Morning sunlight stretched across the sidewalk as Mika and Owen walked together. Their steps tried to fall into the old rhythm, but Owen lagged behind, his paws stuffed deep in his hoodie pocket, shoulders hunched.
Mika noticed right away. She allowed the silence to linger as they walked, giving Owen space. After a while, she gently nudged him with her elbow and broke the quiet. “You’re awfully quiet today,” she observed.
Owen didn’t look up, instead keeping his eyes fixed on the pavement. “Just tired,” he replied, his voice subdued.
Mika glanced at him sideways, her tone gentle but direct. “You said that yesterday,” she reminded him, concern evident in her words.
He didn’t answer. They passed the bakery, the scent of fresh bread drifting out. Usually, Owen would crack a joke about stealing a loaf or complain about being hungry. Today, he didn’t even look up.
Mika slowed her steps, intentionally adjusting her pace so Owen would have to walk beside her. “Hey,” she said gently, her voice barely above a whisper, “walk with me.”
At her words, Owen looked at her, if only for a fleeting moment. Their eyes met briefly. Mika didn’t force the conversation or demand any explanations. She simply held his gaze, offering quiet support and presence. “You don’t have to explain anything,” she reassured him softly. “But you don’t have to pretend with me either.”
Owen’s voice was tight. “I’m fine.”
Mika shook her head, her expression gentle yet firm. “You don’t have to be,” she said, making it clear that Owen didn’t need to put on a brave face for her. She wanted him to know that it was okay to not feel alright, and that he could be honest with her about how he was really feeling. The silence between them grew, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, just heavy. After a moment, Owen spoke, his voice low. “It’s just weird… walking without him.”
Mika’s expression softened, her empathy clear. “Yeah. I figured.”
Owen’s voice was barely audible as he admitted, “I keep thinking he’s gonna turn the corner or run up behind us like he always did.”
Mika nodded in understanding. “And then you remember he’s not here.”
Owen nodded, swallowing hard as he tried to find the right words. “Yeah. And it’s like…” His sentence faded, emotion making it difficult to continue.
Mika didn’t press. She just stepped a little closer, her shoulder brushing his. “You don’t have to say it today. Or tomorrow. Or whenever. I’ll be here.”
Owen blinked, looking away. “Yeah. Okay.”
Mika smiled, small and steady. “You’re not alone, you know.”
He didn’t answer, but his shoulders eased a little. For now, that was enough.
She could feel him folding in on himself, so she switched gears. After a few more steps, Mika gasped, loud and dramatic. “Oh no.”
Owen looked up, startled. “What?”
She pointed at the sidewalk, eyes wide. “You almost stepped on a crack. Do you want to break your mother’s back?”
Owen stared at her. “Mika, that’s not real.”
She leaned in, lowering her voice. “Tell that to Mrs. Thompson. She stepped on a crack in 2019 and threw her back out the next week. Coincidence? I think not.”
Owen let out a real laugh, small but genuine.
Mika grinned. “There it is. I knew you were still in there.”
He shook his head, but the tension in his shoulders loosened. Mika kept the mood light, tossing out jokes and stories, determined to chase away the gloom.
“You know,” she said, “if Kenji were here, he’d step on every crack just to prove me wrong.”
Owen’s muzzle twitched. “Yeah. He would.”
“And then he’d trip and pretend he meant to do it.”
Owen snorted. “He always did that.”
“Exactly. So, in honor of his legacy, I will now demonstrate the Kenji Shuffle.” Mika exaggeratedly tripped over nothing, forelegs flailing, then stood tall like she’d just won gold. A couple walking their dog stared; Mika waved a paw.
Owen covered his face with a paw. “Mika, please.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, bowing.
He laughed again, this time the sound softer and warmer. Mika nudged him gently, her energy infectious. “See? You don’t have to talk. Just let me be ridiculous next to you for a while.”
Owen lowered his paw, glancing at her with a mix of gratitude and embarrassment. “You’re not stupid,” he said quietly, sincere in his reassurance. “Bold of you to assume that,” Mika shot back, smirking.
He shook his head but didn’t look away. For the first time that morning, he could breathe.
The sidewalk curved toward the school, and by the time they reached the last stretch, Mika had Owen laughing, really laughing, in that unguarded way she hadn’t heard since Kenji left. She kept up her mission, weaving jokes and memories into the conversation, careful not to let them hurt. At one point, she reenacted Kenji’s dramatic “I’m totally fine” stumble, adding a ridiculous spin that made Owen double over.
“Stop,” he wheezed, trying not to laugh. “Furs are staring.”
“Good,” Mika said, proud. “Let them witness my art.”
Owen shook his head, but his steps were lighter, his tail flicking with more energy. The ache was still there, Mika could see it, but it wasn’t swallowing him whole.
They passed the crosswalk, students gathering near the entrance, the usual morning buzz filling the air. Mika glanced at Owen, studying him. His ears perked, his eyes sparked, he looked more like himself.
“You okay?” she asked, gently.
Owen nodded, a small but genuine smile forming at the edge of his muzzle. The heaviness that had weighed him down seemed to lift just a little, replaced by a warmth brought on by Mika’s presence. “Yeah. I think so,” he replied, his voice quiet but sincere.
In response, Mika bumped her shoulder against him, her playful energy undimmed. “Good. Because I can only do the Kenji Shuffle twice a day before it becomes a health hazard,” she teased, referencing her earlier antics that had coaxed laughter from Owen.
Owen let out a snort, unable to suppress his amusement. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, the words carrying a fondness that hadn’t been there moments before.
Mika grinned, unbothered by his remark. “You’re welcome,” she replied, her tone light and reassuring. The exchange, brief as it was, lingered between them, a reminder that, even in difficult moments, a little laughter and friendship could make all the difference.
She’d done it, pulled him back from that quiet place that he sometimes disappeared into. She always could. And always will.
Owen nudged her with his elbow, a gesture that held both gratitude and a hint of shyness. “Thanks… for earlier,” he murmured, acknowledging the difference Mika had made in his morning. The weight of the previous moments seemed lighter now, his words sincere and meaningful in the quiet that followed.
In response, Mika offered him a gentle, reassuring smile, soft and warm, carrying the promise of unwavering support. “Anytime,” she replied, her voice steady and full of affection. The brief exchange echoed the bond between them, a quiet understanding that, no matter what, Mika would always be there for Owen. In that small moment, comfort and friendship quietly flourished, a reminder that sometimes, it was enough just to be present for someone who needed it.
He didn’t notice the way her ears dipped, or how her smile lingered a little too long. He didn’t see the way she looked at him when he wasn’t paying attention, the way something in her chest tightened and softened at the same time.
Because as much as she tried to ignore it, something inside her was changing. She’d always cared about Owen. But lately, it felt different, stronger, harder to hide. And she knew she had to keep it hidden, at least for now. Owen was hurting, missing someone he couldn’t talk about without stumbling. He needed a friend, not complications.
So Mika tucked her feelings behind her smile. “Come on,” she said, bumping his shoulder again. “If we’re late, Mr. Halden will make us do that weird breathing exercise.”
Owen groaned. “Ugh, no. Move, move, move.”
Mika laughed as she followed Owen up the steps, her laughter bright and airy, masking the ache that settled quietly in her heart. She walked beside him, careful to keep her true feelings hidden. For now, just being by Owen’s side was enough, she didn’t need more than his presence, and she was content to let that be her comfort.
As they reached the door, Mika watched Owen closely. Relief washed over her; she had reached him, pulled him back from the edge he sometimes teetered on. She hadn’t solved everything, hadn’t healed the ache behind his eyes, but she had done enough for now. It steadied his breath and eased the nervous flutter he carried as they stood on the threshold.
As Owen pushed ahead, he became acutely aware of Mika’s presence beside him. Her warmth was steady and reassuring, grounding him as he pressed forward with his paw poised at the door. The uncertainty of what lay beyond weighed on him, a silence that might feel uncomfortable, a glimmer of hope, or perhaps another challenge waiting to test his resolve. Yet, knowing Mika was there made all the difference. With her by his side, Owen felt a sense of readiness. Even if he wasn’t fully prepared for what was to come, Mika’s steadfast support gave him the courage he needed, or at least enough to face whatever awaited them on the other side.
