The wolf cub stood in the room.

It was still as foul as smells could be. It was as if the walls were made of living flesh, and now its dead, rotting corpse was festering in the air. The time of day didn’t help either; the evening sun was beating down over the cold, wet grounds of the building, turning the air thick and humid and all the more repulsive. Hesitation wouldn’t be present in testification for its condition.

For the wolf cub though, he’d need to be provided with an initiative. He adapted to his surroundings, or rather, became inured to it. It was an unpleasant room before, but now it’s just a room. Besides, he had other, much drastic things to occupy his head.

The cub still had his scissors in his pockets, but it was now accompanied by a wad of crumpled paper notes. They soon parted though, as he pulled the money out from his jeans and presented them in a pair of open palms.

Standing before him was a bear and a tiger.

The lizard was nowhere to be seen.

"G-Got the money," the cub said.

The bear glanced to his back where the tiger stood.

The tiger had his eyes square on the cub. Without averting his gaze, he nudged his head towards the money in his hand.

The bear glanced back towards the cub. He extended his hand. His palm alone could smother the cub's whole snout, with fingers fat enough to ensure it stays there for as long as the bear willed it.

The cub placed the money in the bear’s palm. With one thumb, the bear pressed down on the paper and started flipping through the creased notes one by one. The tiger’s attention remained on the cub. The cub made the conscious decision to ignore everything and lowered his face, keeping his sight to his bare, open feet.

The sounds of wrinkled paper filled the still, rancid air.

The cub started getting cold feet. He was uncertain whether he had the correct amount. He didn’t check, or rather, he didn’t know how to. He forgot how much was taken away, much less how much he should be taking from. He could only cross his fingers and hope for the absolute best.

The rustling persisted for much longer than the cub wished it to be, growing more frequent with every passing second.

The noises just kept going without a hint of an end.

Then the noises ended as abruptly as they began.

The cub didn’t dare to lift his head.

He started taking in the rancid smell of the room. He’d been breathing in the air for a while, but it was only then when he started being conscious of it. The blasphemous combination of wet dust and the raw scent of metal coagulated into a near-solid hunk of a taste in his mouth. It tainted his tongue, mixing in with his saliva. Tasting his spit was like rolling a ball of rotten meat in his mouth.

It served well as a distraction.

Then came a sound that the cub could only rationalize as a collection of paper being exchanged from one hand to another.

The cub held his breath for a moment.

“Look up,” a voice called to him.

The cub didn’t want to.

A small lump of fear held down his nape like weights tied to his neck. The uncertainty that laid before him tormented his mind. He’d rather have existence as he knew it wiped at that very moment than to raise his head. He wanted out. He was tired. He was worn to his core. If he couldn’t ask for less, the least he could do is wish for no more. He knew something was bound to be added to the pile if he brought up his snout. It mattered not whether it’ll bring him good or bad; he didn’t even want that risk.

But he didn’t know what else to do.

Inch by inch, the cub raised his head.

He found himself shrouded under a shadow large enough to cover another half of himself.

The tiger, hands in his pockets, stood chest to snout in front of the cub. Looking from below, his face was rendered indescribable by the darkness, save for his eyes. They cast a dark colour that rode the line between blood red and dark bronze. To the cub, they were like dark moons, gazing down on him as they held an ethereal, almost-omnipresent sense of judgement.

He asked the cub, “What’s my name?”

The cub gulped.

“T-Tein.”

“You remember,” Tein said, “Good.”

The tiger drew out his left hand from his pocket. It was carrying the same wad of cash the cub brought to him. He made short glances at the money, rubbing his fingers across the crumpled surface.

He then turned his eyes towards the cub and spoke.

“I’ll let you use my name.”

----------------------------------------

Dove came again this morning.

He followed the club president in at the same time as yesterday, carrying his duffel bag in the same position from before. The otter held the same expression he put on the last Shiro saw of him, only worse. He ignored Krin’s greeting and made a slow, lethargic pace towards his office.

As for Dove, without a second word, he sat himself down behind the counter. He set camp a short distance away, next to Shiro, away from Krin. He set his bag on the counter, pulled out a stool and proceeded with a vicious glare towards the wolf. Until then, it was the only form of acknowledgement the Doberman had paid towards him that morning, much less the lizard.

It wasn’t something so easy to be ignored. The pressure was potent, no matter the subject. Shiro reciprocated with his usual gaze. He held a poker face, but a different story was being told inside.

Shiro wasn’t incredulous; rather, the emotion he had was one of tensed anticipation.

There was no telling what comes next.

At that point, Shiro took the decision to lay in wait, and let things come first. He eased his mind, forming only the most primitive thoughts towards the situation; he was the one with the upper hand. Any happenings would be backed up by a record of past aggressions and a witness. If luck were to deal him good cards, it’ll occur during the lunch rush, where he’d have physical proof and multiple testimonies for him.

The wolf cleared his mind, looking away from Dove and diverting his attention to Krin.

He could still feel the Doberman’s daggers behind him, but he left them as they were, opting to put all his focus into the lizard.

Krin seemed to share the same sentiment, though not with the disregard Shiro held with him. It was to be expected: the lizard isn’t one to shy away from circumstances. She tried to write something out about it As she pulled up her red board, however, Shiro lifted a hand of his own and held the board against her chest.

Shiro kept his silence. He merely wore an expression that spoke all that he wanted to say to Krin. The lizard understood, and laid the board on her lap, though her doubts remained clear to be seen from the furtive movements she made towards the Doberman behind the wolf with her snout.

They studied Geography for the next few moments or so. Krin got into her rhythm soon enough, and the routine kicked in. The lizard explained to Shiro to the best of her abilities. The wolf wrote notes as well as he could, though the efficacy of which was up for debate. His head was soon crammed with concepts he had trouble comprehending, much less memorizing. He figured he’d need a recap at the first-hour mark if he was to walk away with any understanding at all.

