Romps reached in for another piece. He stuck his fingers into the bag and rummaged through its insides. He expected to find another spicy piece of dried bacon strip with his fingertips. What he got instead was the hollow crinkling of an aluminium bag. Blowing a sigh, the Bearded Collie dropped his phone to the side and rose from his bed. He sat up first, brushing the flavoured dust off his singlet and his Academy uniform pants that were unwashed for three days, and had been worn since the morning. He made his way to the kitchen for the third time that evening, passing Vox, who was seated on the coffee table, writing things from reference texts into notebooks in his grey, oversized shirt and pants, as always.

He reached towards the refrigerator and opened it.

The interior was large and stuffed wall to wall, shelf to shelf, freezer to basket, tray to rack with groceries. Most were greens, with no red in sight. There were other colours to be seen occasionally. There were some whites in the form of eggs and milk. The other colours were relegated to an assortment of sauces and oils sitting behind the refrigerator's door, stuffed inside compartments in neat, organized files.

Romps reached towards the bottom. There was another party-pack sized bag of dried bacon strips, laying on its back, stuffed between the vegetables. The sheepdog pulled it out and held it in his armpits. He scrunched up the empty packet in his other arm and tossed it into the wastebasket beside the refrigerator. He held both faces of the packet and pulled it apart with one quick rip. The smell of chilli powder filled the surrounding air in an instant.

A cough came from behind Romps.

The sheepdog turned to his back.

Shiro stood adjacent to Romps, dressed in his usual black, white-striped tracksuit and pants. There was a recent addition to his wardrobe; a pair of cheap, white earphones dangling off his ear with a wire connected to his pockets. They were rarely separated from their owner ever since the weekend. He had no problem listening to conversations while wearing them either, all the more reasons to keep it on for him.

Before the wolf was a cluttered mess of utensils and raw, uncooked ingredients. Some ingredients were finely chopped in bowls while others were strewn around said bowls, waiting for their turn with great patience. He had a chopping board and a knife, both tainted with an assortment of residuals from the sliced goods. There were spoons and forks of various sizes just spread all over the place. Beside him was a small pot of something boiling on an electric stove.

The wolf had his knuckles over his nose, his eyes squinting.

"Scent too strong?" Romps asked.

Shiro replied, "Dry th- hm, throat."

"Right," Romps responded as he shoved a handful into the cold packet of jerky and dumped it into his mouth, "Be a dear and reach that cupboard for me, eh?”

Shiro answered with another question as he fanned the air in front of him, "The lid. Open it. Please?"

Romps lopped open the lid with a dust-caked finger. Wet, hot clouds came jetting out of the pot, temporarily obscuring the kitchen in a choking haze. The damp fog eventually dissipated, revealing a flat mound of white rice. Thick steam rolled out between the grains, pushing Romps’ face away. The sheepdog frantically dropped the lid into the sink, stepping away from the heavy vapour covering the place.

Shiro seemed unaffected and acclimated to the condition. He followed his end of the deal, reaching up to the cupboards and pulling open the doors.

In stark contrast to the refrigerator, the cupboard was a small room stocked to the brim with junk food of various kinds, ranging from the saltiest of chips to the oiliest of crackers. They laid beside, under, and over each other like some elaborate game of stability. One misplaced packet could topple the whole puzzle over the counter, ruining the night for both the wolf and the sheepdog.

Shiro simply reached in and grabbed one of the packets. The rest stayed perfectly stable, like some defiance to the barest concepts of physics. He showed it to Romps.

"Grab three," the sheepdog replied.

Shiro placed the bag down on the counter and went back to the cupboard. Through some complicated, elaborate management, he placed and replaced the bags in various orders, picking out a few as he took out some others before sticking a good portion of them back in a completely new arrangement.

As he was busy, the wolf asked, "Are they good?"

"I could pay for a night in a presidential suite at a five-star hotel for three bags of this," Romps replied as he wiped his fingers on his shirt and shoved them back into the packet, "I wouldn't keep getting ripped off if they aren't any good."

Shiro pulled out two bags, picked up the one he left on the counter and handed it to Romps. The sheepdog put down the packet in his hand on the kitchen island and cupped it all in one hand. He returned to the refrigerator, refilling the space with more of the same from before.

“You sure you need to keep all of these in the fridge?” Romps asked.

Vox called out from the coffee table, claiming it’s a good thing Shiro put all his groceries in the refrigerator, and that it was an opportunity for the sheepdog to bend his legs for once in his life.

