---

 

"Woah," Romphaneous croaked, throat dry and itchy.

There were many first things the Bearded Collie saw during his mornings in 1450 of Rormund Academy's dorms. He saw the underside of his bunk mate's bed during his first morning. There were also times where the first thing he saw after opening his eyes were open reference books left on the table by Vox after a long day of studying. He'd also seen unwashed plates strewn across the same table, residual from yesterday's dinner. Aside from those, there wasn't anything new he'd ever seen in his mornings anymore. That is, however, until today.

He woke up laying on his side. The moment his eyes opened he'd received a full gaze from a pair of red feline eyes staring intensely into the depths of his soul from the other side of the room. For a split second, the notion of supernatural entities swarmed his confused, horrified mind, with the only thing holding his terrorized speculation being the fact that ghosts usually haunt people during the wee hours of the night, not first thing in the morning. They also don't resemble your newest roommate that only just arrived two nights prior.

"Good morning," said Shiro, sitting atop his bed, his elbows resting upon his thighs as he gazed blankly towards the sheepdog

Romps kept a tired gaze on the wolf, then picked up his phone from the round table and checked it.

"It's a quarter to seven," he said.

Shiro tilted his head in confusion.

"Six forty-five."

"Oh."

"How long were you up for?"

"I don't know."

The sheepdog stared at Shiro for a while before a deep yawn eventually reached out from the depths of his snout. He heaved himself out of bed, rubbing his belly, "You know, you could jog around the park or something."

"At night?"

"Sounds tad weird, I know, but it's not illegal," said Romps as he made his way to the kitchen, "And you could do something that isn’t- well, sitting there like a puppet and- where's my bloody mug again…"

"Second cupboard," Shiro pointed towards the right of Romps.

"Anyway," Romps swung the wooden door open and fished out his fat white mug, "Just put up your running shoes and- oh, right. Well, either way, you get the idea. I don’t often go to the park but I heard it's colossal. You'll get good mileage if you plan to see everything. Who knows, maybe you'll shed  some lard and get rock hard calves to sweeten the deal with the ladies- Did you mop the floor again?"

"Yes."

Romps gawked at Shiro for a moment. "Forget walking," he said, "We need to get you a new hobby."

Just as Shiro answered, Vox crawled out of his tent on his bed. His once soft, smooth pelt was now irritated and disarranged, possibly from a night of tossing about in bed. A tuft between his droopy ears was brushed upwards, sticking out like needles atop his head. He wore the clothes from yesterday; before the fiasco in the kitchen, that is.

"Good morning," Shiro called to him. The fox replied with a weak groan. He stepped off the ladder and reached down for the drawers under Romps' bunk. He pulled one box out, saw its contents and promptly froze, his ears standing up in surprise.

Vox had pulled out a uniform that, judging from the size, was undoubtedly his. The black fabric was ironed out as smooth as silk with the only creases being the signs of the folds that tucked the uniform into the cabinet in the first place. Even that could barely be seen.

Holding the uniform from one hand, Vox brought up another pair of clothes, this time similar to his current wear. They looked just as crisp and clean, looking as if they'd just been recently washed. He then pulled out another set and they too looked fresh off the ironing board. It was like they'd been sent through a pressing machine.

Vox looked to Shiro, who was watching the fox with much focus, his tail brushing side to side. He glanced back at his clothes, then to Shiro once more before turning to Romps in the kitchen, who was watching the wordless exchange as he took a long sip from his mug.

"Like I said," Romps said, "A new hobby."

 

---

 

A good hour or so had passed when a knock came from the front door, right when Shiro and Romps were through with their morning routine. The wolf was staring emptily into space on his bed whilst the sheepdog was busy stuffing things into his backpack. Vox was nowhere to be found as he was attending to himself in the shower. The two canines perked up their ears as the low thumps on the wood sounded off, prompting their immediate attention. Shiro drew an inquisitive expression as he glanced towards Romps, who was also holding a similar face.

"I’m not expecting anyone this morning," he said.

“Friends?” Shiro suggested.

“Well then, you go get it,” Romps said, “It’s about time I introduce you to my lads.”

Shiro got up and carried his feet towards the doorway. As his eyes met with the mahogany door a blip of concern flicked his heart to an uneasy beat. He didn’t need to contemplate much on the reception he’d get if his assumption was true, judging from the reactions the students of the Academy gave to his sudden enrollment. Though he still retained a tiny, glimmering hope for the opposite. All he could do was hope that Romps had like-minded friends that felt the same as he did.

Shiro twisted the lock and opened the door, only to see an empty elevator hall staring back with a warm, white glow. There wasn’t anyone standing outside. He looked left and right. Nobody. He wondered if it was another one of Lucille’s tricks. It would be impossible for a wolf spider but with her, he could never tell.

"Ahem," a voice, calm and soothing yet slightly commanding, peeped out from below.

The wolf looked slightly downwards. Caught in minor disbelief, he saw Miss Secretary standing in the corridor of the boys' dormitory, facing him from below his chest.

Even with her size, she held a presence that dominated the area and commanded utmost attention from wherever she stood and whomever she directed. Her glasses, hanging perfectly horizontal over her snout, added flair to her usual expression of indifference. Yet, as Shiro had seen before, within that expression was a steel gaze that was infused with focus and certainty concentrated into her black, beady eyes like a woman on a mission.

Her skin had splotches of black spilt across her fair, white hide, including the one over her eye. That was the only thing on Miss Secretary that held any feature of imbalance. Her white, sailor-like uniform seemed as if it was mathematically calculated to be sewn and ironed until it’s perfectly symmetrical. Her dark blue, ankle-high skirt held constant intervals in between each frill. Her shoes were shined to the finest layer of glimmer. Her socks could hold even numbers of folds on both sides (if one took both time and bravery to count) and not one soul would be surprised.

Of course, she isn't entirely perfect; if one had an extremely observant eye, they would catch a glint of imprecision upon her immaculate being (Shiro caught a tiny fold creasing across her right sleeve). Even so, it would require a moronic degree of nitpicking for the discovery to warrant any effect. She was, at a common glance, a model student any institution or establishment would clamour over to receive.

Shiro almost felt as if he’s mocking Miss Secretary from his audacity to meet her in a pair of cheap tracksuit and pants with raging creases rivalling a stormy sea whilst barefooted. There was still a small bit of humiliation held back by his conscience, reserved from the fact that he'd done the same thing during his first meeting with Miss Secretary and in an arguably worse condition; though if he had to choose between a state of half-awake and dizzying nausea, there really isn't any competition between the two.

This time around, Miss Secretary was carrying a significantly smaller load. The usual files in her arms, carried up from her hips, stacked only a few inches below her noticeable bust.

“Good morning, Mr Shiro,” she announced.

"M-Miss Secretary," Shiro stumbled in his words.

"Nice for you to remember," she said.

Shiro wasn't quite sure what to do in this situation. All his mind came up with were formalities, and that was what he went for, "Y-you want to come in?"

"Oi," Romps called out from behind, "Who's that on the door?"

With quick patters from his two feet, he made his way to the doorway. He peeped his chin just above Shiro's shoulder, jutting his head out to see who's at the door. He took a second faster than Shiro to notice Miss Secretary and made up for it as he stared at the cow with an expression that can be described as slight disbelief.