That plan was short-lived.

The door behind them swung open, catching the wolf and the lizard’s attention in an instant. They turned to their backs.

The club president stepped out, facing the ground as he walked past the doorway.

“Krin," he said, "We've been receiving complaints regarding the Classics section. The reasons are unspecified. Go sort it out."

The otter's voice was devoid of any emotion or urgency. They weren't orders, but a set of pronunciations hastily thrown together to form comprehensible, yet meaningless sounds. He was like a child reading off a passage in a textbook, or a terrible actor reciting a memorized script.

"And do it," he added, "Alone."

If there was reluctance present in Krin, she didn’t show it. She wasn’t out of the loop either. As the otter spoke, the lizard gave a nudge towards Shiro with her snout. The club president’s orders are absolute, however. She turned towards the otter, took a bow, and left the table.

There Shiro sat on the counter, watching Krin as she stepped into the bowels of the library shelves, away from sight. The otter retreated into his room without a second word, closing the door behind him.

The wolf opted to study on his own. He picked up the lizard’s textbook and flipped a few pages back, revising his written notes as well as he could.

As far as he was concerned, he was alone, then and there. There was no other presence with him. None he wished to acknowledge in particular, anyway.

Though his intention wasn’t a recipient of mutual respect.

“Why are you running?”

Shiro didn’t hear those words. Or rather, he preferred if he couldn’t hear those words. A mild amount of frustration and regret filled the wolf’s chest as if it was his fault that he couldn’t avoid something beyond his control. It was perhaps a warped justification he made to serve as a baseless anchor for the spontaneities occurring around him.

There was nothing else to do but to tend the flames before they turn into an inferno.

He wasn’t about to bend to its will, however.

The wolf turned to his side.

As if his glare never left, Dove still had his eyes wedged onto Shiro, less than eager to let the wolf leave his sight.

“Tell me,” he said.

Shiro kept his silence

“Make things easier," the Doberman added, "For us.”

For a split second, the last few weeks poured into Shiro's head in a spill of disjointed memories and emotions. It was like a small bottle sitting underneath a tipped bucket, its mouth choking from the incessant deluge as the excess bubbled out from the rims. The bottle stayed upright, standing against the onslaught from the bucket, but it was far from being contained.

The wolf felt his eyebrow twitch on its own.

He growled, "You couldn't ask before?"

“Why should I?” Dove shot back.

Shiro felt the skin above his nose pulled up to his snout, his teeth pushing against it like curtains of flesh. He fought against every cell in his body to keep it from doing so.

“I thought you could show me first hand,” the Doberman continued, “But you wouldn’t. Now I’m asking you.

“I’m reaching common ground. Tell me. What’s in the cell?

“What’s behind the wall?”

Silence took hold of the next few seconds.

On one hand, Dove's words were self-explanatory on many things. For Shiro to be a subject to such a sight was a surreal experience on its own. The Doberman spoke the same language, but to the wolf might as well have been speaking in an alien tongue. He couldn’t be more dismissive of his words, even if he tried.

On the other hand, the end of the line sat right before him. Self-respect was out of the question. Everything would end, then and there, as bathetic as it’ll be. He didn’t even need to say the truth; as long as it sounded conforming, the Doberman would probably eat it up. All he needed to do was say the words; sweet, little lies that would satisfy both parties.

If only those sweet, little lies really did satisfy one of the parties.

“Give up,” Shiro spoke, glancing back down to the textbook and his notes.

Dove slammed a fist down onto the counter. Shiro felt the tremor pulsing underneath the notes and the stationeries. The pages fluttered across the open books, giving small glimpses to the contents underneath.

His eyes still on his notes, Shiro said, “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Say it,” Dove replied.

Shiro repeated himself, “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Bull. Stop wasting time,” the Doberman spoke, his voice seething out between his gritted teeth, “We both know what we want.”

“We wouldn’t be here if we did,” the wolf skipped no beats in his words.

“And look at where we are now,” the Doberman replied.

Shiro remained silent, the tip of his pen scratching against the paper. Dove leaned in, keeping his brown glare towards him.

“You want out as much if not more than I want to know,” he said.

The wolf kept quiet.

“You either tell me now..."

Dove never finished that sentence.

An empty second passed between the two.

Shiro then put down his pen, reared his head towards the Doberman and spoke.

"Believe me," he said, "You won't want to."

“I’ll find that out myself,” Dove replied.

“Do that,” the wolf responded, "Yourself."

The Doberman kept a blazing glare on Shiro for a long while. The wolf gazed back, his pupils still and tranquil as it boiled and bubbled within his crimson irises.

Dove replied.

“I will.”

----------------------------------------

Krin came back after a while. When she returned the scene was just as how she left, with the exception of Dove, who had his head buried in a pile of notes of his own. Shiro was there beside the Doberman as he always was, doing much of the same. Despite sitting on the same counter doing the same things, their distance couldn’t have been further. A sharp, ethereal fissure sat in the space between the two canines, like some magical rift showing two different realities at once, with none of them acknowledging the other.

The lizard returned to her usual seat beside Shiro. She tried to give mention of this, though Shiro shot her down the moment she tried to pick up her red board. They continued their session as if the past dozen or so minutes had never happened.

In the third hour, a hunger pang struck Shiro with the might of an angered deity.

Whether it was the occurrence he had before, or the fact that two plain bread was too light of a breakfast, the sensation was undeniable. It overrode the usual afternoon fatigue, prying his eyelids open through sheer starvation alone.

By the fourth hour, the hunger started to devour his rationality.

The flood gates in his mouth opened into a deluge. His teeth were stalagmites, sticking and hanging over a dripping cavern as saliva beads dripped down from the tips and rolled down to the base. As the drool filled up in the back of his mouth, so did the warmth. It was a slow, raging beast, holding a vice, liquid grip over his throat, threatening to poison the well unless pacified.

