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A Place to Stay

Otter! Takayama Riki (Taki) x female reader

Wordcount ≈ 28.3k

Warnings: abandonment, neglect, hybrid mistreatment, legal conflict, brief court/legal proceedings, anxiety, fear of rejection, emotional vulnerability, attachment issues, mild angst, themes of displacement, housing insecurity, implied past trauma, I think that’s it.

Taglist: @voucearse, let me know if anyone else wants to be added to my andteam taglist!

Thank you for the request! I hope you’ll enjoy this! I decided to make Taki an otter for this one, I just think it’s so cute!!!

Network: @k-records

Please reblog, comment, and like if you enjoyed this!

(Y/n) sat curled into the corner of the small café booth, fingers loosely wrapped around a mug that had long since gone lukewarm. The café itself was warm and inviting, soft indie music playing in the background, the faint hiss of the espresso machine punctuating quiet conversations, the scent of roasted coffee beans and vanilla syrup lingering in the air. Normally, it was the perfect atmosphere for creativity.

Today, however, her laptop sat open in front of her like a personal enemy. “I’ve rewritten the first chapter six times,” she groaned, dropping her forehead dramatically onto the table with a soft thud. “Six, Fuma. At this point, my main character has changed personalities more times than I’ve changed outfits this week.”

Across from her, Fuma blinked, sipping his iced latte with careful thought, as if the drink might contain the answer. He tilted his head slightly, dark hair falling into his eyes in that effortlessly stylish way he never had to try for. “Well… maybe she just hasn’t figured herself out yet?” he offered gently. “Characters are like people, right? They need time.” (Y/n) lifted her head slowly and gave him a flat look. “That’s very philosophical for someone who once described my entire fantasy trilogy as ‘that one with the sword and crying.’” Fuma gasped, placing a hand over his chest in mock offense. “First of all, there was a sword. And there was crying. Second of all, writing isn’t my expertise.”

Despite herself, she snorted. Fuma wasn’t wrong about one thing though, writing wasn’t his world. His world had mirrors lining the walls, bass-heavy music shaking the floorboards, and students counting beats under their breath. He owned a dance studio not far from the café, a place that had become something of a sanctuary for aspiring performers. He could choreograph an entire routine in under an hour and read rhythm like it was second nature. But plotting emotional arcs? Crafting tension? Not exactly his forte.

Still, he had inspired her before. Her very first breakout novel had been loosely based on him, though she would deny that until her dying breath. A young man chasing his dream of becoming a performer, stumbling through auditions, late-night practices, and eventually, finding love in the middle of it all. The book had skyrocketed her career. Fans still sent her messages about how much that story had meant to them. And she had really hoped that sitting here today, watching Fuma gesture animatedly as he described one of his students accidentally kicking over a speaker mid-spin, would spark something again.

But her mind remained frustratingly blank. After another beat of silence, broken only by the clinking of cups, Fuma leaned forward slightly. “Okay,” he said, serious now. “When you get stuck like this… where do you usually go?” She opened her mouth to respond automatically, nowhere, but paused. Where did she go? Her eyes drifted toward the café window, watching people pass by outside. The city was loud. Constant. Alive in a way that sometimes felt suffocating. And then it clicked. Her lips slowly curved upward. “Fuma,” she said, pointing at him as if he’d just solved world hunger. “You’re a genius.” His eyebrows shot up immediately. “I am? I mean, I know I am, but specifically about what?” “My cabin.” He blinked. “…Your summer cabin?”

She nodded, sitting up straighter now, energy creeping back into her posture for the first time all afternoon. “It’s quiet there. Peaceful. No distractions. Just fresh air… It’s perfect.” Fuma’s expression softened into recognition. “The one by the lake?” he asked, leaning back in his seat. “With that tiny wooden dock that creaks every time you step on it?” A faint laugh left her lips. “Yes, that one.” He smiled warmly. “I remember the first time we went there, when we were kids, and you still had a crush on me. You made me try to fish and then screamed when I actually caught one.” “In my defense,” she shot back quickly, “it moved.” She didn’t say anything about the crush part, still feeling embarrassed about it, years later. “It’s a fish,” he deadpanned.

She ignored him, a fond nostalgia settling in her chest. The cabin had always felt… different. Like the world slowed down there. Even back then, before her name was on bestseller lists and interviews and book signings, she used to sit on the dock with a notebook, scribbling story ideas while dragonflies skimmed across the lake’s surface. Maybe that was what she needed. To slow down. To breathe. She nodded decisively. “That’s the one. I’ll go for a week. Maybe two.” Fuma studied her for a moment before smiling softly. “Yeah,” he said gently. “That sounds like exactly what you need.”

Fuma insisted, dramatically, of course, that he would come visit in a few days. “And I expect a full grocery list,” he added, wagging his finger at her as they stepped outside the café. “Don’t try to live off instant noodles and vibes.” “I have never lived off vibes,” (Y/n) protested. “You once told me coffee counted as a personality trait.” “That’s different.” He laughed, pulling her into a quick hug before she could argue further. His embrace was warm and familiar, grounding in a way she didn’t realize she needed. “Text me when you get there,” he murmured. “And seriously, if you need anything, just say so.” She nodded against his shoulder. “I will. Thanks, Fuma.” With that, she hurried off, a strange mix of nerves and excitement bubbling in her chest. Maybe this was exactly what she needed, a change of scenery, a reset button.

~~~

Back home, her apartment looked like it had already surrendered to chaos the moment she decided to pack. An open suitcase lay on her bed, clothes half-folded and stacked in uneven piles. Sweaters for chilly evenings by the lake. Comfortable leggings. A few nicer outfits, just in case she felt inspired enough to take dramatic author photos on the dock. Her laptop charger was the first thing she packed. Priorities.

As she moved around the apartment, tossing in toiletries and her favorite oversized hoodie, she pulled out her phone and dialed Euijoo. He picked up after two rings. “If you’re calling to cancel on me again, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear the phone.” She winced. “Okay, but what if I am calling to cancel on you again?” A heavy sigh echoed through the speaker. “You are unbelievable.” “I know, I know,” she said quickly, wedging her phone between her shoulder and ear while attempting to zip up her overstuffed suitcase. “I’m so sorry. I have to head to the cabin, my brain is officially empty. Like, tumbleweeds empty.”

“You said that last time, too,” Euijoo muttered, though there was no real bite in his tone. “We were supposed to go to the hybrid shelter this weekend.” Guilt pricked at her chest. “I know. And I really wanted to go with you. But if I don’t figure out this book soon, my editor is going to start breathing down my neck.” There was a pause, then a softer sigh. “It’s okay. I get it. Work is work.” She smiled faintly. “You could still go.” “By myself?” he asked skeptically. “Well…” She flopped down onto her bed, staring at the ceiling. “You could ask Nicholas.” Silence. Then, too casually, “Nicholas?”

“Yes, Nicholas,” she repeated, barely suppressing her grin. “You know. Tall. Confident. Model face. Looks at you like you personally hung the moon?” “I do not,” Euijoo cut himself off. “He does not look at me like that.” “Mmhm.” “He doesn’t.” “Sure.” She could practically hear him blushing through the phone. “I’m just saying,” she continued innocently, “he’s good with hybrids. And you said you wanted help picking out the perfect one. Two opinions are better than one.” Another pause. “That’s… actually not a bad idea.” “Wow,” she gasped dramatically. “Credit where credit is due?” “Don’t let it get to your head,” he shot back, though she could hear the smile in his voice now.

The hybrid shelter had been something Euijoo had talked about for months. In this world, hybrids weren’t uncommon; people born with animal traits, often abandoned or surrendered for reasons ranging from prejudice to simple irresponsibility. Shelters worked to rehome them, though adopting one required patience, care, and a genuine understanding of what that meant. Euijoo had always had a soft heart. (Y/n), however, was ninety percent certain that his interest in “visiting the shelter” had mysteriously intensified around the same time Nicholas had started volunteering there.

“Text him,” she sing-songed. “I will not be bullied into,” “Text him.” “…Fine.” Victory. She beamed at the ceiling. “Good. And who knows? Maybe you’ll come back with a hybrid and a boyfriend.” “Goodbye, (Y/n).” He hung up. She burst into laughter, rolling onto her side and hugging a pillow to her chest. Honestly, some people already assumed Euijoo and Nicholas were married with three kids and a golden retriever. The way they hovered around each other? Suspicious. Extremely suspicious. Hopefully, this would give them the little push they clearly needed.

With a satisfied sigh, she sat up and zipped her suitcase shut properly this time. Laptop? Check. Notebooks? Check. Extra pens, because somehow she always lost them? Check. All that was left now was a quick grocery run. Then she’d be on the road. The thought sent a flutter through her chest, anticipation tinged with something she couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t just about writing anymore. The cabin had always held a quiet sort of magic to it.

After what could only be described as a financially irresponsible amount of snacks, three types of chips, two kinds of chocolate, instant ramen “just in case,” and actual vegetables to ease her conscience, and a bunch more stuff, (Y/n) finally loaded the last grocery bag into her car. She paused, staring at the sheer volume of it all. “I’m only going for two weeks,” she muttered to herself. “…Right?” No answer. Just the faint rustle of a chip bag accusing her from the back seat.

Once she was settled behind the wheel, she plugged in her phone and put on her favorite playlist, the one she always swore she wouldn’t overplay and then absolutely did. The opening notes of a familiar song filled the car, and just like that, her mood lifted. By the time she hit the highway, she was singing at the top of her lungs, one hand drumming against the steering wheel, the other dramatically gesturing during emotional lyrics as if she were performing for a sold-out stadium.

The city slowly began to fall away behind her, tall buildings shrinking into distant silhouettes, traffic thinning out, noise fading into something softer. The air seemed different out here. Lighter. Within an hour, the scenery transformed completely. Concrete turned to winding roads lined with trees. The forest greeted her like an old friend, tall pines stretching toward the sky, sunlight filtering through leaves in golden streaks. The world felt quieter here, as if it was holding its breath.

And then she saw it. Her cabin. It stood nestled comfortably among the trees, warm wooden panels slightly weathered from time but sturdy, welcoming. A soft green moss had claimed parts of the roof, and the little porch swing still hung in its place, swaying faintly in the breeze. Smoke did not rise from the chimney, it hadn’t been used in months, but it still looked like something out of a storybook.

The cabin had been in her family for generations. Passed down carefully, lovingly. And now it was hers since her brother didn’t want it after he moved to another country. Just beyond it, shimmering under the late afternoon sun, was the lake. It was large enough to feel expansive but small enough to feel secret. Hidden. Not many people knew about it, which made it feel like a private world carved out just for her family. The water reflected the sky like glass, disturbed only by the occasional ripple of fish near the surface. Her chest tightened softly with nostalgia.

This place held so many memories. It was here that she first met Euijoo. He had come along on one of her family trips because he’d been friends with her older brother at the time. She still remembered being slightly annoyed that her brother had brought “some random boy” along. But somewhere between awkward introductions, failed attempts at roasting marshmallows, and a midnight conversation on the dock about dreams and fears, Euijoo had shifted from her brother’s friend to hers.

And through Euijoo, she’d met Fuma. Her lips curved into an amused smile as she parked the car. She had been so obvious back then. Fuma, a few years older, already tall, already effortlessly handsome with that easy confidence that came from knowing exactly who you were. And she had been a young girl with her head buried in romance novels, convinced she was living in the prologue of her own love story. Of course she’d had a crush on him. How could she not?

She used to volunteer to “help” him carry things just for an excuse to be near him. Used to overthink every word he said. Used to imagine dramatic confessions under the stars by this very lake. Now? Now she laughed at the memory. She’d grown out of it eventually, the crush fading into something warmer, steadier. A friendship that had lasted years. A friendship she wouldn’t trade for anything. “Character development,” she murmured to herself, stepping out of the car and inhaling deeply.

The forest air filled her lungs, crisp, slightly earthy, tinged with the faint scent of water and pine. It felt cleansing. Peaceful. Exactly what she needed. Grabbing her bags, she made her way toward the front door, gravel crunching under her shoes. The porch creaked softly when she stepped onto it, the familiar sound sending a ripple of comfort through her. She reached into her pocket for the key. And paused. For just a second. Something felt… different. She couldn’t quite place it. The air seemed heavier somehow. Charged. Like the quiet before a summer storm. She shook her head lightly. “You’re being dramatic,” she told herself. “That’s literally your job.”