And for now, that was enough.
The classroom felt louder than usual when Owen and Mika stepped inside. Chairs scraped across the floor, conversations overlapped, and someone laughed too loudly near the windows. It was the same room as always, familiar in its arrangement and routine, but something about it felt off. Perhaps it was just Owen, his perspective colored by the heaviness he carried. The ordinary commotion seemed magnified, unsettling, as if the energy in the room had shifted in a way only he could sense.
He paused just past the doorway, taking in the scattered desks and half‑open backpacks. Mika slowed beside him, watching the way his ears dipped, the way his tail stilled.
Mika glanced at Owen, concern flickering in her eyes as she lowered her voice. “You okay?” she asked quietly.
Owen hesitated, the word catching in his throat before he finally replied. “Yeah,” he said, though the word came out thin, lacking conviction, barely more than a whisper. The answer hung between them, fragile and uncertain, betraying more than he intended.
They walked to their desks. Owen’s paw brushed against a chair that was sticking out into the aisle, and without thinking, he nudged it back into place. Then he picked up a pencil someone had dropped. Then he straightened a stack of papers left crooked on the corner of a desk.
Mika watched him for a moment. These weren’t new habits, he’d always been a little neat, but lately, they’d become sharper, more automatic. Like he was trying to fill a space that wasn’t supposed to be empty.
“You don’t have to fix the whole room,” she said gently.
Owen blinked, a twinge of embarrassment flickering across his face as he realized how tightly he’d been clinging to routine. He wished he could explain how each small action steadied him, how order was the only thing he could control. “Yeah. Sorry,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.
“You don’t have to be sorry either,” Mika replied softly, her tone unwavering. She reached out, letting her words linger between them, steady and kind. “I get it. If you need to keep your paws busy, that’s okay. I’m here.”
He didn’t answer. He just sat down, shoulders tight, eyes drifting toward the empty desk near the back, the one no one had claimed since Kenji left. It wasn’t Kenji’s, not really, but Owen had gotten used to glancing that way during class. Now the sight of it made something twist in his chest.
Mika glanced in the same direction, then quickly turned away, staying silent, she knew it was wiser not to say anything.
Owen pulled his notebook from his bag, flipping it open even though class hadn’t started. His paw hesitated halfway through the motion, like he’d forgotten what he was doing.
Mika leaned in, her words barely above a whisper, the space between them heavy with things neither dared to name. “You don’t have to pretend you’re fine.” Her paw hovered near his, not touching, but close enough that Owen could feel the warmth radiating from her, the kind of comfort that asked nothing in return.
Owen's gaze fell to the desk; he traced an invisible line across the wood grain, searching for something steady. The shape of the empty seat pressed into his thoughts. His throat tightened. “I’m not pretending,” he said, voice muffled, uncertain. He wanted to say more, to explain how some days it felt as if he was walking on thin ice, careful not to crack. “I’m just…” His jaw clenched, shoulders creeping up as if bracing against cold. The words trailed off, leaving the truth suspended in the quiet: what he couldn’t say, Mika already understood.
“I know.”
The bell rang, sharp and bright. Students scrambled to their seats. The teacher walked in, shuffling papers, calling for quiet.
Owen sat straighter, but his eyes were distant, unfocused. Mika nudged his elbow under the desk, a small, grounding touch.
He looked at her, and for a moment, the noise of the room faded. Not because anything was fixed, but because someone was sitting beside him who understood enough.
Mika offered a small smile. Not cheerful. Not forced. Just steady.
Owen exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing by a fraction.
It wasn’t the same as before. It wasn’t supposed to be. The classroom, once filled with the rhythm of three voices, now felt too spacious, the absence of that third presence lingering in every quiet moment. Still, Mika and Owen remained, sharing the same space, each aware of the emptiness but determined to move forward. Though the day felt longer and the classroom larger, they found ways to make it through, together, doing their best with what they had.
For now, that was all either of them could do.
The day felt long in that slow, dragging way where every class seemed to stretch just a little too far. Owen moved through it quietly, doing what he needed to do, keeping his head down. Mika stayed close without hovering, stepping in only when he seemed to drift too far inward.
By the time they stepped out of the building, the sun had dipped low enough to cast warm, stretched shadows across the sidewalk. Students scattered in every direction, laughing, shouting, peeling off toward home. Owen and Mika fell into step together, their pace steady and familiar.
Owen let out a breath he’d been holding for hours. “That felt… long.”
Mika gave a small huff of agreement. “Yeah. It really did.”
They walked in silence for a while, the kind that didn’t need filling. Owen’s shoulders weren’t as tight as they’d been that morning, but the heaviness still clung to him in places he couldn’t shake. Mika noticed every shift, the way his ears twitched, the way his tail flicked with a little more life, the way he seemed almost himself again.
She should’ve felt relieved.
She did.
But beneath that relief, something warm and unwelcome stirred in her chest.
Not now, she told herself. He’s still hurting. Don’t make this about you.
Owen nudged a pebble down the sidewalk with the tip of his shoe. “Thanks for… y’know. Today.”
Mika’s heart jumped before she could stop it. She forced her voice to stay light. “Of course. Someone must keep you from collapsing into a dramatic puddle.”
He snorted. “Yeah. Probably.”
That tiny bit of honesty, soft, unguarded, hit her harder than she wanted it to. She looked away quickly, pretending to study the houses lining the street.
Don’t read into it. Don’t let it get to you.
They turned onto the quieter stretch of road that led toward Owen’s neighborhood. The air smelled faintly of cut grass and warm pavement. Owen’s pace slowed, just a little, like he wasn’t quite ready for the walk to end.
Mika felt the same tug. And she hated that she did.
“You handled everything today,” she said softly. “Even when it got rough.”
Owen shrugged. “I just… got through it.”
“That still counts.”
He looked at her then, really looked and something in his expression softened. Gratitude, maybe. Trust. Something that made Mika’s chest tighten in a way she immediately tried to push down.
She forced herself to look ahead. “You’ll be okay,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t betray anything. “One step at a time.” “Yeah,” he murmured. “One step at a time.”
Owen kicked a pebble ahead of him. “Thanks for sticking with me today.”
Mika smiled, trying to keep it light. “Someone has to make sure you don’t implode.”
He snorted, but the sound was warm. “Yeah. Guess so.”
They reached the familiar corner where their paths usually diverged, Mika’s street veering left, Owen’s heading right. Mika slowed her pace, almost instinctively, expecting Owen to take his usual turn home. But to her surprise, he didn’t break away. Instead, he continued walking right beside her, matching her steps.
Mika blinked, momentarily thrown off by his choice. “Uh… you don’t have to walk me home, you know,” she said, her voice uncertain, searching for the reason behind his decision.
Owen’s reply was simple but sincere. “I know. I want to.”
Her heart lurched unexpectedly, so hard that she nearly stumbled. Mika fought against the rush of feelings, telling herself: No. No, no, no. Don’t do this. Don’t feel this.
She forced a laugh, aiming for casual. “Wow. Chivalry isn’t dead.”
Owen shrugged, his shyness evident. “Just… felt like it.”
But his words didn’t help. If anything, they made it even harder for Mika to ignore the emotions threatening to overwhelm her.
They continued down her street, the houses growing quieter, the sidewalks emptier. Mika could feel her pulse in her ears, every step making her emotions swell in ways she didn’t want to acknowledge.
Owen walked close enough that their arms brushed now and then. Each time it happened, Mika felt a spark she immediately smothered.
Stop it. He’s being nice. That’s all. Don’t make it something else.
But it was hard. Too hard.
He glanced at her. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “Just tired.”
He nodded, accepting it without question. That was the problem, he trusted her completely, without hesitation. He always had. The weight of that trust settled heavily in her chest, a dull ache she couldn’t explain, not even to herself. It was a pain that lingered quietly, growing every time he looked at her with that unwavering faith. She knew he saw her as steady and reliable, someone he could count on no matter what. And while she wanted to be that for him, the knowledge of his trust made her feel vulnerable, exposed in ways she wasn’t ready to face.