When his surprise dissipated, the sheepdog spoke, "What's a lass doing here in the boys' dormitory?"

Shiro's heart did a backflip of apprehension. With great alacrity, he tried to salvage the situation, "Uh-"

Shiro barely made one peep from his mouth when Miss Secretary beat him to it, "I am here to meet Mr Shiro for a discussion of official business by the Students' Council."

"Right," Romps replied with an undeniably sarcastic tone, "How did you get the scary snake downstairs to let you in?"

How Miss Secretary kept a straight face was beyond Shiro, "I have received adequate permission and authority beforehand."

"With what?" Romps spoke with a snarky tone, "Your good looks?"

"No," Miss Secretary replied with all the sincerity her stern voice could carry. Shiro wondered if she even knew Romps was pulling her leg, "I have received permission from Mr President himself."

"Of course," Romps said, "And I'm Prince of the Moon and King of the Stars-”

Miss Secretary pulled out a small piece of paper from the stack of files in her hands. It was the size of a greeting card, with fancy frills decorated the border of the paper and the words were written so heavily with cursive that Shiro thought he was reading another language entirely.

“Huh,” he exclaimed, “Whad’dya know?”

“I am glad your misunderstanding is resolved,” Miss Secretary said as she stuffed the paper back into the stack of files, “So may I request for the return of privacy between me and Mr Shiro?”

“Alright alright,” the sheepdog surrendered as he walked away with a cheeky smile, “Don’t keep him up too long, eh?”

As Romps left back into the room, Shiro whispered, "They don't know?"

Miss Secretary raised an inquisitive eye, "What do they not know?"

"That you're-" Shiro found it somewhat hard to spell it out, "You know…"

The puzzlement in the cow's look lingered for no more than a mere moment before she caught on, "It is simply out of volition that I keep my identity to the Students' Council hidden. It is so that my tasks can be accomplished much easier without unwanted attention."

Shiro nodded in response, hiding the fact that he barely understood a word spoken.

"Now," Miss Secretary said, "May you drool in this device for me?"

Huh? Shiro voiced out within his mind, blinking confusingly as he scrambled to get a grip on her words.

Reaching within the files in her arms, Miss Secretary pulled out a device. The apparatus was about as small as a phone, painted with a fresh coat of yellow, complete with various buttons and instruments covered in matte black.  It was no bigger than her palm and fitted snugly within her fingers. She flicked her thumb to the side of the device, clicking onto a tiny switch that opened a compartment hidden within the device, popping out like a miniature empty cabinet.

"I would not burden you with unnecessary information but for quick clarification," Miss Secretary explained, "This device collects your biometric data, which will be wirelessly transmitted to the Academy's database. There would be no need for any external instrument to validate your entry into classes anymore. Do you understand?"

Shiro didn't answer, but one look at his expression told Miss Secretary everything she needed to know from him.

"Hand me your temporary visa," she asked.

Shiro quickly fumbled into his track shirts’ pocket and fetched out a card tangled up to a bunch within the lanyard. Miss Secretary slotted that into the stack of files in her arms.

"From now on, this will be your permanent student pass," she said, showing Shiro the device in her hand.

Shiro stared at it for a second, "I have to carry that around?"

"No," she quickly said, "This device collects samples from your body. That includes your eye colour, your fur, your saliva, your breathing rhythm, your temperature distribution, or anything that suffices a complete identification, be it a combination of any number of samples. You will automatically be granted access to the facilities of the Academy upon your presence. Do you understand?"

Shiro gave another expression, and it seemed to satisfy Miss Secretary this time around. She jutted the empty compartment of the device towards Shiro, awaiting for his part of the input.

Shiro squinted into the compartment, looking longingly with reluctance before saying, "Can I give my hair instead?"

"It is the quickest and most effective method to register your biometrical data."

Looking into the little compartment once more, Shiro heaved a silent sigh under his breath and unfurled his snout, showing his teeth. He twirled his tongue beneath the ceiling of his mouth, picking up the moisture behind his jaws and molars, licking the space between his whites.

Miss Secretary flinched, her palm jolting the device back by a notch.

Shiro noticed, and promptly stopped his actions. It was unknown to him what made her react like that. Her eyes held a small level of consternation as she looked towards the wolf. He did a double-take on his bearing. The day was still early, so unless Miss Secretary had an innate disgust for morning dishevelment, Shiro couldn't point a finger on anything. He turned to his back. There was nothing behind him.

Shiro swallowed and asked, "What?"

"As per your suggestion, I reckon that your fur would suffice."

Slightly confused, Shiro asked, "You sure?"

"Yes. I am certain."

Shiro was puzzled, but he wasn't complaining either. He reached to the back of his neck and plucked out a particularly long strand. He dropped in into the device and as soon the fur made contact with the compartment it snapped shut in an instant, throwing Shiro a slight flinch of surprise, much like Miss Secretary before him, though not to her degree of fright.

A display sat atop the device, flashing strobing lights in rhythmic blasts as the words REGISTERING… sat underneath it.

It came back INCOMPLETE moments later.

"Stand still, please," Miss Secretary asked, and Shiro did.

Miss Secretary spun the device around, facing a tiny, gleaming glass dome puncturing the top. She waved the thing slowly across Shiro, scanning him with it from top to bottom in a clockwork routine.

She spun it back to herself as the display lit up once more. Shiro could see the pulsing lights reflect on her glasses for a swift moment before it switched to another colour he hadn't seen. This time, Miss Secretary seemed content with the results.

"Congratulations, Mr Shiro," she extended a hand, "I hereby represent the Students' Council to formally welcome you to Rormund Academy."

"Y-yea," Shiro returned the gesture, lightly clasping her delicate fingers with the balls of his palm and giving it a gentle shake.

Miss Secretary pulled her arm back, eager to get things going. She reached back into the files in her hands, pulling out a pack of clothes expertly hidden within the stack. Spreading within the crumpled surface is black fabric, neatly folded in a fresh state, almost as smooth as Miss Secretary's uniform.

She handed the packet over to Shiro and said, "I bid you farewell and a good day."

With that, she whisked away towards the elevator hall, took a turn and went out of sight. Holding the package, Shiro went back in, where Romps stood, curiously eager for whatever the wolf had to say.

"So," the sheepdog jumped in front of Shiro, "What have you got to say?"

"Nothing," Shiro replied.

"I too, want to live a life where I get girls visiting me in my room early in the morning for 'nothing', but I live in a reality and as far as I can tell, you're living in that same reality as I am. So what have you got to say," Romps asked, "And what kind of gift did she give you?"

Shiro was also curious to know the answer to that. He twitched his claws around the package, found a flap and tore it open. Slotted between the black fabric was something hidden, hard and rigid, with a certain texture to it. Shiro felt around some more and found that there was a pair of them. He held onto it and pulled it out.

It was a pair of giant black shoes. Its tips were comparable to door wedges, with holes as wide as soup bowls. The shoelaces were so thick that they seemed like thick ropes. The soles, heavy and bulky, clasped onto the thick leather like a large mouth. They seemed tailor-made, designed just for people with the likes of Shiro's feet, if there were any like him at all.

Romps looked at the footwear as if he was looking at an oddity, "She gifted you clown shoes?"

Shiro dropped the shoes to the floor. It hit the wooden boards in loud, thundering knocks akin to bricks.

