his tone carrying an edge. There's something sharper there—jealousy, a hundred percent. "Let it be," Don interjects, letting out a sigh that suggests he’s trying to prevent any downward spirals. "It means they're relying on us."

Kai groans. "That’s not what I mean. They might think we have nothing else to do that day. Can’t they see the burden we carry?" his words resonate with you. It's the feeling of being needed simply because no one expects you to be busy, or worse, because they think you shouldn’t be. You frown as you think about the workload that lies ahead.

You pick at a fleck of paint on your wrist, mulling over what you'd wish for if you had a candle and a meteor. You honestly don’t know. “Maybe they should give us a break once in a while. We have one guy on the art team you definitely don’t want to upset. It's pretty stressful." Fudge mutters. It’s been a month since that incident, and your gaze shifts toward Legoshi.

The air is thick with unspoken thoughts. You look around, and no one seems to know how to respond. That was quite out of pocket, and bringing it up was just petty.

---

“Maybe they should give us a break once in a while. We have one guy on the art team you definitely don’t want to upset. It's pretty stressful." Fudge adds. Yeah, that member is him. It's been almost a month since that day, and it’s not like they were wrong. He did lash out. That memory still burns inside him, sometimes without him even realizing he’s holding the match.

He told himself he would change. That he was in control now. But every time he walks into the clubroom, he feels that tightness in his chest, as if he’s trying to suppress a version of himself that others are still afraid of.

He wonders if he can even blame them. Still, it’s been weeks, and he keeps asking himself: What does "control" really look like? Is it simply keeping your head down and avoiding people to prevent being seen as a threat, or is it about learning to reach out again? Don's voice breaks him out of his thoughts. "Don't get us wrong; we're not concerned about that anymore. How’s your back healing?"

"It’s pretty good now." he replies. "That’s good to know. Let’s get dinner at the cafeteria." Don adds. As they walk toward their destination, his thoughts drift. He remembers seeing you the other day, laughing at something, awkward but genuine. You were smiling, and something was grounding about that.

Maybe he didn't deserve to wish for anything right now, especially while he’s still piecing himself together. But he wants to try. He wants to reach out, to connect, even if it feels like a risk.

He keeps thinking about you—how easy it would be to just sit across from you, the dim light casting a warm glow around both of you as you talk. The idea of dinner feels daunting, but just being in your presence and listening to your voice seems comforting. Maybe that’s what he needs to feel grounded again.

But as he gathers his thoughts, his heart starts to race. What if he messes this up? What if he says the wrong thing? He can’t shake the feeling of being on edge, as if he’s always one misstep away from ruining everything.

Taking a deep breath, he turns and finally decides to ask you. “Hey,” he says, his voice a little shaky, “wanna get dinner together?”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, panic sets in. Did he just say that? Out loud? People are all around him, and he can't help but feel that he just burst into a conversation that shouldn't have happened.

What if you think he’s being too forward, too pushy, especially in front of everyone? His mind races as he worries about how it must have sounded, clumsy and impulsive.

But then you look at him, surprised yet intrigued. “Yeah, sure.”

He blinks, processing your response. Did he hear you right? A mixture of disbelief and excitement swells in his chest. He can hardly believe that you’re open to it. His heart thuds louder than ever, a mix of nervousness and hope fluttering within him. It’s a tiny step, but maybe it’s a step in the right direction after all.

---

“Um, sorry, bye.” you manage to say as you wave before leaving. You peel off from the group and fall into step beside Legoshi as you walk toward the cafeteria.

"What—hey!" Don calls after you both. "Look at what you did!" His voice carries enough for you to hear even as you walk farther away. "You scared him off again! You need to be nicer!" he adds, disbelief clear in his tone. "And he even took - with him."

Don gestures wildly, emphasizing his point. A moment of silence follows. Fudge, arms tucked behind his back, tilts his head slightly. "They’re awfully close," he remarks, almost absentmindedly.

---

You and Legoshi find a quiet spot together, a little oasis amidst the bustling cafeteria. The warmth of the afternoon sun filters through the large windows, casting gentle shadows on the table where your trays sit.

You choose the herbivore dinner—a change from your usual and he chooses the carnivore, but the meal in front of Legoshi remains largely untouched, an unspoken tension lingering in the air. He sits across from you, his expression distant and pensive, fingers nervously fidgeting with the fork resting beside his tray.

The moment is heavy, almost palpable, when a whisper floats over from a nearby table, slicing through the atmosphere. “Hey, look at that. Do you think he brought her here thinking she’s food?” The words hang in the air like a dark cloud, ignorant or uncaring of their impact. “The prey looks too dignified, though. Which one’s getting punished?”

You steal a glance at Legoshi as a flicker of discomfort crosses his face, and you quickly attempt to dispel the tension. “The food tastes nice.” you say lightly, trying to cut through the oppressive atmosphere.

“I see. That’s… good.” His response feels strained, and a pause stretches between you. With everything that’s happened recently, he feels as if he should have grown, but the weight of his thoughts tells him otherwise.

---

Legoshi spirals deeper into his mind. Because… he can’t even ask a girl her name! How do you even ask someone their name? Why does he want to know it? Why would a wolf ask a human’s name?

“Hey,” you say gently, your voice almost a whisper. “Legoshi, are you okay? You aren’t eating.”

“Ah—sorry, I will. Eat.” His voice is quiet, a slight tremor betraying his tension.

---

As you sit across from Legoshi, you struggle to sort through your thoughts, trying not to overanalyze the situation. Still, you can't help but feel overwhelmed by the confusion surrounding his actions. He eats so rigidly, glancing at you as if he fears you might suddenly pose a threat.

You realize you're watching him too intently, and a blush creeps up your neck, warmth radiating outward like a gentle ember. This is just dinner, you remind yourself. Totally normal. Friends eat lunch together, even if you aren't really friends yet. Even if your heart beats a little too loudly for what should be an ordinary occasion.

“You’re allowed to relax, you know.” you say before thinking it through, a teasing tone dancing in your voice as you hope to lift the weight hanging between you. Legoshi blinks, his black eyes widening in surprise. “R—Relax?”

You nod, feigning calm as you pick at your food, the fork cool against the warmth of your fingertips. “Yeah. You’re holding those like they’re weapons.” Your words hang in the air between you, an invitation to ease the tension and step out of the shadows of uncertainty together.

You’re joking, obviously, but also... not really. He looks like he’s about to defuse a bomb. "Ah. Right. Sorry." he mutters, his gaze darting down to his tray, where the colorful food awaits.

You smile, your lips twisting into a grin. He’s so awkward it’s almost endearing. "You don’t have to apologize for everything." you say, the words spilling out before you can consider if they come off as too familiar. Are you coming off too strong? Too chill? Too anything?

"I guess I do that a lot..." he mumbles, continuing to eat. A wave of relief washes over you; thank goodness he didn’t bolt. The silence stretches between you, but it’s not cold. It feels warm, wrapped in the soft conversations and laughter from other tables, the chatter mingling with the clinks of utensils and the faint aroma of savory dishes.

It feels oddly comforting. You chew slowly, half pretending to be focused on your food, while really, you’re hyper-aware of every small move he makes—the way he nervously shifts his weight, the subtle twitch of his ears.

"So… is it weird?" you ask, trying to keep your tone casual, even though your pulse spikes. "Eating lunch with a human?" Smooth. Definitely not fishing for a compliment. He pauses, looking at you sharply as if your question has pierced through a layer of tension.

"No! I mean—I don’t think it’s weird. I actually like it." Your brain short-circuits for a moment. He likes it? Like, likes it? No, not like that. Probably. Ugh, calm down, brain. You arch an eyebrow, your heart racing a little faster. "You like eating lunch with me?"

His eyes widen in panic, and he stumbles over his words. "I-I didn’t mean it like that! I mean, I did, but not in a weird way. Just… you’re nice." You smirk into your tray, warmth blooming in your chest despite how clumsy that compliment is. It might be the worst compliment you’ve ever received, but somehow it still feels like a win.

"That’s the worst compliment I’ve ever gotten." you say, shaking your head lightly, the irony tickling your lips. He opens his mouth, and you’re sure he’s about to fumble again, but then he catches your look.

His shoulders ease, and something inside you loosens as well. "You’re teasing me." he says, a hint of realization brightening his expression.

"A little." With another bite of your lunch, you try to act casual—even as your heart races at the thought that this is basically a date, right? He invited you to eat with him. That counts. It definitely counts.