“At least I got legs to bend,” Romps shouted out, “I’m not the one walking on stumps.”

Vox replied with an explicit statement regarding his weight and waistline.

“Clam it, stumpy,” Romps responded.

Amidst the verbal blows, Shiro interjected and asked the sheepdog, “Help take something from the fridge?”

Vox signalled a truce by giving Romps a finger. The sheepdog returned the gesture as he turned to Shiro, “What do you need?”

“Soy sauce,” the wolf replied.

“Soy sauce?” Romps raised his voice, “Those things kill, no?”

“Just eat very little,” Shiro said, “And drink water after. A lot of water.”

“Whatever puts wind in your sails,” Romps replied.

The sheepdog searched around the racks behind the door where a miscellaneous collection of bottles sat. He spun them around from the top, pasting his nose to their glass bodies as he attempted to decipher the alien symbols and blurbs printed on the labels. He looked across the rows back and forth a couple of times before giving up, banking it on a black bottle with a red cap on the top.

“This one?”

Shiro nodded and took the bottle, "Thanks."

As the wolf placed the bottle aside and went back to the cutting board, Romps closed the refrigerator door and asked, "What are you making anyway?"

"Yakimeshi," Shiro answered.

Romps remained speechless for a moment, his mouth ajar with his crusted fingers suspending over the bag in his hands.

"What?"

"Yakimeshi," Shiro repeated.

"I heard you the first time," Romps said, "What in bloody hell is that?"

Shiro made an attempt at an answer. He paused, his hand pausing mid-air with the blade of the butcher knife hanging over the decimated carrot on the cutting board.

The wolf stammered, "It's a- it's… uh…"

"There’s rice in it, right?" Romps asked.

Shiro turned to the stove on the side, looking down into the pot.

“Yes,” he said.

"Is it fried?" Romps asked.

Shiro nodded.

"What else is in it?" Romps asked.

Shiro thought for a while.

"Eggs," he answered.

"So it's fried rice with eggs," Romps said.

Shiro paused for a moment, his eyes looking up, running Romps' words in his head before coming back down to reality, turning towards the sheepdog with an assured, "Yes."

"Why didn't you just say fried rice with eggs?" Romps asked.

"Oh," Shiro came to the realization, "It's fried rice with-"

"I know," Romps responded.

"Okay," Shiro turned back towards the chopping board, finishing up with the carrot before him, turning it from one solid stick to an unrecognisable pile of orange cubes and slices. He poured them all into a glass bowl already half-filled with an assortment of diced greens and placed them aside. He picked up the chopping board along with the butcher knife and brought it into the sink, leaving it there along with the pot's lid.

He moved towards the stove, sticking his finger into the pot. The rice was soft. It was neither sticky nor was it dry; just the perfect amount of moisture. He held the pot by its ears and brought it to the other side of the sink, making space for the still-running stove.

Romps kept watch from behind, chewing through his beef strips as he stared with great interest.

Shiro reached towards the cupboards under the counter and pulled out a medium-sized pan. With another hand, he reached for a bottle on the counter. It wasn't the soy sauce but something else. It had a plastic body with the screw cap long removed. The label wrapping around it had a logo of an assortment of vegetables printed on it. The rest were indecipherable symbols similar to the ones on the soy sauce, at least to Romps' eyes.

He set the pan over the stove, letting the heat seep its way into the surface. He reached for a tablespoon with his freed hand and brought it over the pan, holding it just above it. With great caution, he tilted the bottle in his other hand over the spoon. Viscous yellow oil came running out of the mouth, pooling over the bowl of the spoon. As soon as it's filled, he set the bottle down and left it on the side. The process happened in a flash. From Romps' perspective, he was like a toddler shaking an empty milk bottle and casting it aside almost immediately as his short-spanned interest was sufficed.

Shiro then brought the spoon down and dipped the insides into the pan below. The pan drew a light hiss as the oil poured. It was either a disdainful groan or a cry of joy, depending on who's asked. The wolf spun the pan in circles, dragging the oil across its surface, leaving no spot untainted with its presence. Once the surface had a thin, glistening layer of viscid liquid, he left the pan on the stove and added the spoon into the sink’s entourage.

He moved back to the counter. He picked up the glass bowl with his assortment of cut vegetables. Among the collection were the freshly diced carrots and shredded lettuce, laying atop one another in conspicuous layers. That soon changed when Shiro introduced a small fork into the group. He stuck the fork’s stainless steel teeth into the bowl and twisted and swirled and jabbed and tossed until the bowl became a gallery for the many different shades of green visible to the naked eye in various shapes of solids, with some orange pieces interjected in between.