It was too much to ignore. The moment the lunch rush hit, Shiro took the chance. As students filled the library, the wolf took the opportunity to leave. He made sure Krin was informed beforehand. He wanted to inform the club president too, but the otter hadn’t stepped foot outside since the morning, and Shiro had a hunch he wasn’t in a welcoming mood too.

The wolf had some guilt over leaving the lizard alone and unaided, especially during such a crucial moment. She made the extra effort to convince Shiro she’ll be alright, and that she was used to such situations, which didn’t help with the wolf’s remorse at all. The hunger then kicked in one more time and any sort of contrition Shiro had dissipated.

It was a good excuse to get away from him too.

He left in great strides, making a beeline towards one of the half dozen of cafeterias in the Academy. He returned to the one with bleached walls and tiled walls and bench tables. The wolf wasn’t a big fan of round tables with silk cloths and individual, cushioned chairs. To him, they felt constrictive and choking, not in space but in terms of formality. You couldn’t get away with a spread leg on a single, grand chair, but not on a lowly bench, at least when you’re alone. That was how it felt for Shiro. His credibility was null, but he wasn’t looking for outside approval either. External responses would remain the same whether he walked in with the grace of a king or the filth of a bum. By process of elimination, personal satisfaction would be next on the hierarchy of decisive consideration, and to him, there was something about sitting on planks of wood whilst resting your elbows on bigger planks of wood that appeals to his liking. It spoke to him on a personal level, despite it being a foreign language he couldn’t understand.

As per usual, it was crowded to the brim with all manners of fur and beaks and tails and scales. The collective warmth coupled with the combined smell of varying types of body odours gave the place an undeniable scent that could only be purified by a potent whirlwind. It also seemed as if that potent whirlwind was soon arriving; the commotion from the patrons was loud enough to rival a geological event through its vibrations, and it only grew louder in time as more and more began to walk in.

It seemed counterintuitive for Shiro to go out for a meal at the peak of the lunch rush, but the crowd was big enough that the wolf could hide within the masses. Everyone would be too preoccupied with avoiding feet and tails to be noticing the Academy’s outcast walking beside them.

The counter was manned by the usual staff member; namely the white-footed mouse in the tuxedo. He bounced from one end of the counter to the other, taking orders and giving recommendations. Though his size was apparent, his energy was boundless. Instead of a body accommodating his spirit, he seemed like a puppet being run on fiery zeal alone.

“Am lucky today, bredas. Kitchen’s whipped summa’ dat’ good green fe’ you goats an’ dose’ red fe’ de’ lions an’ tigas’,'' his little mouth ran, “If it no good you can take it up ta’ me, seen?”

Shiro admired the mouse’s diligence, though he wasn’t ready to match up to his vigour. He scanned the place for a while, making silent decisions in his head. A minute later, he reached a hand over the crowd’s head, grabbed a plate of large, pre-made sandwiches sliced in four ways, sitting ready on the counter. He scampered off, leaving to find an empty table.

He glanced around, finding seats that were too hot for comfort, with rays from the sun blasting so powerful that they could still sting shut eyes. He found a bench soon enough, sitting on the corner, close to the window. The surface had been soaked with years of sunlight to the point where it seemed it’s been lightly toasted under mild fire. Nobody in their right mind would sit there by their own will.

It was the perfect seat for Shiro. He waded through the crowd, holding his plate above his ears as he made his way to the place. He sat himself down and made himself comfortable to the best of his abilities.

He poked into his sandwiches, peeling off the layers to check the insides. Sure enough, there were slices of ham. From the looks alone, they seemed like top quality products. Shiro could tell from the texture that what he had on his plate was something worthy of a three-figure price tag. It was the golden standard for any meat-based dish, with a smell capable of commanding his most viscous drool from any carnivore.

He cast them on the side of the plate and rearranged the sandwich, leaving only the egg and the vegetables and the assorted condiments within. He took his first bite. It was a sandwich that was as great as sandwiches go. If there were any better tasting sandwiches out there, Shiro wouldn’t have known.

After this third bite, he heard a voice speak out from behind. It stood out amongst the hubbub, piercing Shiro’s ears with great clarity. It sounded soft, playful and soothing.

It asked, “Can I have some of that?”

Shiro ignored it. He swallowed and took another bite from his sandwich.

There was nothing but silence. Silence being the rowdy ambience bursting in the background, with silverware clashing with ceramics and arguments and conversations and debates being made across the room. It persisted for a few seconds.

Footsteps began approaching from behind, growing louder with each step. Shiro gulped down his sandwich and bit into it again.

A figure came into view from the corner of his eye. It came around the bench table, holding a plate in its hand. The figure moved to the opposite of the table and set its plate down on the table. From what Shiro could see, a roasted Feral pork shoulder sat on the plate, exuding a smell so intense that it choked the air for a solid second. Its skin was roasted to a crisp brown, with stretches of bronze racing between the cooked muscles, teasing the wrinkled, succulent meat beneath. The grease shone under the sunlight as it ran down from the meat’s charred pores, pouring onto the white ceramic below. A pair of silverware sat on opposite ends; a knife and a fork.

The figure sat itself down across Shiro. The wolf didn’t bother to look up, but even then, the figure held unmistakable features that were impossible to miss. Radiant, yellow-spotted fur, a bright tail, and a slender frame, with a rather ample pair of hips to boot; distinctive traits that stood out like a light at the end of a tunnel. As if an extra, an ever-present grin was spread across an attractive snout.

Shiro kept his eyes on his meal and bit into his sandwich.

The figure leaned in towards the wolf. It wore the Academy’s standard-issue uniform, only with the jacket unbuttoned. Beneath it was a loose tank top, dangling off the figure’s shoulder, prying a narrow window of faint, discernable contours.

Leo asked, “May I?”

Shiro swallowed and answered.

“No.”