"Industrial, steel-tipped clown shoes," Romps corrected himself.

Shiro reached into the packet again and pulled out the black fabric. As he held onto it the fabric began to unfold, draping itself downwards to the open air.

It was a uniform, black and spotless. The collar stood erect between the sleeves, whose stitches hidden expertly under the thick valleys of the fabric. The uniform held itself smooth with rigid elegance. It exuded a muffled, unspoken authority, status and history, despite its fresh, untouched state. The pants were relatively huge, with legs so long it might be the first pair Shiro received that could cover down to his ankles.

Shiro inspected it front and back. The uniform was immaculately pressed and expertly made. He'd be hard-pressed to find fault within the uniform if he'd ever had the heart to. This was the first proper pair of clothes he'd received that came packaged and tightly sealed and not bought out of a reasonable whim just because the last pair was starting to get tight by the crotch.

"Try it on," Romps said.

Shiro looked up, "What?"

"Well, what else are you gonna do with it?"

Shiro took another long glance at the uniform, closely studying the features from every nook and cranny.

"Just try it on now."

"Here?"

"What, you scared?"

With that, Shiro glanced lightly to the side, his mouth reluctant to let some words out.

Just before Romps could notice it, Vox walked into the room, wearing nothing but a towel whilst drying his massive ears off with a second one. His tousled fur was drenched and cleaned to the deepest strand. The colour brightened too, looking from a dull sunset to a bright orange.

As soon as Vox came into view, Shiro seized the moment and sprinted a quick arc around the fox to the back of the dorm, leaving nothing light thumps on the floorboards and a hasty, "Give me a sec-"

Vox got slightly jolted as he saw the wolf spin on his heels in a beeline towards the bathroom. He speculated with Romps whether he had an early bowel movement to take care of.

"No," Romps promptly corrected him, "He got clothes to try on."

Vox shrugged and left it at that. He took off his towel and draped it across his shoulder as he climbed onto his bunk. His climb was soon halted as he noticed Romps' lingering gaze on him. He asked what the sheepdog was looking at.

"A wet hairy carrot," Romps snorted.

Vox gave a good attempt of a spinning kick from the ladder and the sheepdog spun away in howling laughter.

 

---

 

"Oi, he's taking his time, isn't he," Romps commented.

A good fifteen minutes had passed since a knock last sounded on the door. In another fifteen the halls would be crowded and if the tenants of 1450 don't leave by then, they would find themselves reenacting being in a sardine tin, which, if sardines were capable of speech, wouldn't be giving much of a glowing review to the experience.

Romps and Vox were already in their uniforms, prepared and ready to go, just waiting for the wolf in the bathroom. Vox sat behind the coffee table, flipping through the pages of his notebook. Romps was doing another "raincheck" on his bag, rummaging through it once more after many times before. He felt something off as he searched through the compartments. He was very sure that he had everything stuffed, but the feeling still lingered, stabbing the back of his head with much insistence.

He looked through it again, rummaging between his books, hoping the epiphany would hit him during his search. He searched again, but to no avail. He turned his bag upside down and back again, hoping the thing he'd been looking for would turn up. Unsurprisingly, he didn't.

Dejected, he crashed onto his mattress, blowing out a sigh of defeat.

If only I could call these things to me, he thought.

Then it struck him.

Call.

His phone.

He picked up his bag again and dug through it once more. Sure enough, his phone was nowhere to be seen. He knew his gut feeling was true. He dropped the bag to the side bent to his knees, rubbing his head as he desperately tried to recall where he last left his phone.

Bathroom sprang into his head, not a second too soon.

Might as well hurry the runt while we're at it, he thought.

His feet pattered across the wooden floorboards as he made a beeline towards the bathroom. Conveniently for him, the bathroom door was open for an inch. He thought nothing of it. Shiro probably wouldn't mind. They were boys of the same age, after all.

"Oi Shiro," Romps called as he reached for the door, "Get a move on. Just here to grab my-"

The tiny gap within the door instantly vaporized as the door was slammed shut with a crashing thud. The sound blasted throughout the vicinity, silencing every peep within a massive radius. The roar echoed for a good moment, leaving Romps startled and dazed in a trance with his fingers frozen just a mere hair's thread away from being reduced to an inch shorter.

Shiro’s deep, shaky voice leaked from underneath the doorway, "W-Who?"

Romps couldn't respond for a moment, overwhelmed by the ringing silence. Vox came from the other side of the wall, peeking to see what’s going on.

Shiro’s voice came out again, “R-Romps?”

Still slightly shaken, Romps spoke in a feeble voice, “Y-you’re good in there? All okay?”

“Y-yea,” he responded.

“Good,” Romps said, “Just here to check on you. Do you see a phone in there? The one with the yellow case?”

A moment of silence trailed by before the wolf answered, “I don’t see it.”

“You sure? I left it by the sink, I think.”

Another moment of silence came along before Shiro answered, “Only this yellow mirror.”

Romps thought, Yellow mirror? We don’t have a yellow mir- oh.

Romps asked aloud, “Is that mirror small and rectangular with buttons on the side?”

It took a while before Shiro answered, “Yea.”

“That’s my phone,” Romps said.

Shiro called out from behind the door, “It’s a phone?”

“I’ll tell you all about it when you’re out of there,” the sheepdog answered, “Can you pass it to me through the door?”

Then came another silence, this time a lot longer than before. Vox came up beside Romps, wondering what’s going on.

Romps asked again, “You good in there?”

There was a rap at the door before Shiro answered, “Putting on my pants."

“What, you shy or something?” Romps joked, “It’s not something we've never seen before.”

It took a while before Shiro answered, “Y-yea.”

A click sounded from the bathroom and the door swung open. From the side, Shiro emerged. Gone was his tracksuit and for the first time since his arrival, Romps and Vox saw the wolf wearing the Academy's uniform.

It fitted him well.

Too well, in fact.

His collar sat tall and erect, enclosing his neck as it held his chin up and straight. The sleeves defined his shoulders in a way his tracksuit couldn't, propping his torso from a creased, crumpled surface to a wide, flat black wall. Blips of silver fixed itself in even intervals on the wall as the final inches of the jacket flowed apart beneath the last button like tails, fluttering outwards with subtle elegance.

His pants suited his unusually long legs. Where his track pants made his legs look like an oddity the Academy issued pants wrapped it fittingly, with a mute sense of status, more felt than spoken. His physicality was noticeable before, but the uniform introduced a weight to his image unseen in his usual wear.

But no part of him was more amplified than his eyes. The uniform had further dulled the drab, colourless presence he held that was already emphasized by his dark fur. The only feature he held that was at least visually stimulating was his feline, ruby red pupils. His eyes were dramatised to new heights. Among the pitch black it gazed sharper than before, staring like sharp glints off a gleaming gem. 

For a fraction of a moment, both Romps and Vox couldn't recognize the wolf before him. Their senses couldn't perceive the familiarity between the nervous wolf from before and the wolf they see now. It was more than a change of attire; he seemed like a completely different person. A stranger, if to be blunt. It was only when Shiro's usual skittish unease surfaced when they finally identified the stranger before them.

"Y-your phone," Shiro said as he handed the 'yellow mirror' to Romps.

"Right," the sheepdog said, "Thanks."