The bowl still in his hand, Shiro replaced the small fork with another spoon. This time it was wooden. It was twice the size of its contemporaries, but its round edges gave it a tame, gentle look. He turned towards the pan on the stove. It was as if the pan was brewing a terrible case of acne at lightspeed. Miniature bubbles grew and popped across its surface in groups that neared the hundredth mark. Instead of culling the unrest, Shiro sprinkled the vegetables from the glass bowl into the pan, adding to the chaos.

Shiro waged war on the pan. Greens rained down from above, crashing into the oil as they claimed territory via aerial bombardment. The oil voiced out their hostility through a blazing shriek, their rage burning up through bubbles as they were stifled beneath the vegetables. With the wooden spoon, the wolf stirred the conflict further, throwing the vegetables across the pan as they mixed further with the oil, raising the battlefield to its highest intensity.

The oil threw their greatest attempt of retaliation, turning the tide over the greens as they took advantage of their liquid state, trapping them in an inescapable, mucilaginous form as they burned themselves up near boiling heat. They let out a threatening war cry; crackles and hisses cracked across the air. The vegetables didn’t have the initiative to launch a counter-offensive. The only valuable asset they had was their size, and that was the trump card they booted to use.

The vegetables stood their ground. The oil crashed into them from all angles, reducing their defence bit by bit as their once crispy green slowly morphed into a dark, disfigured mosh. The vegetables held the fort in their core, betting it all to their density to contest against the heat.

The fruits of the two oppositions’ labour, however, would never be realized. Shiro stopped the war short as he took the pot he’d just left aside and smothered the battlefield under a sea of rice, snuffing out the fight in a soft carpet of white. Nothing was left of the previous conflict but the muffled sizzle from the oil underneath, gasping for a breath of air in desperation.

In a display of omnipotent savagery, Shiro flipped the rice over from underneath with the wooden spoon. The carnage was bare to see. As he stirred the rice in the pan, traces of burnt vegetables would show up from within, their charred body occasionally rising from the white mound before sinking back into its white, mushy grave. The oil had expended all its energy in its fruitless attempt to claim ground. Their forces were stretched thin, having been reduced to nothing but a fine, golden texture worn by the cooked grains as an accessory for glamour.

As the pan continued to fry, Shiro reached to the side with one hand and brought with him a pair of eggs.

From behind, Romps suddenly spoke.

"Wait," he said.

Shiro turned around.

The sheepdog asked, “Aren’t you vegetarian?”

Shiro tilted his head in confusion, “Veggie… tear?”

“Do you know where eggs come from?” Romps questioned Shiro.

Shiro looked towards the ceiling in wonder for a moment, white lights bouncing off his red pupils.

He came back down a moment later with an answer, “Lizards.”

“And?” Romps pushed further.

Shiro looked back up to the ceiling again.

He responded with, “Birds.”

Romps stared at Shiro for a few seconds before brushing his hand into the air, “Never mind, then.”

Shiro shrugged and went back to the pan. He cracked both of the eggs over the rice with a single hand, slamming them on the rims of the pan, letting the yolk and egg white leak from the broken ridges of the eggshell. As the egg flowed, Shiro stuck the spoon into the rice and made a swirl across the pan, mixing the egg into the rice.

The battlefield became mounds of glimmering gold, serving as a monument to the short-lived battle that took place over the pan. The bodies were left in the open for all to bear witness to as a testament to their efforts and valour. It mattered not their accomplishments, only that their struggle remained to be seen. The vegetables reached out from beneath the grain, spotting the burnt patches across their skin like trophies. The oil laid dormant, ingrained upon the rice like solid layers of gold glistening under the light as memoirs to their endeavours.

Shiro then poured a few drops of soy sauce into the pan and stuck a spoon into the rice.

“Your funeral,” Romps whispered from behind.

Shiro turned to meet the sheepdog, “What?”

“Nothing,” the sheepdog said.

Shiro shrugged and turned off the stove. Right as the sizzle from the pan fell to silence, a knock came from the door.

Vox, nearest to the sound, got up and answered it. Both Shiro and Romps stared in anticipation as the fox made his way through the doorway, small guesses permeating across their heads.

The fox called out to the two, claiming the food had arrived.

