#juno collection

If only he could speak, he could tell them. I can cook, I can clean, I can sew and mend. I can play with babies and groom dogs, I can do anything you want-

Except talk. Or read. Or sign.

Stupid. This one is stupid. Cheap.

‘Cheap’ meant ‘defective’.

‘Defective’ meant ‘would need to be replaced soon’.

Waste of money.

Was that why his old master left him? Was he a waste?

He blinked back tears. Crying would not get him a new master to please; a new home to live in.

There was a man in a blue cloak browsing the slaves. There was only a small chance he would buy Juno, but it was still a chance.

He raised his aching wrists to wipe his face clear of tears.

The cloaked man moved down closer, where Juno knew the prices were lower. He did know his numbers, even if the letters were long gone.

“Can I help you find something?” 

The saleswoman seemed to appear out of nowhere, and Juno’s heart sank. She always guided customers- his potential masters- away from him.

It wasn’t fair. She never gave him a chance. The commission she would get from selling him wasn’t worth it, but the longer he went unsold, the more likely he’d be left in the woods to die. 

Keeping slaves alive cost money.

“I need something cheap for housework. I’m far too busy with research for chores.”

Juno sat up straight. Pick me! Pick me! He pleaded into the ether.

“Oh? What kind of research?”

A flash of annoyance passed over the man’s face. “Look, the sales tactics are all well and good, but I know what I’m looking for. I want an inexpensive slave who won’t bother me when I’m working.”

She pursed her lips. “Right this way, sir.” She gestured in his direction.

Juno’s heart pounded.

“Our most inexpensive slave.” Clearly a dig at the man’s small budget.

The man’s eyes roamed over him. He picked up the sign around Juno’s neck.

“He’s a bit stupid,” the saleswoman went on. “Can’t even talk.”

The man dropped the sign, and the wood fell against Juno’s chest with an uncomfortable thud.

He crouched in front of him, staring.

Juno stared back.

“Are you stupid?” the man asked.

Juno’s eyes flicked to the saleswoman. If he disagreed with her, would he be bought? If not, would he be punished for contradicting?

The truth was obedience. Lies were disobeying.

He looked back at the man, and shook his head.

“I’ll take him.”

___________________

Juno followed his Master with the quietest footfalls he could manage on cobblestone. His wrists were still tied, but the pain of the rope was forgotten in the elation of being owned again.

No more waking up to wonder if he was no longer worth the porridge to keep him alive. No more waiting.

And if Master wanted silence, perhaps he would even be kept.

The walk was long, and the shops and markets disappeared behind them. The cobblestone turned to well-worn dirt, and his feet were getting dusty.

They turned off the path, and Juno was lost in thought imagining a quaint cottage when they suddenly stopped.

He looked up from the road.

A tower, not an incredibly large one, but certainly a tower, stood in front of them.

Master turned a key in the lock, and the odd color of his cloak clicked in Juno’s mind like a puzzle piece in a riddle-box.

Master was a wizard, and Juno was going to be very, very lonely.

___________________

The ground floor was a mess. A complete circle of disaster.

Dirty floor, muddy rugs, smelly dishes piled in the sink. Windows needed wiping, cobwebs cleared, the pantry door was stained with a splat of.. something.

The stove wasn’t even lit, and it was four-ish in the evening. At least there was wood to light it but still.

Juno stared at the work, dumbfounded.

Master cut away his bindings, and Juno rubbed at the burn.

“Clean all this up,” Master instructed. “There’s two more floors to do. My office and bedroom is at the top, potions lab below that, and this floor here.”

Juno’s knees turned to jelly. Were the other two floors just as bad?

“I’ll want dinner at six.” Of course. “Think you can manage it?”

Juno nodded without hesitating. He would have to manage it.

He turned to see if Master had any other instructions, but the tail end of his cloak was already disappearing up the stairs.

___________________

The first thing he did was light the stove and do the dishes, and by the time the last cup was clean, the clock was chiming five and it was time to make dinner.

Juno checked the pantry. 

It was full, but not pleasantly.

Vegetables were old and wilted, the flour reserve was sad, and only some of the meat looked good.

Master had enough time to shop, or perhaps had arranged deliveries, but didn’t have enough time to cook what he had before it went sour.

Juno wrinkled his nose.

No time to toss the rot. Master wanted a meal.

Soup would have to do. It would disguise the poor quality of the ingredients at least a little.

___________________

At six, he carefully ladled out a bowl, set it on a tray, and started up the stairs.

The many, many stairs.

He took breaks between flights. At least he wasn’t dizzy from the circular stairs, but the occasional window reminded him how high up he was.

Why, oh why did wizards like towers so much?

His legs shook when he reached the topmost floor. Juno shifted the tray over to knock on the heavy oak door.

“Come in.”

Master was hunched over a desk in front of a window, papers and inkpots covering the wood.

Master didn’t look up, pointing instead to a small table against a stone wall. “Put it there.”

Juno obeyed, and took the opportunity to look around.

The circular room was well-lit with tall windows. Built-in shelves from floor-to-ceiling held mystery scrolls and books, quills, even more inkpots, boxes of chalk. 

It was messy, but a more organized messy. Not dirty.

There was no rug, and the center of the floor was incredibly clean. A door off to the side probably led to Master’s bedroom.

Master finally looked up, glancing over at the food.

“Soup?”

Juno nodded, unsure if he was pleased or not.

“You can go back to work.”

No way to know.

Juno turned to go back down the terrible stairs.

___________________

The first floor became Juno’s bedroom as well as the kitchen, living room, pantry, storage, and seemingly everything else.

He slept on the (now clean) rug in front of the fireplace. He’d sewn a pillow from fabric that Master didn’t seem to know existed, and therefore didn’t miss.

Once everything was scrubbed and wiped and polished- which took four days of backbreaking work- it wasn’t half bad.

Master did indeed get groceries delivered, and the pantry was now beautiful. Stocked with fresh food that actually got used, and flour that made lovely bread. It was a treat to be able to cook such nice meals.

Master ate quickly, like a starving wolf, so Juno wasn’t sure if he actually liked them. 

Wizards were busy people. Juno kept himself busy, too. He grew berry bushes out front to make jam. Used forgotten fabric to make plush toys. Dried flowers over the fireplace and used them to decorate.

Master didn’t notice. Master didn’t pay attention to what he did.

Master didn’t talk to him much at all, except to yell his name down the stairs.

___________________

“JUNO!” called Master from the upper floor.

Juno took the stairs two at a time, panting in the doorway.

Master tossed a small bag over his shoulder at him, and Juno scrambled to catch it. It clinked in his hands, and it felt like coins.

“Get me two pots of ink, one blue, one green, and three boxes of ninety-eight percent chalk.”

Juno blinked. Two pots of ink, blue, green, 9-8 chalk.

Where would he get 98% chalk?

But Master seemed finished talking, and was once again reading his papers and scratching out notes.

Juno shifted, thinking, and the floor creaked.

Master looked up. His brow furrowed.

“Come here,” he sighed, and Juno cautiously obeyed.

Master pulled open a drawer with matches and pots with different labels. He got out a small jar and unscrewed the lid to reveal a dark brown… ink?

He grabbed a quill. “Give me your hand.”

Master dipped the quill and scratched out a sigil on the back of Juno’s hand. He lit a match.

Juno watched in horror as Master held the match to the ink. It burst into flame, he jerked away on instinct, but Master’s grip tightened and-

It didn’t… hurt, but it tingled uncomfortably. The fire died out and the brown was turned to a shimmery gold.

“So you don’t get lost,” Master said dryly. He let go. “Hurry up with that.”

He waved Juno off without further guidance.

___________________

It was hard to figure out what the sigil did at first, but soon Juno found himself… tugged towards a certain direction when he got into town. 

He fiddled with the leather shoulder bag. He’d never been sent on an errand like this before, and he felt distinctly out of place.

The sigil pulled him along, down the streets, which looked more and more off-putting the further he went on.

The road grew narrow, and the alleys increasingly frequent. The buildings cast long shadows.

It was quiet here.

Two men stepped out of the dimness, blocking his path. One held a knife.