~~~

(Y/n) spent the next hour settling in, moving through the cabin with a quiet efficiency that came from years of familiarity. She opened windows to let the fresh forest air drift inside, dusted off the surfaces that had gathered a thin layer during her absence, and checked the plumbing and electricity with mild suspicion, as if daring anything to be broken. But everything seemed… fine. The kitchen cupboards were intact. No leaks under the sink. The fireplace looked untouched. Even the old bookshelf in the corner, packed with childhood favorites and worn notebooks, stood exactly as she remembered it.

She let out a small breath of relief. “Good,” she murmured. “Please don’t make me deal with repairs on day one.” After putting away the groceries and setting her suitcase by the bedroom door, she glanced toward the window facing the lake. The sunlight filtering through had shifted to a warmer hue, golden and soft. Sunset wasn’t far off. “One more thing,” she said to herself. The dock.

Grabbing a small notepad and pen, because of course she needed to document things properly, she stepped back outside. The air had cooled slightly, carrying that faint evening hush that always came before night truly settled in. Crickets had begun their quiet chorus somewhere deeper in the trees. She walked the familiar path down to the water, sand and soft earth cushioning her steps. And then she paused. Footprints. They were pressed into the sand near the edge of the lake. Not old, the edges still defined, not yet softened by wind. She crouched slightly, studying them.

They looked… human. Barefoot. Her brows furrowed. “That’s odd.” This area wasn’t well-known. The forest had trails, sure, but this part? You had to know where you were going. It wasn’t somewhere you just stumbled upon. Maybe a hiker had wandered off path. Or someone exploring. It wasn’t impossible. She straightened, brushing it off. “It’s fine,” she muttered. “Nature is for everyone.” Still… barefoot? Shaking the thought away, she stepped onto the dock. It creaked under her weight in that old, familiar way that made her feel like she was ten years old again. The lake stretched out in front of her, reflecting streaks of pink and orange now bleeding into the sky.

She crouched to inspect the boards, running her hand along the wood. Most of it held up well, but one plank near the edge dipped slightly when she pressed down on it. “Ah. There you are.” She carefully noted its position in her notepad. Third plank from the right, near the end. A slight crack had formed along the side. “Fuma can fix that,” she said aloud, nodding to herself. “Payment will be snacks.” Satisfied, she stood and dusted off her hands.

Just as she turned to head back, Splash. The sound was sudden and heavy, echoing across the stillness of the lake. She froze. That wasn’t a small sound. Not a fish. Not even a big fish. Her heart gave a small, startled jump as she whipped around, eyes scanning the water. Ripples spread outward from somewhere near the deeper center of the lake, distorting the reflection of the sunset. But whatever had caused it, was gone. She stared. “Okay,” she whispered. The ripples slowly smoothed out, the lake returning to its glass-like calm as if nothing had happened. Her pulse thudded lightly in her ears.

That had been big. Too big for the kind of fish that lived here. She knew this lake. She’d grown up swimming in it, falling off this very dock, daring Euijoo to jump in at night. There were no creatures in there that made that kind of splash. Unless… “No,” she cut herself off quickly. “Don’t start.” A branch falling in. That had to be it. Or maybe multiple fish jumping at once. That could happen, right?

She stood there a few more seconds, scanning the surface, waiting for something, anything, to break through. Nothing did. The forest behind her rustled softly with the evening breeze. “See?” she said to herself, forcing a small laugh. “You’re letting your imagination run wild. Again.” Turning back toward shore, she stepped carefully off the dock. The sand felt cooler now beneath her shoes. But as she walked up the path, a strange sensation crept up her spine. The unmistakable feeling of being watched. Her shoulders tensed almost involuntarily. She slowed her steps, ears straining.

The trees stood tall and unmoving, shadows stretching longer as the sun dipped lower. A bird fluttered somewhere above. Leaves whispered against each other. It was probably just a deer. Or a fox. Or literally any normal forest animal. “You live in a forest now,” she reminded herself quietly. “Congratulations.” Still, she resisted the urge to turn around again. Because if she turned around and saw nothing… That might somehow feel worse. So she kept walking, telling herself it was just her nerves adjusting to the quiet. And behind her, out on the darkening lake, something moved beneath the surface, silent, deliberate, watching her retreating figure with careful, curious eyes.

Once inside, she locked the door with a decisive click. “There,” she muttered, as if announcing it to the forest. “Boundaries.” The cabin felt warmer now, cozier as dusk settled outside. She slipped off her shoes, tied her hair up into a messy bun, and wandered into the kitchen with a sudden burst of domestic motivation. “Muffins,” she decided. If she couldn’t control her plot, she could at least control breakfast. She pulled out flour, sugar, eggs, and blueberries she’d bought earlier, humming along to the movie she put on in the living room for background noise. It was one of her comfort films, predictable, soft, easy to half-watch while her hands worked. The sound of dialogue and gentle music filled the cabin, blending with the clinking of bowls and the rhythmic whisking of batter.

Soon, the scent of baking blueberries and vanilla wrapped around the kitchen like a hug. “Okay,” she said proudly, peering through the oven window. “If I can’t produce words, at least I can produce carbs.” When the timer dinged, she carefully slipped on oven mitts and pulled the tray out. The tops were golden, slightly cracked, blueberries peeking through like little bursts of color. They looked perfect. And they smelled even better. The cabin was still warm from the oven, though, and she didn’t want the muffins to overcook from residual heat. So she carried the tray carefully toward the balcony door at the side of the living room. The sky outside had deepened into twilight, navy blue melting into the last streaks of purple.

She slid the door open, stepping out just enough to place the tray on the small wooden table outside. The air was cool, crisp. Perfect for cooling baked goods. “Thirty minutes,” she told herself. “That’s all you get.” She shut the door again and returned to the couch, curling up under a throw blanket just as the movie reached its emotional climax. For a little while, she let herself relax completely. No looming deadlines. No editors. No mysterious splashes in the lake. Just muffins and fictional problems that weren’t hers.

When the credits began to roll, she stretched her arms over her head, yawning widely. “Bed soon,” she murmured. But first, the muffins. She padded back toward the balcony door, already imagining biting into one warm and soft in the morning with coffee and a blank document ready for brilliance. She slid the door open. And froze. The tray sat exactly where she’d left it. But it looked… emptier. She stepped outside slowly. “One, two, three…” she counted under her breath. Eight. Eight muffins. Her brows knit together as she recounted. Still eight. She distinctly remembered lining them up earlier. Four neat rows of five muffins. Twenty. Now there were only eight.

Twelve muffins had simply… vanished. She stared at the tray like it had personally betrayed her. “Okay,” she said slowly. “No.” She wasn’t bad at math. She had counted them while putting them on the tray. She may misplace pens. She may overbuy snacks. But she did not miscount twelve entire muffins. Maybe one or two? Sure. But twelve? Her gaze snapped upward, scanning the trees. “Birds?” she whispered. There were no crumbs scattered across the table. No torn paper liners. No mess. No evidence of a feathery crime scene. The tray looked… clean. Suspiciously clean.