Shiro looked towards Romps, who had his eyes square on the doorway before looking back down on his half-finished bag of bacon strips before looking back up.

"Couldn't have come earlier," the sheepdog sighed as he dropped the packet onto the kitchen island.

"Ants," Shiro said, pointing towards the open mouth of the packet.

"Bah," Romps scoffed, "The spiders would take care of it."

Shiro immediately turned around, checking the corners of the room, his red pupils grazing across the walls and ceiling of the kitchen.

"What I meant was," Romps said, "That if there was one, it wouldn't get far. You've seen how many spiders that snake has, right?"

Shiro then remembered the incident when he first stepped into the dormitory building.

"Yea," Shiro said, heeding the sheepdog's words, though not before laying a final, lingering eye over the counter.

Vox called out to Romps from the doorway. His voice carried great urgency. Without a second word, the sheepdog went towards the coffee table and brushed everything aside; books, notebooks and all. They were pushed to the side, papers and stationery all piled at the edge of the table.

The fox walked in with two white, ceramic plates in his hands, steam billowing out from above.

Giant servings of grilled steak sat on the plates. From the looks of it; texture, colour, pattern and all, they came from Feral cows. They were big, chunky slabs of meat sleeping dormant, oblivious to their fate. Its juices drooled out of its pores, mixing in with the bed of gravy underneath. A dollop of mashed potatoes sat on the side, accompanied by small pieces of raw broccoli across the rims of the plates.

Romps watched Vox set it down on the table. As soon as the plates made contact with the wood, the fox threw his hand back, rubbing them against his oversized shirt.

Without a prompt, Shiro walked towards the coffee table, bringing two pairs of silverware for the fox and the sheepdog. His head faced away from the coffee table the entire time. A hand was covering his snout.

Romps snickered as he grabbed the knives and forks from the wolf, "Too strong for you?"

Shiro didn't answer. As soon as he was relieved of the cutlery, he retreated to the kitchen with haste and ducked into the sink, washing what's presumably the contagious scent of the meat off his face.

Romps and Vox ate on the coffee table. Shiro transferred the rice to a plate and ate on the kitchen island, away from the fox and the sheepdog.

They ate in silence. Noises of cutlery would occasionally spill into the soundscape. They pacified their hunger with every bite. Shiro complimented it with a sip of water. The soy sauce beat his body down with a relentless force, dumping metric tons of salt down his ill-suited organs. The wolf, however, didn't seem to care. He was content with flushing his intestines every time he stuck a spoonful of rice into his mouth. Before he even got through half of the plate, he was already finishing his second glass of water.

Vox and Romps watched Shiro eat like they were audience members witnessing a freak show.

The fox voiced out his unease, asking Shiro how he could stand eating like that.

Shiro looked, his cheeks puffing against his skin. On one hand, he held a filled spoon with the other holding his third glass of water.

"Hng?"

Vox only needed one look at Shiro's face before glancing back down, telling the wolf to disregard his words.

"He's going to have a swell time on the throne, I'll tell you that," Romps commented.

The sheepdog went back down on his plate and sliced out a particularly big piece from his steak. An audible spurt could be heard as the blade sliced through the tender meat. The gravy's aroma jetted out and gained dominance of the surrounding air. The sheepdog jabbed his fork through the piece and raised it to his mouth. Darkness swallowed it whole in an instant. He pulled the fork out between his lips. Not a single trace of the cut piece of meat was left.

The sheepdog scooped up a tiny lump of mashed potato with his knife and bit down on it. He pulled it out and set it back down to the steak, finding its next victim to sink its teeth into.

"So how about Dove?" Romps asked as he stuck another piece of meat into his mouth.

Shiro didn't answer, taking another small sip of water as he chewed down on his rice. Vox kept his head down towards his steak, pulling miniature bites from it.

"They said they'll investigate over the week," Romps spoke between bites, "Told us they'll be done after the weekend."

Shiro scooped up another mound of rice, his mouth still full. Vox got up from his seat, making his way towards the kitchen.

The sheepdog swallowed and asked, "They peeped at you at all?"

Shiro dropped a lump down his throat and stuck another spoon into his mouth. Vox climbed over the kitchen counter and tipped his toe right at the edge, reaching up towards the cupboard with his fingers and flicking the door open.

Romps picked a broccoli tree from the side of his plate and stuck it into his mouth.

Shiro raised his glass and finished it all with one sip. He turned to his back. Vox was already back on the ground with his stainless steel cup, pouring into it from a jug. The wolf reached out his glass towards the fox. He responded accordingly.