Leo’s eyes widened from the wolf’s answer, but instead of a switch of expression, his grin only seemed to grow. Shiro gave no indication nor any form of acknowledgement for the leopard’s expression. He took another bite from the sandwich.

The leopard sank back down to his seat and picked up his fork, “Why not?”

Shiro chewed his food. He didn’t answer for a while. Leo followed suit, cutting a big chunk with a knife and sticking it with a fork.

After half a minute, the wolf swallowed.

“Get your own," he took a bite from his bread after those words.

Leo too, took a moment to reply. He savoured the taste of the roasted pork in his mouth. He tossed it from one cheek to another, circulating the juices around his cavity.

The leopard then swallowed and answered, "It wouldn't be the same."

Shiro followed up almost immediately, "They serve the same ham."

Leo then drew up his greased fork and pointed it towards the wolf.

"But then it wouldn’t be your ham," he said.

Shiro paid no attention and finished the last of his sandwich. He picked up his second slice and waited for his teeth to finish their current job. Leo followed suit, cutting an even bigger chunk of the meat. It was as big as a cheap butcher's cut from the supermarket. From Shiro’s experience, they were usually sold in the upper echelons of the two-figure price tags, sometimes close to a three-figure. The leopard downed it all in one bite.

They continued in relative silence, or at least as quiet as it could possibly get in a boisterous cafeteria. Occasionally, there’d be a passer-by or two who’d give Leo’s their friendliest regard, with the majority of them being girls. All of them either gave Shiro the complete opposite, or an outright dismissal of his presence.

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

A few minutes later, Leo spoke.

“It should be easy,” the leopard said, cutting another slice off his pork, “Right?”

Shiro didn’t answer.

“I think we both know how much he is to you-”

“Stop that,” Shiro interjected.

Leo glanced up, meeting the wolf at his eyes. The wolf reciprocated with a glare of his own.

The leopard’s tail began swishing from behind the bench. He flashed an innocent grin.

He asked, “Stop what?”

Shiro laid his hands on the table, gripping his fists. His claws dug deep into his palms.

He growled, “You still think I’ll listen?”

“You wouldn’t listen otherwise either,” Leo replied, putting the meat into his mouth, his eyes still on the wolf.

Shiro kept quiet for a second.

He then picked up his second sandwich slice, tearing out half of it in one bite.

“I don’t need this,” he spoke with a full mouth.

The two continued with their meal undisturbed. The sunlight dimmed out for a moment. Maybe some clouds got in the way, teasing the weather from a drizzle to a heavy thunderstorm. None of them bothered to check.

Leo then swallowed and spoke.

“I think we’ve got a little misunderstanding between us.”

Shiro looked up from his plate.

“This isn’t for him,” the leopard said, “But for you.”

The wolf kept an eye on Leo.

He continued, “You think expulsion will stop him?”

He drew his knife up towards Shiro.

“You’re not exactly here forever, you know,” he said, “Where can you go after that?”

The leopard brought his knife down and cut out a large piece from the pork on his plate.

“You’re not a small guy yourself either,” he said as he bit into his meat, “Quite a face too, for better or worse.”

As Leo continued with his meal, Shiro had his half-eaten sandwich in his hand, held under his closed mouth. His gaze held a degree of reluctant certainty. His crimson red pupils were hardened like solid, stone spheres. Yet, there were its contents within, churning and swirling like volatile liquid. They drifted off from the leopard, gazing away to his back at an unknown distance.

Leo gulped down and spoke again.

“Let’s talk about something else.”

Shiro’s ears twitched for a split second, but his gaze remained detached.

“Let’s talk about you,” Leo asked, “Aside from the obvious, that is; what else do you have?”

Various images came into Shiro’s head, whether it be vague recollections or clear memories, fuzzy silhouettes or detailed figures, mild ticks in his chest or passionate explosions of emotions.

“I should be more specific,” the leopard corrected himself, “What more do you have to lose?”

That statement recaptured the wolf’s focus, tossing his eyes back onto the leopard.

“I don’t think it means anything to him,” Leo continued, “Or that he cares whether it does to you.”

The leopard cut out another big chunk from the pork, reducing it to half of its original portion. He stuck it into his mouth, savouring the taste.

Shiro looked down to his plate. His food remained untouched, with one portion held between his fingers and the others laying dormant on his plate.

He stared at the ham, discarded and cast to the side.

He stared at it for a solid minute.

A minute later, Leo swallowed and asked, “Do you think it’s worth it?”

Shiro gave no reaction, much less a response.

He gazed towards the half-eaten sandwich in his hand.

He shoved the whole thing into his mouth and gulped it all down. He devoured the sandwich with furious fervour, so much so that he squinted the whole time as he bit into it.

Before he’d even finished, the wolf had snatched the third sandwich off the plate.

He swallowed everything in his mouth with great force and asked, “What’s it to you?”

Leo gave no answer.

“All this,” Shiro asked as he took a nibble off his sandwich, “What do you want from it?”

“Movies are frustrating,” Leo answered, “No?”

Shiro was thrown for a loop as soon as the leopard’s words reached his ears. It was like a whiplash of topics, swinging from one direction before being sucked into a portal and tossed into another dimension at warp speed.

Without any concern, Leo continued.

“You sit down, maybe grab a snack or two, and watch actors play idiots making stupid decisions,” he said, “Sometimes they’d have someone make the right choice, but then they’d screw things up. Other times, you’ll find someone who can make good choices and do it well, but they just don’t.”

Shiro stared as the leopard talked. Attention was paid but enraptured he was not. He showed no signs of agreement nor disgust. If he was bored or persuaded, he showed neither. The wolf wore a poker face of indifference as he sat and listened.

Leo let out a slight chuckle.

“I’m supposed to pay money to see all that.”

He put down his utensils, casting them beside his half-finished pork.

“I rather get robbed,” he said as he pushed his meal aside, laying his head on his palm, “At least I can do something about it.”