She stepped further onto the balcony, peering over the railing. The forest was quiet. The lake beyond reflected the moon now, silver light shimmering softly across its surface. Not a single bird in sight. Not even a squirrel. Her stomach twisted slightly. “…You’re kidding me.” She looked back at the muffins again, as if they might reappear out of guilt. Nothing. After a long moment, she crossed her arms and said aloud, voice echoing faintly into the night, “You know, whoever stole my muffins could at least say sorry. Or thank you. Or leave a review.” Silence.

The trees did not respond. She narrowed her eyes at the darkness one last time before carefully picking up the tray with the remaining eight muffins. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, stepping back inside and sliding the door shut firmly. She locked it this time, too, just in case. As she placed the tray on the kitchen counter, she hesitated. For a split second, she could’ve sworn she heard something outside. Not footsteps. Not wings. But the faintest, almost offended huff.

~~~

Morning light poured into the cabin gently, golden and soft, like the world was pretending nothing strange had happened the night before. (Y/n) blinked awake slowly, tangled in blankets, staring at the wooden ceiling for a moment as her brain rebooted. Muffins. Missing muffins. A splash in the lake. Footprints. She squeezed her eyes shut again. “Nope,” she muttered into her pillow. “We’re not doing paranoia before coffee.”

By the time she brushed her teeth and padded into the living room, she had mostly convinced herself that she’d simply been overly tired. Forest sounds were different from city sounds. Wildlife was bold. Maybe raccoons were tidier than she thought. Yes. Raccoons. Very polite raccoons. She slid the balcony door open to let in the cool morning air and froze.

On the small wooden table outside, where the tray had been, lay twelve crumpled muffin wrappers. Arranged carefully. Deliberately. She stepped outside slowly. They weren’t scattered. They weren’t chewed beyond recognition. They had been flattened and positioned to form letters. T… A… N… C… S. She stared. “…No.” She crouched down, squinting at it from another angle. It absolutely looked like someone had tried to write “thanks.” Emphasis on tried. Her mouth fell open slightly as she glanced around the balcony, then toward the trees. “Okay,” she said slowly, hands on her hips. “So you can spell. Just… not well.”

The forest remained peacefully indifferent. Her heart thudded somewhere between fear and disbelief, but oddly enough, she didn’t feel threatened. Confused? Yes. Concerned for her sanity? Definitely. But not in danger. Which might have been the most unsettling part. She rubbed her temples. “I have officially lost it,” she whispered to herself. Then, because apparently she had decided this was her life now, she straightened and called out into the trees: “Okay! You’re welcome, I guess!” Her voice echoed lightly across the lake. “But maybe,” she continued, pointing vaguely toward the woods, “next time don’t steal over half the batch? That’s just greedy.”

Silence. A bird chirped somewhere. She waited another few seconds, half-expecting something to move, a figure, a shadow, anything. Nothing did. After a moment, she huffed softly. “Unbelievable.” Still, she didn’t close the balcony door completely when she went back inside. She left it slightly ajar. Not wide enough for anything huge. Just… symbolically open. “If you’re a ghost,” she muttered, glancing at the doorway, “I fed you. So let’s not do any haunting or murder, okay? We’re on good terms.” The absurdity of her own sentence made her laugh nervously.

In the kitchen, she prepared tea, the familiar ritual steadying her. The kettle’s whistle, the swirl of steam, the soft clink of ceramic, normal sounds. Safe sounds. She heated one of the surviving muffins, watching as the blueberries softened again. When she finally sat down at the small wooden desk by the window with her laptop, she expected the usual dread. The blank document. The blinking cursor. But instead, something sparked. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. A ghost. Not malicious. Just… lonely. Stealing muffins because it didn’t know how else to communicate. Trying to spell “thanks.” Her lips twitched. A friendly ghost that just wants a friend.

Cliché? Maybe. But she’d never written one before. Her fingers began to move before she could second-guess herself. She didn’t believe in ghosts until one stole her breakfast… She paused, grinning. Okay. That was cute. Outside, a faint rustle sounded near the balcony. Not threatening. Almost… pleased. And from the edge of the treeline, hidden carefully behind the thick trunk of an old pine, a figure watched the cabin with intense curiosity, head tilted slightly, eyes bright. Not a ghost. Not entirely human either. And definitely very interested in muffins.

Around lunchtime, her phone buzzed against the wooden desk, pulling her from an intense stare-down with her blinking cursor. Fuma: You alive? Or did the forest claim you already? She smiled softly. Of course, he’d check in. She typed back quickly. (Y/n): Alive and thriving. Mostly thriving. Something weird happened though. I’ll tell you when you come over. Three dots appeared almost immediately. Fuma: Weird how? Murder weird or you-being-dramatic weird? She snorted. (Y/n): Rude. The dock has a loose plank, btw. Bring tools when you visit. A few seconds later: Fuma: Yes ma’am 🫡

She could practically hear his teasing tone through the screen. Warmth settled in her chest. He really did worry about her, even when he tried to mask it with jokes. After setting her phone down, she returned to her document, fingers hovering over the keyboard. The friendly ghost concept had carried her through the morning surprisingly well. She’d written nearly three pages, more than she’d managed in weeks. But now? Nothing. Her mind was once again a vast, empty white space. She leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. “Come on,” she muttered. “Do something creative.” Her brain did not cooperate. After another ten minutes of stubborn blinking at the screen, she shut her laptop with a sigh. “Fine. We eat.”

The kitchen felt like a safe fallback. Pasta and meatballs, simple, comforting, reliable. She boiled water, rolled the meatballs with absent-minded care, and seasoned the sauce generously. The rhythmic chopping and stirring gave her something to focus on that wasn’t fictional plot structure. Soon, the cabin filled with the rich scent of tomato sauce and herbs. When her plate was ready, she carried it out to the balcony, nudging the door open with her hip. The afternoon sun shimmered across the lake, the surface calm and inviting. A soft breeze rustled through the trees, carrying the faint scent of pine and water.

It was peaceful. Almost painfully so. She twirled some pasta around her fork and took a bite, sighing contentedly. “This,” she murmured, “is the life.” Still, as she stared out over the lake, a small ache settled in her chest. She missed her friends. City noise. Fuma’s dramatic commentary on everything. Euijoo’s soft laugh when he found something genuinely funny. The way the three of them could sit in silence and still feel connected. She made a mental note to text Euijoo later. Specifically to interrogate him. Had he asked Nicholas yet? If not, she absolutely would. Subtly. Or not subtly at all. Honestly, someone had to move that situation along.

As she finished eating, she glanced down at her plate. Then toward the trees. Then back at the plate. “…No,” she whispered. Pause. “…But maybe?” She stared at the forest like it might answer her internal debate. Was she seriously considering this? Yes. Yes, she was. With a deep sigh and a muttered, “I’ve officially lost my mind”, she stood and carried her plate back inside. She scooped a small portion of pasta and two meatballs onto a clean dish. Not too much. Boundaries. She returned to the balcony, placing the plate carefully on the small table where the muffins had once sat. Clearing her throat awkwardly, she called out into the trees, “Please enjoy.” Silence. She shifted her weight. “And, um… maybe don’t critique my seasoning?” The wind stirred lightly. She lingered for a moment longer, half-expecting a reply. Nothing came. “Okay,” she mumbled, retreating inside and leaving the door slightly open again.

Back at her desk, she opened her laptop. And just like that, another idea struck. Not just a ghost. A being misunderstood. Watching from a distance. Curious. Hungry, not just for food, but for connection. Her fingers flew across the keyboard. He didn’t understand why humans locked their doors when they were lonely. She paused, heart thudding lightly. He. Interesting.

Outside, on the balcony, the plate sat untouched for several long minutes. Then, a shadow shifted near the edge of the railing. Careful. Cautious. A figure emerged just enough for long fingers, not claws, but not entirely human either, to curl around the edge of the table. The scent of tomato and herbs filled the air. A soft, curious sound escaped him. And very, very gently, he took his first bite.

Hours passed in a blur of steady typing and occasional pauses to stare dramatically out at the lake for “atmosphere.” When her stomach gave a small, curious grumble, not from hunger, but from habit, she glanced at the clock and realized it had been quite a while since she’d left the offering outside. She stood slowly, stretching her arms above her head until her back popped faintly. “Moment of truth,” she murmured. The balcony door slid open with a soft shhhk. The plate was empty. Not a noodle. Not a smear of sauce. Not even a breadcrumb. She nodded once, as if she’d expected nothing less. “Mm. Of course.” What she hadn’t expected, however, was that the plate had moved. It wasn’t where she’d placed it earlier. It sat closer to the edge of the table now, turned slightly, angled toward the forest rather than the cabin.

Her brows knit together. “That’s new.” She stepped outside, examining the table. No scratch marks. No wind strong enough to shift ceramic that heavy. And it wasn’t like she’d placed it carelessly. It had definitely moved. A slow, thoughtful hum left her lips. “Okay,” she said quietly. “So you have manners. You return plates.” She almost added thank you, but stopped herself. No. She was not having a full dinner-exchange relationship with an unseen forest entity. Not yet. Still, she picked up the plate and brought it inside, setting it in the sink to wash later. As she returned to her desk, something felt lighter in her chest. Less eerie. More… curious.

She managed to write a few more pages, the mysterious presence in her story slowly taking shape. Less ghostly now. More tangible. A being that lingered at the edge of human spaces, unsure how to step inside. It was strange how naturally the words were coming. By late afternoon, she leaned back again, blinking at the screen. “Okay,” she announced to the empty cabin. “You’ve earned a break.” The forest outside was bathed in warm golden light again, the sun beginning its slow descent. It would be the perfect time for a walk. Maybe pick some fresh blueberries. Check on the old blackberry bush near the eastern edge of the trees, she remembered it thriving years ago.

She slipped on her shoes and grabbed a small woven basket from the kitchen. As she reached the front door and unlocked it, she pulled it open and stopped. On the doormat sat a rock. Not large. Not small. Smooth, gray, slightly oval-shaped. Her brows furrowed. “That wasn’t there last night.” She was almost certain of it. She would’ve noticed. She always glanced at the mat before stepping inside. It was a habit. She crouched down slowly and picked it up. It was warm from the sun. She turned it over in her hands, examining it carefully. No markings. No carvings. No ribbon tied around it. Just… a rock. “…Okay,” she said softly. She looked around the porch. No other signs of disturbance. No footprints this time.