They reached her house sooner than she wanted. Mika stopped at the walkway, trying to keep her expression neutral.
“Well,” she said, “this is me.”
Owen smiled, small, soft, and real. “Yeah. I know.”
She hated how warm that made her feel.
“Thanks for walking with me,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t shake.
“Anytime,” he replied, and he meant it. That sincerity hit her like a punch.
Her ears dipped before she could stop them. She looked away, pretending to adjust her bag so he wouldn’t see the way her face softened too much.
Don’t let it show. Don’t let him see. He’s hurting. He needs you steady, not… this.
Owen took a step backward, giving her space. “See you tomorrow?”
Mika nodded. “Always.”
He turned and started down the sidewalk, heading back toward his own street. Mika watched him go, her heart twisting painfully with every step he took away from her.
She didn’t move until he was almost out of sight.
Only then did she let out the breath she’d been holding, pressing a paw to her chest as if she could physically push her feelings back down where they belonged.
Get it together. He needs a friend. Just a friend.
But the warmth he left behind lingered stubbornly, refusing to be ignored.
And Mika knew painfully, undeniably, that walking beside him was getting harder to do without wanting more.
************
Owen hadn’t realized how quiet the neighborhood was until he’d already walked a little ways from Mika’s house. The sun was still high enough to warm the pavement, casting soft, stretched shadows across the sidewalk. A couple of kids rode bikes down the opposite street. Everything felt normal.
He didn’t.
He let out a slow breath, shoulders loosening now that he was alone.
We got through the day. That’s something I guess.
He shoved his paws into his hoodie pocket, not because he was cold, but because he didn’t know what else to do with them.
I wish it didn’t take so much effort just to feel… okay. Or close to okay. Or whatever this is.
He kicked at a stray pebble, sending it bouncing down the sidewalk.
Mika shouldn’t have to babysit me. She shouldn’t have to spend her whole day making sure I don’t fall apart. She deserves better than that. Better than me being… like this.
The thought weighed heavily on Owen’s mind, a constant undercurrent to every interaction. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was a burden, that Mika’s patience and kindness were more than he deserved. Each time she lingered to check on him, each gentle word or small gesture, only seemed to make the guilt sharper. He knew she was trying to help, to keep him steady while he struggled to find his footing, but he wished she didn’t have to. It wasn’t fair to her, and somewhere deep down, he resented himself for needing so much from someone who deserved so much more.
I hate that she sees me when I’m like this. I hate that she has to pretend it’s fine. I hate that I can’t just snap out of it.
He walked a little faster, as if he could outrun the heaviness in his chest.
I’m trying. I really am. I just… don’t know how to do any of this without him.
A breeze rustled the leaves overhead. The sunlight flickered through the branches, warm and soft. It should’ve been comforting. It wasn’t.
I miss him. It’s ridiculous really, how much space that feeling takes up. Embarrassing, even. He’s not gone forever. He’s not unreachable. He’s just somewhere else, living his own life. Furs move, furs leave, everyone says it’s normal. Isn’t it supposed to be normal? So why does it still hurt this much? Why does it feel so raw, like I’m the only one who can’t just move on?
I try to remind myself it’s just how things go. But that doesn’t make the ache any smaller. I wish it did.
He swallowed hard.
So why does it feel like everything got knocked off balance? Why does it feel like I’m walking around with this stupid empty space next to me?
He turned onto his street. The houses were familiar, lined up in neat rows, porches decorated with potted plants and wind chimes. A dog barked from behind a fence.
It was all so normal.
I should be over this by now. Or at least better at hiding it. Mika shouldn’t have to keep pulling me back every time I drift. She shouldn’t have to worry about me.
He rubbed the back of his neck, his ears drooping as a wave of fatigue washed over him. His eyes felt heavy, the weight of exhaustion mingling with everything else pressing down on him. Each gesture betrayed how tired he was, not just physically, but deep down, where the ache lingered and refused to ease.
I don’t want to be a problem. I don’t want to be the person everyone tiptoes around. I just… want things to feel like they used to.
He slowed as his house came into view, sunlight catching on the windows.
Tomorrow might be better. Or maybe it won’t. But I’ll get through it. I always do. And Mika will be there. I just hope I’m not making everything harder for her.
He stepped onto the walkway, pausing for a moment before heading to the door.
I just wish it didn’t hurt this much.
Owen pushed open the front door, the familiar creak echoing softly through the house. Warm afternoon light spilled across the entryway, catching on the framed photos lining the wall. The smell of something cooking drifted from the kitchen, onions, maybe, and butter.
“I’m home,” he called, voice steady but tired around the edges.
His mother appeared in the doorway, wiping her paws on a dish towel. Her ears perked when she saw him, but her eyes softened in that way they always did when she was checking him over without making it obvious.
“Welcome back,” she said warmly. “How was your day?”
Owen shrugged, dropping his backpack by the stairs. “Normal.”
It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. The day had happened. He gone to class. He walked home. He survived it. That counted as normal, didn’t it? But his mother’s expression shifted just slightly, a tiny crease between her brows, a flicker of concern she tried to hide. She knew him well. She always had.
“Normal, huh?” she said gently.
“Yeah.” Owen kept his eyes on the floorboards. “Just… school stuff.”
She didn’t push. She never did. But the silence that followed wasn’t empty, it was full of all the things she wasn’t saying, all the things she could see even when he tried to hide them.
After a moment of quiet between them, Owen cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “I’m gonna go upstairs. I’ve got homework,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of reluctance.
His mother nodded in response, offering a small, understanding smile. “Alright. If you need anything, I’m here.” Her words were gentle, reassuring him without pressing for more.
“Yeah. Thanks,” Owen replied, grateful for her support even if he didn’t say it outright.
He picked up his backpack and headed for the stairs. Halfway up, he felt her eyes on him, not prying, just… present. Worried in that quiet, careful way she had.
He didn’t look back.
He didn’t want her to see the way his shoulders sagged once he was out of sight, or how heavy his chest felt now that the day’s distractions were gone.
He just kept climbing, one step at a time, until he reached the safety of his room.
His mother stayed in the doorway for a moment longer, listening to his footsteps fade. She let out a soft sigh, the kind that came from loving someone you couldn’t fix.
Then she turned back to the kitchen, giving him the space he needed, even though she wished she could do more.
Owen pushed his bedroom door shut with a soft click and let out a long breath. The late‑afternoon light spilled across his room in warm stripes, catching on the posters above his desk and the clutter he kept meaning to clean. It was quiet, the kind of quiet that made his thoughts feel too loud if he wasn’t careful.
He dropped his backpack onto the chair and pulled out his notebooks. Homework first. That was the rule he’d made for himself. Keep busy. Keep moving. Don’t let your mind wander too far.
Math came first. Then English. Then the science worksheet he’d forgotten about until halfway through the day. He worked through each assignment with a steady, practiced rhythm. Not because he was particularly focused, but because the routine kept him anchored.
Every so often, he paused, staring at the page without really seeing it.
Just finish. Don’t drift. Stay here.
He pushed through the last problem, closed his notebook, and leaned back in his chair. The quiet settled in again, heavier now that the work was done.
He needed something else. Something to fill the space.
Owen crossed the room and switched on his console. The familiar startup chime filled the room, bright and comforting in a way he didn’t want to think too hard about. He grabbed his controller and flopped onto his bed, letting the glow of the screen wash over him.
A simple game. Colorful, fast, nothing emotional. Exactly what he needed.
The music kicked in, upbeat, energetic. Owen let himself sink into it, fingers moving automatically as he jumped through levels and dodged obstacles.
Good. Just focus on this. Don’t think about anything else.
For a while, it worked. The noise, the movement, the bright colors, they drowned out the heaviness in his chest. He wasn’t happy, not really, but he wasn’t sinking either. And that was enough.
Time slipped by without him noticing. The sunlight shifted across the floor, stretching long and golden.