Shiro was unresponsive for a moment. He shared silent gazes with the leopard, staring into his intense, toxic green pupils.

He spoke a minute later.

“Walk away,” the wolf said, “Stay out.”

He took a bite from his sandwich.

“No one’s making you wa-”

“You haven’t understood me,” Leo cut Shiro off.

As he spoke, the leopard pulled the plate back to his front. He picked up his fork and stabbed it deep into the roasted pork. With a flick of a wrist, he raised the whole cut to his mouth, grease and juice and oil rolling and dripping onto the plate and table beneath it.

“I said movies are frustrating, not boring,” he said, “They’re interesting, especially with the right characters in the right scenarios. But they don’t do the right things. Like I said, stupid decisions and screw-ups.”

Leo raised the meat to his mouth.

“Sometimes I think to myself, ‘what if I can change that?’.”

The leopard left a satisfied grin as Shiro remained stationary on his seat, his expression unchanging.

Shiro then took a bite from his third sandwich and asked, “You want to be a director?”

With that, Leo’s grin gradually split into a blooming smile.

The leopard then split half his jaw apart, shoving the meat to the deep part of his oral cavity. Without a hitch, he snapped his mouth shut along with his jaws, gnawing off at least a third of the pork, cutting through its tendons and muscles and fat and skin in one bite. He tugged the meat away from his mouth and dropped it back on his plate, the fork still stuck atop.

Shiro watched as Leo savoured every inch of the pork in his mouth with a degree of ecstasy unparalleled in the wolf’s recent memories.

The leopard waited until he was done before resuming his words. He made an audible gulp as he swallowed.

“I’d say fate is the director and the producer,” he said, “She gives us the tools and the stage, and we’re in charge of everything else. Writers, actors, editors, designers… down to the audience members. I’m the latter one. I’m just here for the show.”

Shiro continued with his meal as Leo went on with his words.

“But nothing’s good been playing. Just remakes, sequels, and cheap imitations,” the leopard lamented, “The same characters, the same decisions, the same cliches, the same actions and reactions; it’s like watching a long movie on repeat.”

Leo reached towards his plate once again.

“So,” he spoke, “As I said,

“‘What if I can change that?’.”

Just as Leo raised his meat to his mouth, Shiro lowered the sandwich in his hand, prompting the leopard’s attention.

“Because you can,” Shiro spoke, “You think you should?”

“I never said ‘should’,” the leopard said, “There is no ‘should’. I said I ‘can’, and that’s all there is to it.”

Shiro asked, “People who ‘can’t’?”

“What a shame,” was all Leo said.

With that, the leopard downed the rest of his pork, tearing portions into his mouths as he put his teeth to work. He ripped the meat to shreds, twisting and contorting them with his jaws until they were reduced to nothing but gelatinous lumps of taste and spit before swallowing it whole and repeating the process. His face held an expression of elation as he ate. On rare occasions, his tongue would lash beyond his snout, brushing off the grease residing on his lips.

Shiro watched Leo devour his meal with a shut snout. His sandwiches remained intact throughout. He remained on his seat as still as a stone. His hands were on the table, his back straight, waiting for something from the leopard.

Leo finished his meal at a swift pace, polishing his plate clean within a dozen minutes. He placed the fork on the table as he licked the rims of his snout. He glanced up towards the wolf.

Shiro’s expression was the same as ever.

Indecipherable indifference.

Leo returned it with his usual grin.

“It’s your turn now,” he said.

Shiro sat in silence for a moment.

He then asked, “What if I don’t?”

Leo rested his arm on the table and laid his head over his elbow. He wrapped his palm around his head, his nimble fingers toying with his ear. His tail swung left to right in a near hypnotizing rhythm.

“Either you do,” the leopard said with a smile, “Or someone else is going to. And who knows-”

With a free arm, he reached towards Shiro’s cheek.

“If the script gets better,” Leo said, “I might play a part too-"

Shiro’s hand shot out with staggering haste, slamming a solid grasp on Leo’s wrist. From its original place on the table to the vice, iron grip on the leopard’s arm, there was barely a blur in between. His fingers and bones held shapes that indicate collapsible structure, but underneath the exterior, it was anything but.

His palm was like sentient concrete. No matter how much Shiro seemed to move his limbs with ease, under his grasp, a different story was being told. His fur was iron spikes; his skin held the surface of rough, uncut lumber; his blood pumped just a few degrees under boiling point.

“Fuck that,” Shiro said as he raised Leo’s hand.

The leopard got tugged close, his grease-laden breath mixing in with the boiling clouds hovering over the wolf’s nose and mouth. Thick, suppressed vitriol billowed between the seams of Shiro’s unfurled fangs, blowing violent jets onto Leo’s snout.

“You ain’t getting no fucking movie from me,” the wolf growled.

Leo’s eyelids were yanked to its end, with Shiro’s crossed face mirrored onto the leopard’s pupils. Every last detail, solid and dripping, was imprinted into Leo’s sights. The wrinkles riding up his snout; the glimmer of his seething teeth; the ridges cutting down his forehead; the burning, ruby stones that were his eyes; the feline slit cutting through said eyes. His other senses continued to breathe life to that image; the funk emitting off his saliva; the slight, discernible rhythm of his breaths; the pressure on his wrist, forcing his fingers and palm open.

They were like phantom layers to a cake, forming an ethereal, prepossessing tower of confectionery.

All he needed was the cherry on top.

In a split second, Shiro’s eyes shot wide open. The skin around his snout fell back over his teeth like heavy curtains. The wrinkles on his forehead dissipated in an instant as his pupils darted down to his chin.

As Shiro grabbed Leo's wrist, the leopard's other hand was cupping over the bottom of the wolf's mouth, unbeknownst to him. How long had it sat there under his snout, he had not an iota of a clue.