Romps chewed, swallowed, and cut out another piece of meat.

"Is it under wraps?"

Shiro brought back his fourth glass of water and sipped from it. Vox walked back towards the coffee table, cautious with every step as he carried his cup with him.

Romps stuck the piece with his fork and put it into his mouth.

"Okay."

Shiro took another bite from the rice.

Leo took another bite from the chicken.

He ate it straight from his fingertips. He picked up a whole roasted leg and tore out a big chunk with his jaws. The charred skin was stretched to its limits and gave way in a matter of seconds. The blemished meat underneath went with it, hanging onto itself with futility as it was ripped apart from its thickest muscle to its thinnest tendons. The bone came into view, its surface stained with the scorched remains of the meat. He leaned in close to his plate, ensuring the fluids from said meat drip onto the white, ceramic plate beneath it, and not his naked body.

Leo flashed a satisfied grin as he savoured the taste of the rotisserie chicken, his tongue flicking across his lips. Leaving even a single drop of the chicken's essence untasted was beyond question.

He looked up from his plate on the kitchen island's counter, staring at the two standing on the other side.

The leopard swallowed and spoke to his left, "You're back early."

Dove was on the other side of the kitchen island, standing on Leo's left, dressed in a plain tank top and a pair of black sweatpants. The Doberman kept his silence, poking through his baked cod and wedges. His sharp, bronze pupils were gazing through space and time, looking into a distance incalculable by any known metric. It was obvious whatever he had his focus on wasn't within a discernable area.

"You've been here since the afternoon," Leo said, bringing up the leg to his mouth again, "What's the occasion?"

Dove sliced through the fish's soft flesh with his knife. He gave not an ounce of attention, neither his plate nor Leo. He picked it up and tossed it into his mouth, his jaws moving from sheer muscle memory alone as his mind was still far beyond his physical presence.

Leo glanced to his right, "You know why?"

Bara was also on the other side of the kitchen island, standing on the leopard's right. As a stark contrast to his size, the sun bear had a small cup of soybean pudding before him. The insides were meshed to unrecognisable pulps, with the tofu's once smooth texture now turned into a collection of white entrails hacked into small pieces, drowning in the brown, unseen depths of the syrup. He jabbed a small spoon into the mess and brought it up, taking a silent sip from it. He was careful as to prevent possible stains on his white coat, still draped over his shoulders, hiding the Academy uniform underneath it.

Leo inquired again, "Have you asked?"

"I am not talking to him," Bara replied.

"Why's that?" Leo asked.

Bara didn't answer. He took another helping from his pudding.

Leo shrugged and finished the last of his chicken leg. He brought his head up and glanced around the place.

They all stood around an enclosure surrounded by the night's shadows on all fronts. The only source of light was a small, dingy bulb hanging from atop the kitchen island, covered by a lampshade that was designed more to sweeten the eye than to serve its intended purpose. Still, it gave adequate visibility to their food. They couldn't discern the fine details, but they could at least see where they were poking their forks and sinking their fingers into.

Leo gave the stripped bone in his hand a last lick before brushing it aside and reaching for his plate again, picking up a wing drenched in a layer of gravy thicker than the skin itself. He bit out a great half from the wing, tearing with it the soft cartilage. His tongue worked in unison with his teeth as it threw the meat to the back of his mouth. It stuck back out, caressing his lips for unfortunate residuals as soft, muffled crunches erupted from his jaws.

The leopard nudged a finger towards Dove and spoke in between bites.

"Your bandage," he asked pointing towards the Doberman's left hand, "I thought you had two weeks left?"

Bara suddenly pushed himself away from the kitchen island. He snatched the bowl of pudding from the table and raised it to his mouth, dumping it all into his cavernous jaws. He stomped towards the kitchen sink and tossed the bowl into it in a raucous crash. He proceeded to storm out of the kitchen, leaving his utensils unwashed as he disappeared into the shadows.

"Good night," Leo said with a smile, his eyes remaining on Dove.

They continued with their meal, with the leopard keeping his keen gaze on the Doberman. His subject may or may not be aware of the attention; it was hard to tell from his empty, vacant stare. The leopard didn't seem to mind the lack of reciprocation. He was content. It seemed to be enough entertainment for him.

A minute later, Dove broke from his spell and spoke.

"I need your help."

Leo's expression fell to an agitated cross.

"You don't."