Then…
“Owen!” his mother called from downstairs, her voice warm and familiar. “Dinner’s ready!”
He paused the game, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
“Okay!” he called back.
He set the controller aside and sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. The distraction had helped. Not fixed anything, but helped.
And for now, that was enough.
He stood, stretched, and headed downstairs, the smell of dinner drifting up to meet him.
Dinner had been good, chicken parm with buttered pasta, the kind of comfort meal his mom always made when she sensed he needed something warm. Owen ate it without complaint, even managed a small smile when his dad joked about burning the garlic bread again. Everything looked normal from the outside.
But it had only been two days.
Two days since Kenji left.
Two days since the house felt too quiet.
Two days since Owen’s world shifted just enough to feel wrong.
Now he was back in his room, the soft glow of his desk lamp casting warm light across the walls. The sun hadn’t fully set yet, the sky outside his window was still streaked with pale orange and fading blue. It should’ve felt peaceful.
It didn’t.
Owen sat on the edge of his bed, phone in paw. He didn’t open anything right away. Just stared at the lock screen.
Maybe today. Maybe he finally said something.
He unlocked the phone.
Nothing. No texts. No emails.
No messages on any of the apps they used to talk on.
Just silence.
Owen swallowed, jaw tightening for a moment before he forced himself to breathe out slowly.
Owen tried to reassure himself. It had only been two days since his friend left, and he knew that settling into a new place could take time. His friend was probably busy, adjusting to everything, and dealing with the rush of new experiences. Owen reminded himself that his friend would reach out when he had a moment, that a message would come eventually. He repeated these thoughts in his mind, hoping they would help ease the uncertainty and the ache he felt.
He told himself that. He tried to believe it.
Two days felt like an eternity, especially for someone who used to message Owen constantly, whether it was about homework, games, or simply nothing in particular. The absence of those familiar notifications made the silence in Owen’s life all that more pronounced, highlighting just how much he missed the daily rhythm of their conversations. Every small update, every casual remark, had once been a comforting part of Owen’s routine, and now the lack of them seemed to stretch time, making each moment without contact feel unusually long.
He scrolled through his notifications again, even though he already knew there was nothing new.
Kenji had promised he would text when he landed. He said he would let Owen know how things were, what the new place was like. Owen replayed those words in his mind, he said he’d send a message, he said he’d reach out, he said he’d keep in touch. But now, there was only silence where those updates should have been, and the absence of his friend’s messages echoed louder with each hour that passed.
Owen locked his phone and set it face-down on the nightstand.
He lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling as the last bit of daylight faded from the room. The quiet pressed in around him, thick and heavy.
It’s fine. He’ll text tomorrow. Or the next day. It’s only been two days.
But the ache in his chest didn’t care about logic or patience.
He missed his friend. He missed the routine. He missed the way things were before everything changed.
He’ll text soon. He will. He has to.
The thought lingered in the dim light, soft and heavy, as the house settled into nighttime around him.
Owen lay on his back, blanket pulled up to his chest, the room dim except for the soft glow of his desk lamp. The house had settled into its nighttime quiet, the hum of the fridge downstairs, the faint creak of the vents, the distant sound of a car passing on the street.
He stared at the ceiling, eyes half‑open, too tired to think but not tired enough to fall asleep right away.
His mind drifted anyway.
Two days. It’s only been two days.
He tried to focus on the warmth of his blanket, the softness of his pillow, and the steady rhythm of his breathing. Anything to keep his thoughts from circling back to the same place.
But they did.
They always did.
He could almost hear Kenji’s laugh, not clearly, not like a memory he was replaying on purpose, but like an echo from somewhere far away. The way it used to fill the space between them. The way it used to make everything feel lighter.
Owen’s eyelids drooped.
Stop thinking about him. Just sleep. You’re tired. You’ll feel better tomorrow.
But the more he drifted, the more the edges of his thoughts softened, the easier it became for things he’d been holding back all day to slip through.
He remembered walking home with Kenji after school, noting how their steps always fell into rhythm, never needing to try. There was a quiet comfort in their synchronicity, an unspoken understanding that made those moments feel effortless. Kenji would nudge him whenever he drifted off or lost focus, a gentle reminder that brought him back to the present. Those small gestures had become their own language, woven into the fabric of their friendship.
He thought about all the inside jokes they shared, jokes that wouldn’t make sense to anyone else, but always managed to make them laugh. The memories didn’t come to him with perfect clarity; instead, they felt warm and indistinct, as if seen through half-closed eyes. Each recollection was tinged with a gentle haze, comforting but just out of reach.
Owen shifted beneath his blanket, his breath catching slightly as the feelings washed over him. The ache was simple and undeniable. He missed Kenji.
The thought wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even fully formed. It drifted through him like a sigh, soft and unsteady. It was not an insistent, pressing pain, but a quiet ache that settled in his chest, persistent and gentle. The longing for Kenji lingered in the space between one breath and the next, never quite coming into focus but never fading, either. For a moment, Owen let himself feel it, just the absence, the emptiness where Kenji’s presence used to be, echoing faintly in the silence of his room.
His eyes fluttered shut.
For a moment, he felt the ache rise, that hollow, heavy feeling he’d been fighting all day. But sleep tugged at him harder, pulling him down, blurring everything at the edges.
The ache softened.
The memories faded.
Even the thought of Kenji slipped away, dissolving into the warm haze of half‑sleep.
By the time Owen finally drifted off, the feelings were still there, but distant, muted, tucked somewhere he wouldn’t have to face until morning.
And in the quiet of his room, he breathed out one last, barely conscious thought.
Just… come back soon.
Then he was gone, swallowed by sleep.
************
Kenji woke slowly, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. For a moment, he lay still, letting the quiet settle around him. It wasn’t the kind of silence that made his chest tighten, it was softer, almost peaceful.
He stretched, feeling the unfamiliar but surprisingly comfortable mattress beneath him. The sheets smelled clean, the air cool and fresh. When he finally sat up, he took a moment just to look around.
The room was… nice.
Bigger than his old one. Bright. The walls were a soft color that made the morning light feel warm instead of harsh. His suitcase sat half‑unpacked near the dresser, and the closet door was cracked open, showing a few shirts already hanging neatly inside. The carpet felt soft under his feet when he stood, a strange sensation, but not a bad one.
He walked slowly around the room, taking it in with clearer eyes than yesterday.
The desk by the window had plenty of space for his laptop and notebooks.
The shelves above it were empty, waiting for books, photos, little pieces of home.
The bed was positioned perfectly to catch the morning sun.
And the private bathroom, still something he wasn’t used to, sat just a few steps away, clean and quiet.
Kenji felt a small, unexpected spark of something warm in his chest.
This can work. This can actually feel like mine.
He opened the curtains a little more, letting the light spill across the floor. The neighborhood outside was calm, the sky a soft blue. It wasn’t home, not yet, but it didn’t feel as overwhelming as it had yesterday.
He took a slow breath, letting the air fill his lungs.
Okay. One step at a time.
His eyes drifted toward the bathroom door. A hot shower sounded good, grounding, familiar, a way to start the day fresh.
Kenji grabbed a towel from the stack his uncle had left for him and padded across the carpet, feeling a little more awake, a little steadier.
He turned on the bathroom light, steam already beginning to curl from the shower as the water warmed.
For the first time since arriving, he felt something close to calm.
Maybe even hope.
And with that small, steady feeling, he stepped inside to start his morning.
Steam drifted lazily through the bathroom as Kenji stepped under the warm spray, letting the heat sink into his fur. Water ran down his back and along the curve of his tail, loosening the last bits of stiffness from sleep. His paws pressed comfortably against the tile, pads warming under the steady stream.
He closed his eyes and let the water run over his ears, droplets gathering at the tips before sliding down his cheeks.
This… actually feels good. Better than yesterday.
As he worked shampoo through the fur on his head and neck, his thoughts drifted, not heavy, not anxious, just wandering in that soft way that came with warm water and a quiet morning.
He thought about today.
