Chapter 3: The Street Fox
The streets of the city were cold and damp, casting long shadows over the alleys as the evening dimmed into night. Rain drizzled lightly, soaking through the thin, tattered cloak that Charles wore. He hugged his arms tightly around himself, trying to keep his body heat from seeping away, though he could still feel the chill through his baggy clothes. Beneath the cloak, hidden carefully, his nine tails—an unmistakable mark of his kind—were tucked away, disguised to avoid the harsh stares and whispered insults he was so used to.
Charles had lived most of his life in the shadows, shunned by those who considered him unnatural. His nine tails, a symbol of power among his own kind, were seen as a curse among others, something to be feared and despised. He'd grown accustomed to the life of an outcast, picking through scraps in back alleys, avoiding trouble as best he could. But tonight, the hunger gnawed more viciously at his stomach, and desperation had driven him out to search for any morsel he could find.
Just as he was about to give up, his eyes caught a faint, golden glow in the darkness. The light spilled from an open doorway down the alley, illuminating the entrance to a small, private restaurant, the smell of rich food wafting toward him. Charles swallowed hard, his mouth watering as he tried to ignore the scent. He couldn't go in—he wouldn't dare. But he could at least stay close and imagine, just for a moment, what it might be like to sit at a table with warm food.
As he settled onto a nearby stoop, hugging his knees to his chest, a shadow fell over him, blocking the golden light. Startled, Charles looked up, meeting the gaze of a young noble who seemed entirely out of place in this back alley. The man stood there lazily, his posture relaxed and his gaze half-lidded, as if he were only half paying attention to anything around him.
He looked down at Charles with a detached curiosity, head tilted as if pondering something important, and then—without warning—he held out a small, wrapped bundle. "Here," he said, his tone casual. "You look like you could use this more than I can."
Charles blinked, unsure if he was dreaming. The bundle in the nobleman's hand smelled of freshly baked bread and roasted meat, scents so rich and warm it made Charles's stomach tighten painfully. He stared at the food, not daring to believe it was for him.
"Go on," the noble said, sounding faintly amused. "I won't bite. You're the one with the sharp teeth, I'd guess." His tone held no malice, only a soft, playful kindness.
Charles hesitated but then slowly, with trembling fingers, reached for the bundle, half-expecting the noble to pull it back or laugh at him. But instead, the noble only watched with an easygoing smile, his bright eyes warm against his otherwise detached expression. Charles took a careful bite, savoring the taste that filled his mouth, almost overwhelming in its richness.
"Thank you," he murmured between bites, his voice soft and uncertain. He hadn't spoken to anyone kindly in ages, and the words felt foreign on his tongue.
The noble gave a careless shrug. "It's just food." He watched Charles eat, his gaze drifting over him with a detached but faintly curious look. "Why are you out here, anyway? The city isn't very kind to…" He trailed off, eyes flicking toward the hint of fur peeking out from under Charles's cloak. "Well, to people who stand out."
Charles shifted uncomfortably, pulling his cloak tighter around himself. "People don't like… things they don't understand," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. "And people don't understand… people like me."
The noble's gaze softened, and he lowered himself to sit on the stoop beside Charles, seemingly unfazed by the grime of the alley. "I don't really understand a lot of people either," he said simply, as if that made them the same. "But I don't mind things that are different. Different can be… interesting."
Charles glanced at him, surprised. He'd heard plenty of people call him many things—monster, freak, cursed—but "interesting" had never been one of them. And there was something so genuine, so offhand about the way this noble said it, as if he were stating a fact that needed no further explanation.
"What's your name?" the noble asked, leaning back against the wall, looking for all the world like he'd just found the perfect spot for a nap.
"Charles," he replied cautiously, swallowing the last bite of food, the warmth settling deep in his stomach.
"I'm Kai," the noble said, yawning as he stretched out his arms. "You looked cold and hungry, so… thought I'd see what I could do. You know, you're kind of cute for a fox."
Charles blinked, taken aback, a faint flush creeping up his cheeks. Cute? He'd been called many things, but never that. He lowered his gaze, hoping Kai wouldn't notice his reaction.
"Do you have somewhere to go?" Kai asked, not sounding particularly invested in the answer but looking at Charles with a gaze that held a strange mixture of kindness and laziness, as if he cared but couldn't muster the energy to express it fully.
Charles shook his head. "Not really. I... usually stay on the streets."
Kai hummed thoughtfully, as if mulling something over. Then, with a shrug that seemed almost too casual, he said, "Why don't you come stay with me? I've got more food and warm rooms. Better than an alley, I'd guess."
Charles's heart skipped a beat. He looked up, half-expecting this to be a cruel joke, but Kai's expression was as detached as ever, his gaze holding a soft warmth that felt more genuine than anything Charles had known. "Are... are you serious?" he stammered, barely daring to believe.
Kai yawned again, waving a hand dismissively. "I don't usually joke about food and beds," he said. "Besides, you're interesting. I like interesting things."
For the first time in years, Charles felt something strange bloom in his chest—hope, fragile and delicate. He nodded slowly, and without another word, Kai rose to his feet, holding a hand out to help him up. Charles hesitated but then took it, the warmth of Kai's touch grounding him.
They walked through the winding streets in silence, and though Charles felt a mixture of gratitude and awe, Kai seemed content to stroll along, as if he'd merely picked up a stray on a whim. But to Charles, this was something he'd never dared to dream of—a chance at warmth, safety, perhaps even belonging.
As they reached the mansion, Kai led him inside and gestured toward the grand staircase with a lazy flick of his wrist. "Pick a room," he said simply. "As long as you don't break anything, you're welcome to stay."
Charles couldn't hold back a small, grateful smile as he looked at Kai. This strange, lazy nobleman had done more for him in one night than anyone ever had, and without even trying, he'd planted a seed of loyalty, of something far deeper than simple gratitude.
And so, as he climbed the stairs, he couldn't help but glance back at Kai, who had already slumped onto a nearby couch, closing his eyes as if this entire interaction had exhausted him. Charles didn't know if Kai would ever understand what he'd done, how he'd saved someone who felt invisible. But as he turned back toward the empty hallway, he knew one thing: he would protect Kai. Even if Kai never realized the depth of his own kindness, Charles would guard that gentle heart with his life.
And perhaps, someday, he'd find a way to show Kai just what he meant to him.