It wasn’t threatening. If anything, it felt intentional. Her eyes drifted back to the forest. Then to the rock. A slow realization began forming. “You stole muffins,” she said under her breath. “I gave you pasta.” She lifted the rock slightly. “…Is this a trade?” Silence, of course. But the idea refused to leave her mind. A gift. Her lips twitched. “Well,” she muttered, setting the rock gently off to the side of the porch instead of tossing it away, “your taste in presents needs work.” Still, she didn’t throw it into the bushes. She locked the door behind her and stepped off the porch, basket in hand, heading toward the trees. The forest welcomed her again, leaves whispering softly overhead. And from somewhere not too far away, careful, silent, watching, he observed her stepping into his territory. Waiting. Curious what she would do next.

The forest walk did her good. She found the blueberry patch exactly where she remembered it, low bushes heavy with dark, ripe berries. The old blackberry bush was still alive, too, a little wild, branches stretching in chaotic directions, but stubbornly thriving. She filled half her basket, humming to herself, letting the quiet settle warmly around her. By the time she stepped back onto the path leading to the cabin, the sky had begun shifting into early evening hues again. She climbed the small porch steps and stopped. There, on the doormat. Another rock. This one was noticeably larger than the first. She blinked.

Then laughed. “Okay!” she called out lightly. “By better gifts, I didn’t mean a larger rock, but sure. Thank you!” The rock sat there innocently, as if deeply proud of itself. She crouched, picking it up. It was smoother than the first, almost polished by water. Not just any random stone from the dirt, this one looked like it had come from the lake. Her amusement slowly softened into something else. “Oh my god,” she whispered. “You’re trying.” The thought made her chest feel oddly warm. Then another thought followed immediately. Fuma was absolutely going to send her to a mental hospital when she told him about this. “Hi, yes,” she muttered to herself. “I’ve been accepting rocks from an invisible forest entity.”

She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead dramatically. “No fever,” she confirmed. “No dizziness. No dramatic ghostly chills.” Everything felt normal. Too normal. She set the rock gently beside the first one instead of discarding it, then unlocked the door and stepped inside. The moment she shut it behind her… Rustle. Her head snapped toward the balcony. The sound was distinct. Not wind. Not distant leaves. Close. On the balcony.

Her heart leapt into her throat. “Oh my god,” she breathed. She hurried across the living room, feet barely making a sound against the wooden floor. The rustling grew sharper, hurried, scrambling… She reached the balcony door and yanked it open. Just in time to see a figure vault over the railing. Her breath caught. It wasn’t a blur. It wasn’t invisible. It was there. Lean. Unmistakably human in shape, except for the tail. It flicked behind him as he landed lightly on the ground below. Long. Fluid. Covered in dark fur that caught the fading sunlight.

He moved with unnatural grace, sprinting toward the trees, barefoot, hair catching the wind, shoulders tense as if expecting pursuit. She stumbled forward onto the balcony, gripping the railing. He paused for half a second at the edge of the treeline. And turned his head. She didn’t see every detail. But she saw enough. Sharp profile. Alert posture. Eyes that glinted faintly in the light. Not a ghost. Not a hallucination. A hybrid. Her breath left her in a shaky exhale. “Oh.” The fear that had lingered for the past day, the unease, the paranoia, evaporated almost instantly.

Because hybrids existed. They weren’t myths. They weren’t monsters. They were people. People who were often abandoned. Forgotten. Left to survive on their own. A stray. A homeless hybrid. Her gaze drifted slowly toward the balcony table. Of course, the plate had moved. Of course, the muffins had disappeared so neatly. Of course, the wrappers had been arranged carefully. He had been trying to communicate. And suddenly, none of it felt scary at all. It felt… Lonely. Her heart squeezed. “You idiot,” she whispered to herself, though she wasn’t sure if she meant him or her. Out by the lake, she heard the faint splash of someone slipping into the water, not clumsy, not panicked. Comfortable. Like it belonged to him.

She leaned against the railing, staring at the rippling surface. “You could’ve just knocked,” she called softly into the evening air. No answer. But she swore she saw movement beneath the surface, deliberate, controlled. A water hybrid. That explained the splashes. The rocks. The comfort near water. Her lips curved slowly. “Well,” she murmured, “this just got interesting.” She stood in the middle of her kitchen, hands braced against the counter, mind racing. Okay. Tail. Strong swimmer. Comfortable in the lake. Rocks. Her eyes widened slowly. “…No way.” Fish hybrid? She’d never heard of one. Penguin? No tail like that. Snake? Absolutely not, the silhouette had been far too… fluffy. That left one option.

“An otter?” she whispered. It made sense. Otters were known for collecting rocks, using them as tools, keeping favorites tucked away. The smooth stones on her porch. The careful placement. And the way he’d moved, fluid, quick, natural near the water. Her heart did a small, startled flip. An otter hybrid. She pressed her lips together, trying very hard not to smile like a lunatic alone in her kitchen. “Okay,” she muttered. “If you’re an otter…” She opened the fridge. “…you’d probably like fish.” Thankfully, she’d bought salmon.

Soon, the cabin filled with the bright scent of lemon and butter sizzling in a pan. She flaked the salmon carefully into pasta, stirring in a light lemon cream sauce, adding herbs with more care than strictly necessary. She plated the food thoughtfully. Then paused. Slowly, she reached into the cabinet and took out a second bowl. If she were wrong, she’d just have leftovers. If she was right… Her pulse quickened. Carrying both bowls carefully, she stepped out onto the balcony. The evening air wrapped around her, cool but not cold. The lake shimmered in fading light.

She placed one bowl on the table. Then sat down with the other. Her heart was pounding now, not from fear, but anticipation. Clearing her throat softly, she called out, her voice gentle: “You can come here. It’s okay.” Silence. “I won’t hurt you,” she added quickly. “There’s food. Salmon. If you want it.” She picked up her fork and deliberately took a slow bite, making a small approving hum. “It’s pretty good,” she said casually into the trees. “Ten out of ten. Would recommend.” For a long moment, nothing happened.

Then, rustling. Close. Her breath stilled, but she didn’t turn her head sharply. She kept eating, pretending calm, she absolutely did not feel. Another rustle. And then, she looked. He stood near the small stairs leading up to the balcony. Watching her. Up close, there was no mistaking it. He was undeniably hybrid. His posture was cautious, shoulders slightly hunched like he expected to bolt at any second. His hair was a little messy, dark, and soft-looking. His face… Her heart squeezed unexpectedly. His face was rounder than she’d imagined. Soft. Open. His features were gentle, almost boyish, despite the wary tension in his eyes. And behind him, low and cautious, was the unmistakable tail, thick, sleek, fur catching the dim light.

Otter. He was holding something in his arms. A stone. Much larger than the previous two. Cradled carefully against his chest. Oh. Her voice softened instinctively. “Hi,” she said quietly. He didn’t answer. Of course, he didn’t. His eyes flicked between her and the bowl on the table. Hungry. But unsure. She offered him a small smile, slow, non-threatening. “Come here,” she said gently. “Before the food cools too much.” He hesitated. Then, carefully, as if approaching a wild animal instead of being one, he stepped up one stair. Then another. His movements were light, almost silent. Graceful in a way that felt instinctual. He set the large stone down on the steps with surprising tenderness, like it mattered. Like it was important.

He approached the table. Close enough now that she could see the faint tension in his jaw, the way his fingers flexed slightly before reaching for the bowl. He picked it up carefully. Paused. Looked at her once more. She gave him a reassuring nod and took another bite of her own food. After a second, he lowered his gaze and took a bite. His eyes widened. Subtly. But unmistakably. He swallowed quickly, then took another bite, this one less cautious. And then another. She had to physically stop herself from smiling too widely. “Good?” she asked softly. He didn’t answer. But his tail flicked once behind him. And somehow, that felt like a yes.

After only a few more bites, the otter hybrid slowed. Then stopped. He stared down into the empty bowl in his hands as if betrayal had personally struck him. His lower lip pushed out slightly. He glanced at her bowl. Back at his. Back at hers again. The pout was unmistakable. (Y/n) had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t exaggerated. It was just… genuine disappointment. She swallowed her bite and tilted her head. “I have more inside,” she offered carefully. “Do you want more?” His eyes snapped to hers. Then down at the bowl. Then back at her. A small nod. It was subtle, almost shy, but it was there. Her smile softened. “Wait here.”

She reached for his bowl slowly, making sure not to startle him. He let her take it without resistance, though his fingers lingered on the ceramic for a second longer than necessary. Inside, her heart was racing. He had nodded. He understood her. He could respond. And he had stayed. In the kitchen, she leaned against the counter for half a second, inhaling deeply. “Okay,” she whispered to herself. “You’re feeding a lake otter hybrid dinner on your balcony. This is normal.” She scooped more pasta into his bowl. Then, after a brief internal debate, added a little extra salmon. For good measure.

She added more to her own bowl, too; it was good, after all, and then returned outside. He was exactly where she’d left him. Sitting on the edge of one of the balcony chairs, posture slightly hunched, hands fidgeting together. His fingers twisted and untwisted nervously. The small, rounded ears atop his head, which she hadn’t fully noticed before in the dim light, twitched faintly, turning toward every little sound in the forest. He looked… anxious. Waiting. When she stepped back onto the balcony, his head lifted instantly. She placed the bowl in front of him. “Dig in.” He didn’t hesitate this time. He picked up the bowl and began eating again, slower now. More deliberate. Like he was savoring it.

She watched him quietly, pretending to focus on her own food while stealing glances. Up close, she could see faint freckles dusted across his nose. His lashes were darker than his hair. There were small scratches on his forearms, old ones, healed. Signs of someone who’d been surviving on his own for a while. Her chest tightened. “Do you have a name?” she asked gently. He paused mid-bite. Slowly, he looked up at her. Then nodded. Relief flickered through her. “Can you speak?” she asked softly. Another nod. She tried not to show how much that meant to her. “Could you tell me your name?” He hesitated this time. Really hesitated. His gaze drifted away from her, out toward the lake, as if searching for the word. His fingers tightened slightly around the bowl. His ears twitched back.