His uncle had said they’d go over a few things together, how they’d finish unpacking, but only as much as Kenji wanted, how he’d walk Kenji through the bus routes and schedules so he wouldn’t feel lost, and how he’d already joked that if Kenji did get turned around on his first day, he’d come rescue him like some kind of “cool action‑uncle.”
Just remembering that made Kenji’s chest loosen a little.
He really means it. He wants me to feel comfortable here.
Warm water ran down his arms, dripping from the tips of his claws. He brushed his tail aside as he turned slightly, letting the spray hit his back. The heat soaked into his muscles, easing everything in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.
And then there was the photography program.
Separate from his regular school. A whole different building. A whole different set of furs.
But instead of feeling overwhelmed, he felt a flicker of excitement.
New equipment. New teachers. A real studio. Maybe this is exactly what I needed.
He rinsed the last of the shampoo from his fur, watching the suds swirl down the drain. The bathroom felt warm and safe, a little pocket of calm he hadn’t expected to find so soon.
He shut off the water and stepped out, wrapping a towel around his shoulders. His reflection in the fogged mirror was soft and blurred, but he could still make out the relaxed set of his ears and the steadiness in his posture.
He didn’t look stressed.
He looked ready.
Kenji stepped out of the bathroom, towel draped around his neck, fur still damp and warm from the shower. The morning light filled his room now, soft and golden, making everything feel a little more real, a little more his.
He crossed to his suitcase and pulled out a clean shirt, shaking it out before slipping it over his shoulders. As he reached for a pair of pants, something drifted through the air, faint at first, then unmistakable.
A smell he knew instantly.
Sweet. Warm. Buttery.
Pancakes.
Kenji froze for a moment, ears lifting slightly as he inhaled again, deeper this time. There was no mistaking it. Pancakes cooking downstairs.
His chest tightened, not with stress, but with a strange, gentle warmth.
The last time he’d eaten pancakes…
He hadn’t really eaten them at all.
He’d been too overwhelmed, too emotionally unsteady to have an appetite. He remembered staring at the plate, trying to force himself to take a bite, feeling everything inside him twisted and raw.
But now?
Now, with the calm from the shower still settling into his muscles and the quiet steadiness of the morning holding him up, something shifted.
He was hungry. Actually hungry.
And the thought of those fluffy pancakes, warm, soft, sweet, made his stomach flutter in a way that surprised him.
For the first time since arriving, Kenji realized he was hungry. He wanted to eat. The feeling was unexpected and unfamiliar, absent during his recent stressful and exhausting days. But now, standing there with the comforting scent of pancakes drifting through the house, he felt a gentle pull in his stomach, a genuine desire to sit down and share a meal. It was simple, but it meant everything. The idea of eating wasn’t just possible; it was welcome.
He finished putting on his clothes, smoothing the fabric over his fur. The smell grew stronger as he moved toward the door, drifting up the stairs like a gentle invitation.
His uncle must be cooking.
Of course he was.
Kenji felt a small smile tug at the corner of his muzzle, subtle, but real.
He’s really trying to make this feel like home.
He took a steady breath, letting the scent fill his lungs, grounding him in this moment, in this house, in this new beginning.
Then he stepped into the hallway, paws light on the carpet, ready to head downstairs.
Kenji padded down the stairs, the smell growing stronger with every step. By the time he reached the bottom, it wasn’t just a hint anymore, it was unmistakable.
Fluffy pancakes.
Sweet, warm, buttery.
And sausage, rich, savory, sizzling.
The scents wrapped around him like a blanket, comforting in a way he hadn’t expected. His stomach gave a small, eager flutter.
He stepped into the kitchen.
His uncle stood at the stove, spatula in hand, tail swaying in an easy rhythm. The man was humming some upbeat tune that didn’t match the quiet morning at all. A stack of pancakes sat on a plate nearby, golden and soft, steam rising from them in gentle curls.
“Morning, kiddo!” his uncle said without turning around, voice bright and full of energy. “You’re just in time. These pancakes are at peak fluffiness. Any later and they’d lose their magical properties.”
Kenji blinked, caught off guard by the cheerfulness. “Uh… good morning,” he said, ears lifting slightly.
His uncle finally glanced over his shoulder, grinning wide. “There he is! The new resident of the Clark Household. Sleep well?” Kenji nodded. “Yeah. I… did.”
“Good! Because today we conquer the world. Or, you know, unpack your room and figure out the bus schedule. Same thing.”
Kenji couldn’t help it, a small laugh slipped out. Quiet, but real.
His uncle’s grin widened. “See? I knew I’d get one out of you before breakfast.”
Kenji stepped further into the kitchen, the warmth from the stove brushing against his fur. The smell of the pancakes was even stronger up close, and now that he was calm, really calm, he realized how hungry he was.
His uncle flipped a sausage onto the plate with flourish. “Sit, sit. Eat. You’ve got a big day of being awesome ahead of you.”
Kenji slid into a chair, and as he settled in, a wave of emotion washed over him, something he hadn’t experienced in a long time. There was comfort here, in the warmth of the kitchen and the easy rhythm of his uncle’s presence. He felt a sense of belonging, as though he truly had a place at this table, in this moment. And beneath it all, possibility stirred within him, a quiet hope that maybe things could be different, that today really could be a new beginning.
And as his uncle set the plate in front of him, pancakes stacked high, sausage perfectly browned, Kenji felt his appetite spark fully awake.
Today really did feel like a beginning.
Kenji sat at the table, fork in hand, staring at the stack of pancakes that looked like they belonged in a commercial, golden, fluffy, steaming. The sausage beside them glistened just enough to make his stomach growl.
His uncle noticed.
“Ohhh, look at that,” Clark said, pointing dramatically with his spatula. “The beast awakens. I knew pancakes were the key to unlocking your true power.”
Kenji’s ears flicked up. “I’m not a beast.”
Clark gasped loudly, clutching his chest. “Not a beast? Kid, you should’ve seen your face when you smelled these. I thought you were about to tackle me for the plate.”
Kenji snorted, trying not to smile. “I wasn’t.”
“Sure, sure,” Clark said, sliding into the seat across from him with his own plate. “Next you’ll tell me you don’t secretly dream about pancakes.”
Kenji took a bite, warm, soft, perfect, and didn’t bother arguing.
Clark grinned like he’d won a bet.
“Alright, kiddo,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a theatrical sigh. “Let’s talk business. Big day ahead.”
Kenji straightened a little.
“So,” Clark continued, counting on his claws, “after breakfast, we head to the photography school. Gotta finish your paperwork so they officially let you in. They’re lucky to have you, by the way. I told them you’re a prodigy.”
Kenji blinked. “You didn’t.”
“Oh, I absolutely did,” Clark said proudly. “I may have also said you once took a picture so good it made a grown man cry.”
Kenji stared. “That never happened.”
Clark waved a paw. “Details. They don’t need to know that.”
Kenji shook his head, but the smile tugging at his muzzle betrayed him.
“You’ll be taking the class two days a week,” Clark went on. “Night class mid‑week, I’ll make sure you don’t fall asleep in it, and Saturday morning class.”
“Saturday mornings?” Kenji asked.
Clark nodded enthusiastically. “Yep! While the rest of the world is drooling on their pillows, you’ll be out there being artsy and mysterious. Very cool. Very dramatic. Very you.”
Kenji rolled his eyes, but his tail flicked with amusement.
“And tomorrow,” Clark said, lowering his voice like he was about to reveal a secret, “we tackle your regular school.”
Kenji paused mid‑bite.
“Don’t worry,” Clark said quickly, nudging Kenji’s plate with his fork handle. “The school year has started. I’ll talk to the principal. We’ll get your schedule sorted, make sure you’re not thrown into the deep end without floaties.”
Kenji huffed a quiet laugh. “Floaties?”
“Hey, safety first,” Clark said, tapping his temple. “I’m a responsible adult.”
Kenji raised an eyebrow.
Clark pointed his fork at him. “Don’t give me that look. I am responsible. I made breakfast. That counts.”
Kenji laughed, a real, warm laugh, and Clark’s tail wagged like he’d just scored a touchdown.