With that Shiro shoved his hands into his pockets, clearly unaccustomed to an attire this stiff as he struggled to adjust his body into this strange new world.

It was then when Romps swallowed an unconscious gulp.

Shiro isn't a hard man to understand. His face may be a drywall of expressions but anyone with a vague understanding of nuance and body language could read him like a book. Some wouldn't be hard-pressed to say that they understand Shiro's emotions more than the wolf himself.

Yet, as Romps stared longer, Shiro's demeanour seemed to have changed dramatically, holding an entirely different air to his presence.

It was unsure whether it was the uniform, his sharpened gaze, or something the sheepdog simply missed before. As Shiro squirmed in his uniform, Romps sensed a hidden depth from his appearance. If it had to be put into an expression, Shiro was indeed an easy book, as he had been before. It's only now that Romps discovered that there were far more pages to him than it seems. At that moment, Romps felt as if he'd closed the book on the last chapter only to find that it says Volume One in the end.

There were many pages after that. Many, many more. Pages that hold countless paragraphs. Pages that would fill a whole library.

Pages Romps felt unsure whether to pry or not.

It was a change Romps didn't know what to do with. Romps tried to wave it off as a simple shift of his wardrobe. A good set of clothes could make a peasant look like a king.

But yet again, looks only go so far. The peasant, no matter how hard he learns to imitate, would never feel like a king. As of then, Romps felt something entirely different from Shiro. If anything, he seemed bigger than before. Taller and imposing, more than he was willing to admit. It was as if there was a mirage, holding him higher than before in Romps' eyes.

For a moment, Romps felt as if he was below Shiro.

In that split second, Romps wanted to know what those pages were. Romps wanted to know what those sixteen years before he met Shiro entailed. He wanted to see what those sixteen years had written in the volumes behind those red eyes. Danger and self-preservation became an afterthought. An insatiable appetite began clamouring his head, mapping out his desire and charting out his goals. The dark fingers in his mind scribbled in his brain, ending with the words CONQUER written in bold and underlined with a heavy accent.

Then rationality wrangled those dark fingers away and swept his mind clean. He was reminded of the physical world beyond his feelings. He remembered that, beyond societal standings, they were the same, except that one seemed to fit in a uniform better than the other.

The hunger, however, still lingered. His rationality had missed a tiny spot in the corner. It clawed its way back to the forefront of his head, begging and vexing the sheepdog to pursue. Just before it made it to the top, an ethereal, echoey voice rung into his head, reminiscent of the words Shiro spoke just last night.

You'll never need to know.

Darn right, Romps thought to himself, I don't need to know.

Shiro's easy exterior now seemed like a cold, hard mask to Romps, hiding countless secrets beneath it. He didn't mind it, however. It was an odd, friendly, albeit awkward mask to be with, and that is all Romps needed from the wolf.

"Heh," Romps pointed to Shiro, "Does your nose honk when you press it?"

Shiro didn't understand, "Hm?"

Romps then pointed to his feet, now wearing a ridiculously huge pair of footwear that looked like a cross between formal shoes and construction boots. It was almost half a foot long, barely balanced by Shiro's curling tail. Romps let out heaves of giggles while Vox looked away, suppressing his laughter as it jolted his shoulders sporadically. Shiro's head sunk even lower from embarrassment, digging his hands deeper into his pockets.

I don't need to know.

It was then when Shiro looked up, noticing something different about the pair in front of him.

He asked, "Vox's going out?"

"Yeah," Romps answered, "Every Friday, he gets new books from the library. He only goes for classes when he really needs it. Doesn't like 'em."

Shiro drew a confused expression, "Why?"

It was then when Vox turned to the other side, obviously reluctant to reveal any information.

Then Romps cracked a sly smile, "He was sitting next to some girl in Math class when she called him 'cu-"

It was then when Vox dropped down to his knees, drew his index and middle finger from both hands and jammed it up Romps' posterior. Romps leapt up with an ungainly yelp, managing to both laugh and cry at the same time.

Shiro, on the other hand, was struck with a different expression entirely. His eyes widened, his ears perked, all as if he'd been struck by some sort of a revelation. He sunk to his chest, running through his thoughts in silence.

Vox noticed his change of expression as Romps bounced around clutching his behind.

Shiro then looked back up, his eyes shining with realization. He spun towards Vox, his gaze shocking the fox a little.

Much to Vox's confusion, he blurted out, "The library."

 

---

 

Shiro finally understood Vox's predicament, but only because he was sitting on the other side of the spectrum and could understand half of his troubles. Shiro followed Vox, who was carrying a stack of reference books whilst trying his absolute best to make a beeline towards the library without catching mass attention, which was impossible. Shiro thought it was partly because the fox chose the early morning rush to do his bidding but judging from Vox's expression, he decided not to bring it up.

Wherever Shiro would catch glares, Vox caught open adoration, but not the kind given out of equal respect. It was the kind people give towards little cubs or cute pots of flowers. Whenever someone passed by they all showed puppy eyes and dragged their sight even after crossing paths. Some even whipped out their phone cameras; quite a few didn't even bother to hide it.

Shiro would admit that Vox does have some dainty traits to him; given his size and the deposition of his enlarged ears among other things. He'd never thought it'd be to a degree where people would fawn over him, at least not to a degree he expected.

Shiro felt partially blamed. He wasn't a person to understate his physicality. He knew his height well. He also knew how Vox looked standing beside him as if the tower of books he was carrying didn't juxtapose his size enough. Shiro tried to help him with the stack but Vox’s sudden glare was all he needed as a response. He tried putting some distance between the two, but that worked none.

Vox was not taking it kindly. His eyes were small as stilts but Shiro didn't need them wide open to tell the fox wasn't pleased. His cheeks puffed as he did his best to keep his head down. Still, even with his gaze to his shoes, Shiro saw his ears twitch every time someone passed by, especially when they had their phones out.

The camel's back finally broke when the last straw came in a form of a possum the same size as Vox passing him by, openly commenting, "Look at his cute little beans!"

Vox immediately turned to his back and asked if he could walk behind Shiro.

"I don't know the way"

Vox cut him off and said he'll give directions from behind. He wouldn't even mind missing turns, so long as Shiro's in front and he's not.

And so Shiro was thrust back into the playing field once more, and passers-by weren't happy with the new lineup. Back then they were able to distract themselves from the ugly giant behind, but now that he's on the forefront, there was nothing but him to see. He arguably looked worse than before, seeing as he's now dressed in the Academy's uniform, a prime sign of prestige and exclusivity, now sullied by his presence alone. That was without mention of his ludicrously massive footwear that looked like it belonged to a circus.

He used to look like a homeless vagrant, but now he looks like a homeless vagrant who robbed the local tailor's and lucked out with his findings.

Needless to say, people weren't too happy with this change, save for the fox, who was happy enough to retain his self-esteem, and the wolf himself, whose feelings are made of stone, at this point.

Lightly tugging on the fur of his tail, Vox signalled Shiro to turn left.

"Upstairs?"

The fox nodded, and there the wolf led. They went through more straights and turns. The upstairs seemed significantly emptier, with more windows than doors. People around this floor seemed to keep more to themselves, opting to stare straight ahead on their path rather than to snoop around looking for business. It was a significant step up from the lower floor. Right then, Shiro decided where to spend his foot journeys for the rest of his days in Rormund Academy. There weren't any doors leading to the classrooms and staircases weren't plentiful, but he could make do with extra steps if that meant total peace from thereon out.