“Hand over the bag,” one smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile, with yellow teeth and sneering lips.

Juno stepped back. The other man flipped the knife between his fingers, also smiling. “You can go home, or you can be target practice. Your choice.”

He gripped the satchel strap nervously. It was Master’s money, not his to give up, but he really didn’t want to die.

The taller man’s smile fell from his face. He stared at Juno’s hand. He whispered into the knife-holder’s ear, whose gaze also fell to the sigil.

The hand holding the knife dropped.

“Never mind,” the man said. “Have a nice day.” They disappeared into another alley.

Juno wasn’t going to correct them that it was just a locator spell.

___________________

The shop the spell took him to was even more messy than Master’s office. Jars upon jars of strange substances, liquids that swirled on their own, vials of hairs and plants, a bin of teeth Juno hoped weren’t human, and scrolls scrolls scrolls.

 It took a while for him to find the inks in the maze of shelves. 

The chalks were easy to spot, however, and all labeled with numbers.

But there were only two boxes with “98%” stamped on them.

Master didn’t say what to get instead if they were out.

Juno stared at the empty bin on the shelf, the last two boxes in hand.

“99%” on the bin to the left. “96%” on the bin to the right.

99% was twice as expensive as 96%.

Juno bit his lip, and took a box of 96%.

___________________

“Don’t waste my money, moron. Go find something to clean.”

Master was not happy when he went through the supplies.

“This,” he snarled, shaking the box of 96% in Juno’s face, “is useless for alchemical circles.”

Juno stared down at his feet, trembling. Master hadn’t hit him yet, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t.

He didn’t know what alchemical summoning was, or why the chalk needed to be more pure, but he should have known better.

Juno descended down the stairs slowly and sniffling.

He nodded, eyes wet and vision blurry.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been yelled at. It was the first time this Master had insulted his intelligence, and that somehow hurt more than just the scolding.

“What? What could possibly be so important that you’re disturbing my studies?”

___________________

Guests did not come to the tower.

When a knock sounded against the oak door, Juno had thought he must have forgotten it was delivery day.

Instead, he opened the door to a woman with a small crying child in her arms. The baby was flushed and pale all at once, and her little wails sounded muffled even though her mouth was open.

“Is the wizard here?”

Her voice was full of breathiness and fear.

Juno escorted her in, practically pushing her to sit at the fireplace.

He would get Master; she did not need to go up all those stairs.

Juno fetched her a cold cup of water and took on the steps two at a time.

He wasn’t supposed to disturb Master now, and he ducked at a spoon flung at him in anger when he entered the potions lab.

“What?” Master growled at him, hunched over his bubbling glass beakers and green-flame stove. “And hand me back my spoon.”

Juno handed it over, and tugged at Master’s sleeve for his attention.

Master turned on him, face damp with sweat and hair wild from running his hand through it.

“Show me,” he demanded.

Juno made a coughing sound, holding his throat and pointing downstairs.

For all his gruffness, Master had tried to understand his wordlessness so far.

Juno nodded. What else could he say?

___________________

“She’s sick,” the woman explained, bouncing her baby in an effort to soothe her. The little girl’s crying hiccuped. “Nothing seems to help. The apothecary doesn’t have anything else.”

Master felt the baby’s forehead, his brow furrowed like when he was working on one of his foot-long equations.

“Juno, go make some sugar water,” he ordered. “I’ll be right back.”

He went upstairs, and the woman turned to Juno. “Is he going to fix her?”

Her eyes were rimmed with red and hollow shadows.

___________________

Master returned with two tiny identical vials of shimmering silver liquids.

“This will cure her sickness,” he told the woman. She reached for the vials, and he stepped back. “Let me dose her. Ten millitres. It will taste like shit. Juno, where is that sugar water?”

She looked at him suspiciously, pausing at his hesitation to let her handle the liquid. “Is it safe? She’s only two.”

He sighed as Juno hurried to his side with the still slightly-warm simple syrup.

“Juno, drink this.”

He gave Juno one of the vials of magic.

Juno didn’t dare disobey when he was clearly meant to demonstrate.

He uncorked the vial and drank the whole thing.

It tasted awful. Like dirt and the bitterness of the white part of a lemon peel. He swallowed, gagging.

She watched, eyes wide. The baby wailed in her arms.

Nothing happened.

The woman let Master feed the toddler a spoonful of medicine, then sugar water. Then repeat.

The little girl was unhappy, and Juno let the woman soak a clean cloth in the syrup so her baby could suck on the sweetness.

“Thank you,” she breathed, her shoulders slumped in relief now that her baby was quiet. The flush seemed to drain away like water out of a glass.

Gold was exchanged, and Master went back upstairs.

Juno watched his cloak swish up the stone while he handed the woman a muffin to nibble on.

His stomach hurt.

Juno couldn’t move anyway, white lights bursting in his eyes when he twitched.

Master made his money by selling magic.

Juno made his Master happy by drinking strange things and not crying when his Master needed blood samples.

“On a scale from one to ten, how much does it hurt?”

Juno twitched on the bed, vision fuzzy. He shakily pointed to the crying face on the chart.

“Where?”

Juno moaned when Master massaged his upper stomach, where the agony had spread from.

“Hm.”

Master muttered under his breath. Thinking out loud, he called it.

Master pricked Juno with another blood collection device, the hot red dripping over his skin and into the little cup.

“Wait here.”

He was just happy it was over.

___________________

After a few more tries that Juno hated, Master declared the blood type changing potion a success.

“Of course, it only works on humans,” he rambled, pleased. “I won’t risk trying to morph other species’ blood into human blood on such a small sample size.”

Juno has learned over the past six months that most smart people considered a single test subject not enough for big discoveries.

His head still knocked against the floor clumsily.

___________________

There were other experiments. Potions went down his throat. Sigils and runes drawn on his skin and burned to activate. Sometimes Master misdrew them, and the activation did burn instead of harmlessly become magic.

He never apologized.

More customers came, sometimes with new projects and requests that would take a long time, and Master never refused to try.

Juno didn’t want to.

He wanted to cook and clean and sew stuffed animals and garden.

He didn’t want to be dizzy and knock-kneed and throw up and crash into things when a sigil made his body move too fast to keep up with.

“I thought for sure your work would be done quicker,” Master complained after the second week of trials. “I suppose the physics are unrealistic for that. Are you sure you can’t just get used to the speed?”

Juno shook his head and regretted it, neck aching with whiplash.

He panted for air, and his heart was almost thrumming out of his chest. Is this what a heart attack was?

“Oh well.”

Juno laid down, moving as slowly as he could.

___________________

___________________

It was after a new fire-resistant potion experiment, in which Juno was made to make roasted chicken and potatoes in the oven without protection, that he noticed.

The potion was a success, even better than the previous version, and he was cleaning up.

Master didn’t like potato skins, but the garden compost pile did.

It had been snowing for three days. The compost pile was outside, but not far, so Juno didn’t bother putting on more than his shoes before taking the bowl of skins out.

The wind howled and he should feel freezing and regretful, but he didn’t.

The snow fell on his skin. It was as warm as raindrops.

He brushed the white beauty off the compost pile so the skins wouldn’t lie useless on top.

His hand didn’t notice the iciness.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just after effects of the potion. It was supposed to have worn off half an hour ago. Master was precise like that.

Maybe he should have told the wizard.

He didn’t.

It was just… warm.

Things got weirder.

Dirty dishes seemed to disappear when he looked away, and reappeared clean and put away when he searched for them.

Linens unstained themselves.

Flour never clumped; never needed sifting.

His bread rose quicker and lasted longer in the pantry. Butter and cheese were cold in the spring thaw, even when the dairy accidentally got too warm one surprising afternoon.

Juno looked for new sigils and runes, but there were none.

He was stumped.

Master’s magic was made from careful calculations and precise measurements and theory books. Sigils and potions and a staff.

He did magic by following instructions and making new ones, like how a cook followed a chef’s recipe and made adjustments.

Master wasn’t a sorcerer; wasn’t magic himself.

After a few years of watching Master do wizardry, Juno was certain this was not how wizardry worked.