You nudge your tray toward him, desperate to redirect your swirling thoughts before your face betrays them. "Want to try mine? It’s sweet. Probably too sweet." He blinks, surprise flickering across his face. "A-Are you sure?"

"I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t." You reply, trying to keep your tone light, even though his intense gaze remains fixed on you. Please, God, don't let this be weird. Switching to your spoon, you pick up a piece of your pastry and offer it to him.

He leans forward slowly, his movements delicate, as if your offer might vanish at any moment. When he takes a bite, you can almost see his ears perk up slightly, curiosity washing over his features.

“It’s good,” he says, a hesitant smile spreading across his face like sunlight breaking through the clouds. I told you so. Nailed it. You sit quietly for a moment longer, watching him chew; the rhythm of his jaw is a calming contrast to the chatter around you.

After a while, you both finish your meals. Maybe you could do this again. Perhaps next time, it really will be a date. “That was delicious!” you say cheerfully. “Thanks for hanging out. It was... a nice experience.” he says.

You’re smiling, which suggests it went well, right? “I’m going back to my room. How about you?”

“I’ll do the same.” he replies.

---

You step out into the night, the building door swinging shut with a soft thud behind you. The crisp air wraps around you, cooler than you anticipated, a refreshing contrast to the warmth still lingering on your cheeks from smiling too much. Beside you, Legoshi walks with his arms tucked stiffly behind his back, deliberately avoiding the brush of your skin.

"Thanks for inviting me," you say, glancing up at him as your heart quickens at his response. Legoshi's gaze briefly meets yours, a flicker of warmth igniting before he looks away, breaking the spell that draws you closer. "I almost didn't ask you to come," he admits, his voice quieter now, almost swallowed by the night. You blink in surprise. "What? Why not?"

"I don't know," he confesses, rubbing the back of his neck, a nervous habit that makes you want to reach out and reassure him. "You're easy to talk to, and that kind of makes me nervous." Your heart pauses, caught off guard by his honesty. "Wait. So… I make you nervous because I'm easy to talk to?" He fumbles for the right words, his ears drooping slightly. "That came out wrong."

"No, no," you laugh, your voice light and airy in the silence between you. "It’s okay. You’re pretty easy to be around, you know." When he looks at you, it feels as if he's seeing right into your soul, and warmth blooms deep in your chest. His gaze quickly drops. The corner of your mouth quirks upward; he’s lucky he’s so charming.

The world falls silent for a few seconds—just the rhythm of your steps on the pavement and the gentle rustling of leaves above. You walk past a patch of late-blooming flowers, their petals glistening softly in the dim light, and you catch the faintest scent of something sweet—maybe popsicles wafting from nearby stalls or the comforting aroma of his laundry detergent mingling with his unique scent.

Then Legoshi suddenly breaks the silence. "Are humans used to sharing food like that?" The shift in topic catches you off guard. "Uh… yeah? Sometimes."

"Oh. I didn’t mess it up, did I?" His voice is laced with concern, making you almost stop in your tracks."No! You were fine—why would you think you messed it up?" He shrugs, his ears tilting downward, a vulnerability shining through. "I just wasn’t sure." You scoff lightly, shaking your head with a smile. "Well, that’s not a bad thing."

Together, you walk the rest of the way in shared silence, a quiet ease enveloping you both. As the dorm buildings come into view, their warm, golden windows flickering like stars against the gathering dusk, you slow your pace, not quite ready to let the moment end.

"I’m really glad we did this." he says again, his voice barely rising above a whisper, carrying a weight of sincerity that tugs at your heart. You hesitate, both nervousness and excitement swirling inside you. "So... can we do this again sometime?"

He startles slightly, then nods quickly, a spark of hope in his eyes. "Y-Yeah. If... if you want to." You can’t help but grin, warmth flooding your chest. "I do." Inside, your heart is bursting with joy, not in a panic this time but in a sweet, overwhelming way, where the air around you feels lighter and filled with possibilities.

"Okay, bye. Goodnight." you say quickly, waving.

"Bye." he responds, waving back, and you quickly turn away.

---

As you finally step into your dorm building, the hushed hallway welcomes you, enveloped in a cool stillness. The faint scent of worn floorboards and fresh laundry lingers as you make your way down to your room. Your footsteps are soft, a gentle tap-tap echoing through the silence, a stark contrast to the lively chatter that filled the earlier evening.

With careful hands, you push open the door to your shared sanctuary. Inside, darkness gently tucks in your roommates, their soft, rhythmic snores creating a lullaby that fills the room. The only source of light is the tranquil, muted glow of a charger waiting patiently in the corner, casting delicate shadows on the walls.

You walk slowly across the room, taking off your shoes and socks; the familiar floor feels surprisingly cool against your bare feet. As you pull your pajamas from your side of a closet drawer, the fabric feels soft and comforting against your fingertips. As you peel off your uniform, the fabric slips away, and your mind drifts back to dinner—back to him.

Your fingers fumble with the hem of your shirt, and for a moment, you almost put it on backward. What was that magic that lingered in the air? Dinner wasn’t just a meal; it was an experience, alive with a slow, steady heartbeat beneath your ribs.

It felt like the flutter of butterflies—gentle yet insistent, making you awkwardly hold your breath while simultaneously wearing a smile that wouldn’t fade.

With a sigh muffled into the pillow, you flop onto your bed, face-first, grateful for the softness that cradles you. After a moment, you roll onto your back, tugging the blanket up to your chin.

Your cheeks are still warm, flushed with the memory that dances at the edges of your thoughts. This wasn’t just dinner, was it? The way he looked at you, with a gaze warm and inviting, how his voice tumbled over words with a gentle clumsiness that somehow made every syllable feel precious.

When he smiled at you after tasting your food—an honest, pure joy—it felt as if you had given him a rare gift, something sweet and special just for him.

You pull your knees up, curling into yourself under the blanket, a giddy smile threatening to escape. He likes eating lunch with me, you recall, his voice echoing in your head. Sure, he had panicked a little afterward, but that hardly mattered now.

You touch your warm cheeks, letting out a soft sigh, barely audible in the quiet of the night. It’s the kind of sigh you only allow yourself when the world is snugly tucked away, and the weight of hope hangs delicately in the air.

This feels like the beginning of something beautiful. And deep down, you hope it is.

Chapter Text

You’re only half-listening at first, your attention flickering like a faulty bulb, eyes fixed on the scuffed tips of your shoes. The room is a low hum of background static—murmurs rising and falling like distant waves.

The steady rhythm of your heartbeat echoes in your ears, a calm metronome beneath the chaos. But then— Sanu’s voice slices through, abrupt and grating, like chalk on a blackboard.

Your head snaps up. “As I’ve just said,” he barks, his hands clenched around a clipboard that creaks under the strain, paper crinkling like dry leaves skittering across the cracked pavement.

“Those sophomore members will be heading to City Hall for the Meteor Festival planning meeting tomorrow afternoon. Got it?” Before you can nod, another voice cuts through the tension like a sudden gust. “Why did you only pick carnivores?!”

Ellen demands, hand raised. Her tone is sharp, thunderous, and charged with frustration. “Herbivores want to go out too!” a small squirrel chimes in.

Their words hang in the air like an approaching storm, darkening the atmosphere with barely contained indignation. Would you even be able to go? You weren't a herbivore, but it’s not like you could defend yourself like a carnivore.

Sanu exhales, slow and weary. His breath drifts through the room like dry wind over brittle grass. “Didn’t you see the news?” he mutters, brow furrowed with tired gravity. “Herbivores aren’t permitted off-campus right now. It’s a safety measure.”

His voice carries the weight of something deeper—unspoken worry, maybe guilt—etched into the lines around his eyes. A shadow flickers behind his words, soft but pervasive, seeping through the cracks like fog curling under a door.

The news had been disturbing—a collage of unsettling headlines and graphic footage, the kind that clings to your mind like the bitter aftertaste of spoiled fruit.

"Okay, that's it, folks." Sanu announces. Groans ripple from Ellen and the squirrel.

“You all know very well by now...” Louis’s voice rises from the corner, calm yet impossibly firm, slicing through the room like a knife through silk. His tone is grounded and deliberate, every syllable shaped by experience. He’s been standing in the corner for a while.

“What happens when carnivores lose all rational thinking?” The air shifts. Tension coils through the room like a taut wire. You’re pretty sure he’s talking about the play.

A breath held. A moment teetering. “There he goes again. I'm fed up with this.” Bill grumbles, arms folded, back pressed to the wall. His voice vibrates with irritation, eyes narrowed in quiet defiance. “This is getting really old.”