The leopard traced his index finger across Shiro's neck, curling his appendage like an alluring snake. The wolf's skin wasn't thin by any means, but it wasn't thick enough to repel Leo's claw. Wherever the leopard pointed it left a mark on the wolf's fur.

Shiro could feel it; the muzzled strength emanating from the tip of Leo's fingers. The suppressed desire from the leopard to lock his joints and punch his finger straight.

The urge.

Inch by inch, Leo rose from his seat, raising his waist to the air as he continued to face Shiro. He turned the wolf’s head a few degrees to the side, his finger still poking his throat, and pushed his mouth towards Shiro’s perking ear.

As the leopard left his sight, the wolf became aware of his surroundings. Looking over Leo’s shoulder, he saw. Gazes and camera lenses, stares and glares, all circling them like herds of Feral sheep. The chattering ruckus fell to silent murmurs too afraid to be heard.

The leopard licked his lips, making a sound too close to Shiro for comfort.

“You’re putting on quite a show already,” he whispered to the wolf’s ear.

----------------------------------------

Dusty, cold, and desolate; two out of the library storeroom three most distinct qualities that’ll put off any reptile. It was the kind of place where a snake could squirm for hours in search of a comforting position, or a crocodile constantly shifting to get rid of an ache that never seems to go away. Any creature with cold blood or scales would find themselves sinking into a sleepy trance, yet restless at the same time. The spontaneous air would torment their senses, changing the smell and temperature at will, any moment at any time. A warm, cushioned seat would turn into a cold, hard marble in under a minute. You could build an igloo on one corner of the room and light a roaring, crackling fireplace in the opposite and have both of them melt and snuff out respectively under the same second.

Krin would slip into a proverbial nirvana every time she stepped into the library storeroom.

It was like her fourth home, right behind the library’s counter, the Girls’ Dormitory, and her actual home where she lived before her time in the Academy. Rather than fighting for stability, her body had grown accustomed to the incalculable winds of the air conditioning, the unpredictable gusts of warmth and the sudden chills. Everything now passed her by in an effortless breeze as if the lizard had become a part of the storeroom, subject to the erratic nature of the room. The iron shelves enclosed her like walls of peaceful solitude. The low ceiling became an intimate roof, the fluorescent tubes being passing companies.

Though having ones that breathed air was far from a negative to her.

As the lizard paced down the cold corridors, she pulled her phone from her sling bag and checked her messages. The screen opened up to the page she left last time.

i will b laete today

late

will come

sorry

Shiro hadn’t been back since he left for lunch this afternoon. He was last seen online a few hours ago. Krin wanted to ask about his situation or, at the very least, his whereabouts. The want turned into a had, and asked she had, though she refrained herself from coming across as a nuisance.

After some edits and revisions, Krin sent this.

Are you fine?

Her message was delivered, but not seen.

Worry filled her heart in minor droplets as the seconds passed since her last text. It started as a few wet stains before it combined into a tiny puddle. Soon, it was spilling across her body, spreading across her nerves and limbs. She began taking notice of the wolf’s belongings. They sat beside her, uncertain of their owner’s fate. His notebook laid open on the table, words hastily scribbled onto the pages. His writing demonstrated a biased compromise between readability and expediency that leaned heavily towards the latter. Or, at least, that’s how Krin perceived it. His letters ranged from wide curves to steep angles shooting in many directions.

She found herself looking at them on many occasions.

The lizard came to terms with her distress and placed hope within Shiro’s words, as to how she felt she should’ve been doing all along.

She left for the library storeroom a little later than before, however.

Dove was a variable she had to make considerations for.

Krin spent her day with the Doberman in shared silence. As she worked with her studies, he did other things; things that didn’t concern the lizard. He had only come into Krin’s line of sight no more than half a dozen times when she gave looks to Shiro’s belongings, but his presence occupied the lizard’s mind in a duration no lesser than half that day.

As Krin’s anxiety piled up for the wolf, Dove took space in the lizard’s head in the form of unease; not from his character, but her unfamiliarity with him.

Any association she had with the Doberman prior to their meeting was plain rumours and Leo’s words.

There was no telling what he’d speak of, much less do.

He gave no more than total disregard for Krin throughout the day. If he had paid her any mind, he didn’t care enough to show it. He spent his time, from what little the lizard saw, either on a textbook or his phone.

Krin decided to stay passive, at least towards Dove. She wished to neither instigate nor outright dissociate. She kept herself an open agent, just without prior information for the Doberman.

The students seemed to have a different idea, however.

As the lunch rush rolled around, the reactions Dove received from visitors to the library ranged from apprehensive shock, chilling fear, and glowing fascination, with no mutual exclusivity between the three. There were whispers, furtive glances, and even a camera or two spotted every once in a while, all risen from seeing the Doberman seated behind the library counter. For a moment, the library became a birthplace for many gossip and rumours and a temporary exhibit for what was an anomaly to many.

Dove treated them as he’d treated Krin. The students also gave a silent, collective agreement to that. No one dared to approach the Doberman. They leaned as far to the side from him as possible, to the point where Krin had to lean away from Dove just to meet the patrons. Even if the line reached far, none were willing to take any unnecessary steps closer to the Doberman. Whenever Krin was sent away for a book or any other tasks that required her to vacate her seat, she’d come back to the same scene, with more additions to the queue towards her side on the counter, and a desolate space around Dove’s.

The crowd soon dispersed and scattered to their respective destinations, but some were still inclined to leave a prolonged gaze at the Wonder of the Week before moving on.

The afternoon blaze of the sun fizzled out to a melting, orange evening glow. It was then when Krin would pack her things up and make way to her usual stop.

That was when she discovered the bent screw lodged in her clockwork schedule.

The Doberman remained in his seat, quiet and unmoving.

Krin had benevolence towards disclosures about herself, but there were exceptions, and her late evening habits were one of them. She had two kindred spirits, though one of them was indifferent to it and the other was more of a voluntary accomplice than a partner in crime. Still, he was one, and one was all the lizard wanted at the moment.