It was like watching someone reach into a dusty room they hadn’t entered in a long time. When he finally spoke, the sound startled her, not because it was loud, but because it was fragile. His voice was raspy. Hoarse. Like it hadn’t been used properly in months. “…Taki.” The single word came out rough, uneven. Her heart nearly melted. “Hi, Taki,” she said immediately, her voice warm and steady. “Nice to meet you.” She placed her hand lightly against her chest. “I’m (Y/n).” He watched the gesture carefully. “(Y/n),” he repeated softly.

It sounded strange in his throat, but he tried. Her lips curved into a gentle smile. “Yeah. That’s me.” There was a small silence between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt… new. Taki glanced down at the large stone he’d left on the steps. Then back at her. Slowly, hesitantly, he pointed toward it. “For… you,” he said, voice still rough. Her breath caught. “You brought that for me?” A small nod. She stood carefully and walked over to the stone, crouching beside it. It was smooth and heavy, darker than the others. Carefully chosen. She looked back at him. “Thank you, Taki,” she said sincerely. His tail flicked once behind him. And this time, he smiled.

When the bowls were empty again, this time with no dramatic pouting involved, (Y/n) gathered them slowly, setting them aside on the small table. The evening had deepened into soft blue shadows. Crickets hummed in the distance, and the lake reflected the first faint stars. Taki remained seated, tail curled loosely around the leg of the chair. He seemed calmer now. Still alert, still ready to bolt if necessary, but not trembling with it anymore. She rested her hands in her lap. “Are you… living here alone?” she asked gently. He nodded. His gaze dropped to the wooden floorboards of the balcony. “For how long?” He paused, then lifted his hands in front of him. Slowly, carefully, he began counting on his fingers. His lips moved silently as he calculated.

Finally, he looked up. “…Seven,” he rasped. Then hesitated. “Or eight… months.” Her breath caught. Eight months. Her mind immediately did the math. Winter. Her chest tightened painfully. This past winter had been brutal, colder than usual, with heavy snowfall blanketing the forest for weeks. She had complained about the icy winds in the city, despite being wrapped in layers with heating and warm meals. He had been here. Outside. Alone. “You stayed here the whole winter?” she asked softly. A small nod. Her heart cracked. Even as an otter hybrid, strong swimmer, adapted to cold water, he couldn’t survive on instinct alone. He was part human. He needed more than fish and whatever he could scavenge. He needed warmth. Shelter. Proper food. “You must’ve been freezing,” she murmured. He shrugged slightly, but it wasn’t dismissive. It was the kind of shrug that said it didn’t matter.

Her hands curled into fists in her lap. “How come you’re alone?” she asked carefully. The question made him tense again. His fingers began fidgeting, twisting together, rubbing at the pads as if grounding himself. His ears angled back slightly. “My… old owner,” he said slowly, voice rough around the edges. “Didn’t want me anymore.” Each word seemed pulled from somewhere deep. “So he… left me. In the woods.” Her stomach twisted. “He just left you?” she asked, unable to keep the hurt from her voice. Taki nodded once. “I walked,” he continued quietly. “Long time. Then I found the lake.” His gaze drifted toward the water. “And stayed.” Simple. Matter-of-fact. Like it was the most normal thing in the world to be discarded.

She swallowed hard. Her mind flickered to Euijoo. To his soft heart and determination to adopt. To how careful and loving he would be. Could he adopt Taki? The thought sparked hope, but just as quickly, reality cooled it. Taki was an otter hybrid. He needed space. Water. A natural environment. The city wouldn’t work. Not an apartment. Not concrete and noise. He belonged near a lake. Near open air. She exhaled slowly. “I’m only going to be here for two weeks,” she admitted gently. “I’m here to work on my book.” Taki’s gaze shifted back to her face, guarded but attentive. “But…” she continued, choosing her words carefully, “maybe I can help you find a home.” He stilled. “A real one,” she said softly. “Somewhere you can eat delicious food all the time. Somewhere warm. Safe. With people who won’t leave you.”

He watched her carefully, searching her expression for something, deception, maybe. Or pity. She made sure there was neither. Just sincerity. “I wouldn’t force you,” she added quickly. “And it would have to be somewhere with water. Big water. Like this. Or bigger.” His tail moved slightly, slow and thoughtful. He looked unsure. Of course he did. A human had abandoned him before. Why would he trust another? But she had fed him. Twice. Accepted his rocks. Said thank you. Didn’t scream when she saw his tail. Didn’t chase him away. She had even left the door open. He looked down at his hands. Then back at her. “…You… won’t leave?” he asked quietly. The question was small. Fragile. Her chest ached. “I won’t disappear on you,” she promised gently. “Not without telling you. I’ll be here for two weeks. And we can figure things out together, okay?” He studied her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. It wasn’t full trust. But it was a start. And when his tail curled a little closer toward her chair, almost unconsciously, she knew she’d just been allowed one careful step into his world.

The sky had darkened fully now, night settling over the lake in soft layers of blue and silver. (Y/n) stood from her chair reluctantly. “I should probably head inside soon,” she said gently. “It’s getting cold.” Taki’s ears twitched toward the trees, then toward the water, instinctively aware of the shift in temperature. She hesitated for a moment before asking, “Do you… Want to come inside? You don’t have to spend the night out there.” He stiffened slightly at that. Then shook his head. Carefully, slowly, he said, “Don’t want… overstep.” The phrasing made her heart squeeze. “You wouldn’t be overstepping,” she said softly. “I invited you.” He looked at her like he wanted to believe that. But old habits were hard to break. “You did enough,” he insisted quietly. “Food. Talk. Is… a lot.”

The fact that basic kindness felt like a lot to him made something ache deep in her chest. She didn’t push. Instead, she smiled gently. “Okay. But how about this, in a while, I’ll make tea. And cookies.” His ears perked instantly. “Cookies?” he repeated, a little clearer this time. She laughed softly. “Yes. Cookies.” There was no hesitation this time. He nodded. “I come… if you call.” “I will,” she promised. For a moment, neither of them moved. The night air hummed softly around them. “Goodnight for now, Taki.” He hesitated, then gave a small nod. “…Night, (Y/n).”

She watched as he stepped down from the balcony, picked up the large stone he had carried earlier, only to pause, glance at her, and then gently leave it on the step instead. A gift. He walked toward the lake, movements fluid and natural. When he reached the water’s edge, he didn’t hesitate; he dove in with a smooth splash, barely disturbing the surface. The ripples shimmered under the moonlight. She stood there a moment longer, staring at the quiet lake. Then her gaze dropped to the rock on the step. Carefully, she picked it up. It was heavier than it looked. “I might as well,” she murmured, carrying it inside and placing it gently on the small table near the door, beside the other two. Three rocks now. Her growing collection.

Inside, the cabin felt different. Not haunted. Not eerie. Just… shared. She pulled out her phone and hesitated only briefly before calling Fuma. It rang twice before he answered. “Okay, first of all,” he said immediately, slightly out of breath, “if this is about raccoons again,” “It’s not raccoons.” There was a short pause. “…That tone worries me.” She laughed softly. “Are you on break?” “Yeah. Five minutes. Why? You okay? You usually text before calling.” “I’m okay,” she assured him quickly. “I just, remember the weird thing I mentioned earlier?” “The possible ghost thing?” “Yes, that, I actually thought it was a ghost,” she deadpanned. “But… It’s not a ghost.” “Oh good,” he said flatly. “That’s reassuring.”

“It’s an abandoned otter hybrid.” Silence. Then, “…I’m sorry, a what?” She quickly explained the muffins, the rocks, the silhouette, the dinner, his name. She left out none of it, deciding that if she was going to sound insane, she might as well commit. When she finished, there was a long exhale on the other end. “Okay,” Fuma said slowly. “On a scale from one to ‘you’ve officially lost it,’ how sure are we about this?” “I’ve had dinner with him,” she replied calmly. “He likes salmon. His name is Taki.” Another pause. “…You named him?” “No! He told me his name.” “That’s worse.” She rolled her eyes even though he couldn’t see it. “He was abandoned. He’s been here for eight months. Through winter.” That wiped the teasing from Fuma’s voice. “…Eight months?” “Yeah.”

He was quiet for a second. Thinking. “I was wondering,” she continued softly, “if you could bring some extra clothes when you come. Just basics. And maybe… could you check with a shelter? Ask what otter hybrids need specifically? Housing-wise?” “Water access,” Fuma said immediately. “They’re semi-aquatic.” “See? This is why I call you, even though I already knew that.” He huffed faintly. “I’ll see what I can do. I’ll ask, Nicholas, since he works at a hybrid support center.” Relief flooded her. “Thank you.” “I’ll come in two days,” he added. “I’d come tomorrow, but the studio’s packed.” “That’s fine. He’s not going anywhere.” “…He?” Fuma asked suspiciously. “Yes, he.” Another sigh. “You sound attached already.” She didn’t answer that.

From the other end, she heard distant music start up again, bass thumping faintly. “My break’s over,” Fuma said. “Text me if anything weird happens.” “Define weird.” “More rocks.” She smiled. “Deal.” They hung up. She stood in the quiet cabin for a moment, phone still in hand. Two days. She glanced toward the lake through the balcony window. “Tea and cookies in a bit,” she murmured softly to the night.

(Y/n) moved around the kitchen with surprising energy, as if the simple promise of sharing cookies had unlocked something warm and buoyant inside her. She tied her hair up loosely and pulled ingredients from the cupboards. Flour dusted the counter. Butter softened quickly under her hands. Sugar, eggs, vanilla, the familiar rhythm of baking settled her thoughts. She mixed everything together in a bowl, humming softly to herself. “You better appreciate this,” she muttered toward the balcony doors, half amused. “Midnight baking is serious business.”

The dough came together quickly. She scooped uneven little mounds onto a tray, not perfect, but charmingly homemade, and slid them into the oven. As they baked, the sweet scent slowly filled the cabin. She wiped her hands on a towel, then drifted back to her laptop. At first, she only meant to jot down a few notes, maybe capture the way Taki’s ears twitched when he was nervous, or the way he held rocks like precious treasures. But once her fingers touched the keyboard, something clicked. Words flowed. Her ghost character, now very clearly no longer a ghost, transformed into a lake-dwelling hybrid who collected stones as tokens of gratitude. The loneliness she had seen in Taki’s eyes bled into the pages. So did the softness.