Juno reached for the fire poker to shift the logs. He paused.

He turned to look into the gentle flames of the fireplace.

Fire was hot. It wasn’t something to be learned.

He could still feel the heat. See the flames dance. The logs glow.

Juno’s hand darted in and out of the fire.

Nothing?

He did it again, slowly.

No burn. None.

He checked his palm, his sleeve.

No singed fibers, no reddened skin.

Well. Sorcerers were born. Not made.

___________________

Sorcerers were born, not made.

Wizardry was built on a foundation of hard work, study, and harnessing existing magic to break the rules of the universe.

What Kieran wouldn’t give to be born a sorcerer. To be able to bend the universe simply with will, without tools, and study it. To create and refine the very laws and techniques that wizards had to copy to even do half of it. To do by instinct and explain later instead of trial and error and careful experiments-

Inherently, a mediocre educated sorcerer would know magic far better than a wizard, who had to look at magic through so many limiting lenses to even grasp-

The plates lay in pieces, ceramic shards scattered.

___________________

Juno was magic.

He figured it out after a few more cautious tries.

He had to think about wanting to avoid burns, or wishing the floor clean when he woke up.

It didn’t work when he recklessly tried to pick up an iron pan without thinking about it. But the blisters did go away when he willed it. It just made him tired.

He was trying to float dishes back to their shelves when a sudden thud made him lose concentration.

The dishes crashed against the floor. He flinched.

Master stood at the bottom of the stairs, heavy book on the floor, his eyes wide.

Juno froze.

___________________

Keiren had made a sorcerer.

It must have been sheer exposure, or maybe Juno had always had a propensity for sorcery, or both.

He had questioned the slave for hours, tried every test of magic ability he could think of.

The boy was a damn sorcerer.

Keiren was going to be the most famous wizard in the world when the order found out.

…If they found out.

He’d never been under that level of scrutiny. His past thesis evaluation would be nothing compared to the rigor of something like this.

Juno looked up at him, tired and probably annoyed, and Keiren was struck with a thought.

If Juno was revealed to be a sorcerer, the order would educate him. He’d outclass Keiren in every way in no time at all. He might even be talented.

Who was to say that wouldn’t end badly?

Who was to say that Juno didn’t want revenge if it was within his reach?

“Well,” he said carefully. “I suppose you may do a little magic at home if you’re quiet about it. Don’t make my customers anxious.”

Juno nodded, relieved to be dismissed.

Keiren turned back to his desk, letting out a shaky breath. Beaded sweat ran down his back, and he shivered.

No more experiments with Juno as a test subject.

He’d have to be nice, now.

And hopefully Juno wouldn’t find out what he could really do.

The wine bottle was in the back of the liquor cabinet, so dusty that the black screw-top was gray.

Juno turned the bottle over in his hand, confused. His fingers left marks where he’d disturbed the dust.

He wiped the bottle clean with his rag automatically.

It was wine, certainly. The shape of the bottle told him that. But it wasn’t a red, and Nikolai only drank reds. It was pink; what must be a rosé, and it had a screw-top. Master only bought corked wines.

“Part of the fun of wine,” Master had said once, “is uncorking. And aerating, of course. It makes it feel more special, even if it’s a ten dollar bottle.” He was a chatty man, even though Juno couldn’t speak back.

The rosé had no cork.

Juno set the alien bottle on the counter, and moved on to cleaning the inside of the cabinet.

Master liked drinking. It bothered Juno at first, but soon he realized Master Nikolai didn’t drink more than two or three times a week, and never more than a glass at a time.

He drank when he was in a particularly good mood, Juno noticed. Or when he needed cheering. Always wine.

Master Nikolai had vodka, once. One shot, on what Juno learned was the anniversary of his father’s death.

The clear vodka with the Russian letters had remained untouched since. But that was a precious bottle, surely.

The pink rosé was a mystery. Nikolai would never have bought it for himself.

Juno wondered what it tasted like. He’d never had alcohol. Not even one of those ten dollar bottles.

Master wouldn’t mind, would he? It must have been forgotten by the amount of dust.

Juno finished wiping the cabinet, and carefully filled it again with the vodka, then the reds, in order of color. He couldn’t really organize them any other way, not with how he couldn’t read the labels.

The rosé was left on the counter.

Juno glanced at the clock.

Master wouldn’t be home for another three hours.

He wouldn’t miss the bottle. And Juno... he wanted to feel special. Cheery. Wine made days better. Like a candle that smelled nice, or a soap that left skin soft.

Nice things were meant to be used.

Like when Master brought home fresh flowers or fine chocolates. “A little treat never hurt anyone,” he said.

Juno twisted the cap, and Master was right. It wasn’t as fun as a pop from a cork.

He sniffed it.

It smelled… okay.

Juno set the cap down. He shifted, uncertain. He opened the cupboard with the cups.

Should he use a wine glass? Swirl it, to add air or whatever ‘aerate’ meant?

No. That would use up more dishes, he decided. He didn’t want to make more work.

Juno took a sip, straight from the bottle.

It was disgusting, almost.

He grimaced. Maybe it would get better?

Juno gulped it, shuddering. It was a little sweeter, now that he was used to it. Still somewhat unpleasant, the scent of rubbing alcohol lingering in his nose.

The third sip was much better. And so was the one after that, and the one after that-

Juno leaned against the counter.

It was good, actually. No wonder Nikolai liked wine. It went down so easily, once he was used to it. Sweet, and something more. Deeper. A slight bitterness.

It would be even better fizzy, he thought, sliding down to the floor, sitting with his back to the cabinets.

The rosé did cheer him up. Or at least, made everything rounder. The world lost its sharp and unpleasant edges, and he could feel himself forgetting.

Is this what made people happy? Forgetting?

Juno could drink to that. He would drink to that.

He lifted the bottle to an imaginary cheers, and drank again. And again.

Juno set the bottle down with a clank against the kitchen floor. Harder than he should. But being gentle and careful was suddenly difficult.

Tears welled up in his eyes.

He’d fucked up. His stomach hurt. Juno tried to stand to put the wine away but the world swam and he lurched and wobbled.

When did the room start spinning?

The wine would make it feel better. The wine had already made him feel better about everything.

Juno drank.

And vomited. It burned coming back up, and he burst into tears.

He made a mess- why couldn’t he stop fucking up- he always fucking up- useless piece of shit-

___________________

Nikolai Stellos had a very normal day, relatively speaking. 

It was all relative when Juno lived with him. Juno was happy, at least, as far as he could tell, and it was nice coming home to another human being.

Maybe he should get a cat. For the both of them, but mainly so Juno wouldn’t be lonely. He’d love a kitten.

Nikolai set his briefcase down and fiddled with his keys. He finally found the proper one, and unlocked his door.

The sound of crying hit him first, alarm shooting through him like lightning. Juno hadn’t wept in so long-

Nikolai followed the distress into the kitchen.

Juno was sprawled out on the floor, sobbing into the tile. A puddle of vomit lay splattered nearby, and a mostly empty bottle of rosé had rolled just out of Juno’s reach.

“Oh, Juno,” Nikolai sighed, picking up the bottle and sitting it on the counter. He had completely forgotten about it. And only a fourth was left.

Juno whined, a soft little sound, and Nikolai’s heart twisted.

“It’s alright. I’m not mad. You drank too much, that’s all. Let’s get you to bed.”

Nikolai pulled Juno into his arms, and Juno made a terrible gagging sound.

“Then again, maybe not.”

Nikolai helped Juno to the nearest bathroom, propping him up next to the toilet.

Niko felt his forehead. Not cold, not hot. “Did you have lunch before you started drinking?”

An ‘mhm’ came out twisted and whiny in response, Juno squinting in the bathroom light.

“Good. I’m going to go get you some nice cool water.”

Nikolai stood, and Juno retched into the toilet, spitting vomit into the bowl. Poor thing.

He checked the alcohol percentage on the rosé. It was a pretty light bottle, all things considered, but Juno was small and inexperienced with alcohol as far as he knew.

Niko took a package of saltines with him to the bathroom, along with the water. They could work their way up to juice.