She opted to wait it out instead.

By then, the club president had left since the end of the lunch rush. When the otter left, he leaned towards Dove, whispering something inaudible to Krin. The Doberman gave no reactions. The club president simply left it at that and went on his way. Still, things go awry at any time. Dove might sit out longer than expected, and meet Shiro just as he arrives. Even if the Doberman did pack his things and go, Shiro, who was still unreachable by then, could cross paths with him. Krin was tempted to follow if he leaves, just in case anything happened. She didn’t know what she could do at that hypothetical moment, but she wanted to be there to extend a hand at the very least. She could also be overwrought and miscalculate, leaving the wolf alone and unattended if he was to come at the last second. If she could, she would avoid being a faithless flake to the extent of her abilities.

After an internal struggle, Krin decided to bide her time to the very end. It was the least she could do. If the wolf does come, he’d have someone to meet, Doberman or not. Everything after would be dice rolls of chance and fortuity. Just in case, she kept regular checks on Dove, vigilant for any drastic changes in the Doberman’s behaviour.

Then came a lucky hand when Dove suddenly let out a sharp breath. Her attention caught, she turned towards the Doberman, finding him stuffing his things into his rucksack and packing up. A weight was relieved off her shoulder when he left through the front entrance with nothing more than a vacant chair in his wake.

Without wasting any precious second, she left her bag behind the counter and made a beeline towards the library storeroom.

There the piano sat, as it had always been.

It’s been in the same position as Krin found it in the first place. It was two years ago when she saw the instrument, simply laying dormant under the tarp. She used to spend her time in Rormund exclusively for her studies and played the piano back home. This simple discovery led to a spark of genius. She asked the club president beforehand, of course. The otter gave his permission, but only that the lizard cleaned up after her every day. She took the offer, hadn't skipped a day since then, save for the weekends and the holidays.

How the piano came to be, she didn't know. She forgot to ask back then and couldn't find the right time to do so. She figured the library storeroom was used as storage space for other clubs and facilities, and that was the extent of her speculation. All that mattered to her was that she found a piano, and that piano worked. It was out of tune but it wasn't a deal-breaker. The real practice was done at home on the weekends. This was just the warm-up to quell the wait in between.

She sat down on her usual spot before the piano. She brought her phone with her, just in case. She took out her manuscript and flipped through the pages. She settled on a spread and set it down on the stand before her.

Without further ado, she began.

In an instant, she fell into a trance. Her fingers became water, flowing through the keys like a river. The sounds were whisked into the air with all the weight of a piece of paper. The notes lost their individuality. As Krin played, they all melted into one another, forming elaborate chords and rhythms and sounds that built into an elegant melody. Fruits were borne in forms of invisible emotions, left hanging above the piano with none to testify for their taste. They were left to rot as Krin moved on with the piece, moving through the bars and pages without a hitch.

All went well.

Too well.

After many climaxes and bridges, Krin stopped just a few bars short of the conclusion.

She had an agenda made, just a few weeks ago. Great hesitation wrung her heart, as it was a wrong she had committed before. A back and forth started to occur in her heart. She left her palms resting on the keys, unsure whether to go forth and finish the piece in its fruitless state, or make the most out of her time and pull what she can justify as a well-intentioned misdeed that, at worst, would only bring inconsequential harm.

After one long minute, the lizard steeled her heart and reached for her phone. She pried her fingers against the phone case, revealing a tiny, paper-thin compartment within.

She pulled out Shiro’s photo, as she had kept untouched within her possessions ever since that incident. She never had the reason to discard it, nor use it. For one, it felt disrespectful and scummy, respectively. That is, until now, primarily for the latter. With heavy hands, she rested the photo against the manuscript. Two parts of her soul clashed as they fought to reason both for and against her actions. She sealed off those emotions, going through with the resolution as she moved her palms above the keys.

Her fingers became sticks in an instant.

The still, lethargic stare from the photo did something to Krin’s body. She froze up, her joints locked in place. The wolf’s deadpan gaze had the lizard spellbound. A pinch of anxiety crept down her throat, spreading its roots across her limbs. In any other ordinary circumstances, her reaction to the photo would be total indifference, barring the associated memories that came with it. This, however, was a combination of various factors combined into a less-than-ideal situation.

Krin gulped.

It had to be dealt with somehow.

She took a deep breath, raised her fingers, and jolted out of her seat as her phone suddenly rang.

The lizard was stunned for a moment before she shoved her hand into her pocket, fumbling to find her phone. She pulled out the device, finding a notification for a message popping on her screen.

She took a glance at the name of the sender.

Without hesitation, she opened her phone and read the wolf’s messages.

im comming

see you suun

Just as she read the text, however, footsteps began emerging from behind.

Krin didn’t know just how soon suun really was.

The lizard shoved the phone back into her pockets and reached towards the photo clipped onto her manuscript with frantic fingers. She quailed as she heard the footsteps trail closer and closer. Fear overran her autonomy, and she gradually froze right then and there like a criminal caught in the act, painting a solid picture of the crime scene.

It wasn’t a moment after that when a creeping suspicion began to grow on Krin.

She listened to the footsteps a little longer.

They were hefty and deep. Big masses stomping on the ground with dense noises.

They sounded like steps belonging to a pair of shoes.

She turned to her back.

Dove walked towards her, his brown glare burning under the cover of darkness. One hand held a fist, while another held a red board Krin was more than well-acquainted with.

He walked up to the lizard, barely half a head taller than her sitting height. She raised her head towards the Doberman, her jaw open but silent.

“The mutt,” he said, “You know him.”

Krin didn’t answer, or rather, she couldn’t. Not until Dove handed her the red board after he spoke.

“What you know about him,” he said as he dropped the board in front of the lizard, leaving it against the stand, blocking the manuscript and Shiro’s portrait, “Everything.”