But Louis ignores him, stepping forward, his tall frame parting wary glances like a ship slicing through waves. His gaze sweeps the room with cold clarity, a searchlight in the fog of doubt. “And one more thing,” he adds, his voice dipping low, measured, dark, final. “Don’t even think about stopping by the Black Market.”

The door swings shut behind him with a resonant click, the sound lingering like the echo of a closing tomb. Silence falls, heavy and complete.

The very mention of the Black Market sends a ripple through the air, a collective shudder felt but unspoken. You murmur the name under your breath, tasting it like a secret too dangerous to say aloud. It sits on your tongue like a stone, cold and unsettling.

You’ve heard whispers before. Rumors. Stories tucked between laughter and fear, coated in thrill and cloaked in shadows. And from the way, Legoshi’s eyes briefly widen—his ears twitching as if catching a whisper no one else hears—you know you’re not alone in your unease.

Then Sanu turns to you, his gaze landing like a spotlight in the gloom. “Oh -” he says, his voice lightening just a bit, as if trying to lift the fog. “You’re an omnivore. So, if you want to go, you’re cleared.”

Heads swivel toward you, and instinctively you straighten, spine stiffening under the weight of every eye. Your heart drums faster, a crescendo of nerves and something else—uncertain pride, maybe even guilt. It’s a strange weight, being seen. Being chosen.

You nod faintly, your face neutral, but a flicker of anxiety sparks beneath the surface—the words Black Market still echoing like a low drumbeat at the edge of your thoughts.

A splinter you can’t dislodge.

---

The halls are quieter now. The evening has wrapped the academy in a soft amber glow, overhead lights casting long shadows across smooth tile and pale walls.

The scent of dinner lingers, warm and inviting—spices curling into corners, mingling with the sweetness of baked fruit and bread, like the fading memory of comfort.

Outside, the breeze stirs the trees, leaves whispering stories against the windowpanes. It’s the kind of evening that feels alive with secrets. You make your way toward the rooftop garden.

Somehow, you always find yourself seeking it—Haru, and her quiet world of growing things. Her presence calms you like sunlight through glass, grounding and gentle, soothing the static inside your chest.

The hallway bends gently, and as your steps soften against the floor, you hear footsteps. Two sets.

---

The wolf catches your scent first—his nostrils twitch, and his posture shifts. He stops, ears flicking toward the sound of your approach like antennae sensing something familiar.

His eyes widen just slightly, alert and quietly interested. “Legoshi?” Jack calls confusion, coloring his tone.

---

You round the corner. There they are—Legoshi, still and half-shadowed in the lamplight, and Jack beside him, his grin bright and effortless. “Hi, Legoshi,” you say, offering a tentative wave.

Your gaze lingers a moment too long before flicking to Jack. “I don’t think we’ve met. Officially, I mean.” Jack’s ears perk up. “Oh! You’re the human!” His enthusiasm is so genuine it’s almost disarming. Though the label stings a little, you find yourself smiling.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m -” you start, your voice light, masking the subtle weight of his words. “Jack,” he says, still beaming. “Nice to meet you, too!”

Jack’s brightness softens the tension from earlier, like blue sky breaking through heavy clouds. “We were just heading to the dorm counter,” he explains with a chuckle. “Emergency detergent run. You know, real high-stakes stuff.”

You smile, warmth threading through your voice. “Sounds thrilling.” You glance at Legoshi again. “Are you going on the trip tomorrow?” His ears twitch. “Huh? Yeah, I am. Why?”

“I thought I’d come with you,” you say, aiming for casual. “Since we’re... closest in the club, I guess.” He blinks, eyes darting away as if searching for an anchor. “Oh. Yeah. I guess so.”

The moment lingers—quiet, uncertain, suspended between the two of you who haven’t quite figured out how to meet in the middle. Then Jack, ever the spark, leans in with a smirk.

“You know, the way you two look at each other, I feel like I’m third-wheeling.” You both freeze. Legoshi coughs, flustered.

You bite your lip to stifle a laugh, but it escapes anyway—light and genuine, dissolving the last of the tension. “Okay, okay,” Jack laughs, backing away. “Let’s go.”

“Jack—!” Legoshi sputters, color blooming in his cheeks. “Bye,” you call as they walk off. “Bye -” Legoshi manages, before hurrying after Jack.

He glances back once, just long enough for your eyes to meet—a look charged with something unspoken.

Warmth lingers, like the afterglow of a moment that mattered. You let it settle around you as you turn toward the stairs, a smile tugging at your lips.

The garden awaits. Your steps feel lighter, the last golden traces of daylight brushing your shoulders. Every breath feels fuller, deeper as if the world itself is opening up to make room for your excitement.

---

You climb the broad wooden staircase, the boards creaking beneath your feet with a kind of weary charm, worn smooth by years of passage. At the top, you reach the heavy, iron-framed door that guards the rooftop.

Its metal handle is cool in your palm. As you push it open, the hinges groan in familiar protest. The door swings wide, revealing a sanctuary bathed in the warm light of day.

The rooftop garden stretches before you like a secret world—lush, layered, and lovingly tended. Planters overflow with green: herbs cascading in delicate sprays, vegetables in neat rows, and flowers—wild, rebellious, vibrant—spilling over in joyful bursts of color.

The air is thick with the earthy scent of damp soil and crushed leaves, grounding you with every breath. Evening greets you with a gentle, cool caress, threading through your hair, brushing your cheeks, carrying the scent of rain-washed stone and early spring blossoms.

You spot Haru almost instantly. She’s crouched by a cluster of marigolds, her small frame outlined by the soft light, white fur catching the last honeyed rays of the setting sun like spun silk.

A well-worn trowel rests in her hand, its blade glinting as she leans forward to tend a delicate sprout. As you approach, she looks up. Her eyes—sharp, kind—light up as they meet yours, and a playful smile tugs at her lips.

“Hey.” she says, her voice warm and calm, like sunlight lingering on your skin after the sun has set. “Hi.” you echo, your own voice softened by the quiet magic of the moment.

You settle beside her on the weathered edge of the planter, the wood cool and smooth beneath you. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re not.” she replies, brushing her hands off her skirt. Dark smudges of earth stain the fabric—evidence of her care. She returns to her work, fingers deft and gentle as she shapes the soil around a young sprout.

Each movement is patient, deliberate, and almost reverent. Beyond the rooftop, the city begins to shimmer, countless lights flickering to life like scattered fireflies. Overhead, the sky deepens to violet, streaked with the last gold of sunset.

Up here, the air feels thinner, quieter, as if the garden exists in a pocket outside of time—a hidden pause between the day’s chaos and the hush of dreams.

You sit together in silence, breathing in the calm, the closeness, the quiet beauty. Then, the flutter in your chest nudges you to speak. “I came to tell you something,” you say, your tone casual, but eagerness threads through every word.

Haru turns, ears perked, eyes bright with interest. “Mm?” she hums. “I’m going out tomorrow,” you say, a smile breaking through. “Some of the second-years are heading into the city to help with the Meteor Festival. I probably won’t be around all day.”

She grins, eyebrow arched. “The big, scary city, huh?” Her teasing is light, needling. You laugh. “Yeah. It’s been forever since I left campus. Honestly, it feels surreal.” She pauses, gaze lifting to the sky. The silence stretches, thoughtful and easy.

“Bring me something.” she says suddenly, turning just enough to catch your reaction. You blink. “Something?”

“A souvenir,” she clarifies, playful but sincere. “Something silly. Weird candy. Or a flower you swipe from a market stall when no one’s looking.” You snort, warmth blooming in your chest. “That’s oddly specific.”

“I have high standards.” she says with a shrug, a grin tugging at her lips. “I’ll see what I can do.” The conversation drifts like petals on a breeze.

You talk about the festival—the chaos of planning, the riot of costumes, the art team’s wild designs, and the thought of how different the city will smell compared to the familiar mix of soil, chalk, and how life has been.

Haru listens, her smile is small and steady. Occasionally, she cuts in with a dry comment or clever jab that leaves you laughing until your shoulders shake.

In those moments, everything feels right. Effortless. Being with her is like hearing a melody you’ve always known—one that wraps around you and softens the world.

Eventually, you rise, stretching toward the indigo sky. The first stars prick through the darkness, and a faint chill curls around your legs.

“I should head back.” you say, anticipation buzzing through you. Tomorrow feels close now, real, and waiting. Haru stands too, brushing dirt from her skirt, her expression fond and unreadable.

“Don’t get lost out there.” she says with a smirk, voice lilting. You grin over your shoulder. “No promises.”