They resumed eating in silence. Dove didn’t bother cutting the cod with his knife. He picked up the whole piece with his fork and bit out a giant chunk. Leo was polishing the last of his chicken.

Dove spoke again a few moments later.

“He’s quick,” the Doberman said.

“Then use it,” Leo replied.

Dove looked up towards the leopard, who was taking small bites out of a potato wedge.

“Take his speed wherever you want him to go," the leopard continued, "And meet him there yourself."

The Doberman's eyes lingered on Leo for a second. He was just about to look away when something caught his attention.

Sitting in Leo's hand was a half-bitten potato wedge. His potato wedge. The leopard wasn't afraid of being made either. He brought it up to his mouth again, tossing the whole piece in.

Dove glancing back down at his plate. A distinct clearance had grown from one corner of his plate. Where there was once a mountain of golden-crusted grub had become a small assortment of coagulated grease. The Doberman barely had half a piece from the collection.

Dove spoke nothing of it. He reached to the side for his fork, intent on finishing his cod.

His fork was gone.

He looked around the kitchen island. Aside from his unfinished meal, his knife, and Leo's gravy-stained plate on the opposite side, the fork was nowhere to be seen. He turned to his back and checked the sink. It was a longshot, and indeed it was. Bara wasn’t so petty as to pull such a stunt. By process of elimination, he drew his sights towards the leopard before him.

Leo’s hands were empty. He was tracing his tongue across them, his focus placed squarely upon the residing taste on his fingertips. Dove looked towards his plate. It was hard to hide anything within the mounds of bones, much less a medium-sized silverware.

It was then when a metal clink sounded off from the side.

Dove’s attention was caught in an instant. He grabbed onto the kitchen island and ducked his head down. Laying right next to the foot of his stool was his fork, its oil-stained teeth having made quite the mess on the wooden floorboards. The Doberman reached down, grabbed it by its handle and rose back up to the island.

The sharp end of a knife was pointed towards Dove’s face. The blade smelled of fish, with flakes of white meat scattered across its steel. The light above beat down towards the edge, putting out a monstrous glare into the Doberman’s eye.

Dove squinted. From the corner of his eye, he saw a spotted hand holding the handle of the blade.

On the other end, pointing the knife, was Leo.

“Like this,” the leopard grinned.

Romps’ snoring had just begun. Shiro had come to expect it at that time. It was jarring to hear for the first couple of times, but he grew over it as time went on. He learned to tune out the noise, but it wasn’t as if it upped and disappeared. It was like an incessant neighbour banging on your front door for the umpteenth time, whether it was for more sugar, or some other similar nonsense. The wolf had asked Vox before, in discreet, how he dealt with it. The fox looked up towards Shiro, sighed, and kept his silence.

Just as all hope seemed forlorn for Shiro, a miracle descended among his possessions.

Ma’s phone was godsent.

It was effective at blocking out the sounds, doubly so when paired with his earphones. It did so at the price of fighting fire with fire, but at least Shiro had the option of deciding which sound to replace the snoring. He used what was known as a “playlist”, or so it says on his Music Player application. The rudimentary idea was that he could put songs in the “playlist”, and it’ll play it all in successions, either in order or through a shuffled list. He could even play it on repeat. The glee Shiro felt when he finally pinned down the idea was one he’d have a hard time forgetting. The wolf was aware of the advancements of technology, but to experience it himself was a transcendent feeling.

The first song he added was the one Krin sent him.

So far, he only had a dozen saved, and all of them were piano pieces. They were light, slow compositions with easy rhythms to follow. They were something he could play for hours without coming off with sore ears. It was to the point where he’d play them everywhere but the library. He reserved his full attention for the lizard’s teachings, and to stay awake throughout.

As for Romps’ snoring, Shiro playing the pieces from the speakers at the lowest volume possible where only he could hear them. He set a schedule for his phone to shut down to keep the battery from running dry throughout the night. By the time, the wolf would’ve been fast asleep by then. He tried paring that with his earphones once. He woke up with a nasty bump and a rousing headache for a good half of the morning. Since then, the earphones were relegated to private hearing, rather than for leisure.

That night, however, was different. Shiro hadn’t fallen unconscious yet, and it wasn’t to Romps’ snoring. It certainly wasn’t to the ineffectiveness of the music either; it had long stopped playing.

Shiro laid on his bed, his phone resting upon his chest as his eyes stared towards the screen from behind his snout.