She didn’t even notice the timer at first. When it rang, she blinked, startled, glancing at the screen. An entire chapter. She stared at it, stunned. “Okay,” she whispered. “So apparently all I needed was an otter.” She hurried to the oven and pulled the tray out. The cookies were golden at the edges, slightly soft in the center. Perfect. While they cooled slightly, she boiled water and prepared tea, something calming, lightly floral. She arranged everything carefully on plates, far more carefully than necessary. Then she paused. The night air beyond the glass looked colder now, mist beginning to form faintly over the lake. She grabbed a warmer sweater, pulling it over her head, and then hesitated before reaching for a blanket from the couch. It was soft. Neutral. Not overly fancy. She folded it over her arm. “I don’t know if you’ll take it,” she murmured to herself, “but I’m trying.”

She carried the plates of cookies outside first, setting them on the small balcony table. The air nipped at her cheeks. “Taki!” she called gently toward the lake. “It’s time for tea and cookies!” Her voice carried over the water. She stepped back inside briefly to grab the tea mugs, careful not to spill. By the time she returned, she heard soft movement near the steps. Taki was already climbing up. He waved slightly when he saw her. A small, shy wave. (Y/n)’s lips curved immediately. “Hi.” He hovered near the edge of the balcony, unsure as always. “The cookies are still a bit warm,” she warned, setting the mugs down carefully. “So be careful when you take a bite. But otherwise… enjoy.” He stepped closer. And then he smiled. Not the hesitant almost-smile from earlier. A real one.

It softened his whole face, made his round cheeks lift, eyes crinkling slightly. His small ears tilted forward instead of back. (Y/n) nearly dropped the tea. She caught the mugs at the last second, heart stuttering. Oh no. He was adorable. Dangerously adorable. She straightened quickly, clearing her throat as if she hadn’t just short-circuited. “You have a nice smile,” she said, trying for casual. Taki froze. His eyes widened slightly. Even in the dim balcony light, she could see the faint warmth rising to his cheeks. His ears turned a deeper shade, twitching before lowering shyly. “…Thank you,” he murmured, voice still raspy but softer now.

He picked up a cookie carefully, blowing on it the way she had shown him earlier with the salmon. He took a cautious bite. His eyes lit up instantly. He made a small sound, somewhere between a hum and a pleased chirp, and quickly took another bite, though more carefully this time. She laughed quietly. “Good?” He nodded enthusiastically, mouth full. “Very good.” The praise felt oddly important. “I’ll add ‘approved by otter hybrid’ to my résumé,” she joked. He tilted his head slightly. “Resu… may?” She waved it off. “Never mind.” After a moment of watching him, she gently held out the folded blanket. “It’s colder tonight,” she said. “You don’t have to take it. But… just in case.”

He stared at it like it was something fragile. “For… me?” “For you.” He hesitated. Then slowly, carefully, he reached out and accepted it. His fingers brushed hers briefly, cool from the lake. He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders awkwardly at first, clearly unused to the sensation. “…Warm,” he said quietly, almost like he was surprised by it. “I figured.” There was a soft silence between them, not uncomfortable. He sipped the tea cautiously, nose wrinkling at first, then relaxing. “Sweet,” he observed. “I added honey.” He nodded as if that made perfect sense. They sat there together under the quiet night sky, steam curling from their mugs, crumbs scattered on plates between them.

For the first time since arriving at the cabin, she didn’t feel like she was alone with her thoughts. And judging by the way Taki kept glancing at her, as if making sure she was still there, neither did he. They sat shoulder to shoulder now, not quite touching, but close enough that she could feel the faint warmth of the blanket wrapped around him. The lake was calm. Crickets hummed in the distance. Somewhere far off, something splashed.

(Y/n) took a small sip of her tea before speaking. “Oh, by the way. I wanted to tell you something.” Taki looked at her immediately, attentive. “My friend Fuma is coming here in two days,” she said gently. “I just didn’t want you to be surprised if you see someone else.” His ears twitched. “Fuma?” he repeated carefully. “Yeah.” “Who… is he?” She smiled faintly, leaning back in her chair and tilting her head toward the stars above. “That’s a long story,” she murmured. He waited. She exhaled softly. “He’s my best friend. More like… family, I guess. Like a brother. Maybe.”

Taki watched her profile as she spoke, the softness in her expression unfamiliar but warm. “I met him when I was about ten,” she continued. “He was fourteen… or maybe fifteen. I can’t remember exactly. Our mutual friend, Euijoo, introduced us at his birthday party.” Taki tilted his head slightly. “Euijoo?” “Another friend,” she clarified. “He had this huge birthday party, way too many kids, too much noise. I remember hiding near the snack table because I didn’t like crowds.” A quiet laugh escaped her. “And that’s when I saw Fuma for the first time. He was taller than everyone else, trying to fix the music system because it had stopped working.”

Her lips curved at the memory. “I ended up with a big crush on him.” Taki blinked. “…Crush?” She glanced at him, amused by the genuine confusion in his eyes. “A crush is when you really like someone,” she explained. “But more than just as a friend. It’s when your heart does weird little flips when they smile at you. When you think about them all the time. When you’re… starting to fall in love.” Taki absorbed that slowly. His fingers tightened slightly around his mug. “Oh,” he said quietly. Then, after a moment, “You… loved him?” She smiled softly. “At the time? I thought I did.”

He nodded, encouraging her to continue. “For a while, I was so obvious about it,” she admitted with a small groan. “I’d trip over nothing when he looked at me. I’d say the wrong thing. I once tried to compliment him and accidentally insulted his haircut instead.” Taki’s eyes widened slightly. “You insulted him?” “It was an accident!” she laughed. “I panicked!” The sound made his shoulders relax, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But…” she continued more quietly, “as the years passed, that crush faded. It wasn’t dramatic. It just… changed.” She traced the rim of her mug thoughtfully. “The boy I liked turned into the person I couldn’t imagine living without. Not because of butterflies. But because he became my support. My anchor.” Her voice softened further.

“When people talked badly about my books, when critics tore them apart, he was the first one defending me. When I doubted myself, he reminded me who I was. He’d show up with food when I forgot to eat while writing.” She huffed faintly. “He still does that.” Taki listened intently. “He’s my best friend,” she said simply. “My protector in a way. He’s… everything to me.” There was no romantic longing in her tone now. Just deep, steady affection. Taki looked down at his hands for a moment. “That sounds… nice,” he said quietly. “Having someone like that.” Something in the way he said it made her glance at him. Not envy. Just a quiet ache. And that’s when she noticed something else. His speech. It wasn’t as broken anymore. The pauses were shorter. The sentences more fluid. Maybe he just needed to talk. Maybe months of silence had stiffened his voice, and now it was slowly remembering how to be used.

“You deserve that too, you know,” she said gently. He looked at her. “To have someone who stays.” The night air felt still around them. He hesitated before asking, more clearly this time, “Do you… think I could?” The vulnerability in that simple question made her chest tighten. “Yes,” she said without hesitation. “I do.” His ears lowered slightly, not in fear, but in emotion. He looked away toward the lake, blinking a little. They sat there in a quiet understanding.

Then, after a moment, he asked softly, “When your crush disappeared… did it hurt?” She considered that. “…No,” she admitted. “It felt… peaceful. Like something grew into something better.” He seemed to think about that very carefully. The blanket shifted slightly around his shoulders as he adjusted it. And when he spoke again, his voice was steadier than before. “I think… I would like to have someone who stays.” (Y/n) smiled at him. “Then we’ll start with tea and cookies,” she said lightly. “That’s step one.” A small smile returned to his face. And this time, it lingered longer.

The cookies were reduced to crumbs, the tea long since cooled. The night had deepened into something softer, heavier, the kind of quiet that pressed gently against the ears. (Y/n) stood first, gathering the empty plates. Taki rose a second later, carefully folding the blanket tighter around his shoulders as if unsure how to properly handle something so soft. As they began wrapping up, she hesitated. “My offer still stands,” she said, looking at him. “You can stay inside tonight. Really.” He looked at her then, fully. And smiled. It wasn’t shy this time. It wasn’t fleeting. It was warm. Her breath caught embarrassingly fast. His eyes were darker in the night, but they reflected the porch light faintly, gentle, kind, open in a way that made her stomach flutter unexpectedly. “I’m still okay with the lake,” he said softly. His voice sounded smoother now, steadier than earlier. “It feels… familiar.”

She nodded, even if a small part of her wished he’d say yes. Then he shifted slightly, fingers brushing over the blanket. “May I… borrow this?” The careful politeness in the question made her smile widen. “Of course you can,” she said immediately. “It’s yours for as long as you need it.” He seemed genuinely relieved. “Thank you,” he murmured. He stepped down from the balcony, then paused. “Good night,” he added, looking back at her. “And… thank you. For all of this.” The sincerity in his tone wrapped around her tighter than the night air ever could. She opened her mouth to respond, but he had already begun walking toward the lake. “Taki! wait!”

He turned back, ears lifting slightly. “Would you… maybe go on a walk with me tomorrow?” she asked, suddenly feeling strangely nervous. “In the forest. Not far. Just, together.” For a second, he simply looked at her. Then he nodded. A bright, easy smile spread across his face. “You just need to call,” he said. Her heart did that skipping thing again. “Okay,” she replied, trying very hard to sound normal. “I will.” He gave a small wave before turning away again, padding toward the water. The blanket trailed slightly behind him like a cape. At the lake’s edge, he glanced back one more time, just to make sure she was still there. She was. He slipped into the water smoothly, barely a splash, disappearing into the dark shimmer.

The balcony suddenly felt much bigger. Much quieter. (Y/n) let out a slow breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “I am truly going insane,” she whispered to herself. Because there was no logical explanation for why her chest felt warm. Or why she was smiling at empty water. Or why she was already looking forward to tomorrow. She gathered the plates and mugs, carrying everything inside. The cabin greeted her with familiar wooden creaks and the faint lingering scent of cookies. She washed up slowly, mind replaying the evening in fragments, his blush, his laugh, the way he said her name a little clearer each time.

When she finally changed and slipped into bed, she stared at the ceiling for a long moment. The lake water lapped faintly in the distance. For the first time since arriving, the quiet didn’t feel hollow. It felt expectant. She rolled onto her side, pulling the blanket up to her chin. “Good night, Taki,” she murmured into the darkness. And outside, somewhere beneath the moonlit surface of the lake, something warm lingered in her chest, something that definitely wasn’t writer’s inspiration anymore.