“Finish up,” Clark said, standing to refill his coffee. “We’ve got a big day of being awesome ahead of us. And by ‘we,’ I mean you. I’m just the chauffeur slash hype man.”
Kenji took another bite of pancake, a gentle warmth spreading through his chest. He looked around at the house, the soft morning light filtering through the windows, the comforting clatter of breakfast in progress. These small things, this house, this morning, felt different now. Kenji shook his head, a hint of disbelief mingling with gratitude as he glanced at his uncle. This uncle of his, with his awkward encouragement and relentless optimism, was already starting to make this place feel a little more like home.
It didn’t feel scary anymore.
It felt like the start of something good.
They arrived at the Creative Arts Studio, it looked even brighter than Kenji expected. Morning sunlight spilled through the tall windows, catching on the framed photographs lining the lobby walls, portraits, cityscapes, still‑life shots. It felt alive in a way that made his chest flutter with something close to excitement.
Clark pushed open the door with his hip, holding it wide like he was announcing royalty.
“Make way, make way,” he said loudly. “VIP. Future award‑winner. Please don’t faint.”
“Oh, don’t be modest,” Clark said, waving him forward. “They already know you’re coming. I’m just setting the mood.”
Inside, the receptionist looked up the moment they entered, and her face lit up.
“You must be Kenji!” she said warmly. “We’ve been expecting you. Welcome to Creative Studios.”
Kenji blinked, surprised by how genuine she sounded. “Um… thank you.”
Clark stepped in front of him like a hype man at a concert.
“Yes, this is the Kenji,” he said, gesturing with both paws. “The one whose portfolio made your admissions team call me personally. Twice.”
Kenji stared at him. “They didn’t call you twice.”
Clark leaned toward the receptionist. “They absolutely did. They were weeping. Sobbing. Begging me to let him join.”
The receptionist laughed. “Well, we were very impressed. Your work shows a lot of promise.”
Kenji’s ears warmed, but he managed to make a small nod. “I’m excited to start.”
Clark gasped dramatically. “He speaks! And with enthusiasm! Quick, someone write this down.”
Kenji elbowed him lightly. “Stop.”
“No can do,” Clark said, placing a paw over his heart. “It’s my sacred duty to embarrass you at every major life milestone.”
The receptionist slid a folder across the counter. “Since you’re already accepted, we just need your signature on the enrollment forms and confirmation for your class schedule, mid‑week night class and Saturday morning session, right?”
Kenji nodded. “Yes.”
Clark leaned in again. “He’s very dedicated. I told him Saturday mornings are for sleeping, but nooo, he wants to be an artist.”
Kenji muttered, “I never said that.”
Clark ignored him completely. “He’s committed. Driven. A creative force.”
Kenji took the pen and signed the forms while Clark hovered behind him like a proud parent at a science fair.
When he finished, the receptionist stamped the papers. “All set! Welcome officially, Kenji. We’re happy to have you.”
Clark pumped his fist in the air. “Yes! My nephew is officially a fancy art student. Should I buy a beret? I feel like I should buy a beret.”
Kenji groaned softly. “Please don’t.”
Clark grinned. “Too late. I’m already picturing it.”
Despite himself, Kenji felt a smile tug at his muzzle. Clark was ridiculous, loud, dramatic, impossible to control, but underneath all of it was something steady and warm.
Support. Pride. Love.
Simple words but standing there in the bright lobby with his uncle buzzing beside him, they felt real. They felt earned. And for the first time in a long time, Kenji realized he was stepping into a place where he might belong.
The receptionist led them through a set of double doors, and the moment they stepped inside, Kenji felt the air change. The lobby had been bright, but this space felt alive.
Light poured in from tall windows along the far wall, catching on metal stands, coiled cables, and rows of neatly organized equipment. The faint smell of photo paper and cleaning solution hung in the air, familiar in a way that made Kenji’s chest loosen.
“This is our main studio,” the receptionist said. “Most of the hands‑on work happens here.”
Kenji’s eyes widened.
Soft boxes hung from ceiling rails.
Reflectors leaned against the walls.
Tripods stood in neat rows like soldiers waiting for orders.
And the floor, polished concrete, reflected the morning light in soft, muted patches.
Clark let out a low whistle. “Fancy. Very fancy. Kenji, don’t touch anything expensive. Actually, don’t touch anything at all. You break it, I’m selling your shoes.”
Kenji elbowed him lightly. “I’m not going to break anything.”
The receptionist smiled. “Don’t worry, Kenji. Students are encouraged to use the equipment. We’ll teach you how to handle everything safely.”
They walked deeper into the studio, passing a group of older students adjusting lights around a mannequin. Kenji slowed, watching the way they moved, calm, practiced, focused. He could almost imagine himself there, adjusting a lens, checking the light, capturing something real.
“This area is for portrait work,” the receptionist explained. “You’ll spend a lot of time here during your Saturday morning sessions.”
Clark leaned toward Kenji. “Portraits. That means furs. Furs who will stand still and let you boss them around. Use your power wisely.”
Kenji shook his head, but he couldn’t stop the smile.
They moved on to a smaller room lined with computers.
“And this is our editing lab,” the receptionist said. “You’ll learn Lightroom, Photoshop, and some color‑grading basics.”
Kenji ignored him, stepping closer to one of the monitors. The screen displayed a student’s landscape photo, a mountain range washed in soft pink sunrise light. The colors were so vivid it almost felt like he could step into it.
His chest fluttered again, excitement.
“This is amazing,” he murmured.
The receptionist beamed. “We’re glad you think so. You’ll get plenty of time in here.”
Clark nudged him. “See? Told you this place was perfect for you.”
They continued down the hall to a darkroom, smaller, quieter, lit only by a red safety lamp. The air smelled faintly of chemicals and old paper. “We don’t use the darkroom as much anymore,” the receptionist said, “but some students still love film photography. You’re welcome to try it if you’re interested.”
Kenji stepped inside, letting the dim red light wash over him. It felt… peaceful. Like a place where time slowed down.
Clark poked his head in. “Spooky. I like it.”
Kenji rolled his eyes, but the warmth in his chest didn’t fade.
By the time they returned to the main hallway, Kenji felt something he hadn’t expected, a quiet certainty settling into him.
He could see himself here.
The receptionist handed him a small welcome packet. “Your first class is this Wednesday night. We’re excited to have you, Kenji.”
Clark clapped a paw on his shoulder. “And I’m excited to brag about you to literally everyone I know.”
Kenji groaned softly, but he didn’t pull away.
This place felt right.
And with Clark’s chaotic support beside him, it felt like the start of something good.
They left the school and started onto their next destination. The drive wasn’t long, but it gave Kenji enough time to watch the scenery shift, neighborhoods thinning out, streets widening, and then the school coming into view like something out of a brochure.
The building was two stories tall, made of sturdy red brick that caught the morning light. Wide stone stairs led up to a pair of giant double doors framed by tall windows. It looked solid, established, the kind of place that had seen generations of students pass through.
But what caught Kenji’s eye wasn’t the building itself, it was the park in front of it.
A small green space stretched along the front lawn, dotted with benches and shaded by a handful of tall trees. Bushes and flowerbeds lined the walkway, adding splashes of color even this early in the school year. A few students lounged on the benches, chatting or scrolling through their phones, while others walked the paths with backpacks slung over their shoulders.
It felt… welcoming. Not overwhelming. Just alive.
Clark parked the car. “Behold,” he said, sweeping his paw dramatically toward the building, “your new academic kingdom.”
Kenji stared at the school, the brick walls, the wide stairs, the greenery swaying gently in the breeze. His stomach fluttered, but not in the panicked way he used to feel. More like anticipation.
“It’s big,” he murmured.
Clark grinned. “Big school, big opportunities. Also big doors. Very dramatic. I approve.”
They walked up the wide steps together, Kenji’s paws brushing against the cool stone. The giant doors loomed above them, but the sunlight and the soft rustle of leaves from the park kept the moment from feeling too heavy.