“Goodnight.” she says, softer now, the teasing replaced by something gentler, lingering. “Goodnight, Haru.” you reply, warmth in your voice as you wave and turn away.

The door creaks shut behind you with a heavy thud. You pause at the top of the stairs, letting the moment settle. Cool, fragrant air wraps around you—soil, flowers.

You draw a deep breath, letting the scent fill your lungs and your heart. The night is full of promise, and Tomorrow, you’re ready for it.

---

Your alarm blares to life, slicing through the fragile veil of sleep like a blade through silk. The sound is jarring, almost cruel, but the soft gold of morning sunlight spilling through the slats of your blinds gentles the moment.

It brushes your cheek, coaxing you back to wakefulness with warmth rather than urgency. You groan softly, stretching beneath the weight of your duvet—the fabric heavy and comforting, like the embrace of a half-remembered dream.

Slowly, reluctantly, you turn toward the light. The room is awash in it, golden beams illuminating dust motes that drift lazily through the air.

Today, the world feels a little wider. Today, you’re finally allowed to leave campus. The thought sparks in your chest, bright and electric, like fire catching on dry leaves.

You’re free from your uniform—no stiff collar pinching your neck, no pressed fabric clinging to your skin like armor. Your eyes land on the outfit draped across a nearby chair. It’s simple and comfortable, but it breathes with personality—with you.

A grin spreads across your face, and a current of excitement surges in your blood, quickening your heartbeat. You throw your covers off in one swift motion, your feet hitting the cool wood floor with a muted thud. The chill races up your legs, sharp and bracing, but even that feels like part of the adventure.

The shower is a welcome reprieve, steam curling around your shoulders, hot water drumming down your back in soothing waves. It rinses away sleep, tension, and doubt. You close your eyes, letting the warmth soak into your bones.

Today is real. It’s happening. Dressed and ready, your chosen outfit clings to you like a second skin—soft, familiar, unmistakably your own. You grab your bag, carefully emptied the day before for this very moment.

You slip out the door, the click behind you ringing with a thrilling finality.  The hallways lie nearly empty, wrapped in a calm that feels almost sacred. The usual buzz is gone, replaced by a reverent hush.

Your footsteps tap steadily against the tiles, like a metronome—confident and sure. Down the stairs. Past the common rooms. Out into the crisp, waiting world. The air greets you like an old friend—cool, clean, and tinged with the scent of dew-soaked grass and early blossoms.

The sky is brushed with the softest blues and pinks, morning light spilling across the landscape like a watercolor still in motion. You follow the winding path toward the gates, heart fluttering with each step.

There’s a quiet rhythm in your chest, a secret drumbeat counting down to the moment everything changes. The group is easy to spot, clustered at the edge of the campus.

Legoshi stands a little apart from the others, tall and unmistakably self-conscious, his posture a blend of alertness and quiet awkwardness.
His eyes flick from face to face, never lingering too long.

Nearby, Aoba is deep in conversation with Tao, who stares at the sky as if it holds answers he hasn't quite figured out. Bill, ever the peacock, leans against a wall, arms crossed, a familiar smirk painted across his face like armor.

As you approach, nerves twist gently in your stomach. The feeling isn't unpleasant—it’s more like standing on the edge of a dive, caught between fear and thrill. “You came!” Bill exclaims, stepping forward, the surprise in his voice laced with genuine excitement.

You raise a brow, amused. What a weirdo. “Yeah,” you reply, lips curling into a smile. “Figured a change of scenery would be good for me.” Before Bill can get another word in, Sanu emerges from a small knot of teachers, clipboard in hand.

His eyes find you, and he brightens with a warmth that radiates like the sun finally breaking through the morning haze. “Ahh -, glad you chose to join us!” he says, voice kind and easy.

You nod, returning his smile. “Wouldn’t miss it.” He checks your name off with a quick scratch of his pen, the sound oddly satisfying. “That’s everyone, then. Stay together. Keep your heads down. No trouble off-campus. Got it?”

A chorus of agreement hums through the group, heads nodding in unison, the shared energy thick in the air like rising heat. As the gates swing open, a breath seems to rush from the group all at once.

Stepping through the gates feels like stepping out of a dream and into something electric. The walk to the station is peaceful. The path winds gently, trees casting dappled shadows across the ground.

---

The world feels bigger somehow—like it's been holding its breath, waiting for you. Then your voice cuts through the quiet. “Legoshi,” you say, turning to him with a lilt of amusement, “it’s good to see you out of your school clothes.”

His ears twitch, and he blinks, caught off guard. A pink flush creeps up his cheeks. “You too… You have nice… clothing taste,” he stammers, trying—and failing—to sound casual.

You laugh—a soft, breathy sound that lingers in the air, wrapping the moment in gentle warmth. It grounds you, sweet and fleeting. Legoshi blinks, then offers the smallest, sheepish smile—genuine, grateful.

A comfortable silence settles over your group as you near the subway station. The platform yawns before you, wide and echoing, humming faintly with anticipation.

The space feels hushed, like a stage just before the curtain rises. For the first time in ages, you feel light, untethered, open.

You glance at Legoshi, just long enough to catch him watching you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something there: curiosity, warmth, maybe even wonder.

As the subway rumbles into the station and the wind from the tunnel brushes your cheeks, you feel it settle inside you—a quiet certainty, bright and new.

---

He had been standing near the edge of the group, half-present in the conversation swirling around him, the morning sun casting long shadows across the courtyard.

The light glinted off the tops of trees, dappling the ground in warm patterns that danced in rhythm with the breeze. But none of it really held his attention.

Not Aoba’s rambling. Not Tao’s distracted silence. Not even Bill’s overconfident grin, which usually sparked a reflexive scowl. No—his mind had been adrift until he caught the scent of you.

Familiar. Subtle. Like warm vanilla and wildflowers on a summer breeze. It filtered through the air, soft but unmistakable, and it tugged his thoughts instantly into focus.

You were here. Legoshi turned slightly, just enough to spot you approaching down the path. His breath caught in his throat for a second, not because of anything extravagant, but because of the way you seemed to belong in the morning light.

Something about your posture, the natural way you moved, your smile already blooming before you'd even reached them... it stirred something in his chest he couldn’t quite name.

His ears twitched involuntarily, and he quickly averted his eyes, unsure if he was staring. You weren’t in your uniform. The change was subtle, but to him, it made all the difference.

You looked... freer. More alive. Bill called out to you with his usual enthusiasm, but Legoshi barely registered what was said.

His eyes flicked toward you again, drawn like gravity, and his ears burned at the thought of how obvious he must seem.

---

You spoke his name. “Legoshi.” It sounded different coming from you—less a label, more an intimate note, something private. A tether. His heart faltered, skipping a beat.

“It’s good to see you out of school clothes.” The words slipped out, startling him like a flash of lightning on a clear day. He blinked. Once. Twice.

He fumbled for a response. “You too,” he managed, the words tumbling out awkwardly. “You have... nice taste in clothes.” He winced inwardly. Nice taste in clothes? That’s the best he could do?

But then you laughed—bright, unguarded. The tension in his shoulders eased, just a little. Your laughter always did that, smoothing out the rough edges of his nerves, letting a gentle calm settle in the spaces between his anxious thoughts.

After that, he walked beside you in companionable silence, letting the soft rhythm of your footsteps anchor him to the present. The others moved ahead—Aoba still talking, Bill teasing someone, probably Tao—but their voices faded into a pleasant blur.

All his attention was drawn to the way the breeze played with your hair, the way your eyes caught the light when you glanced at him, the quiet cadence of your breath as you exhaled, content.

This warmth in his chest felt unfamiliar. It wasn’t hunger. It wasn’t quite affection, either. It was something softer, quieter—like standing beneath a cherry tree as petals drifted down. No urgency. Just being.

He looked at you again. You weren’t watching him, but the echo of your laughter still lingered in the air between you.

---

The subway ride was smooth and hushed, the car gently rocking as it glided through the dark veins of the city. Inside, the overhead lights buzzed softly, casting a pale glow across tired metal poles and speckled floors.

Around you, the group sat quietly, a mix of stillness and anticipation settling over everyone like mist. The rhythmic clatter of the tracks echoed in your bones, a lullaby of movement that made the moment feel strangely suspended in time.

Eventually, with a soft hiss and a metallic groan, the train began to slow. The intercom crackled to life, announcing the station name in a clipped, mechanical voice, and the doors slid open with a hydraulic sigh.

You were finally going out—it felt almost surreal, the excitement bubbling just beneath the surface. You absolutely had to snap some photos for Haru. She'd want to see everything.