~~~

Morning arrived gently, pale sunlight spilling across the wooden floors of the cabin. (Y/n) padded into the kitchen in oversized sleepwear, hair still messy from the night before. She put the kettle on, the soft bubbling sound filling the quiet space, and reached for one of the remaining muffins. It was slightly crumbly now, but still sweet. Tea in hand, she settled at her desk. And the words came again. Easily. Effortlessly.

In just a few days at the cabin, she had written more than she had in the last three months in her city apartment. Back there, the walls had felt too close, the noise too constant, her thoughts too tangled. Here, with the lake stretching endlessly outside and the faint memory of a certain hybrid’s smile lingering in her mind, everything felt… open. She leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling thoughtfully. “I owe Fuma a gift,” she muttered to herself. After all, it was thanks to him that she even remembered the old cabin.

She smiled faintly. “I’ll get him something nice.” But then her mind drifted elsewhere. To warm brown eyes. To small ears twitching at the word cookies. To a raspy voice slowly smoothing with every conversation. “…And I owe Taki something too,” she murmured. Her gaze drifted toward the small bowl of berries she had picked the day before, blueberries and a handful of blackberries from the old bush that had miraculously survived. He had liked the muffins. Maybe he’d like something else she baked. “Pie,” she decided suddenly. And so, the morning turned into a strange but productive blur of multitasking.

She wrote paragraphs with one hand while checking measurements with the other. She paused mid-sentence to knead dough. She edited dialogue while the berry filling simmered on the stove, staining everything a rich violet. Her kitchen smelled sweet and tart all at once. By the time the pie went into the oven, she had drafted half another chapter. “This is insane,” she whispered, staring at her screen. “I need to adopt an otter for every book.” The oven timer ticked steadily as she finally closed her laptop. Right. The walk.

She headed toward her bedroom, opening her small suitcase. It was just a walk in the forest. Nothing special. So why was her heart beating faster? She pulled out a simple sweater. Changed. Looked at herself in the mirror. Then paused. Her hair. She lifted a brush. “I mean, it’s just a walk,” she muttered. Still, she smoothed it down. Adjusted it. Tried something slightly different. Undid it. Tried again. A faint flush crept up her neck. It wasn’t until she stepped back from the mirror in mild frustration that it hit her. She was getting ready like this was a date. She froze. “…No.” She stared at her reflection. The last time she had cared this much about how she looked before meeting someone had been two years ago.

Two years since her last heartbreak. Two years since she had quietly sworn to herself that she was done letting anyone get close enough to hurt her like that again. Her hand dropped from her hair. “Do I like him?” she asked her reflection. The idea felt absurd. She had known him for two days. Two days. Was she just too immersed in her own story? Was she projecting the romance she was writing onto real life? Blurring fiction and reality? Or… Was it simply that a sweet, abandoned otter hybrid with shy smiles and a habit of gifting her rocks had slipped past the gate she had so carefully locked?

Her chest tightened slightly at the thought. She remembered the way he had asked, Do you think I could have someone who stays? The way he had looked at her when she spoke about Fuma, curious, but not jealous. Just… wanting. She pressed her lips together. “I am absolutely ridiculous,” she decided aloud. And yet… She didn’t change her outfit. She just took a steady breath, grabbed a hair tie in case she needed it later, and headed back to the kitchen. The pie was almost done, the top crust golden and bubbling faintly at the edges. She glanced out toward the lake. Somewhere out there, Taki was probably waiting. Or maybe not waiting, but listening. Her heart gave another small, traitorous flutter. “…It’s just a walk,” she reminded herself. But even as she said it, she knew something had already begun shifting, quietly, gently, like ripples spreading across still water.

A while later, (Y/n) stepped out onto the front porch, carefully locking the door behind her. The air was crisp but bright, sunlight filtering through the trees in soft golden streaks. In her hand was a woven basket, not too big, but full. Inside lay the freshly baked berry pie, wrapped in a cloth to keep warm, a stack of napkins, two spoons, a folded blanket, and a couple of cans of soda tucked to the side so they wouldn’t clink too loudly.

She took a small breath. Then called out, “Taki! Wanna go for that walk?” Her voice echoed lightly toward the lake and the treeline. For a split second, she wondered what she must look like, standing alone on her porch, calling into the forest with a picnic basket in hand. If anyone saw her, they’d definitely assume she’d lost it. Maybe she had. But she didn’t really care. Not when she heard movement. Not when Taki came jogging toward her from the forest near the lake. He wasn’t even trying to hide anymore. He emerged from between the trees, sunlight catching in his hair, tail swaying lightly behind him as he ran. He lifted his hand in an enthusiastic wave. He was smiling. That same warm, open smile. (Y/n) felt her own lips curve automatically in response. She waved back, hoping he couldn’t hear how fast her heart was beating.

He slowed as he reached her, stopping just a few steps away. He pointed at the basket in her hand. “What is that?” he asked, curious. She tilted it slightly. “I made pie. Thought we could eat it after the walk.” His eyes widened immediately. “Pie?” he repeated, the word careful but clearer than before. “It smells… delicious.” Her stomach fluttered at the praise. “I’m glad you think so.” He glanced between her and the basket again before asking, “Should I carry it?” There was something sweet in the way he offered, not out of obligation, but genuine eagerness to help. She smiled. “You can if you want to.” He stepped closer, reaching out one hand, palm up, waiting for her to pass it to him. The gesture was so polite it almost made her laugh. She carefully transferred the basket into his grasp. Their fingers brushed. Just slightly. Barely a second. But it was enough. Her breath caught. A small, involuntary skip in her heartbeat followed, like her body reacting before her brain could intervene.

His ears twitched faintly at the contact. He glanced down at their hands for half a heartbeat longer than necessary before curling his fingers securely around the basket’s handle. “I’ll be careful,” he said softly. “I know you will,” she replied, trying very hard to sound composed. He adjusted the basket with surprising ease, as if he’d carried things far heavier before. “So,” she said, gesturing toward the forest path. “Ready?” He nodded immediately. “Ready.” They started walking side by side, close enough that their shoulders almost brushed, the path winding gently into the trees. And as sunlight danced through the leaves above them, (Y/n) couldn’t help but think, if this wasn’t a date… It was dangerously close.

The forest path was soft beneath their feet, scattered with fallen leaves and small patches of sunlight that slipped through the canopy above. Birds chirped lazily somewhere high in the trees, and the lake shimmered faintly through the gaps between trunks. Taki walked beside her, holding the basket carefully with both hands like it contained something precious. After a few quiet minutes, he glanced at her. “Tell me another story,” he said. “About your friends. Like the one about Fuma.” She smiled at that. “You like stories, huh?” He nodded. “I didn’t hear many… before.” Something about that made her soften immediately.

“Okay,” she said. “Well… there’s the story of Euijoo.” “The one you mentioned last night?” Taki asked. “Yeah. The one who introduced me to Fuma. And who later met my other friend, Nicholas.” He tilted his head slightly at the unfamiliar name. “I met Nicholas one night after a late university class,” she began. “It was raining. Really raining. Dark, cold, the kind of rain that soaks through everything in five seconds. I didn’t have an umbrella because I’m apparently incapable of checking the weather forecast.” Taki’s lips twitched. “So I tried running to the bus stop,” she continued. “And I ran straight into him.” “You ran into him?” Taki repeated. “Literally. Almost knocked both of us over. And instead of being mad, he just… held his umbrella over both of us.” Taki looked thoughtful. “Kind.” “Very,” she agreed. “But that’s a story for another time.”