Inside, the lobby opened into polished floors and bright hallways, but Kenji glanced back once through the glass, at the benches, the trees, the little park that softened the edges of the place.
It didn’t feel intimidating.
It felt like somewhere he could grow into.
The secretary at the front desk looked up with a welcoming smile. “Good morning. Can I help you?”
Clark stepped forward with the confidence of someone who absolutely should not have that much confidence. “Yes! We’re here for Kenji’s meeting with the principal.”
“Of course,” she said, checking her screen. “He’s expecting you. You can go right in.”
Kenji’s stomach fluttered, not with fear, but with that quiet awareness of stepping into something new.
Clark knocked once and pushed it open, but Kenji instinctively stepped inside only after pausing at the threshold and giving a small bow.
“Good morning, Principal!”
The principal looked up from his desk, a tall lion with a mane of golden fur streaked with darker tones, dressed in a sharp dark blue suit that fit him perfectly. His expression was calm, steady, and surprisingly warm.
“Welcome,” he said. “You must be our new transfer student.”
Kenji bowed again, deeper this time. “Yes. I am Kenji. Thank you for meeting with us.”
The principal’s expression softened, clearly appreciating the formality even if he wasn’t used to it.
“Please, have a seat.”
Kenji sat with his back straight, paws resting neatly on his knees. He waited for the principal to begin speaking before moving or adjusting his posture, another habit from years of homeroom meetings and teacher conferences in Japan.
Clark, meanwhile, sprawled comfortably in his chair like he owned the place.
“Everything looks in order,” the principal said, closing the folder. “Since the school year is already two months underway, we’ll integrate you as smoothly as possible.”
Kenji bowed his head respectfully, paws resting neatly on his knees. “Thank you. I will do my best.”
The principal nodded, clearly appreciating the formality. “I’m sure you will.”
Clark leaned back in his chair with a grin. “He’s a hard worker. Very polite. Very responsible. Basically the opposite of me.”
Kenji’s ears flicked in embarrassment, but he didn’t interrupt. He waited for the principal to continue, as he’d been taught.
The principal glanced at the clock on the wall. “Lunch will be served soon. Rather than having you wait here while we finish the administrative details, I’d like to have one of our students show you around.”
Kenji straightened slightly, surprised. “A tour?”
“Yes,” the principal said. “It’s important you feel comfortable navigating the building before tomorrow. And it’s always easier to learn from someone your own age.”
The principal pressed the intercom button on his desk. “Could you send in Mason, please?”
A moment later, the office door opened and a young deer cub stepped inside. His fur was a soft tawny brown with faint white spots still lingering along his shoulders. His tall ears flicked forward with curiosity, and his warm brown eyes had an easy, gentle brightness to them. He wore the school hoodie, sleeves pushed up, giving him a relaxed, approachable look.
His hooves clicked lightly on the floor as he stepped in. “You needed me, Principal?”
“Yes,” the principal said, gesturing toward Kenji. “This is Kenji, our new transfer student. Since lunch will be served soon, I’d like you to show him around the school and take him to the cafeteria. You’re one of our most reliable students, and I know he’ll be in good paws with you.”
Mason’s ears perked even higher. “Oh! Sure thing.”
He turned to Kenji with a bright, friendly smile. “Hi! I’m Mason.”
Kenji stood and bowed politely, paws together. “It is nice to meet you.”
Mason blinked, surprised for a moment, then his smile widened. “Wow, you’re really polite. That’s awesome.”
Clark whispered loudly, “Told you. It’s his superpower.”
Kenji nudged him gently, ears warming.
The principal continued, “Mason knows the school well. He’ll help you get familiar with the layout before tomorrow.”
Mason nodded enthusiastically, tail giving a small flick. “Yeah! And the cafeteria’s serving pizza today. It’s actually good. Come on, I’ll show you everything.”
Kenji glanced at Clark, who gave him a thumbs‑up. “Go on, kiddo. I’ll stay here and finish the boring adult stuff.”
Kenji bowed once more to the principal. “Thank you for your time.”
The principal returned the gesture with a warm nod. “Welcome to our school, Kenji. I’m glad you’re here.”
Mason stepped aside, gesturing politely with one hand. “This way! I’ll show you the park area first, it’s really nice.”
Kenji followed him out, paws light, posture respectful, feeling a quiet but steady warmth in his chest.
A friendly guide. A new beginning.
And with Mason’s gentle, reliable presence leading the way, the first steps didn’t feel nearly as intimidating.
Mason led the way out of the principal’s office with an easy bounce in his step, his hooves clicking lightly against the polished floor. Kenji followed a half‑step behind, posture straight, paws held neatly in front of him. Every time they passed a teacher or staff member, he dipped his head politely, a small bow, instinctive and respectful.
Mason noticed, his ears flicking with curiosity, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he pushed open one of the giant front doors and gestured outward with a friendly sweep of his arm.
“Let’s start with the park,” he said. “It’s kinda the best part of the school.”
Kenji stepped outside, and the shift in atmosphere hit him immediately. The little park stretched out beside the building, just as he’d seen from the car, benches arranged under tall trees, patches of flowers lining the walkway, and a few students scattered around enjoying the fresh air.
The breeze carried the faint scent of grass and early‑season blossoms. Kenji paused at the top of the stairs, taking a quiet breath. Back home, his school had a courtyard where students gathered before homeroom. This wasn’t the same, but it felt familiar enough to ease something inside him.
Mason trotted down the steps. “C’mon! I’ll show you the best spots.”
Kenji followed, his steps light, ears angled forward as he took everything in.
They walked along the stone path, passing a pair of squirrels chatting on a bench and a group of raccoon cubs tossing a ball back and forth. Mason waved at a few of them, and they waved back — clearly he was well‑liked.
“This place is really nice,” Kenji said softly.
Mason grinned. “Right? I hang out here a lot before class. It’s quiet in the mornings. And after school, everyone comes out here to talk or do homework or just… chill.”
Kenji nodded, absorbing the rhythm of the space. The trees rustled gently overhead, and sunlight filtered through the leaves in soft patches. He slowed near a flowerbed, crouching slightly to look at the blossoms.
“They take good care of the plants,” he said.
“Yeah,” Mason replied. “We’ve got a gardening club. They’re super serious about it. They even name the bushes.”
Kenji blinked. “Name them?”
“Yep. That one’s ‘Leafy.’” Mason pointed at a perfectly ordinary shrub.
Kenji’s ears twitched. “Leafy?”
Mason nodded proudly. “They’re not very creative.”
Kenji let out a small laugh.
They continued along the path until they reached a bench under a tall oak tree. Mason hopped up onto it, hooves clacking lightly on the wood. “So,” he said, tail flicking, “you’re starting tomorrow, right?”
Kenji nodded. “Yes.”
A bell rang faintly in the distance, not the class bell, but the lunch signal. Students began drifting toward the building, chatting and laughing. Mason hopped off the bench. “That’s our cue. You hungry?”
Kenji hesitated for only a moment, then nodded. “Yes.”
“Great! The cafeteria’s this way. And they’re serving pizza today, so you picked a good day to transfer.”
Kenji followed him toward the doors, the warmth of the park still lingering in his chest.
The hallway leading to the cafeteria buzzed with movement, lockers closing, voices overlapping, paws and hooves shuffling across the tile. Kenji stayed close to Mason, listening carefully as the deer cub continued explaining the school layout.
“So the science wing is upstairs,” Mason said, ears flicking as he pointed. “And the gym’s past the courtyard. Oh, and the vending machines near the art room are the good ones.”
Kenji nodded, absorbing every detail with quiet focus. His posture stayed straight, paws held neatly in front of him as he walked, a calm, respectful presence amid the noise.
They rounded the corner toward the cafeteria doors, where the scent of warm food drifted out. Students streamed past them in clusters, laughing and talking.
Kenji stepped aside to let a group pass, a habit from years of crowded Japanese hallways, but just as he moved, someone else stepped the same direction.
And they collided.
A startled yelp sounded, and an orange‑furred fox with large, expressive ears stumbled backward, falling onto the floor.