You step out into the underground terminal, the cool air thick with the scent of stone, dust, and the faint tang of oil and electricity. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, and every sound—footsteps, voices, the squeak of shoes on tile—echoes off the concrete like whispers in a cavern.

The group moves as one, a slow stream heading for the nearest staircase. It spirals upward in a curve of gray concrete and rust-flecked handrails, and with each step, the world above becomes more tangible.

The air grows warmer. Brighter. Louder. And then—sunlight. You emerge at the top of the stairs, blinking against the sudden brilliance of late morning. The city unfolds before you like a living painting. Buildings stretch into the sky, glass facades catching the sun in dazzling flashes.

People move around you in waves, their voices blending into a living symphony—vendors shouting, conversations floating on the breeze, the occasional bark of a street performer’s trumpet in the distance.

It’s overwhelming and beautiful all at once. The aroma hits you next—grilled vegetables sizzling on an open cart, the warm scent of asphalt soaking up sunlight, and a soft undertone of something sweet—pastries, maybe, from a nearby café.

Somewhere in the distance, a horn blares, and birds flit overhead, dancing between buildings like bits of sunlight with wings. Next to you, Legoshi stands still for a moment, his ears flicking forward, eyes wide as they scan the scene.

---

It's been a year since he’s been out here, and the weight of that realization shows in the quiet reverence of his posture. The tip of his tail gives a soft, unconscious twitch.

A flock of birds suddenly soars by, cutting across the sky in a perfect V-formation. Their wings catch the light in flashes of white and silver, moving with freedom so effortless it almost hurts to watch.

---

Aoba sighs beside you, the sound soft but full of longing. “All those birds flying free… I wish I could join them.”

“You can’t get a flying license until you graduate.” Tao chimes in dryly, but there’s no bite in it—just familiar teasing. Aoba just shrugs, his gaze never leaving the sky, where the sun paints soft pastel hues across drifting clouds.

You glance around again, taking in the busy streets, the laughter, the traffic, the breeze tugging at your clothes. It feels surreal, almost dreamlike, how peaceful it all is—more vibrant than you remembered, the outside world full of color and motion.

“I thought you weren’t interested in the outside world,” Aoba says, turning toward Legoshi with a playful smile. Legoshi doesn’t respond immediately, his eyes fixed on a distant rooftop, but his ears flick at the sound. Aoba grins wider. “Your tail’s wagging.”

Legoshi stiffens. He quickly averts his gaze, clearly caught off guard. You bite back a smile, and even Tao snorts quietly into his sleeve. “Hey! Let’s get going already!” Bill’s voice cuts through the moment, vibrant and loud as ever.

He waves the group forward from a few steps ahead, his energy practically bouncing off the pavement. As you start walking, feet falling into rhythm with the others, the city hums around you, alive and welcoming.

There's laughter, idle chatter, and a shared current of curiosity binding you together as you move like a river down the crowded sidewalk.

Legoshi, walking behind you now, glances down at his swaying tail and mutters, almost to himself, Maybe I should finally buy pants that actually hide this thing… he thought.

You smile quietly, your steps light with amusement.

Chapter Text

The meeting at City Hall had been quick—a few forms, some scribbles, nothing worth mentioning. "It's the same as last year." Legoshi remarked, his eyes scanning the flyers on the table. "It was a good excuse for us to get out anyway." Aoba added with a grin, leaning back a little.

If it were going to be this short, one person would’ve been enough. What was the point of bringing five? You thought bitterly, slurping your soda, the straw making that too loud-sucking sound.

The diner around you was half-empty, sunlight spilling in through the windows, gleaming off the glass, and illuminating half-eaten fries and ketchup-stained napkins.

You sat at the far end of the booth next to Tao, deliberately not sitting beside Legoshi. That would’ve been too forward, too obvious. The table was cluttered with empty trays and wrappers, a battlefield of fast food. The sunlight slanted across the table, making everything feel warmer than it should.

The silence in your head cracked as Tao’s voice cut through. "So... what happened?" he asked, chin propped lazily in his hand, glancing between you and the rest of the group.

Bill groaned dramatically, leaning back with a hand over his forehead, clearly in the middle of some ridiculous tale. "Then she looked me dead in the eyes and said, You’re so selfish in bed, you make me feel hollow inside."

You blinked, unsure whether to laugh or feel genuinely uncomfortable. Bill threw his hand up in mock despair. "And then she started crying, can you believe that? She doesn’t even make sense. But man, I love that striped ass. I can’t dump her."

Aoba perked up, surprised. "So, the pattern is what matters most?" Bill nodded solemnly as if discussing something profound. "Of course it is!" You raised an eyebrow and picked up a fry to occupy your hands.

Talking about sex this loud, in public? Really? The lack of courtesy was borderline criminal. Only three of them were actually in the conversation. Legoshi and you were just awkward satellites to the madness.

You glanced at Legoshi; he's staring at his fries, clearly pretending he doesn't exist. Starting a conversation would be nice. Start simple. Something like, Hey, how's the weather today? Classic. Brilliant.

"Hey, Lego—" you began, but Bill cut in, his voice booming with enthusiasm. "SO!" he exclaimed, leaning closer and playfully resting his elbow on Legoshi's shoulder. "When are you finally going to kiss that virginity goodbye?"

The question caught you off guard, and you sputtered, choking as saliva went down the wrong pipe, igniting a fiery burn in your throat. The sound of your struggle rang out sharply across the table, drawing glances from around you.

Legoshi froze; his ears flattened, and his face shifted from calm to panic and discomfort in a matter of seconds. "B-Bill—!" he stammered, his voice cracking under the pressure. Mortification didn't even begin to cover it.

Bill just grinned, flashing his teeth. "I’m serious, dude. I could smell your virginity from a hundred miles away." Smell? Really? You thought, What the hell is wrong with him?

Tao leaned in with an animated spark in his eyes. "You won't believe it—there's a stunning gray wolf who just joined our club!" You blinked in surprise. A new member? When did that happen?

"Are you talking about Juno?" Legoshi asked, his voice soft but steady.
Your heart sank a little like a rock gently dropped into a lake. Another wolf. Of course. Of course. "Hey, Legoshi knows her name," Aoba teased, and the group chuckled. "What about her?" Bill asked, all smugness and too much confidence.

But Legoshi didn’t respond immediately. His eyes had that faraway look as if he were somewhere else, thinking about something he’d rather not share.

"And what about you -" Bill’s voice suddenly snapped you back to the conversation, and your stomach sank. “What’s your deal?” he asked, flashing his teeth in a way that made you feel like you were about to be devoured. “Huh?” You said with a surprised tone in your voice.

"Still pure as freshly fallen snow, right?" You squinted. Tao burst into laughter, nearly snorting his drink through his nose. “I—!” you spluttered, your face flaming red. “What the hell?” you added.

Bill smiled smugly, exuding satisfaction and unbothered confidence. You avoided eye contact because looking at him would likely make you laugh uncontrollably. Instead, you stared at your tray, focusing all your attention on a soggy fry that somehow seemed more interesting than the chaos around you.

Bill leaned back in his seat, tossing a crumpled napkin at Tao’s face. "So sensitive, you two," he said, smirking. "It’s just life. Gotta grow up sometime." Tao rolled his eyes. "Says the guy who thinks love equals stripes." Bill shrugged, a glint of humor in his eyes. "Stripes matter. Deal with it."

The tension broke as the conversation shifted to safer topics, like who was certain to flunk history this term. You relaxed a little and finally took a bite of your burger. It was greasy, salty, and a little too cold, but it felt grounding.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Legoshi across the table, seeming to relax as well. His gaze flickered your way—a fleeting glance that was both unintentional and yet impossible to resist.

You gave him a gentle nudge beneath the table—part accident, part playful test. He stiffened for a moment, then, with a hint of hesitation, nudged you back. Your face flushed. The diner buzzed around you—trays clattering, the sizzle of fries in the kitchen, and a soft hum of music filtering through the speakers.

You picked up your drink, smiling into your straw, warmth blooming in your chest. Maybe Bill was a bit much, and maybe Legoshi was a nervous wreck. Perhaps you were blushing so hard you could start a fire.

But right now, surrounded by fries, noise, and teasing friends, it felt okay. It felt just like you. You popped another fry into your mouth and made a decision: you would walk next to Legoshi on the way back.

---

The air in the city felt different—thick and heavy with humidity, as though it had absorbed the warmth of the day and clung to it with an unyielding embrace. Beneath this weight, a sharper scent lingered, a metallic tang that made your nose twitch, perhaps intensified by the fact that you hadn’t ventured beyond the school grounds in months.