Shiro didn't need Vox's signal to find the Library. All it took was a slight glance upwards to see the white plaque perching above the double doors with the words LIBRARY etched atop as bold as it could manage.

Hands full, Vox told Shiro to do the work. The wolf went up to the metal plate sitting vertically where the door handles should be, gently pressed his hands against it and pushed.

It was a grand, spacious arena, much more than what the doors preceded. The walls were shelves, scaling high as they scraped the tinted glass roof, dousing a pale, faint light onto the long tables arranged across the planked, furnished floor below. Patrons of the library hunched over their books, seated in far intervals between one another. Despite the space, each student radiated a fierce pressure that made it seem that the relative area was occupied indefinitely. 

Books sat atop the shelves, sitting in their boxes as they fitted neatly against one another, looming over the students like an audience in a gladiator match, watching the students plough through the volumes after volumes of monstrous texts towering around them, protected by their clasping skins of heavy leather as the students tore through each of them one at a time. Each aggressively exuded the undeniable impression that interruptions are not to be expected, not at least to their regard.

There was a bigger main entrance on the lower floor that was bustling with activity. Shiro could see why Vox opted for the quieter route. This door led to an upper floor in the library that surrounded the place with a spacious walkway. Shelves too dominated the walls, with light fixtures set evenly between them. Vox went down one direction, and Shiro followed. The fox led him down a steep staircase towards the lower level where Shiro's heart skipped many beats watching the books in his arms wobble dangerously in his arms as he made giant steps down. Vox seemed used to this act and even tried to skip a step on one choking moment, much to the wolf's cardiac well-being.

There was a counter that sat on one end of the library, setting shop against the only wall that isn't occupied by a sheer rise of covers and texts. A lizard was working on the counter, her head down to some books, her hair shrouding her face.

Vox went up to the counter, tipped his toe and dropped his heavy load onto the mahogany surface. The sound rang the girl's attention and, surprised, she promptly rose. It was then when Shiro let out a small gasp.

The lizard's cowering, hunched over position shrouded her size to such an effective degree that when she stood, Shiro almost caught a whiplash catching her movement. She stood at least a head and a half taller than him, with the shoulder width to rival most of the boys in the Library, even Shiro himself, though that was more towards her size than her figure. Her hips curved down to her thighs beneath her smoothly tucked white uniform, barely noticeable under the long, navy blue skirt she wore. Her sleeves jutted over her shoulders like sharp, miniature horns, bringing attention to her slender arms. Her scales were dulled in dark green, contrasted by her palm and her underbelly which shone a pale white from her fingers and her cleavage. Speaking of her cleavage, she also had a notable bust that fitted comfortably underneath her stiff buttons, stretching her shirt tight both over and under, from the collar and pulling from under the skirt.

She was still very much, in all sense of the word, a woman, though her features were made subtle, overshadowed by her massive presence. She was such a giant that most people would probably end up sidetracking her physique, too enraptured by her sheer size to see anything else, and they wouldn't be blamed for it. Her body seemed so enlarged that she looked as if she belonged to another planet and was accidentally bought into a world a few sizes too small for her.

Though it wasn't her size, nor was it her upper torso that caused Shiro's gasp. It was her face, or rather, the lack thereof.

Her entire head was a skull. White, ghastly and angular. With the lack of lips, her teeth were completely exposed, forming a perpetual smile that stretched to the back of her head; at least that's what she looked like from Shiro's angle. Her scales simply stopped growing below her neck, letting visible tendons stretch out from her collarbones, pulling against her thin, translucent, pulsating skin as it shot up underneath her massive chin. Her nostrils sat on the tip of her muzzle, pitch black and gaping. Her hair was dyed the same colour as her scales, long and straight, opening to the side of her head, draping on her shoulder like curtains. How hair could be grown within a skull was beyond him, but the fact that there was a sentient skull before him already disregarded any disbelief he could've had towards her presence.

Shiro couldn't see her eyes either. Her hair simply parted to the side of her head, making him wonder if sight was even possible for such a creature. As it seemed, she was, because the lizard dropped her head slightly and stared straight towards him, pointing her smile directly at his direction.

For a split second, Shiro felt his spine tingle.

The lizard, her eyes still fixed on Shiro, reached under the counter and pulled out something; a red plastic board. It was the size of a picture frame, with an empty, flat grey screen in the middle and two white knobs sitting on the bottom corners. She turned the board towards herself and fiddled with the knobs for a moment. Curious, Shiro leaned in for a closer look.

Not even a split moment after, the lizard turned the screen red plastic board back, flipping it towards Shiro. Now the grey screen said something. Written neatly in cursive with a single, thin line were the words How may I help you?

Shiro stared at the screen for a second, blank with confusion before his mind finally caught up, mumbling towards the lizard, raising his hands as he shook his head, "O-oh, u-uh, not me, it's-"

The lizard drew a blank expression herself, or what Shiro thought it was. In all honesty, he couldn't tell what kind of expression this girl could put on besides the smile her jaw pulled off. Shiro went with his assumption nonetheless and pointed to his front where Vox stood, just out of sight from the books.

The lizard followed his finger and finally found the fox, his snout barely reaching over the stack of books despite facing upwards. The girl opened up her mouth from what Shiro presumed to be some sort of a reaction. She seemed like a silent movie, moving her mouth without making any sound. Shiro made a subtle peer into her mouth, discovering a second set of teeth hiding just behind the visible jaw. To his surprise, he saw gums, a tongue, and other kinds of meaty organs within. As it turns out, this girl has lips, just not in the way most people would think.

Without looking, the girl fiddled some more with the red plastic board in her hand, expertly twiddling the knobs at high speed and, in seconds flat, wrote something entirely new on the screen, Welcome back Vox.

Vox simply gave a dismissive wave, expressing his desire to simply get things over with.

The lizard played with the board some more and came back with Do you need anything new?

Vox simply shook his head as he raised a thumb above his head, piquing Shiro's interest.

The lizard set her red board down, reached under the counter once more and came out with another tool. It seemed like a fingerprint scanner, similar to the ones in airports as Shiro bore witness to some time ago. It was about the same size as the tool Miss Secretary used on him just that morning, and with the same colour palette too.

The lizard handed the scanner down towards Vox, and the fox used it accordingly with his thumb. The display lit up, and information began spilling out in scrolling text. From where he stood Shiro could make out a few from the many words on the tiny screen.

Species: Blandford's Fox… Nationality: Middle-Eastern… Age: 17… Height: 12-

Right before Shiro could read the numbers Vox immediately covered the screen with his palm, looking back up to him with a dangerous squint.

Shiro tried to chalk it up with light talk, "S-so you're older than me?"

Vox gave an even sterner look.

"S-sorry."

The scanner flashed a green and Vox let go of his thumb. He whisked away towards the staircase, the lizard giving a light bow as he walked.

Just as the lizard was facing down, Vox gave Shiro a light pat in the back. He couldn't reach high; he ended up hitting just under Shiro's hips. But Shiro felt it nonetheless

"Thanks," he whispered, just loud enough for Vox to hear. The fox simply walked away, leaving Shiro to himself.

The lizard looked back up, only to see Shiro standing in front of the counter, staring awkwardly as he shuffled in his uniform. She reached for the red plastic board again, this time fiddling out the words Do you need anything?