Krin’s snout stayed on Dove for a moment before turning towards the red board.

With heavy hands, she plucked the board off the stand and brought it down to her side, under both her and Dove’s sight.

She kept her head down on the red board and placed her fingers on the two knobs.

She began to write.

Why are you doi

Before she could finish, the Doberman snatched the board away in full force. Krin jolted in shock, but her face remained unseen. His glare grew a glint stronger than before, shooting straight at the lizard. He shook the board with a violent flick from his wrist and dropped it onto Krin’s lap, the screen now cleared and empty.

“Which hand does he write with?” Dove growled, “Where does he lean when he sits?”

The lizard picked up the red board and wrote again.

Why are yo

The same thing repeated itself a notch stronger. The lizard shuddered as Dove flung the board clean with his elbows and threw it back into her lap. A deep grumble started to leak from the Doberman’s throat.

Krin held the board in her hands once more and wrote.

Why ar

Dove shot a hand towards Krin’s hand. The lizard flinched, the board jumping under her fingers. Her head shrunk to her shoulders, away from the Doberman, waiting for the inevitable to happen.

She waited for five seconds.

The inevitable never happened.

She pulled a short glance to her side.

The Doberman’s hand stopped short right before her wrist. His bones rode up against his skin, pushing violent ridges against his fur. They trembled with adrenaline, fingers shaking from the boiling pressure just mere inches away from the lizard’s scales.

She didn’t dare to look up at his face.

She went back to her board and, slowly, finished the sentence she couldn’t for the last minute.

Why are you doing this?

She left the board in her hands, her head still faced down to her lap.

For a while, her words were responded with silence.

Dove then gave an answer.

“I’m sick of guessing,” he growled.

He moved his hand to the side, lifting the red board from the lizard’s lap.

“Sick of chasing shit blind.”

With a gentle flap with his wrist, the Doberman cleared the red board’s screen.

“Sick of not knowing.”

He lowered the board, resting it on Krin’s lap.

“Now I’m going to see it for myself.”

The lizard lifted her hands over the red board again, placing her fingers against the knobs.

They remained stationary for some time.

Dove snorted out loud.

He asked, "You like piano?"

Krin stayed motionless, her head still facing down, her hair obscuring the greater details of her skull.

"You play the keys," he said, "And the music sounds nice and good. You like that?

"Your fingers get cut off.

"You still like that piano, but now you can't play," the Doberman continued, "You still know how to play. You remember the keys. You just can't. It frustrates. It pisses you off.

"You like that?"

The lizard was unresponsive.

The Doberman leaned in.

“Why help him,” Dove questioned Krin, “And not me?”

No answer was given.

“I know you. You do everything people ask you to do,” the Doberman continued, “Everything at all. Now I’m asking for just one thing.

“So why not?”

The board remained empty.

“Is it because I chase,” he asked, “Or it’s because he’s the one I’m chasing?”

Then came another pair of footsteps.

Its introduction broke the one-sided spell between Dove and Krin. The Doberman fell silent as he turned to his back. The lizard, however, had her snout remain pointed to the empty board.

The footsteps sounded abnormal. They were soft, with steps so light they resembled a large tuff of cotton bouncing rhythmically against the ground. Occasional, sharp taps would come with them, sounding off at a spontaneous, irregular rate.

A silhouette came into view. It popped out within the shadows, bringing with it a degree of darkness that shrouded itself so much it stood out as a discernible figure of its own. Tall, imposing, and somewhat lanky.

On its head were feline eyes, red with pupils shaped like vertical slits.

“Hey,” it spoke, its voice deep and gravely.

Its eyes stared towards the Doberman and the lizard.

Its call was met with equal silence from both of them. There wasn’t a lack of a response, however.

Dove’s eyes were crossed, its pupils with every emotion, none of them friendly.

The silhouette’s eyes were calm, like cold rubies affixed into a wall.

“Dove,” the silhouette spoke.

The Doberman’s glare twitched at the mention of his name.

“Come at me,” it said.

His eyes widened in a flash.

Krin lifted her snout towards the silhouette.

For a brief moment, Dove froze. His limbs were as stiff as wood; his arms open, his feet stuck in place. He didn’t breathe for a while, as if he was hypnotized. The only thing that moved was his palms, balling up into shaking fists of anticipation.

“Not now,” the silhouette said, “When you’re ready.”

Like a spell, the silhouette’s words snapped the Doberman awake. Autonomy was returned to his body, back under the control of his consciousness. He could raise his elbow and bend his knees at will now.

The first thing he did was get angrier.

Without a word, Dove began a march towards the shadow; towards the silhouette. His joints were locked in place. The only thing tighter than them were his claws, digging deep chasms into his palms. His steps were taken in massive strides, sinking his body into the shadows.

The Doberman was reduced to nothing but a dark figure, standing before the silhouette.

He made no stops. He cast himself to the side and walked around the silhouette, storming deeper into the darkness. The contours of his figure disappeared, and soon, along with his dense, heavy footsteps.

Shiro came into view, emerging into the light under the fluorescent tubes. His fur seemed to be a lot more ruffled than before, though that was the extent of his visible changes. He was in his uniform, as always. His ears were perking, as usual. He carried his flap-over briefcase with him, sitting in its rightful place under his shoulder. The situation beneath the cuffs of his long pants persisted.

“Sorry. Late,” he said as he walked up to the piano, “Had to think some things.”

Krin wrote on her board, It’s okay.

The two shared a moment of silence as Shiro squirmed into his spot beside the piano.

Shiro spoke as he glanced towards the stand, “Do we star-”

His words stopped mid-sentence when he caught a gaze of the manuscript.

Krin, caught off guard by his sudden pause, followed his eyes and, to her unpleasant realization, saw the cause of it.

She snatched the thing off from the stand and shoved it into her pocket.

With trembling fingers, she raised her red board and wrote.

Yes.