The familiar sounds of the city — honking horns, distant chatter, the shuffle of footsteps — came at you in waves, both overwhelming and oddly muted, as if the world around you had fallen out of sync with your thoughts.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, it left behind a breathtaking tapestry of colors. A cool breeze swept against your skin, carrying with it the unmistakable chill of evening. As you made your way deeper into the city, your feet began to ache.

But with each gust that brushed past you, a refreshing coolness settled in. “Hey.” you called out, slowing your pace just enough to draw everyone’s attention. “Can we stop somewhere for a minute? I want to grab something before we head back.” Bill raised an eyebrow. “What, are you suddenly hungry?”

“No.” you replied with a hint of exasperation. “I’ll be quick.” Bill let out a dramatic sigh but gestured down the street with a wave of his hand. “There’s a strip of shops just down that way. Go ahead.”

You rolled your eyes, choosing not to argue, and the group came to a halt outside a narrow row of late-night storefronts, their signs buzzing softly above the glass storefronts. Most shops had already closed or were in the process of shutting down, but the inviting golden glow of a candy shop spilled onto the sidewalk, catching your eye. “I’ll just be a minute.” you said, already pushing through the door.

A bell above jingled, sharp and cheerful. Inside, the store smelled like sugar and childhood—warm chocolate, candied fruit, and faint traces of caramel. Shelves were lined with bright wrappers and colorful bins, each filled to the brim with something sticky, sour, or sweet.

Your eyes scanned quickly until they landed on a shelf near the counter—small ribbon-tied bags of chestnut caramels. Haru had mentioned them once, offhandedly, when talking about her hometown.

You grabbed one without thinking twice and cradled it gently in your palm for a moment before heading to the counter. The cashier, a tired-looking goat in a wrinkled uniform, rang you up with a nod. You paid, stuffed the candy into your bag, and stepped back out into the city.

“Wanna go back now?” Legoshi asked, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. You could feel the faintest tremor in his words, a note of uncertainty that tugged at your heart. “Yeah, the dorm matron will be mad.” Tao agreed, tossing a glance over his shoulder as the group trudged down the empty street.

You slowed your pace, falling into rhythm next to Legoshi. His tail flicked nervously behind him, and his ears twitched constantly, alert to every sound around him— a habit you’d come to expect from him.

You wondered if he even realized he was doing it. “Which way is the station?” Bill asked, his voice cutting through the hum of the busy city. Everything looked the same—endless rows of concrete and flickering signs. It felt as if everything was closing in, suffocating in the narrow gaps between the buildings.

“We’re lost.” Aoba admitted with a sigh, looking at his phone and squinting at the glowing screen. His brow furrowed in frustration. “I just followed the Zoozle map, though…” Bill snorted in amusement. “If you're a bird, why don’t you use your magnetic sense?”

“I’m not a migratory bird!” Aoba snapped, sounding genuinely offended, and you stifled a laugh under your breath. “We shouldn’t be far from the station.” Legoshi muttered, trying to sound optimistic.

The group slowed down, walking into a dim alley, the air growing even thicker as you left the main road behind. Legoshi slowed even further, his face darkening. A deep frown creased his brow, and you could see the tension in his shoulders. He was on edge, more so than usual.

“Legoshi, what’s wrong?” Bill asked, his voice cutting through the silence. The question lingered in the air like a sudden gust of wind. Legoshi didn’t answer.

Instead, he stepped away from the group and moved toward an old antelope sitting beside a crumbling building. The smell hit you before you realized it—a stench of rot, sweat, and something sharp, metallic.

“Excuse me.” Legoshi called out, his voice tight. “May I ask for some help?” The old man’s face split into a grin so wide it seemed unnatural, as if the gesture itself was forced. “Sure. Pick any finger you like.” His voice was too smooth, too casual. You froze in place, your stomach twisting into a tight knot. Did he say finger?

The smell intensified—sickly and metallic, like the iron tang of dried and festering blood. Legoshi stiffened, his expression unreadable, but his body was rigid with unease.

The old antelope's hands were filthy, fingers stained with dirt and something darker. He held up both hands, fingers missing from each, matted with fur and yellowed with age as if presenting an offering. “These are just leftovers, but it should taste the same.” the antelope continued, his voice eerily calm.

"So, your canine teeth are about an inch long. Given that you’re young and in good shape, I have to say the price will be a bit higher. Just one bite should do the trick, right?" he said, casually running his fingers along Legoshi's face.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, but your feet stayed frozen to the ground. The words rattled in your mind like a trap being sprung. Just one bite. He said casually as if it were normal. As if you were supposed to understand.

As the truck behind you rumbled to life and began to move forward, it unveiled a market in all its gritty, illuminated glory. The road seemed to pulse with activity, filled with the sounds of vendors haggling and customers shouting demands. Aoba's voice pierced through the tension. "This is... the Black Market." he said, surprise evident in his tone.

Your heart pounded painfully in your chest, the sound echoing in your ears. The Black Market? Seeing it—actually seeing it—made everything you thought you knew feel so much smaller and darker. It was real, and now you were standing at the edge of it. The air felt oppressive, heavy with the weight of countless secrets and trades you could never unsee.

---

Legoshi glanced over at you, your words pulling him from his thoughts. “You’re deep in thought again.” you said, and he felt his ears twitch in surprise. Was he really that obvious? “Am I that obvious?” he asked, a hint of embarrassment creeping into his voice.

You shrugged. “Not obvious. Just… always somewhere else.” He felt the weight of your words settle in the air, a familiar tension mingling with the gentle sounds of the afternoon. The cool breeze brushed against him, and he wondered why he often disappeared into his mind.

“Is that a bad thing?” he asked, trying to sound unconcerned. You arched an eyebrow, a smile playing on your lips. “Depends.” Maybe getting lost in thought wasn’t such a bad thing after all, especially if it led to moments like this.

---

Bill's voice cut through the brief moment of calm. “Hey there! Mister?” he called out. “What are you spacing out about? Move!” he said sharply to Legoshi. Suddenly, Bill let out a short, sharp laugh as if he found something terribly amusing. “Hey, old man. You're selling your finger for 70,000, right? Are you sure I can eat your finger if I pay you that much?”

Your mouth fell open in disbelief. Was he really serious? The casualness of his tone was unsettling. “Hey, let’s get a bite each!” Bill said, grinning widely. “We can split the cost—” Before you could even react, Legoshi slapped Bill across the face.

“What the hell? Cut it out!” His voice was raw, louder than you’d ever heard it, and it rang through the alley, echoing off the walls. You moved back, your breath catching in your throat. “What was that, idiot?” Bill barked, eyes narrowing in annoyance.

“You’re the idiot!” Legoshi snapped back, his words filled with frustration. “Have you lost your mind?!” Bill sneered, unfazed. “You’re the one who’s lost your mind! We’re at the Black Market. Why should I care about your ego?” Aoba stepped between them, holding up his hands in an attempt to mediate.

“Legoshi, hold on,” he said, voice steady but edged with urgency. “If we were at school, I’d be on your side, but we are in a different situation now.” You shifted uncomfortably, looking toward the market, which was alive with noise and movement. But you could feel the danger hanging in the air like smoke.

Legoshi’s body was trembling, his fists clenched tightly at his sides—a visible sign of the inner struggle tearing him apart. “Aoba—” Legoshi began, but Aoba interrupted him, his voice now softer. “Look around you. We’re in the Black Market. And we’re carnivores.”

“Really? You’re going to eat his finger?” Legoshi’s voice cracked slightly, disbelief coloring his words. The question settled heavily in your chest, and you could feel your throat go dry, and your mouth suddenly parched. You tried to push aside the strange flutter of panic creeping through you.

Bill didn’t miss a beat. “Of course we are. You saw how people looked out there.” He gestured vaguely as if pointing at some distant memory. “They looked happy and peaceful.”

And you remembered. Families walked together, and children laughed, with no fear in their eyes. You wondered how much of it was real. Bill’s voice softened and darkened. “That’s thanks to this Black Market. Don’t you get it? Grow up already.” Legoshi's hands clenched into fists at his sides, and his eyes gazed off into the distance.

"Is that what it is?" Legoshi murmured, almost in a whisper. "Huh?" Bill replied, his voice dripping with mockery. “Is that what growing up means?” he shouted, the last words echoing in the air.

“Hey, Legoshi—” you called, taking a step closer. But before you could reach him, he was already striding away, his legs moving forward with a sense of purpose. You barely registered what was happening before he bolted straight toward the Black Market, disappearing into the winding alleys.