He hadn’t checked his messages for the whole night. He didn’t have any contacts aside from his mother and his acquaintances in the Academy. It wasn’t until Shiro called it a night when he decided to check his messages before drifting off to sleep, out of curiosity. He had two unread messages. One of them came from his service provider proudly declaring an all-new affordable Data Plan with Unlimited Internet Usage and 500 Free Overseas calls. The wolf understood none of their exciting terminologies and ignored it.

The second message came from Krin.

Do you mind if I ask you something?

She sent it during the evening, an hour after they parted ways in the crossroad leading to their respective dormitories.

Shiro hesitated for a second. At first, he figured he could ask her upfront in the library in the morning. Then he realized if that were to be the case, she would’ve asked him directly in lieu of sending him a text.

The wolf took a deep breath and prepared himself for whatever might come.

what isit

He felt a tingle of guilt inside when he sent the text. He glanced towards Krin’s status bar above her text. She was last seen online a few hours ago. By then, it wouldn’t be a stretch of a guess to assume she wasn’t awake to read his reply.

Shiro kept a lingering eye over her name on his screen for a moment. He knew better than to expect a response this late into the night. He did it for a night of better sleep, or until the fatigue overcomes his conscience. He stared at it for a couple of seconds before turning his phone off with a sigh, reaching it on the coffee table.

He felt his phone vibrate in his palm.

He threw his head back onto his pillow, slamming his phone onto the mattress. The weight of his eyelids was lifted in an instant. His back was curled, his elbows touching his knees as he turned his phone back on, reading through his notifications with great anticipation.

Krin was online.

Dove left this morning. It was after he followed you to the back of the library.

She was still typing, as shown on her status bar. Shiro held off from writing another reply, letting the lizard finish what she had to say.

You left after him.

She sent another text a moment later.

What happened behind there?

She was still typing.

I tried to contact Dove himself but I couldn’t get his number. The club president didn’t have his number.

Shiro waited as texts rolled after one another.

Did any of you get hurt?

Krin wasn’t done yet.

Are you alright?

The wolf froze at the sight of those words. His body jolted for a moment as if a stream of electricity had struck him out of nowhere.

The thoughts in his head were rudimentary. He faulted himself for it. He wanted to write a reply worthy of the earnestness the lizard had given him. All he could come up with were superficial courtesies.

It wasn’t as if Shiro didn’t have the answers either.

He blew out of his nose, frustration bubbling In his chest. The conflict wasn’t enough to put Shiro in a quandary over his necessities, but it certainly made him condemn it.

He brought up his thumbs and wrote.

we talked

He sent the text and continued.

hes going to stay away from

Then he stopped.

A sprout of doubt started reaching out from the depths of his subconscious.

Shiro smothered those notions as fast as they emerged. He tuned out the frequency in his head, running his mind through several memories and recollections in an attempt to wash the idea out in a tidal wave of random thoughts.

He deleted everything he typed that he hadn’t sent and started anew.

we maed a deal

On one hand, it pained Shiro on the inside when he reread the messages. He felt like a disinterested prick waving off the goodwill of a kind person. For a split second, his mind harkened back to his first meeting with Mr President, watching the human’s darkened back as he faced the window, his attention unworthy to a wolf like him. It was an ignorant assumption, especially with context, but the feeling persisted nonetheless.

On the other hand, it was best for both interest that the topic could be moved past as soon as possible.

you played good on piano today

There was next to no change in her performance for the past few weeks. There was no doubt that her technical skills were to be marvelled, even towards Shiro who had more in common with academic achievements than musical talents. That was if you heard her play from the other side of a wall. She was still a nervous breakdown under company. Her posture was still stiff. Her limbs would jerk every once in a while. Her fingers would slip off the intended notes and grind the melody to a stop. It was like a train ride on an unfinished train track. She was powered by momentum alone, playing with an eagerness to get it over with to the best of her abilities.

It hadn’t been without progress, however. Shiro had taken note of her confidence. It was a pale, imperceptible growth, but growth all the same. Her back wasn’t as bent like the first time. Her mistakes were spontaneous and aplenty, but she seemed to recover better than she used to.

If Shiro were to be bold, he’d assume Krin was enjoying the process herself too.

you are very confidant tihs time

confidunt

confedunt

cundifent

Confident.

confiden

confident

Thank you.

Shiro read the lizard’s last text again.

Thank you.

And again.

Thank you.

And again.

Thank you.

He felt like dirt.