Juno looked miserable, slumped over the toilet and groaning.

“Here, drink.”

Nikolai pressed the water to Juno’s lips, and his throat bobbed as he gulped.

He gasped for air when Nikolai set it aside.

Nikolai could guess why Juno wanted the wine. And why he couldn’t stop himself from drinking it. But it didn’t hurt to make sure.

“Were you drinking because you wanted to feel better?” He asked quietly.

A tiny nod.

“And it worked a little too well, didn’t it?”

Another strangled whine.

“I thought so.”

Nikolai fed Juno a cracker.

“I’ll watch over you. After you’ve stopped throwing up, you’re going to bed. Okay?”

Juno closed his eyes, relief spreading over his flushed face.

“Good.”

___________________

They ended up putting a lock on the liquor cabinet. Juno’s idea, actually, drawn out on his paper since he didn’t have a specific stamp that had a lock on it.

Juno didn’t trust himself to stop drinking.

And after all he’d been through, of course he’d find it difficult.

So Nikolai hid the key, replaced the glass door of the liquor cabinet with a solid wood one, and kept his drinking to after Juno was in bed.

The small changes were nothing if it meant Juno was more comfortable.

It was the least he could do.

Aside from getting him a cat.

Nikolai got his laptop and looked up the nearest animal shelter.

Juno pressed play on the answering machine again. It beeped, replaying the last message.

Master’s voice was tinny on the old thing, but clear.

“I’ll be back soon, Juno. Be good and stay put.”

Juno was good. He was quiet; mindful of the shared walls of the townhouse. He obeyed, he cleaned and cooked.

But there was no more food in the house.

He ate small the first day, unsure when Master would be back. Soon, he said.

Juno had run out of rice and canned beans a few days ago, and the fridge was empty. So was the freezer.

The pantry too, was bare.

Everything was gone. Everything. There was no juice, no mustard or soy sauce even, no crackers or old onions or even honey.

Master had cleaned before he left, but Juno had assumed he was going grocery shopping later.

Instead, Master was gone the next morning, with orders to stay put.

Juno swept the kitchen floor.

There weren’t many crumbs.

He ate them anyway and drank water to wash the taste out.

___________________

It had been seven days since his owner had left.

The crumbs were yesterday.

Juno slept. There was nothing else to do. The house was sparkling and he was so tired-

___________________

He woke up at noon, according to his alarm clock, his only possession aside from his worn blanket.

He was cold. His long shirt covered down to nearly his knees, and his blanket covered the rest, but he was still cold. Unusual, considering how cozy the closet usually was.

The red numbers of his clock were a comforting familiar glow. He watched it tick to 12:01, breathing deep to calm himself. To be brave.

Juno crawled out of his pet bed and out of the linen closet where he slept. He shivered, his vision fuzzy for a moment.

The house was quiet aside from the rumbling of his stomach.

Master was not back.

Stay put.

Juno did not cry. It would make him hungrier.

He checked the kitchen again.

No food.

Juno took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water. Warm, for the heat. He sipped it slowly. Once, on TV, he heard someone say that eating slower made you feel full faster. He wasn’t sure if it would work when he hadn’t eaten at all.

Juno washed the glass when he was done. He dried it.

Put it back on the shelf.

12:06 according to the stove clock.

He wanted lunch.

There was no lunch.

Juno padded slowly to the living room, and sat on the rug.

He wasn’t supposed to watch TV when Master wasn’t home.

Juno turned it on anyway, dread pooling in his empty and aching stomach.

He found a nature documentary about lions.

He had to turn it off when they started eating antelope. Too jealous.

Juno crawled back into bed.

He did not cry.

___________________

It was evening when he woke again, his head pounding.

5:37 

Stay put.

Juno couldn’t do it anymore.

He peered out the closed curtains of the living room, eyes trained on the neighbor’s house.

He wanted help.

He wasn’t supposed to leave the house, ever.

The neighbor, and his car, were in the driveway. Sleek, shiny, black car. Tall man, dark hair.

He was unloading groceries.

Juno watched, his stomach turning and twisting and nauseating. His mouth watered.

The neighbor was going to eat today, and Juno was not. His kitchen and tummy would be full, and Juno’s was not.

Master hadn’t even left alcohol, not even a sip of wine in an empty bottle. Not that Juno would dare.

His eyes grew wet, and he recoiled from the window.

Should he?

Juno sat on the couch, another forbidden thing, his head tipped back. He stared at the ceiling.

His head hurt.

Juno twitched back the curtain.

The neighbor was gone. Inside, probably.

Juno swallowed, working up the nerve.

The worst they would do was beat him. He could deal with that.

He slipped out the front door and crept next door.

It was nerve-wracking, his bare feet on unfamiliar grass and the sun shining down to expose his every bruise and paleness-

He wasn’t supposed to be out here.

Juno ducked behind the neighbor’s flowering bushes, the mulch wet on his skin.

His breaths came short and quick, and he was growing dizzy from fear.

The worst he’ll do is beat you, he told himself. That’s not so bad.

He peeked out from behind the flowers.

There was no one watching, no one staring. If he wanted, he could go home and no one would know.

But he needed to eat. Food was only a doorway away.

Juno stumbled up to the front door, and knocked.

___________________

Nikolai Stellos had barely finished taking out the ingredients for dinner (chicken and pasta), when he heard a soft knock at his door.

It was barely audible over his music, so he turned down the volume before heading over.

Who could be knocking at this hour? It was dinner time, and it wasn’t like he was expecting anyone.

Nikolai opened the door.

A small boy, barely older than a teen, surely, was trembling on his front step.

His skin was as pale as skim milk, mottled with bruises, and he was barefoot. His only clothes were a ratty shirt that fell to his knees.

To make matters worse, he was bony and so thin that Niko could probably wrap his hand around his wrist with room to spare.

Nikolai stared, dumbstruck.

The boy stared back, shaking.

“Hello,” Nikolai said. “Where did you come from?”

He peered out into the street, left and right. They were alone.

The boy, with a sickeningly skinny arm, pointed to the next house over.

Which wasn’t possible. It wasn’t.

Callahan was on vacation. Nikolai had been collecting his mail for him for a week. Callahan had lived next door, alone, for years.

Who was this kid?

“You better come inside,” Nikolai told him, mind reeling.

The young man nodded, eyes wet. He was so small.

Nikolai led him in.

“When’s the last time you ate?” he asked, casting a look over his shoulder.

The boy held up two fingers. Nikolai’s heart sank.

“Two days?”

A flinch, then nod.

Fuck.

“Sit there.”

His guest sat at the table, eyes down at the wood. Ashamed, probably.

Nikolai poured a tall glass of grape juice, and set it in front of him.

“Sip on that, alright? I’ll make you some food.”

So much for chicken and pasta. He didn’t want the boy getting sick over something so rich.

Rice, probably, made with stock for extra calories. Salad didn’t have much in the way of calories. Vitamins and minerals could wait until later.

Nikolai glanced over at his guest. The glass was already empty.

Nikolai worried his lip before getting a small bowl and filling it with craisins and nuts.

He slid it across the table. The boy perked up, looking up at him with wide blue eyes.

“Dinner will be in twenty minutes, alright? Eat slowly, or you might throw it up.”

The young man nodded, relief on his open face.

There were deep purple hollows under his eyes, and a ghost of a green bruise on his jaw.

How could Callahan have done this?

Nikolai turned.

There was fish in the fridge. Rice and fish. He’d have to see how that settled in the kid.

___________________

Dinner was a quiet affair.

His guest hadn’t said a word, but he did eat slower now that he had something in his belly.

The boy almost started crying a few times, but he wiped his tears and just kept eating. Eventually he was even swinging his legs as his face twisted to try and keep his sobs down.

Nikolai collected the dishes after letting the young man literally lick his clean.

“Now,” he said, leaning against the counter. “What’s all this about?”

The boy looked up, red tingeing the tips of his ears.

To Niko’s surprise, the boy got up and tugged at Nikolai’s sleeve.

Confused, Niko let himself be pulled along.

To the door, even outside, to Callahan’s place.

He swallowed. He wasn’t sure what he would see in there. Nothing good.