Shiro simply stood there, his mouth ajar as words bubbled inside his head, clamouring to get out. The lizard waited for his response, staring at him from her unseen eyes, keeping the smile spread across her face.

In reality, Shiro was dreading. Small talk. That was what he wanted to get out. It was the first step in his mental game plan that he drew out that morning. It was supposed to be a precursor to something more important; as a means to butter up the conversation before sliding into the main course, but as it stands now, he finally realized he could barely get a word in. He wasn’t well-versed in this. What could there be to talk about with a stranger you’ve never met? The weather?

Shifting his anxious gaze, Shiro glanced towards the tinted glass ceiling above and blurted out the first thing that came to his head.

“B-blue sky,” he inadvertently spoke out with a light chuckle.

The lizard looked at him with a solid second, her expression unchanged. Shiro couldn’t tell what her thoughts were but bearing from his judgement, it wouldn’t be anything better than his. For comparison, he’d kick himself right up his behind if it was possible. In a twisted manner, he was glad he couldn’t read the lizard’s face. If he could, the wringing pain in his throat would’ve been twice as much than it was then.

The lizard flipped the board back to her side and fiddled out something new, Yes, quite a good weather we have today.

She flipped it back and fiddled some more, Is it like this, where you’re from?

Shiro spoke, “W-where I’m from?”

She fiddled out a new set of words, You are Shiro, right?

Shiro answered, “Yea.”

I saw you in the auditorium, she wrote. She flipped the board again and fiddled out something new, I sat quite far but I can recognize you.

“R-really?” Shiro chuckled a little, inclined to keep the small talk going, “How?”

The lizard flipped the board and fiddled out something else. She was about to turn it back when something made her pause and look to the side. Slowly, she turned the board around, revealing a neatly written,

Your feet.

Of course, Shiro thought.

The lizard quickly turned the board around and wrote something else, I can hear from your accent.

Shiro was slightly surprised, “I-I have an accent?”

A little, she wrote, It is quite subtle.

She wrote some more, Do you like it here?

Shiro didn’t know what to say. On the one hand, he could gush out on the few but memorable experiences he had in the Academy. He could even mention the one that sent him here in the first place. If he didn’t want to talk about that, there was still pages’ worth of material he could spew out from the top of his head about the first day alone. Even in the first hour, he had a lot to say.

But on the other hand, he thought about where he’s from.

“Well,” he said, “It’s warmer here.”

We are in the equator, after all, she wrote.

Shiro asked, “Eat quarter?”

The lizard paused for a second, flipped the board back and wrote, We have books on that subject if you’d like.

“N-no,” he said, “It’s okay,”

The lizard flipped the board once more, Anything else I could help with?

About time, I guess, Shiro thought.

“Y-yes, actually,” he said.

The lizard wrote, What is it?

“I’d like to join your club,” he said.

At that point, the lizard unhinged her jaw. Shiro was truly frightened at that time due to how sudden it was. One second the lizard was fine but at the next her inner teeth were completely open and exposed, her lower jaw shrouding her neck from view. Shiro flinched a little, caught off guard by the sudden sight of her sharp, reptilian molars. Her fingers completely let go of the red board in her hand, dropping it onto the counter with a light crack. Shiro, unsure of the scene before him, froze up as well, standing as stock-still as the lizard.

Just then, something cracked open behind the lizard.

Caught by the noise, both turned to the wall behind the counter, revealing a doorway hidden within the walls. Shiro was immediately reminded of Mr President’s office as tiny seams began emerging from the sides, opening up to reveal a solid, rectangular wedge fitted within the walls. It swung open slowly without a creak, turning out to the counter.

Out stepped an otter, dressed in the same type of uniform Shiro wore, only much smaller, with shoes that didn’t stand out too much. He came out just behind the lizard, standing only as high as her thigh. His small, black, pea-sized eyes sat behind a giant pair of spectacles, with frames big enough to encircle his forehead. His tiny ears popped out from his dark brown fur that, though course, was elegantly combed to fit his look. He lifted his tail barely above ground as he walked out, carrying himself with an air of decorum one would expect from people in such grounds.

“Krin, a new batch is coming,” he spoke in an elegant, almost noble tone, “We need space for shelf B13 and B14, could you manage that after the morning rush-”

His words were stopped short when his eyes landed on Shiro. His small, whiskered mouth was ajar as he stared from beneath the wolf’s chin, giving himself a good look at him.

“My, what do we have here?”

The lizard, back to her senses, picked up the red plastic board, quickly twisted the knobs at a practised speed and flipped it towards the otter. The otter fixed his glasses, gave it a squint and looked back towards the wolf.

It wasn’t obvious, but Shiro could see a sense of incredulity seeping into the otter’s expression.

The otter cleared his throat and nodded to the wolf, “I see, I see… well… it wouldn’t be nice to keep someone waiting, would it?”

Shiro tried to say something out of courtesy when the otter gave more orders to the lizard.

“Krin, give him a seat in my office. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

And with that, off the otter scurried. Left with the lizard, Shiro had no other place to go. He turned back to the counter, the lizard now reined back her poise, extending a hand towards the open doorway. A strong case of déjà vu washed over the wolf as he made his way over to the counter, following the lizard into the otter’s office.

“Y-your name,” Shiro muttered, “It’s Screen?”

The lizard turned to face Shiro, her mouth agape. She quickly shook her head, picked up the red board and wrote, It’s Krin.

“Oh,” Shiro said, “Sorry.”

It’s fine, she wrote, It’s a hard name to remember.

It’s not, Shiro thought, a certain sheepdog coming into his mind, Not at all.

Krin directed a palm towards the room beyond the doorway. A black sofa sat on the near side. Fiddling with the knobs on the red board, the lizard wrote, The club president will be here with you soon.

“T-thanks.”

She nodded and saw herself out from the doorway, leaving the wolf alone to himself.

As he took a seat, he glanced around for a bit. The otter’s office, compared to Mr President’s, was relatively tame. It seemed like a comfortable cubicle, able to fit a group of five with space to spare. Wooden planks stretched from the floor to the walls. There were no windows, save for a vent humming gently on the far corner of the room. Sitting beneath the vent was a table, clean and clear aside from a computer resting on the surface. An office chair sat behind it, its seat raised almost as high as the table.

He listened to the hum from the vent, patiently awaiting the otter’s return.

“...he’s in there? Okay,” the otter’s voice sounded from outside the doorway.

The otter came, adjusting his glasses with a set of files under his shoulder. As he walked in he gave Shiro a good look, scrutinizing him from top to bottom. Shiro immediately stood up to greet the otter.

“S-sir-”

“No,” the otter raised a palm, “Don’t call me Sir.”

“O-okay-”

“And grab the cushion you just sat on.”

Shiro turned to his back. He was bewildered by the request but he did as he was told nonetheless. He reached under the seat and pulled, dragging out a soft, square block in his palm.

“Like this?”

“Yes.”

The otter rounded the table and dropped the files onto the table. With a small leap, he sat onto the office chair, pulled himself close to the computer and started typing away.

With the cushion in his hand, Shiro waited for the otter to speak. The otter, however, gave him no such thing. He kept his focus entirely on the monitor, letting only fast clicks to trail with the humming ambience of the room. He didn’t even look up to the wolf. He simply kept his eyes straight on his computer, only occasionally glancing to the side to see the files.