At that moment, he wanted to roll into his blanket and by great luck, suffocate in his sleep. He’d stay awake for the suffering if it meant paying his dues. A girl had poured her kindness out to him and he barely dipped his hand into the water and sucked out of his fingertips.

He would reciprocate Krin in full. He’d want nothing more at the time.

But that’d entail waking a laid beast.

He wanted to address the issue at hand, for the best of her. He didn’t want that issue there in the first place. If the issue hadn’t been, they wouldn’t even have met. Shiro would want that, having never met. Krin would have her hands clean, and the wolf would’ve led a drastically different life up till then if that were the case.

But the truth of the matter was laid before him. Shiro was who he was, and the lizard was stuck in the mud with him. What made it worse was that it was by her own volition. She jumped into the trap blindfolded, relying on Shiro’s voice as a source of direction to bring them both out. Be it great benevolence or plain naivety that needn’t be, it was an act of altruism. It was of clear understanding to Shiro that he was of moral liberty to decry Krin’s action. If the wolf knew his words, he could even consider it as unsolicited magnanimity on her part. Yet, to find fault within the lizard, was a concept Shiro found himself disgusted to even bear mind of.

Shiro kept his eyes on the screen as thorns bore across his mentalscape, grazing and searing pain as the seconds passed.

He bit his lips and fought himself to draw a conclusion.

A few seconds later, he came to an uncomfortable middle ground, one that worked not from mutual benefit from both sides, but as the least Shiro could draw as a response to Krin’s goodwill.

He drew his thumbs up again and type.

if dove coms to you abaut me

Krin stood against the bathroom wall next to the sink, her phone cupped in her palm. She was awoken by the sensation of her phone vibrating against her mattress. By then, the rest of her dormmates were asleep. In fear of interfering with their rest, Krin brought her phone and tipped her toes towards somewhere private.

The floor where her dorm sat was made to house reptiles and other amphibians, which meant heat conservation was on the top of the priority list. Their rooms had better insulation than other rooms and other minor features that helped the effect. Yet, despite being cold-blooded herself, the damp, moist air of the bathroom was starting to get to Krin. Her breathing became laboured, her chest rising and falling in a rising frequency.

Despite that, she stood and waited.

Shiro had been online for the last few minutes. His status had made sporadic changes within that duration, switching between typing and idling. She kept her screen up to her snout as she waited with great patience.

Thank you.

Typing…

She waited for a little while longer.

Typing…

Then it stopped for a moment. The status reverted to simply being online. It remained so for quite a while. As the minutes passed, the night had transitioned into a brand new day, the clock now striking three figures instead of four.

Krin kept her head down to her phone, shuffling her ankles as her tail swung between her legs.

After a dozen or so minutes, Shiro sent a text.

good night

Krin had a hunch from the start.

From the day Shiro walked out of the club president’s office with broken shoes, the lizard held a creeping suspicion. His reserved attitude, his distant nature, his scattered speech; the sum of it all pointed towards a certain direction. Krin felt as if she was overstepping some boundaries, but she couldn’t shake the personal feeling inside.

She was out of her element. She was never the one to approach. She had been a free, passive agent all her life. As a child, both her size and appearance made her stand out, for better or worse. People took the former as a physical asset to utilize and as liberty to excuse themselves from the latter. That was how it’s been. Her presence was the catalyst to the treatment she receives.

She remembered the scene this morning in vivid detail.

Shiro came walking back alone a few moments after leading Dove away. He turned towards the counter and sat down beside her in his usual seat. He kept his silence and head down throughout. His eyes held a veil of manufactured indifference, at least to Krin. They were deadened out of powerful volition, but not quite enough to hide the mild flutter of his eyelids. His eyes made frequent glances towards the direction where he'd led the Doberman.

Dove came out a minute later.

His eyes were of pure, intensified focus. His pupils were polished to a pressurised, razor-edged shape that could cut through diamonds. The tip of his ears stood sharp, the hide above his snout scrunched all the way between his glare. He stormed out of the library, leaving behind his belongings and a loud bang as he shut the door behind him.

During those short, few seconds, Shiro had his head down on the counter, only looking up half a minute after Dove’s departure.

Shiro raised his face towards Krin.

Flashing a small grin, he asked, “Continue studying?”

Krin had been given keys to many doors throughout her life. This was the first one she had to knock for, and she wasn’t sure if the tenant appreciated it.

She brought her fingers over the screen and typed.

Good night.

But at the very least, she wanted the tenant to be cognizant of her presence.

I’ll be here if you ever need me.