They went inside.

The house was clean, tidy.

But the kitchen-

All the cabinets were open. And bare. Not even dust on the shelves.

Nikolai checked the fridge as the boy stood there.

Nothing. Scrubbed. Not even a mostly-empty jar of mayo, which even most people had lying around.

The pantry, too, was vacant.

This- this had to be planned. No one had absolutely nothing.

There was a whimper behind him, and Nikolai turned.

The boy pointed to an old answering machine on the counter. It had a blinking light, indicating a message.

Nikolai hit play.

Callahan’s voice crackled to life.

“I’ll be back soon, Juno. Be good and stay put.”

It was a lie. Callahan was supposed to be gone for three more weeks.

Juno, that was his name, was meant to starve to death in this house.

Nikolai turned, and Juno must have seen his thoughts on his face, because he began to cry.

“Oh, honey-”

He pulled Juno into a hug.

Juno stood stiff, frozen. Unused to hugs, clearly. He pushed Nikolai away a little, slumped.

“What is it?”

Juno tugged at his sleeve again, back towards the living room. To the linen closet.

There was a simple slide lock installed on the outside of the door.

Inside, there was a filthy dog bed, stained so much that the brown plush was black in places. It was horribly squished. A ratty blanket was shoved into a corner, full of holes. An old alarm clock was tucked against a wall.

Juno slept in a hall closet. On a dog bed.

Nikolai stared down at the thing.

How long had it been since it had been washed? How long had Juno lived here?

How had Callahan so easily hid him?

“You’re not sleeping here tonight,” Nikolai said, turning to Juno. “You’ll stay with me, okay?”

Juno nodded, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. Nikolai paused, cocking his head.

“Does anyone else know you live here?”

Juno shook his head.

Nikolai thought.

If Callahan could hide Juno away, so could he.

___________________

Nikolai, that was the neighbor’s name, ordered him to rest.

He was pretty sleepy after such a big meal, but..

It felt wrong not to do the dishes. That was his job.

Orders were orders. So he sat still when Nikolai wrapped a quilt around him, and obediently took the pillows offered, and listened to the sound of water and clinking glass.

Juno stretched out on the couch, a position he hadn’t been able to sleep in for so long.

It was nice, he thought, clutching one of the pillows to his chest. It was soft and fluffy. He liked kneading it.

Sleep came for him soon enough.

___________________

Juno woke up with a jolt, confused and scared. It was dark, like he was in his closet, but the air wasn’t still and stuffy-

He sat up, heart pounding.

Where- oh.

He was in the neighbors- Nikolai’s- house.

It was wrong. It was bad. He wasn’t supposed to be here.

Juno untangled himself from the warm quilt and soft pillows, his feet hitting the plush rug.

He was cold already, but it didn’t matter.

Master could be home tomorrow, and the bathroom could use another scrub.

He slipped out the front door, closing it as softly as he could.

The night air was cool and clean. He breathed it in as he walked home.

___________________

Nikolai woke up earlier than usual for a Saturday.

He yawned, stretched, and went to make coffee and check on Juno.

The machine was set automatically; a steaming pot waiting for him. He poured out a mug, stirring in some milk and sugar.

Maybe Juno would want a cup.

Nikolai padded into the living room.

The couch was empty.

Nikolai blinked.

Juno was gone.

He set down his mug, slipped on the closest shoes he could grab, and jogged next door.

Callahan’s place was still unlocked.

“Juno?” he called, shutting the door behind him.

No reply.

He checked the closet. No Juno.

Niko went room by room, and found him in the en suite bathroom.

Scrubbing the tile grout. It already looked pristine, but the smell of chemicals was strong.

“Juno,” he said quietly. The boy looked up, sitting back on his heels. “I- I’m not sure you know this but… Callahan went on vacation.”

Juno stared.

“He’s not supposed to be back until next month.”

Juno ducked his head. His hands, cracked and dry, clutched the scrub brush.

Nikolai crouched down.

“Juno. Please. Come with me. You don’t have to stay here. Let’s get breakfast, okay?”

Juno sniffled, wiping his face with his hand, which still stank of bleach.

But he nodded, and stood, shaking-

And fainted.

Nikolai lunged, catching him before his head hit the hard floor.

He was so light.

Nikolai scooped him up.

Fuck this place. Fuck Callahan.

Juno was his now.

___________________

He woke up in Nikolai’s house again, tucked into the makeshift bed on the couch.

The warm scent of hot coffee floated around the room, and he could smell the beginnings of bacon.

Juno’s stomach rumbled. Even after last night, he was still hungry.

He sat up, his vision swimming with blackness.

“Take it easy,” Nikolai said. “You’re underfed and tired.”

Juno didn’t disagree.

Nikolai set a plate on the coffee table, and a glass of more juice.

“Here. Breakfast.”

Juno nibbled on the bacon and buttered toast.

He wanted to scarf it down, to shovel it into his mouth as quickly as he could.

He just didn’t have the energy.

Nikolai sat in an armchair across from him, mug of coffee in hand.

“How about a hot shower after you eat? I have a spare toothbrush, comb, and towels, and you can use my soaps. I’ll buy you your own bottles and such soon.”

Juno nodded, mouth full of bacon.

It had been ages since he’d been allowed to clean himself up.

But if Nikolai was going to buy him soaps, did that mean Nikolai was his new owner?

___________________

Juno was grinning when he came out of the shower. He was swallowed up by Niko’s pajamas, but his dark brown hair was fluffy and his skin so much clearer.

“Feeling better?”

Juno nodded, shyly smiling up at him.

“Good.”

Nikolai pat the couch next to him. “Sit. I’m looking at ordering some clothes for you online. You can help me pick what you’d like.”

___________________

Juno missed his bed, and the closet.

The couch was nice, long enough to stretch out, but it was… too different.

He liked sleeping in the closet. It was like he was tucked away like a toy in its proper place. It was restful. Here, in the living room, was messy and unorganized.

Nik- Master, told him to stay. He lived here now.

Maybe Juno could disobey one last time.

The pet bed was worth a punishment.

___________________

Nikolai checked on Juno before he got his coffee, and found him in front of the couch.

Curled up on his dog bed.

He must have taken it from Callahan’s.

Nikolai wrinkled his nose.

Juno was attached to the thing, but why?

Maybe he should ask about it. The poor thing ought to be comfortable in his own home.

He shrugged, and went to go make breakfast.

French toast, he decided.

___________________

Nikolai watched Juno eat. He was slower now, and his hollow parts were already filling in.

The ratty blanket was in his lap as he ate. It was so worn in some places, Nikolai could see the pattern of the pajama pants through it.

“Juno,” he began, and Juno’s head snapped up. Tilted, like a cat cocking its head. “How would you feel about having your own bedroom? My office used to be a guest room. Would you like that?”

Juno’s ears turned pink, and he clutched his fork, looking away.

He shook his head.

“Where would you like to sleep then?”

Juno set down his dish, and stood.

Nikolai followed him, and to his surprise, Juno went straight to the hall linen closet.

“No.” Absolutely not.

Juno looked up at him, and then away.

“Do you really prefer closets?”

Juno shrugged, staring at his feet.

“Okay, why do you want a closet?”

Juno shifted, then brought his hands together like he was holding a box.

A small space then. Maybe larger rooms made him afraid.

“I have an idea.”

Nikolai led Juno to his own room, which had a large walk-in closet. He didn’t use half of it, since he lived alone.

“How about in here?”

He opened the door to show Juno.

The unused half had a shelf low enough to be a sort of roof, if they laid a mattress under it. Juno could even decorate with a curtain and string lights and pillows. Much larger than a linen closet.

“This could be your space, if you like it.”

Juno beamed up at him, nodding.

___________________

Three weeks later, and Juno couldn’t be happier.

His clothes were all soft sweaters and long shirts, socks and pajamas. Master Nikolai gifted him a mattress for his closet, and even a plush cat and lights to hang up.

Juno started waking up before Master, made them both breakfast and packing Master’s lunches, and his owner even gave him a kiss on the forehead before he left for work.