Kenji froze, eyes widening.
Then the words slipped out before he could stop them.
“くそっ…！” Kusso…!
A sharp, instinctive curse in his native tongue.
Mason blinked. The fox blinked.
The hallway seemed to pause.
The fox’s ears perked high, surprise flickering across his face, not from the fall, but from the sound of Kenji’s voice.
“You… speak another language?” he asked, breathless, curiosity sparking instantly.
Kenji’s embarrassment flared hot under his fur. He immediately crouched down, posture straightening into something instinctively formal. He extended his paw, palm open, gentle, the way he’d been taught to offer help with respect.
It looked almost princely.
The fox stared at the offered paw for a heartbeat too long.
Then he looked up.
Their eyes met.
Kenji’s gaze was striking, one eye a deep, gentle green, the other an icy, crystalline blue. The contrast was subtle but mesmerizing, like two seasons meeting in the same glance. Both eyes were soft, apologetic, full of quiet worry that he’d hurt someone.
The fox’s own eyes, bright green, vivid and warm, widened.
And something in them softened instantly.
But then…
A flicker of recognition crossed Kenji’s face.
That fur. Those ears. That energy.
He had seen this fox before.
On Clark’s first day with him.
Walking along the park trail.
Laughing, animated, pulling the world along with him.
And now he was here.
Right in front of him.
Holding his paw.
The noise of the hallway faded around them.
Mason stood a step behind, ears lifting in surprise, watching the moment unfold.
The fox finally spoke, voice softer now. “…Thanks.”
Kenji bowed his head slightly. “I am very sorry. I did not see you.”
The fox’s cheeks warmed under his fur. “No, no, it’s okay. Really. I just… wasn’t paying attention.”
Mason stepped forward, smiling. “This is Kenji. He’s new.”
The fox’s gaze stayed locked on Kenji.
“I’m… Thomas.”
Kenji’s breath caught.
Thomas.
Thomas’s ears dipped, and he smiled, small, soft, almost shy.
“It’s… really nice to meet you.”
Mason stepped forward, cheerful as ever. “Well! We should probably get to the cafeteria before the line gets crazy. C’mon, Kenji…”
But Thomas didn’t move.
He was still staring at Kenji.
Not rudely. Not awkwardly.
Just… captivated.
“Wait,” Thomas said suddenly, his voice quiet but firm enough to make Mason pause.
Mason blinked. “Huh?”
Thomas tore his gaze from Kenji long enough to look at the deer cub. “I can finish the tour with him.”
Mason’s ears perked in surprise. “You… want to?”
Thomas nodded, a small, earnest smile tugging at the corner of his muzzle. “Yeah. I mean, if that’s okay.”
He turned back to Kenji, his expression softening again. “I… wouldn’t mind showing you around.”
Kenji’s ears twitched, caught between confusion and a warmth blooming quietly in his chest. “If… if it is no trouble.”
“It’s not,” Thomas said quickly, almost too quickly. His tail flicked once behind him, betraying his excitement. “Really. I’d like to.”
Mason looked between them, then grinned, wide, knowing, and just a little mischievous.
“Well,” Mason said, stepping back with a playful shrug, “looks like you’re in good paws, Kenji.”
“No problem!” Mason chirped. “I’ll catch you later.”
He trotted off toward the cafeteria, leaving Kenji standing beside Thomas in the middle of the hallway, the noise of students swirling around them like distant static.
Thomas rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly shy now that Mason was gone. “Um… so… the cafeteria’s this way. But I can show you the art wing. And…” He stopped himself, ears dipping in embarrassment.
Kenji tilted his head. “You do not have to show me everything today.”
Thomas’s smile returned. Small, warm, and unmistakably genuine.
“I know,” he said softly. “But I want to.”
Kenji felt his heart give a quiet, startled flutter.
Thomas led the way, still glancing back at Kenji as if making sure he didn’t disappear.
Kenji followed, unsure why his chest felt warm, unsure why the fox’s smile lingered in his mind.
The tour continued.
But something had changed, quietly, gently, undeniably.
And neither of them knew it yet, but this was the moment that everything else would grow from.
Another wonderful chapter full of stirring descriptions and such a beautiful range of emotions. 🥰 I loved reading both parts of this. Mika's feelings towards Owen here are so relatable it hurts! Her inner thoughts are so effectively written! That dynamic has been a really strong part of these last two chapters. I'm enjoying every painful bit of it.
And once again we have Kenji's side giving some more levity, brightness and hope to the story, which gives it such a nice balance that I really appreciate. The excitement was palpable at his photography school. I was right there with Kenji getting excited about the equipment and software he'll have access to to help him hone and grow his craft. I really liked that part. The growing sense of hope, excitement and belonging. It was also smart how you came back to pancakes to contrast how Kenji reacted to them this time vs last. Really well done, plus it made me hungry 😁 And of course Uncle Clark's antics were in full force as well. He continues to be a great foil for Kenji.
I also liked that during the school tour part, we got to see some of Kenji's Japanese background showing up. I was curious if we'd see his cultural difference play a role. And of course our favorite bouncy orange fox. ❤️ Crashing full-on into the Kenji's story and latching on tight with his full bright heart! I wasn't quite expecting him to make an entrance quite so soon, and it looks like he's going to play a major role now. Very exciting!
This story only gets more and more interesting. Can't wait to catch up with these characters again (plus a few new ones I hear) in the next one! ❤️
Another wonderful chapter full of stirring descriptions and such a beautiful range of emotions. 🥰 I
As always, thank you for enjoying my story🥰. I love your feedback; it really inspires me to keep going. I wanted to balance the story by having Kenji bring the lighter, happier moments, since we all struggle with that initial wave of anxiety in a new atmosphere before it starts to grow on us and we begin to see the possibilities ahead. Meanwhile, Mika and Owen are dealing with the more tragic side, having lost an important friend, and Mika is wrestling with her feelings.
I want to highlight some of Kenji’s cultural customs, which I might weave in by incorporating his native language more once he starts classes. This could also add depth to Thomas, keeping true to his design from his dad, as he’s a curious fox intrigued by this foreign presence and able to bring another layer to their friendship. Thomas will now play a bigger role in the story as he builds his bond with Kenji, becoming a new friend who will support him. I also have ideas for how the other main character will enter, by then Kenji will have made a few friends who will help him win over this character’s friendship.
Thanks for all the love and support wolfie ❤️❤️
As always, thank you for enjoying my story🥰. I love your feedback; it really inspires me to keep goi
Thanks for reading I'm glad this has caught your eye. Yes, it was a surprise to have Thomas from another story to make an appearance, but I got permission to include him, and his father is overjoyed with that. Johnny has become a good friend of mine and has helped me with all the images for the story. I do want to thank you for taking the time to read it, means a lot to me. 🥰
Thanks for reading I'm glad this has caught your eye. Yes, it was a surprise to have Thomas from ano
This story is so good Kenji, that the breath in my lungs isn't enough to keep me conscious while reading this. What I love in your story is your character development. Every souls here is filled with colours, emotions and truthfulness. Kenji is the perfect example of it. You can relate to him, very much, he can be you in most of the parts of his life. Owen is clenching his paws on my heart, it hurts greatly, but knowing the future I can sleep steady, calm. Anyway, you writing him so good that you are not even aware about it🥰
New life, this is where Kenji just stepped. With Clark on his back I feel a bit worry a bit about our husky, but we both knows he would not do anything bad for his lovely nephew. I love the way you pushed Kenji. Photography sounds like something that can brings him popularity as well as troubles. I also have a very naughty imagination that I'll leave for myself (unless someone will beg for this hiehie). Anyway, I'm waiting for you to expand this part.
And crème de la crème, meeting with Tommy. You know how much I love this part? You know what I felt when I read about him? Well, I instantly write to you about my feelings, so proud and happy feelings. Thank you for taking care about him while his dad can't pay enough attention to him. Soon another husky will join to the party....
Great chapter as always! Keep this up my love🥰
This story is so good Kenji, that the breath in my lungs isn't enough to keep me conscious while rea