After much contemplation, Shiro spoke out, “W-what now?”

The otter’s tiny ears sprang up as he glanced to the side to see Shiro. His fingers stopped typing as he pulled the chair to the side to face the wolf. He held an expression on his face that carried a feeling of jade in his eyes.

“Stand there and wait for three minutes.”

“A-after that?”

“Get out.”

With that conclusion, the otter pushed himself back to his computer, his fingers typing away as he’d been moments before. Shiro felt shock reigning control of his body, yanking him from his tail. He took a step forward, pleading towards the otter.

“P-please,” he stammered, “Can we talk about it? At lea-”

“Look here,” the otter lashed out, “I’ve got enough on my plate to last a lifetime. Look at me; son of the biggest kingpin in the communicative tech industry, stuck behind a desk filing books for a dead club. I could be out there making connections and shaking hands but right now I’m writing a report on a fucking stolen encyclopedia. I get a laugh out of myself more than everyone else in this Academy. Even then, I don’t think I’d stoop as low as to look after a stray mongrel.

“I don’t need to wake up, be reminded of how much I could be doing, come here, and look at both you and that freak out there as a bonus. Better yet, do everyone a favour and get expelled already. You don’t deserve to be here. I don’t need to be reminded that my efforts are equated by the Academy that I busted my back to get in to a wolf who snooped his nose into places he shouldn’t be in.

“So when you go, take that cushion with you. I don’t even want a trace of you left in my office. Treat it as a farewell gift. You’re not so much of a moron as to not understand that, are you?”

The otter kept a steely gaze on Shiro, hammering his message in just in case his words weren’t clear and solid enough for the wolf to understand.

The wolf did understand, but comprehension and acknowledgement, though a famous pair, are, after all, mutually exclusive. He dropped the cushion onto the floor, tossing it to the side. He dropped his hands onto the table, sinking himself to the otter’s eye level, much to his chagrin.

The otter snarled, “And what the hell are you doing now-”

The otter managed to form a complete sentence right before his throat seized up, barely suppressing a hiccup from his mouth. The wolf’s eyes had taken a different gaze. Wordless intents fumed from his stare, diluting the otter’s previous preconceptions in his mind. Reality now presented itself crystal clear before his sight. Mere seconds ago, he was a valuable heir to the head of a towering industry facing a nameless, dirty street kid. Now he’s nothing but an aquatic weasel cornered to the back of the room with his only escape blocked by a wolf twice his size.

“Making a deal,” the wolf growled with a brusque tone.

“Pray tell how,” the otter spoke, holding as much dignity as his voice could carry.

“I want to get away from someone,” the wolf said.

“And?”

“You don’t want to see me.”

The otter let out a faint chuckle, “I’m not seeing any deals here.”

“I’ll stay out your way,” the wolf pleaded, “I just need a reason to sit here. I'll sit in the corner. Do work. Keep this place clean. Anything.

“I still don’t see my end of the deal.”

“I don’t have anything to lose.”

The otter squinted at the wolf for a moment before the realization set in. His expression dropped to a glare, staring straight towards the wolf, “Do you know who I am?”

“Do you?” the wolf growled.

The otter recoiled.

A million thoughts ran into his head, each one more desperate than the one before. The wolf before him has his intentions laid out plain and distinct. When it all came down to it, the wolf only had one reality. The otter had many, stacked up against one another in a dangerous, vulnerable tower. He'd rather die than to lose any one of it. For the wolf, the only place he had was the one that stood before his eyes. He wasn't lying, he did have nothing to lose. Being born as gutter trash gives you an ultimate advantage; you can't go further down, but the guy above you could.

Unfortunately, for the otter, the wolf forgot to account for one thing - spite.

The otter would rather die than be pushed to the corner by a sewer-born mutt.

"Try me," the otter rebutted.

For a split second, the wolf seemed to take the shape of the room. The walls were pitch black, with gleaming strands of grey violently spasming out from the darkness. Claws pierced through the four corners, gliding menacingly towards the otter. The air tasted like rotting meat. The drumming sound of the otter’s heartbeat died down to a slow pulse, synchronizing with the wolf’s as if they were already one, or there wasn’t a second heartbeat at all in the first place.

The otter was seeing everything crash down before his eyes. Spite was a dangerous weapon. The trade of self-preservation for dignity is debatable, with its worth only being able to be valued in the aftermath. As the darkness closed in, he steeled his mind. He went all-in or nothing. His presence was entirely wiped from the big picture. He didn’t care for his side of the outcome, so long the wolf doesn’t get what he wants.

In that split second, the otter tightened his fists, shut his eyes and anticipated.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Nothing.

The otter opened his eyes.

This fucking liar.

The wolf had something to lose.

The thing about gutter trash is that, without reality, the only will to live one could ever get was to dream. Gutter trash would dream up puny, worthless values like ‘principles’ and ‘promises’; inconsequential sets of rules to govern the reality they never had. This was the only form of ‘pride’ and ‘respect’ gutter trash would ever have to themselves; a shot of anaesthesia to numb their senses to their nugatory reality, hiding behind a wall of self-congratulatory denial to convince them that they aren’t nothing.

This canine gutter trash was no different. Whatever it was he built for himself, it was holding him back. His outstretched claws sat a mere inch away from the otter’s face, just a tick away from making contact. The dooming gaze of the wolf had a faint, colourless wall shrouding it, holding the fire behind from setting the room into a scorching blaze.

The otter almost let out a pant of relief. There was a certain tinge of irony behind it. Holding the wolf’s mercilessness was none other than his mercy to his principles, whatever they may be.

The satisfaction was too much to bear for the otter. A grin split across his face, stretching it from ear to ear. His beaming smile was caught by the wolf, but it didn’t matter. The wolf’s expression was priceless. His wrath had turned to rage, not at the otter but himself. A mix of frustration and regret wrangled his body as he struggled to hold his snarl. He wasn’t a wolf anymore; he was just another gutter trash with more bark than bite.

Right then, within his twisted sense of satisfaction, a thought sprung into the otter’s head.

He finally saw the end of the deal.

“Fine,” he breathed out, “You can join the club.”

The wolf looked up to the otter, disbelief permeating from his perking ears. It was so much for the otter physically felt an underlying conscience kick him on the back of his head as he watched in wicked glee the wolf hold in his confusion. The canine’s instincts told him to hold back and suspect, yet he couldn’t help but wag his tail a little, much to the otter’s amusement. Suspicion was clamouring over his expression but a sense of naive belief retained in his eyes, willing to believe in miracles.

“R-Really?”

“Yes, you may,” the otter spoke with a sly grin, “Just need you to do a little something for me.”

“Anything,” the wolf reined himself closer to the otter.

“Bite my toenails.”

The wolf’s tail immediately twitched to a halt before dropping down. His expression died with it, along with every sense of emotion on his body that presented even a shred of hope and optimism. His ears started darting across his head in a frenzy, almost as if it was unconsciously scrambling to understand the situation they’re in. His head sunk to his shoulders, gazing down to his hands at the otter as his words weighed down on him.

“Bite my toenails,” the otter said again, “Cut it with your teeth till it’s all straight and clean. Do that and you’re in. You don’t even need to hide around for me. Just do it and I’ll write you in, no strings attached.”