There were no punishments, no beatings, no locks on the outside of his closet. Just chores and treats and hugs.

There was nothing to fear.

Until his previous owner came home.

___________________

Nikolai read the text, a cool anger swirling in his chest.

“Juno, hide in your room, okay? Callahan will be here in a moment.”

He heard Juno scramble off to the safety of his bed, replying to the message with a thumbs-up.

He sipped his coffee.

Callahan had no way to know Juno was here, and Nikolai needed to hide his disgust at the man so he wouldn’t suspect.

As far as anyone knew, Callahan lived alone with no pets. He’d made his own trap. He couldn’t accuse Nikolai of anything.

Maybe he wouldn’t even care.

After all, Juno was meant to starve to death.

His doorbell rang. He could practically see Juno’s flinch, it was so familiar now.

He took a deep breath, and picked up the stack of mail from the counter.

Niko opened the door.

“Hey Callahan,” he said with a smile, “How was your trip?”

Callahan grinned back, but his hair was out of place and his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“It was great,” he said. “Relaxing.”

Nikolai offered out the mail. “Glad to hear it.”

Callahan took the stack from him. “Thanks for picking it up. Oh, did you happen to see anything odd while I was gone?”

“Odd?” Nikolai blinked. “Like what?”

“It’s probably nothing,” Callahan said. “Just some of my things look out of place.”

Nikolai frowned. “Anything missing?”

“No,” Callahan admitted. “Like I said, probably nothing.”

Nikolai shrugged. “Well, you have been gone for a month. Let me know if you can’t find valuables. I’d hate to think something like that could happen in this neighborhood of all places.”

“Right. Well, thanks for the mail.”

“Anytime.” 

Nikolai closed the door, relief and hatred twisting in an odd knot.

It was fine.

Callahan had no power over him, over Juno.

Nikolai picked up his phone.

And called his realtor.

Nikolai walked regardless, too wound up from the day to take a taxi and risk a conversation. Besides, his apartment in Garden Towers wasn’t far enough from the financial district to justify the expense. Even if the expense was hardly pocket change.

He could use the exercise. Too much time on a computer wasn’t healthy, and with the market and paperwork all digital, he spent most of the day sitting down.

It was a nice night. 

The streetlights had just come on, the sky darkened to a dim blue. Here in the city, it was impossible to see the stars, but Mother was probably enjoying the cloudless spring night at the estate.

Crickets chirped in the hedges and potted plants, growing silent when he passed by. A few birds still sat on wires, but they were quiet. Nikolai could hear the low hum of distant traffic. A slight breeze in the air carried the scent of food; no doubt someone cooking with a window open.

His stomach rumbled. Nikolai’s building wasn’t far off, but a snack wouldn’t ruin his appetite.

He kept a few options in his bag anyway.

Niko stopped to fish out a granola bar.

A sudden crash came from the alley. He dropped the bar.

Nikolai looked into the dark alleyway, wary. A metal dumpster lid was swinging, no doubt it had banged against its metal side.

A shadow moved, fast, scrambling out of the dumpster.

A raccoon? Some sort of animal-

Nikolai grabbed his phone, turning on the flashlight.

Eyes reflected the light back at him, but it was no raccoon.

A foxboy- teenage? Adult?- stared, frozen. A rotten chicken carcass in its mouth.

It- he- was filthy and had no clothes. Naked and streaked with grime.

Bones jutted through his skin, and Nikolai could see every frantic pulse of his ribs as he breathed. His collarbones seemed ready to burst through.

The foxboy was trembling, black fur puffed and ears swiveled back. Tail between his legs. The white tip was gray.

Fear, Nikolai knew. There was no growling.

It was like seeing a stray bearded dragon or parrot or tiger. 

Because surely this was a pet. Foxboys were far too rare, far too exotic to be anything but.

He didn’t even know it was legal to own one in the city.

Well. The poor thing wasn’t owned now. No collar. Unfed.

“Hey there,” he finally managed to choke out. “You want something to eat?”

Ears perked forward.

Nikolai slowly, without taking his eyes off the animal, bent down to pick up his granola bar.

He stayed crouched low, squatting.

“Here you are.”

He held out the bar.

The foxboy’s pupils grew wide. He dropped the carcass, thank God, and darted forward.

He snatched the bar and retreated. Sat in front of his previous prize, the chicken, guarding it.

At first, Nikolai worried about the wrapper, but no. The foxboy ripped it with ragged and broken claws and shoveled the food in so fast it would have choked a less determined creature.

Nikolai searched his bag. He was sure he had an apple too, and yes there it was.

He offered it, palm open.

The foxboy’s fur was less puffy now, his ears forward and tail happily swishing.

“You’re a pet, aren’t you?” he asked softly as the animal approached slower, eyes on the apple and nose twitching. He didn’t answer, focused on the singular mission of eating.

Now that he was closer, Nikolai still couldn’t tell how old he was. He didn’t have experience with such things. He was small, but didn’t have the figure of a child, but that just could be his boniness.

“Were you left here?” he asked. It was rhetorical. No one accidentally lost such a distinctive animal for so long without looking. Not to such a degree that their lost pet was this sick.

The smell was awful too- stank of rot and sweat and possibly urine-

The foxboy had finished the apple, core and all, and looked up at Nikolai for more.

He didn’t have more food on him, but he held out his hand, palm down and relaxed.

The foxboy carefully sniffed at his knuckles, tongue flicking out to give his hand a little lick.

Oh, he was precious. Even in this state, Nikolai could tell he was adorable.

Nikolai slowly moved to pet the animal between the ears. His dark fur was so soft, despite that it was oily and greasy. Only God knew how long it had been since he’d been washed.

The foxboy leaned into the touch, pressing so hard he nearly fell over.

“You want to come home with me?” Niko asked. 

A pause. The tip of the creature’s tail flicked.

“I’ve got food,” he coaxed.

That was the magic phrase, because the foxboy headbutted his hand, rubbing his cheek on it.

Message received.

___________________

The puzzle was getting the foxboy inside.

He followed well enough, but he was nude and Nikolai was pretty sure it was either illegal to own a foxboy without a license, or it was against his lease, or both.

Maybe he could sneak him up to the tenth floor unnoticed. He prayed silently as he coaxed the animal inside, through the lobby, and to the elevator.

No one was downstairs, and the elevator was already on the first floor.

He pressed the button, the gray steel doors sliding open.

“Come on,” he said, stepping through.

The foxboy did not follow.

Shit.

Nikolai held down the open door button.

The foxboy’s fur was standing on end again, and he peered into the elevator.

Nerves.

“I know, but it will take us upstairs to my home.”

The tail curled up between the foxboy's legs.

“That’s where dinner is,” he pleaded.

The foxboy ducked his head, lowering himself to a crawl as he slinked inside.

Nikolai felt bad- he did- but ten flights of stairs was not a journey worth the risk.

The doors closed.

The elevator began to move.

The foxboy scrambled to a corner, making himself small against the wall.

Whines poured from him like crying, his eyes darting, pupils tiny in a sea of blue.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Nikolai reassured him, but it was futile.

He reached over to pet him, but the foxboy flinched.

Touch from a stranger wasn't going to help.

Instead, Nikolai felt for his keys and hoped no one else needed the lift.

Finally, after an eternity watching the numbers tick up, the doors opened.

The foxboy darted out.

Why was he so fast-

Nikolai went after him, and luckily the animal had frozen in the hall.

Still low on the ground, ears moving on a swivel. Was he confused? Never used an elevator before, probably.

It must seem like magic to him.

Nikolai could see dark letters on the nape of the foxboy’s neck, but there was no time.

“Come on, food this way,” he said, putting a gentle hand on the creature’s shoulder. He guided him to his apartment, praising him.

“Good boy,” he breathed. “Just a moment.”

He ushered the foxboy in, closing and locking the door tight.

Nikolai had promised there would be food. He tossed his bag aside. Better to fulfill that sooner than later, or there might be a problem. He didn’t know this animal.

He fetched a bowl and grabbed what fruit he had.

“Here.”

The foxboy didn’t even wait until the bowl was fully on the floor before shoving his face into the blueberries.