“Legoshi!” you and Aoba cried out in unison, a wave of panic surging through you. Every instinct urged you to chase after him, but the reality hit hard—he was far too quick, and a lone human wandering through the Black Market was a perilous gamble.

Your heart pounded violently against your ribs as you stood there, paralyzed by fear. Where could he possibly be heading? Why hadn’t you seized his sleeve when there was still time?

Bill turned toward you and Aoba, his grin stretched wide and crooked in the dim light, flashing just a bit too many fangs to feel casual. A stack of crisp bills danced between his fingers, flicking against his knuckles like a magician about to perform a trick.

“You guys want some too?” he asked, tone light, almost sing-song. His eyes, however, gleamed with something sharper, reckless, hungry. You stared at him, your stomach twisting.

The air around you felt like it had thickened—wet and clinging, saturated with the scent of blood and sweat. The lingering rot of spoiled meat hung in the corners of the alley like old smoke, sinking into your skin.

The walls of the Black Market seemed to pulse with murmurs and shuffling footsteps, the occasional shout echoing down from deeper within. This place breathed. It watched.

You frowned, hands curled into a fist at your side. “No,” you said, your voice flat and immediate. You took a step back as if the very thought of the offer burned. “That’s disgusting; I can’t.”

Aoba stood next to you, his hands twitching slightly at his sides. You could hear the faint rustle of feathers and felt the unease radiating off him in waves. He didn’t respond immediately. For a fleeting moment, he looked unsure, caught in the thick tension between peer pressure and instinct.

Then he sighed, narrowing his eyes in quiet resolution. “I’m good.” he muttered, forcing a shrug, though it was clear he wasn’t as calm as he wanted to appear. You exhaled quietly, your breath shaky.

Relief thudded in your chest, but it was shallow. Fleeting. You didn’t want to stay another second. You turned sharply on your heel, the sound of your shoes scuffing against the grimy pavement loud in your ears.

“I’m going to find the station.” you said over your shoulder. “Come if you want.” Aoba didn’t hesitate this time. He jogged to catch up with you, his presence at your side steadying, grounding.

As you walked, Bill and Tao's voices faded into the thick static of the Black Market—too distant to discern yet too loud to ignore. You chose not to look back. With each step, the market began to blend into the background, but its hold on you didn’t fully let go.

Even beyond its borders, the city's scent clung to your clothes, your skin, and your thoughts. The atmosphere buzzed in your ears—electric and overwhelming. Streetlamps flickered overhead, shimmering in puddles along the cracked sidewalk.

You stayed close to Aoba as you navigated through the crowded alleyway, surrounded by a blur of passing scents—cooked meat, engine oil, spilled alcohol, and stale cigarettes—that tainted the air. Neither of you spoke for a while; there seemed to be nothing to say that didn’t feel too big or too heavy.

Eventually, after turning into a narrow street that smelled less like decay and more like dust and street food, you spotted it—a weathered subway sign, half-flickering beneath a rusted light. Its letters were faded but still legible. "There." you began, your pace quickened, footsteps echoing off the empty sidewalk.

You reached the top of the subway just as the silence around you settled into something colder. "Do you think Legoshi is okay?" you asked. "I don’t know. He ran off pretty quickly." Aoba replied. You nodded slowly, feeling a knot tighten in your chest.

The image of him disappearing into that alleyway hadn’t left your mind. His face, his expression — it haunted you. Where had he gone? Was he scared? Angry? Something worse?

Aoba, at your side, was scrolling through his contacts, the dim glow of his phone screen lighting up his face in pale blue. The city noise softened, muffled by distance. You pulled out your phone, glancing down at it.

10:47 PM.

---

Legoshi’s feet struck the cracked pavement with a relentless rhythm, his breath ragged and uneven, lungs burning as he gulped down the thick, polluted air. His chest rose and fell with painful urgency, each inhale a desperate gasp as if he could outrun the instincts gnawing at the edges of his mind.

He didn’t know where he was running—only that he had to keep moving as if distance could somehow put space between himself and the hunger that threatened to consume him.

The deeper he ventured into the Black Market, the more the world around him seemed to contract, the alleyways narrowing and twisting like the arteries of a living beast. The air was thick with heat, a palpable wall that pressed against his fur, making every movement laborious.

The stench was overwhelming—rot, old blood, and grease layered with the acrid tang of burning charcoal and the metallic bite of raw meat. The scent of cooking fat sizzled on hot grills, mingling with the musky odor of the crowd and the sharp, sour notes of sweat and fear.

The lights overhead buzzed and flickered, casting a surreal glow of orange and yellow hues. His gaze drifted to the signs above: "FRESH LIVER," "EXOTIC CUTS," "NO ID REQUIRED."

The glow of lights reflected on slick puddles on the pavement, shimmering with oil and fat, and the walls were streaked with grime and condensation. The din of the market was deafening—vendors shouted from every corner, their voices hoarse from hawking wares, while buyers haggled and bartered, fangs flashing in laughter or hunger.

The air was alive with the clamor of knives chopping on wooden blocks, the sizzle of meat on hot grills, and the low hum of electric fans struggling against the oppressive heat.

Legoshi wiped at his mouth, startled by the drool trailing down his chin. He was disgusted with himself, but the scent of meat was everywhere, overwhelming his senses. He turned a corner and nearly collided with a stall where a hyena, sweat dripping from his brow, stirring a massive, steaming pot of something thick and bubbling.

The smell was intoxicating—hot fat, spices, and something primal that made his mouth water uncontrollably. The hyena’s claws were slick with grease, and his apron was stained with dark splotches. Behind him, skewers of meat roasted over open flames, the fat dripping and hissing as it hit the coals.

Legoshi’s claws dug into his palms, his stomach growled, and he bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, trying to ground himself in pain rather than desire. The heat from the surrounding grills made the air shimmer, and the scent of roasting meat mingled with the sharp tang of iron and the musky odor of the crowd.

He could feel the eyes of other carnivores on him—some curious, some predatory, all hungry in their own way. In his mind, he saw you—your smile, your presence. - I can’t tell you this to your face, but you are a very attractive girl. He thought. I’m always thinking about you.

The image of your smile flickered across his vision, a brief comfort in the chaos. But even as he clung to that thought, the market’s atmosphere threatened to swallow him whole. The world seemed to narrow, the noise and scent pressing in on him from all sides.

He stumbled into a dark side alley, the heat pressing down on him like a heavy blanket. The walls were slick with grime and condensation, and the air was thick with the scent of sweat, grease, and something sour and ancient. The ground beneath his feet was sticky with spilled sauces and melted fat.

The alley was lined with crates and barrels, some overflowing with bones and offal, others stacked with unmarked packages wrapped in brown paper. The shadows seemed to move, flickering light casting strange, shifting shapes on the walls.

Legoshi’s vision blurred, the world spinning sluggishly. The drool dripped freely now, soaking the fur at his chin. He could hear meat sizzling nearby, fat popping and hissing, and the low, conspiratorial whispers of dealers and buyers discussing cuts and prices. The air was thick with the scent of spices and smoke, and the sound of laughter and bargaining echoed from the main thoroughfare.

He leaned against the wall, his knees giving out. His breath came in shallow gasps, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel the heat radiating from the brick at his back, and the rough texture of the wall scraped against his fur. The world seemed to tilt, the noise and scent blending into a single, overwhelming sensation.

“I’m disgusting.” he whispered hoarsely to no one. Then, without another word, he slumped against the wall, eyes slipping shut as the Black Market buzzed on around him—a living, breathing beast of noise, scent, and hunger.

A low voice rumbled from above, cutting through the haze. “What a poor wolf. I’m glad you passed out in the back alley.”

---

When the Wolf stirred awake, his body ached, and his mouth was dry. The scent of dust and something sharper—perhaps blood—lingered in the air. He blinked open his eyes, feeling disoriented. He found himself in a small, dimly lit room, a muzzle secured around his face and chains binding him.

A panda loomed ahead of him, a cigarette in his mouth, scarred and solid, exuding an air of casual strength. “Good morning.” the panda said. “How do you feel? I bet you feel awful.” As he walked closer, the Wolf quickly backed up until he hit the wall. The panda bent down, examining him for a moment before putting a stethoscope to his chest.

“You’re much calmer than I expected.” the panda remarked, his voice thick with amusement. “Your heart rate is perfectly normal, even in this situation.” His sharp black eyes gleamed as he added with a grin, “Don’t get naughty.” before removing the muzzle.