The otter drew himself closer towards the wolf’s snout.

“I’ll let whatever happened to today stay in this room,” he said, “All as long as you do what I say.”

The wolf looked back up, gazing the otter right in his eyes.

They were dead. His eyes stared like dull, red stones as if his anger had been solidified to the extent where he could do nothing but to swallow it in. His expression was that of helpless frustration; his arms twitching from a struggle holding him from within.

He rose from the table and went around towards the otter’s table.

“Wait,” the otter said.

With one shove, he pushed himself away from the table along with the office chair, revealing a small space under the table, just wide enough for the wolf to fit in.

“Do it under the table,” he said, “Use the cushion for your knees if you’d like that.”

The wolf didn’t answer. He merely stared at the otter as he made his second request. Without a word, he shambled towards the floor and picked up the cushion. He walked around back to the otter and, per his orders, dropped to his knees and fitted himself under the table.

The otter glanced down and asked, “You good? All comfy?”

The otter was high on the chair, so much so that he could only see the wolf’s knees and short snout protruding from underneath the table. The wolf did not answer.

“Great,” the otter said, “Pull me back to the table.”

The wolf’s hand, big enough to cover the otter’s whole face with one easy grip, held onto the office chair and pulled him back towards the table. Now the wolf’s completely out of sight, safe for the occasional breaths he could hear from underneath.

“Take off my shoes,” he said.

The otter felt rough, ragged fingers reaching into his shoes and socks. He felt the smooth, sharp, almost chilling texture from the wolf’s claws brushing against his thin coat of fur, sending light, ticklish tingles to his spine, He felt the wolf’s breaths breeze against his toes as his bare feet rolled into the open air.

There was always a sense of relief taking off your shoes in the dorm for the otter. A sense of release and satisfaction after beating a rough, busy day. None was comparable to this. This felt like a triumphant win, instead. A sensation he felt undeservingly deprived of since his birth. It felt like the first of more to come, at least what it seemed to be at the moment.

Might as well do some work while we’re at it, the otter thought.

He felt both shoes being taken off, slowly and methodically. All five of his webbed, peg-like claws were open and exposed.

“You know what to do,” he said.

The otter felt two fingers wrapping around his left leg. The air around his feet transitioned from a cold breeze to soft, warm puffs. Then he felt his toes being bitten down by an unseen force. With one quick snap, he felt one of his claws clamped on. A click sounded off from the bottom. The puffs then disappeared, along with a significant chunk of his claws.

“Keep the claws with you,” the otter said, “Throw it somewhere outside my office, will you?”

No response was given. Soon came the same sensation. Warm puffs, a bite, a pull and a relief from his toes. It repeated with the same toe for some time before moving on to the next one. It was almost therapeutic to the otter. The same, rhythmic clicks sounded off from the bottom, sounding off like an accompaniment piece to the taps of his keyboard, rapping in tune with it.

The otter snarked aloud, “You really have nothing to lose, huh?”

Soon it moved on to the second foot.

The clicks began growing louder and incessant. The process began shortening itself. The warm puffs were replaced with fast, short breathes. He could sense the inherent moisture of gums and teeth sticking to his toes as it bit off his claws, chunk by chunk. It started to cover his keyboard, even the hums of the ventilation system.

There was no other sound in the room other than the clicks under the table.

The otter typed on, but his focus began to shift. The wolf’s silence was catching up to him in an almost parasitic manner. A lingering sense of doubt grew in his mind. He knew from just now that the wolf was holding himself back. His act right now is doubly proving it so.

Still, the reality from before seemed to creep back nonetheless.

A wolf was under his table, biting off his toenails with jaws big enough to fit both his feet in with space to spare.

One bite was all that it takes.

The clicks grew louder and faster, almost like a machine, cranking and clamping uncontrollably as it rose in speed.

The otter began to waver. He felt his feet shaking, unsure whether it was the motion from the wolf or stress. Spite began to lose its grip on his rationality. He was beginning to feel the true threat. He was hanging on the wolf's mercy. As far as the otter's empathy goes, he understood the wolf's predicament to a degree. He understood how easy it was to reciprocate his actions.

The clicks started to reach into his body, grabbing his heartbeat by the same rate. He felt the tendons on his ankles recoiling out of pure, uncontrolled instincts alone.

The clicks only went faster and louder.

Faster and louder.

Faster and louder.

Faster and louder.

Faster and louder.

Faster and louder.

Then it stopped.

The otter waited for a breathless moment. Then he let out a quiet sigh, wheezing from between his cheeks.

"Push yourself out from the side," the otter said.

The wolf climbed out from under the table, his limbs reaching out from the darkness as it held onto the legs and top. He pulled himself out, bringing the cushion along with him.

"Where's the claws," the other asked.

The wolf gave no response. He did, however, pat on a part of his uniform that the otter assumed was his pockets. The place didn't matter, so long as it wasn't under his table.

The otter didn't give the wolf a single glance, merely speaking, "Leave the cushion back on the sofa. You're starting next week. There'll be something for you by then."

Keeping his eyes on the computer, the other heard the wolf’s footsteps leading away from him. A pause in the middle, presumably to drop the cushion onto the sofa. The footsteps resumed for a few moments before a tiny, mechanical click sounded off from the door.

The otter called out, “Oh, and before you go-”

Silence from the other side of the room.

“Welcome to Rormund.”

A few seconds passed before the click sounded off again, this time a little more dulled and quiet.

It was only then when the otter dared looked up again. Sure enough, the wolf was gone. The cushion was back on the sofa and the door was shut.

He pushed himself from the table and looked down to his feet. The wolf had done a good job. His fat, uncleaned claws had been trimmed neatly. There wasn't a single uneven piece sticking out that he could see from above. If there was anything wrong, it was the lingering sense of filth from having your toenails bitten out of someone else's mouth, but it wasn't anything a quick wash could fix.

He checked the floor. There wasn't a hint of his residual claws anywhere. His shoes and socks were neatly placed to the side, ready to be worn at any time.

Then something else caught his eyes, sitting much deeper under the table.

The wolf had left something there.

 

---

 

Krin heard the door open from behind her. She turned back, only to see Shiro step out, closing the door behind him. The doorway was shut itself neatly as if there never was anything behind the wall.

Krin quickly grabbed the red board and fiddled out the words, How did it go?

Shiro turned to her. He had a slight pause before he spoke, "Coming back next week."

Though her expression didn't, or rather, couldn't show, she did seem excited, seeing as her fingers twitched ecstatically as she fiddled out, We haven't had a new member in three years.

"Happy to join," Shiro let out a faint smile, "See you on Monday."

I'll see you out, Krin wrote.

Shiro didn't oppose. He simply nodded.

Krin brought the red board under her shoulders, got up, and dropped the board onto the table once more.

Shiro looked back, curiosity peeping from his voice, "What's wrong?"

Krin had her jaw ajar for a full second before she picked the board back up. With shaking fingers, she wrote, Your shoes.

Shiro looked down to his shoes.

The soles were completely removed and torn apart. The leather clasps holding it had been ripped to shreds as the shoelaces flayed around like wild grass. Only his feet remained in view, his feet jutting out the shredded remains of his shoe, leaving his big, sharp claws and meaty toes scraping against the cold, wooden floor.