“I’m going to cook now,” he told him. “Then I’ll give you more.”

The letters were more visible now. They sat just below where his fur began.

Nikolai craned his neck to read them at a better angle. They were tattooed on. Perhaps the previous owners didn’t like collars?

At least it wasn’t a brand.

Juno, they read.

Nikolai let Juno eat as he got out a pan.

Then he paused.

What could foxboys eat?

Juno’s teeth- from what he’d seen of them- were not the same as human teeth.

He pulled out his phone. Thank God for google.

The list was large enough that feeding him wouldn’t be too much of an issue. It boiled down to ‘no spices’, ‘light salt’, ‘no chocolate’, and ‘less processed’.

More than he expected.

Nikolai had picked out a steak for himself earlier that week, and luckily the package came with two.

He set water to boil in a pot as he chopped potatoes. Usually, he’d heavily salt the water for taste, but not this time.

He’d make his own, seasoned food, after cooking the plain meal for Juno.

Once the potatoes were fork tender, he drained them and let them cool on a plate before searing a steak.

He added a bare amount of salt. It didn’t take long until it was rare. A little too rare for him, but that’s what was advised.

Nikolai added the steak to the plate, and cut it up for his new buddy.

He turned and jumped.

Juno was staring up at him, silently, barely a foot away.

“How long have you been there?” he asked. He only got a few blinks in response.

Weren’t foxboys supposed to talk?

He shook it off before going over to switch the empty bowl for the dinner. Nikolai rinsed the dish and filled it with clean cool water.

Honestly, he should have offered water first.

Juno was chowing down, but slower. Good.

Nikolai fixed his own dinner, and turned on the television. He sat on the couch.

The smell coming off of Juno mixed in an unpleasant way with the scent of a cooked meal.

Nikolai wrinkled his nose as he ate.

“You need a bath,” he told Juno. The foxboy was on all fours still, lowered with his tail wagging. His genitals were hanging.

Nikolai looked away, face hot.

“Clothes too,” he said aloud, focusing on his show.

___________________

Showering Juno wasn’t as hard as he thought it might be.

Juno sat on the tile, still and well-behaved as Nikolai worked a second round of shampoo into his fur.

Gray water, an improvement from black, swirled into the drain. The soap wasn’t even lathering, which meant a substantial amount of grime.

Nikolai was only in his boxers, having given up any pretense of staying clean himself.

“You’re being very patient,” he told Juno. “Thank you.”

Juno made an odd little sound, something nearly akin to a bird. A sort of… warble.

But he didn’t move, and maybe that was just a nice little sound.

Nikolai could see a lot of googling in his future.

The easy part was Juno’s fur-less skin, but his tail took ages to get clean, and the top of his head was no better.

He washed Juno’s ears the best he could (after researching how) with a damp cloth.

“At least you didn’t have fleas,” he told Juno. “We’re all done.”

Nikolai toweled Juno’s sopping wet fur the best he could.

“Do you want me to use a hair dryer?” he asked. The towels were just not enough.

In response, Juno shook like a dog, spraying droplets everywhere. Nikolai threw up his hands.

“Juno, please,” he laughed. “Alright, I get it. No more.”

Juno chirped and clicked at him, and smiled in a very human way.

Nikolai couldn’t be mad at him. He was too cute.

“Well, I’m going to shower. I’ll be out soon.”

___________________

Nikolai changed into his pajamas after washing up. It was early, but he was just worn out.

Juno wasn’t on the couch like he expected. He was curled up on the rug, tail neatly tucked into him.

“You want to sit on the couch, sweetheart? It’s allowed, promise.”

Juno’s head lifted, unsure.

“You don’t have to. I just thought you’d be more comfortable.”

Juno laid back down.

Oh well.

Nikolai grabbed his laptop and searched foxboy clothing.

There were a few promising results. Socks with the fronts open to allow for claws, trousers with slits for tails. A skirt or two with the same feature.

Shirts were all cutesy patterns, but there was nothing preventing Juno from wearing a normal, fairly priced shirt.

He ordered a pajama set too.

It was the underwear that made him pause.

Why were they all jockstraps?

He flushed, and switched tabs to get away from the pictures.

It made sense, unfortunately. Easier to accommodate for a tail if there was no true fabric to get in the way.

Nikolai ordered the underwear.

___________________

He put Juno to bed after a snack; the foxboy’s tummy bulging from fullness.

Juno still didn’t want the couch, so Nikolai gave him a pillow and draped him in a blanket. A large pet bed was added to the shopping list.

He considered taking off work tomorrow, but it was a friday. They’d have all weekend to figure things out.

What was the worst that could happen?

The pillow wasn’t in sight, but was a lump under the cover.

“Good morning,” he told Juno, heading straight for the coffee.

Usually he’d get dressed before making a quick breakfast, but he had someone else to consider. Feeding his buddy was more important than lying in bed for a few more minutes.

Bacon wasn’t the best choice according to the internet- he should call a vet after work- so instead he cracked a few eggs into an oiled pan.

He scrambled them, forgoing salt just in case.

In the corner of his eye, he could see Juno sitting and watching.

A little further away this time; so it seemed he had learned how not to startle. Cute.

“Breakfast,” he said cheerfully. “Or at least a good start.”

He checked the fridge.

Another apple would do, and a little cheese would be okay.

Nikolai set the chunk on Juno’s plate, the apple beside it.

“I’ll leave a granola bar out for you,” he explained, stirring sugar and cream into his mug. “I’m going to take off early so I can go shopping for better food.”

Juno’s ears were aimed at him as he ate, and Nikolai figured that was close enough to attentive listening.

He fixed an omelet for himself, now that he had the time to eat properly, and headed to work.

___________________

Niko figured he would stop by the apartment before getting groceries, if only to reassure and check on Juno.

He came home to a disaster.

The couch cushions were scattered across the floor. Juno’s pillow was spilling fluff. The standing lamp was on its side.

Nikolai stepped through the doorway, dumbfounded.

“Juno?”

The kitchen was worse.

The trash can was knocked over, rubbish and food scraps all over the floor. The smell was downright gross; odd because he hadn’t left the trash for long-

And then he saw the vomit, dark bile over what used to be rotting food.

He searched the apartment for the foxboy.

It was surprisingly hard to find such a relatively large animal and yet it took him several concerning minutes.

Juno was cowering behind the couch.

“Hello,” Nikolai said softly, scooting back to give Juno more room. “How did you get back there?”

He didn’t answer. Juno’s eyes were so round, reflecting the light back at him. His face was wet.

Nikolai didn’t know foxboys could cry.

“Have you finished throwing up?” he asked. It was the most important problem.

A tiny little nod and sad little chitter.

“Alright. That’s good.”

Nikolai sat back on his heels, thinking.

“Were you worried you’d get too hungry again?”

Silence. It was enough of a reply.

“I know it’s scary,” Nikolai soothed. “I won’t make you go that hungry. You don’t need the trash anymore, okay? Today I’ll make you a box with snacks you can have when I’m gone.”

Juno whined.

“I’m going to clean up now. Come out when you’re ready.”

Nikolai stood.

He started with the living room.

The lamp’s bulb was unbroken, thankfully. Glass would have been a lot of trouble.

Niko put the lamp back in place, the cushions straightened and smoothed.

He folded up the quilt- which had a chewed on corner already- and put it on his sofa.

The pillow… could be salvaged. He had a sewing kit somewhere.

The kitchen was predictably a hazard. The broom wasn’t usable after he was done.

Juno had crept out from behind the couch, but he was still shaking when Nikolai glanced at him.

His ears were pinned to his skull, his tail between his legs; all so familiar.

Nikolai sat on the couch, on the end furthest from where Juno was trembling. He was filthy again.

“I’m not angry,” he started, which was a good place to start. “And I’m not going to punish you. You’re just scared, and you’re allowed to be scared.”

Juno looked confused.

“I don’t want you getting into the trash again. That’s all.”

Once Juno was used to things, he probably wouldn’t also knock things over. Nikolai would buy chew toys to prevent the other issues.

“Understand?”

Juno slowly nodded. There was a small piece of garbage in his fur.