Legoshi’s body tensed, his mind racing. “What is going on? Where am I?” he shouted. The panda’s palm struck his cheek with a force that left his ears ringing. “Let me be clear.” the panda said, his voice low and steady. “You’re not supposed to be hostile toward me. No baring your fangs, understood?”

The panda settled into a chair across from him, his posture casual, but the air thick with tension. “I watch over the Black Market.” he said bluntly. “What’s your name?” A camera flash took Legoshi by surprise, leaving spots in his vision. “...Legoshi.” he answered, his voice small.

“Legoshi, huh? When did you devour a herbivore?” the panda asked, his eyes sharp. He straightened up in surprise. “Never!” Legoshi barked, guilt twisting in his stomach as the camera flashed again. The panda chuckled.

“If a carnivore is found passed out or panicked in the Black Market, it usually means they’ve eaten a herbivore. So, tell me... which is it?” Legoshi's chest tightened. "I almost did." he muttered, shame coating his words. "But... I came to my senses at the last moment."

"Or more precisely, you put on a mask again to hide your true intentions." the panda countered. Legoshi's thoughts flashed to you—his mask of control. "But I'm going to tell her the truth someday," he said softly.

The panda’s ears twitched. “‘Her’? Are you getting along with her after you tried to eat her?” Legoshi’s throat tightened. “What are you thinking when you talk to her? Do you imagine what she tastes like? Are you waiting for a chance to eat her every day?”

Legoshi recoiled, a wave of horror swelling in his chest. “I’m offended.” he said, his voice strained and his expression hardening. The panda snorted. “I bet you are, but no matter how much you try to hide it, all carnivores have the same desires beneath their sheep’s clothing.”

The panda rose, his heavy steps reverberating through the air. "That's why the black market exists." he said in a low voice. "The meat here is harvested from hospitals and funeral homes. It's still illegal, but at least we don't have to kill them ourselves. Look at this." He said, pulling aside a curtain.

Behind the curtain lay grim photographs of carnivores, broken and twisted by guilt. Some were missing limbs, while others had hollow, vacant eyes.
“These are carnivores who succumbed to their instincts and killed herbivores,” the panda explained.

“Some couldn’t forget the taste and ended up eating their own arms. Others were so filled with self-loathing that they tore out their own fur. One of them was so in love with a herbivore that he eventually devoured her.” He finished by pinning a photo of the wolf on the wall.

Legoshi’s stomach twisted. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Who... who are you?” he asked hoarsely. The panda took his cigarette out of his mouth and turned to look at the wall of photographs. “I’m a psychotherapist for the Black Market. Actually, I’m a real doctor. I have to keep working hard not to add any more photos. Whether I become your enemy or ally—well, that’s up to you,” he said, turning to the wolf.

---

The panda started, “You’re a student from that famous Cherryton School.” Legoshi flinched. “What’s with that ‘I’m so miserable’ look? You’re a real pain,” he added.

Legoshi thought back to earlier moments and remembered that the panda was a mammal, an ursid. Their size and nature were similar to brown bears, but they had one unique trait: pandas are carnivores but can live on only eating plants.

Taking his hand off his cheek, he asked, “So, how do you treat dangerous carnivores? As a panda with a strong body or as a panda who never eats meat at all?” Laughing, the panda replied, “You’re such a typical honor student.”

“I’ve gotten rid of my instincts as a beast. It’s been more than ten years since I decided to stay here. This town needed a doctor.” Legoshi watched, captivated. “To protect myself and heal others, I’ve been eating bamboo and strengthening my body,” he said, flexing his arm. “I’m just a doctor… with big muscles.”

Legoshi thought he had to be telling the truth as he reached for the tea on the table, his hand shook slightly. He took a sip, swallowing the earthy bitterness, the taste lingering. “Do you like it?” the panda asked, amused. “It’s bamboo tea.” Legoshi put the tea down and asked, “So, when you have dangerous carnivores in custody, how do you treat them?”

“'Treat’? That’s what I’m doing right now. Carrot-and-stick counseling,” the panda replied. “I’m not your patient,” Legoshi shot back. “My patients always say that,” the panda said lazily. “This is different. At least I'm trying to overcome my instincts.”

"That's also what they say," the panda added, interrupting him. Legoshi’s frustration boiled over. “You know nothing about me!”

"I've gradually become her friend-" he began. The panda's ears twitched. "Shut up, brat!" he said, slamming a fist on the table. He grabbed Legoshi by the collar. "Stop barking like a chihuahua! Listen to me. You think you want to get along with her, but it’s your instincts talking. It’s camouflage. Your desire to rip through her flesh is just twisting itself into 'romantic' feelings."

Legoshi felt the world tilt beneath him. “You should break it off before it’s too late.” the panda said gruffly. “Damn it, this is why I don’t like teenagers. All you think about is love.” As he put on his backpack, the wolf started, “I’m not even sure if what I’m feeling is love.” Legoshi muttered, “I’ve never had a relationship before, so I can’t tell.”

“Never? Figures.” the panda said, surprised. Legoshi swallowed. “May I go back to school now? Thank you for your hospitality.” More like hostility, though, the wolf thought.

As Legoshi turned to leave, the panda called out, "Hey." He pointed something at him. Legoshi examined it—a worn magazine. The cover featured a human woman, her skin luminous against a dark background, her expression hauntingly distant. It was titled 'Bare Skins: Unleash Your Wildest Desires.'

The panda's voice cut through the tension. "Hey, this is serious business. If you find it stimulating, that just means you have a unique sexuality. But if you don't feel that way and you're still attracted to that human girl, well… that’s serious. Check yourself. There's no need to return it." Legoshi's face flushed as he shoved the magazine into his bag.

As he exited the building, his thoughts replayed, "Check yourself. No need to return it?" He recalled how ridiculous it was; he wanted to erase this whole day from his memory. He bolted down the street, his heart pounding in his chest.

---

You looked up upon hearing hurried footsteps approaching. Then you saw him. “Legoshi!” you called out instinctively. He ran toward you, his steps heavy yet determined. His chest rose and fell in ragged breaths.

His sweater was crumpled and damp with sweat, and the collar stretched awkwardly as if he’d been grabbed—or maybe because he had been running for a while.

He stopped a few feet away, bent slightly forward with his hands braced on his knees, trying to catch his breath. When he finally looked up, his eyes were glassy, too bright. “Oh my gosh, where were you?!” you asked, rushing forward, your voice thick with leftover fear.

Aoba stepped forward, too, relief evident on his face. But before either of you could say more, Legoshi looked up with a strange expression—hollow, existing somewhere between the present and a distant place.

“Aoba… what are you doing here?” His voice was low, soft, and almost dazed. “I ran away from there.” Aoba replied, his voice steadier than his expression. “I couldn’t eat the old man’s finger.” he continued. The air felt too still. “When I thought about my herbivore friends—Sanu, Louis—it just made me feel sick. Like, physically sick.”

He then turned to you and asked, "And you -?" "I'm an omnivore; it's not like I'm holding some secret urge to eat meat." you replied.

Legoshi stared at him for a long moment, then slowly blinked, something unspoken flickering behind his eyes. His jaw tensed, but then eased—his shoulders lowering just a little.

Aoba looked down. “So… yeah. I’m sorry about earlier. Let’s just… go back, okay?” You prepared to descend into the subway, but then Aoba paused, eyes narrowing. “Wait… Legoshi… are you crying?” Your gaze snapped to him.

There, glinting in the dull streetlight, moisture clung to his lower lashes, threatening to fall. He blinked rapidly, but it wasn’t fast enough. “I… I don’t have a towel or anything.” Aoba said, half-joking and half-concerned. Legoshi didn’t respond.

You dug into your bag, your fingers brushing past pens and wrappers until they closed around a soft cloth. It was a small, pink handkerchief—frayed at the edges but clean. You stepped forward and gently held it out to him. “Here.”

Legoshi looked at the handkerchief, then back at you—a flicker of surprise crossing his face—before reaching out with trembling fingers. “Ah… thank you.” he said, dabbing at his eyes in an attempt to compose himself. He moved to hand it back, but you waved him off.

“No, keep it. As a memento or something.” He froze, looking at the handkerchief in his hand as if it were something sacred. His lips parted slightly, but no sound came out.

Finally, he whispered, “Thank you.” From below, Aoba’s voice rang out, echoing slightly against the station tiles. “Guys! Hurry up—we don’t want to be any later than we already are!”

There was still so much left unsaid. Turning toward the subway stairs, you felt the weight of the night pressing on you, but the path ahead began to feel a bit clearer. Bill and Tao would have to find their own way back.