“Good boy. Now, I think you need another bath.”

___________________

Ordering groceries online was the wiser choice, when it came down to it. He gave a fifty dollar tip to make up for the fact that he was ten stories up.

He ordered a large bed and an assortment of toys ranging from ‘heavy chewer’ to soft plush ones. They’d figure out what Juno liked best.

Niko glanced at the foxboy, who was dozing on the rug. He wasn’t really sleeping. Nikolai couldn’t blame him. He’d had a rough time and his anxiety was probably running high.

He turned on the television for some background noise, and Juno sank lower into the rug, tension easing out of him.

Good to know.

___________________

It was legal to own a foxboy with a permit, thankfully.

He scanned the online application.

The fee was only a hundred dollars, and the application was… sparse.

They asked Niko’s name, address, phone number. If Juno was male or female, and if he was neutered.

Was that it? Really? There was no description box, no option to fill out tracking information, no questions about vaccines or standard of care or if he’d seen a vet-

He checked the process listed on the city government site. Then the state.

It was just the permit. No one was coming to check living conditions.

What the fuck? It was insulting how easy it was.

Except that he didn’t know if Juno was neutered.

Nikolai left the application open, and searched for a vet.

___________________

“Thank you for your time.”

No luck.

It was the third exotic animal veterinarian he’d called, and none of them were able to treat a foxboy.

There were three more he could call; two actually in the city and the last an hour outside of it.

To travel that far for a vet would be annoying, but realistically a more rural exotic animal doctor would have at least seen one? From what he’d read, most foxboys lived on estates with owners who had a menagerie of large animals.

He dialed the number.

“Hello, my name is Nikolai Stellos. Does your office treat foxboys?”

“We do.”

Relief flooded through him.

“Excellent. When is the next availability? It’s somewhat of a pressing matter.”

“I can pencil you in for next week. Would you like to receive a call if we have any cancellations beforehand?”

“Absolutely.”

He gave his information, and one of his credit cards for the $500 deposit.

Nikolai checked the Garden Towers resident site.

There wasn’t anything against foxboys. Just a flat pet fee.

What they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them.

Nikolai glanced down at Juno again.

This time, he was properly asleep.

Juno wished he could have picked the order of execution. He wanted more time with the others. The knight was evil, and cruel, but far from the worst. His death would have been the swiftest, if Juno had the choice.

Terry had even mentioned, once, that he was the only one who had ever hesitated.

But that was a long time ago.

“I’m sorry,” Ser Beauchene told him.

Moonlight filtered through the slit in the stone walls. It made the knight’s skin look as ghostly as Juno’s, his reddish-brown hair faded in the glow.

Where the knight was once an imposing man, full of strength and pride, now he was soft and ashamed. No doubt he was still able to fight, but stone walls and iron bars did not care. And neither did ghosts.

Juno looked down on the man, who refused to meet Juno’s gaze.

“I didn’t think they would kill you. I should have let the king go earlier.”

Ser Beauchene covered his face.

“I never should have hurt him. I hurt you, and you didn’t do anything wrong. All you did was exist.”

Juno cocked his head.

The others didn’t apologize. Not like this.

“I abandoned my vows. I swore an oath to my king, and I failed. You were a better knight than I, Juno.”

Juno bent down. He patted Beauchene’s head.

It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t forgiveness. It couldn’t be fixed.

Juno was just ready for it to be over.

The knight startled at the touch, looking up.

They stared at each other.

“Would you stay with me? Please?” Ser Beauchene asked, his voice wet.

Juno considered.

No. He would not.

He ignored the knight’s soft crying, and pretended he didn’t regret it.

___________________

Juno didn’t go to the execution. Instead, he sat with Terry in the garden, by his grave.

Terry had finally left his rooms to sit in the sun.

“It’s over,” he said. Juno knew by now that he was talking to where Juno’s body lay. But it was good to hear his voice. “They’ll tell me any minute now that he’s gone. That they’re all dead.”

Juno nodded along, looking into the pond. He could see himself in the water.

Juno dipped his finger into it, and one of the golden koi investigated the ripples.

A soft sound came from behind him.

“Sometimes I swear I can see you,” Terry whispered. “I think I must be going mad. Juno, I-”

Juno held his breath.

“I let you die. I deserve this.”

___________________

Ser Beauchene was dead.

A weight on his chest that Juno didn’t know was there had dissipated.

He felt more solid, somehow. More… there.

In the mirror, Juno looked less like mist, and more gathered. He could now see where he ended and the air began. His funeral dress even had more color to it; his pearls were no longer dull and grey.

Juno glanced behind him, away from the mirror. 

Terry was sleeping, and Juno had the habit of checking the rise and fall of his chest. Juno had to make sure nothing happened bad to Terry ever again.

The king was fine.

Juno looked back at his own reflection.

The hollows under his eyes were gone. He was dead, and yet he wasn’t corpse-like.

Curious.

Terry shifted under the quilt. He was fretting again.

Juno went and laid next to him on the featherbed. The mattress dipped under his weight.

He fell asleep next to his Master.

___________________

At dawn, Juno got up.

He yawned, and drew open the curtains to let the sun in.

The king’s robe was draped over his armchair, and why hadn’t Juno picked it up last night?

Oh well.

Juno put it in its proper place on the hook. It was his job to clean up, after all.

A knock sounded on the door.

“Your majesty? I have breakfast.”

Annoyed, Juno went to answer the door. After so many years, didn’t they remember that Juno made Terry’s morning meal?

He opened the door.

The servant gasped. Dropped the tray.

It crashed to the floor, pot shattering and dishes spilling and the silverware echoing off the marble floor.

She screamed, and Terry woke with a shout.

What on earth-

Oh. Oh-

Juno looked down at his hands, translucent, and he was so very dead.

What had he done?

“Ghost!” wailed the servant.

Juno whirled, and Terry was already out of bed, frozen in place.

His eyes were wide and his mouth open with horror and relief all at once.

The servant had already fled, dark tea pooling on the white polished floor, shards dripping.

“Is it really you?” Terry breathed out.

Juno crossed the room in three strides, and hugged his Master.

Terry squeezed him tight, sobbing.

“You’re here.”

Juno nodded into Terry’s chest, tears rolling down his cheeks. He’d waited so long to be seen. To be held. He was dead; he earned it.

“I can’t believe it. You’ve been here this whole time. I’m so-”

Juno straightened, putting a finger against Terry’s lips.

No more apologies.

Terry smiled, then laughed. The sound was glorious.

Footsteps thundered down the hall, and they turned to see half a dozen guards, swords drawn, pulling up short at the sight of the living holding the dead.

Their faces paled.

“Go,” Terry told them, voice suddenly stern. “I’m busy.”

The king’s voice was cold, and hard, and the guards had no choice but to back away.

“Oh, Juno.” His Master nuzzled him, warm cheek on Juno’s cool skin. “I’ve missed you.”

___________________

Being dead had its advantages. People were terrified of him.

Juno could simply bare his teeth, and they shuddered. No one dared raise a hand to his Master, and even the new council looked away with shame.

The scandal of his death was not forgotten. For months, the newspapers were alight with it.

He didn’t care.

The guards eventually got used to him; the servants too.

It was easier, with them. He’d been among the staff halls for years before his death. They simply didn’t mention what happened. They didn’t dare get in his way when he returned to his work. Sometimes, they even smiled at him.

It was funny how death commanded respect in a way that being alive didn’t.

Juno patiently allowed the magicians and spirit speakers to ask him things. To demonstrate what he could do. That he could pass through walls, that he could lift objects, that he could even float in the air, feet never touching the ground.

The spirit speakers had never seen a ghost of Timorsia before. Or a ghost that didn’t pass on after the unfinished business was done.

But his work was never going to be finished.

He had a duty.

Juno watched over Terry, day and night. He would never be alone again; never be hurt again. Juno followed his Master as a shadow followed the sun.

There was no one to stop him. Juno couldn’t be killed twice.

And the tree, the blue wisteria planted over his grave, now called Eyes-of-Juno, The King’s Grief, kept blooming.

As long as Juno kept haunting the king, it would never stop.