She stepped over a small root in the path, glancing at him playfully. “The real chaos happened when Euijoo met Nicholas for the first time.” Taki’s ears perked, clearly invested. “It was at a small get-together,” she explained. “Nicholas has this… bad boy vibe.” Taki blinked. “Bad boy?” She laughed. “Not actually bad. Just, leather jackets, quiet, intense stare. Looks like he could start a fight but would actually apologize if he stepped on someone’s shoe.” Taki nodded slowly, processing. “In reality,” she continued, “he’s basically a teddy bear.” That earned a small, soft laugh from him.

“So,” she went on, “I pointed across the room at Euijoo and told Nicholas, ‘That’s one of my closest friends.’ And Nicholas, being Nicholas, decided he should go introduce himself.” She could still picture it so clearly. “Euijoo had just filled a cup with something to drink, soda, I think, when Nicholas walked up to him.” Taki shifted the basket slightly. “And?” “And I swear,” she said, trying not to laugh already, “Euijoo almost passed out.” Taki’s eyes widened. “He froze. Completely. Just staring at Nicholas like he had seen a ghost.” “Why?” Taki asked. “Because Nicholas looked intimidating, and hot,” she said. “And Euijoo… does not handle that well.”

She grinned at the memory. “Nicholas said something simple like, ‘Hey, I’m Nicholas.’ And Euijoo tried to respond.” She straightened her posture, mimicking Euijoo’s panicked energy. “‘H-hi, I’m Eum I mean, I’m, that is,’ And then he almost dropped his cup.” Taki let out a surprised laugh. “He nearly spilled it all over himself. And Nicholas,” she continued, barely containing her amusement, “just calmly grabbed the cup before it tipped and said, ‘Careful.’” Taki laughed properly this time, warm and unrestrained. “And I was across the room,” she added, “watching the entire thing, trying so hard not to burst out laughing.” She glanced at him. “He was so clumsy. So obvious.” Her smile softened slightly. “It definitely reminded me of a younger version of myself around Fuma.” “Tripping over air. Forgetting how to form sentences. Heart beating like I’d just run a marathon.” She glanced down briefly, then back at him. “I guess we all get a little clumsy when we really like someone.”

There was a brief pause. The forest felt quieter for a second. Taki’s steps slowed just slightly. “Euijoo liked Nicholas?” he asked carefully. She smiled knowingly. “Very much.” “And Nicholas?” She gave a small shrug. “That’s still unfolding.” Taki considered that, then nodded thoughtfully. “I think,” he said slowly, “it’s nice. Being nervous because you like someone.” She looked at him, surprised by how steadily he said it. “Yeah?” she asked. He nodded again. “It means your heart is… awake.” The simplicity of that statement made her breath catch for half a second. Her heart, inconveniently, chose that exact moment to prove his point. She cleared her throat lightly. “You’re getting very wise for someone who lived in a lake for eight months.” He smiled shyly. “I listen. A lot.” She believed that.

~~~

As they continued down the path, their shoulders brushed briefly this time. Neither of them moved away immediately. About thirty minutes later, they reached the small stretch of sandy beach by the lake. The cabin sat quietly in the background, partially hidden by trees, smoke from the chimney long gone. The water shimmered under the midday sun, tiny ripples dancing across its surface. “This is perfect,” (Y/n) said softly. She spread the blanket out over the warm sand, smoothing the corners while Taki carefully knelt beside the basket. His movements were almost ceremonial as he lifted the pie out, holding it with both hands like something sacred.

The closer it got to him, the stronger the sweet berry scent became. His nose twitched. His mouth visibly watered. She caught it and laughed. “You’re not even pretending to be subtle.” “I’m not subtle,” he replied honestly, eyes fixed on the pie. She sat down cross-legged, opening a soda and handing one to him. The soft hiss of carbonation filled the quiet beach. He examined the can curiously before copying the way she tilted it to drink. His eyes widened slightly. “It tickles,” he said, surprised. “That’s the point,” she grinned. Soon enough, they were both leaning over the pie tin, eating straight from it with their spoons. No plates. No formality. Just sun, soda, and warm berry pie.

“This might be the best thing you’ve made,” Taki declared after another bite. “Better than the cookies?” He paused dramatically, considering. “…Different category.” She burst into laughter. A sudden splash caught their attention. A bird dove sharply toward the lake, wings cutting through the air, only to emerge seconds later empty-beaked. They both watched as it circled and tried again. And failed. Again. And again. Taki leaned forward, invested. “It will get it this time.” The bird missed once more. (Y/n) laughed. “Determination.” The bird perched briefly on a rock, then launched itself again. Taki shook his head. “I respect the effort.” They fell into easy laughter, shoulders bumping lightly as they watched the stubborn creature refuse to give up.

After a few moments, Taki glanced at her. “Another story?” he asked. “About your friends. They all sound… very nice.” She smiled at the sincerity in his voice. “They are,” she said softly. She leaned back slightly on her hands, looking out over the lake as she thought. “Okay,” she began. “I’ll tell you about my first book release.” His attention sharpened immediately. “I was eighteen,” she said. “Barely an adult. I still don’t really know how it happened, how I got published so young. It feels like I blinked and suddenly I was standing in a bookstore with my name printed on the cover.” Her fingers tightened slightly around her soda can.

“Some people loved it,” she admitted. “And some people hated it.” Taki frowned faintly. “Hated it?” She shrugged lightly. “That’s how it works. When you create something and put it out into the world, not everyone will be kind.” The breeze shifted softly around them. “My brother was already living in another country back then,” she continued. “So he couldn’t be there. And my parents…” Her voice softened slightly. “They weren’t with us anymore.” Taki’s expression changed immediately, gentler, quieter. “So all I really had was my friends,” she said. She let out a small breath. “I didn’t even think they’d be able to come to the release party. Everyone was busy. I told myself it was fine. That I could handle it alone.”

Her lips curved faintly at the memory. “And then, in the middle of the event, someone shouted that my book sucked.” Taki stiffened instantly. “What?” She gave a small, humorless laugh. “Yeah. Said it sounded like it was written by a five-year-old.” Taki’s grip tightened around his spoon. “That’s mean.” “It was,” she agreed. “And I felt like the floor disappeared beneath me.” For a moment, the memory flickered across her face, that old, sharp sting. “I think I would’ve cried,” she admitted quietly. “Right there. In front of everyone.” She glanced at him, then smiled. “But then my friends stood up.” Taki blinked. “They stood up?” he repeated. “Yep. I hadn’t even seen them before they did. They pretended they didn’t know me,” she laughed. “They started shouting praise instead. Saying it was brilliant. That it made them cry. That they’d buy ten copies.” Taki’s eyes widened in delight. “They brought flowers,” she continued. “Big, dramatic bouquets. Like it was some movie scene. Completely over-the-top.”

She shook her head fondly. “And after the event, they dragged me out to this huge dinner. Ordered way too much food. Celebrated like I’d just won an award.” Her voice grew softer again. “I wouldn’t have made it through that night without Fuma and Euijoo.” Taki tilted his head slightly. “What about Nicholas?” She smiled faintly. “I hadn’t met him yet. That wouldn’t happen until about a year later.” Taki nodded thoughtfully. “You are lucky,” he said after a moment. “To have people who stand up for you.” She looked at him carefully. “Yes,” she agreed. “I am.”

The bird finally managed to catch a fish, emerging triumphantly from the lake. They both gasped at the same time. “It did it!” Taki exclaimed, pointing. (Y/n) laughed. “See? Determination pays off.” Taki watched the bird fly away with its prize. “…And support,” he added quietly. She looked at him again. Sunlight caught in his hair. Berry juice stained faintly at the corner of his mouth. His eyes were warm, thoughtful. Her chest tightened in that strange, gentle way again. Maybe the bird wasn’t the only one being stubborn. Maybe hearts, once they decide to try again, aren’t so easy to stop.

The sun had shifted noticeably now, golden light stretching longer across the sand. The warmth was softer, less intense, wrapping around them instead of pressing down. There were still hours of daylight left, but it felt like the day had already lived a full lifetime. (Y/n) traced small circles in the sand with the end of her spoon before glancing at Taki. “Can I ask you something?” He nodded immediately. “How… did you live? Before I got here, I mean.” He shrugged slightly, as if it wasn’t anything remarkable. “It’s not much,” he said. “There’s a small cave in the lake.” He lifted a hand and pointed toward the far end, near the forest line, where several large rocks rose from the water like natural platforms. (Y/n) followed his finger. Her eyes widened. “Those rocks?” He nodded. She stared at them in disbelief.

“This cabin has been in my family for generations,” she said slowly. “I’ve been swimming here since I was four. I used to jump off those exact rocks every summer.” She looked back at him, stunned. “And there’s a cave there?” He smiled faintly, almost amused at her shock. “Very tiny,” he explained. “Underneath. You can’t see it unless you dive down and go under the biggest rock.” Her mouth fell open slightly. “You’re telling me there’s been a secret cave there this entire time?” He laughed softly. “It’s not very impressive.” “It’s impressive to me,” she insisted. He shifted slightly on the blanket, brushing sand from his hands.

“It’s dry enough inside,” he continued. “Not big. But hidden. I needed somewhere to stay out of sight.” The last part was quieter. She looked at the rocks again. All those summers. All those childhood memories. And he had been there through winter. Alone. “After I was left here,” he added calmly, “I needed somewhere to hide.” The words settled heavily between them. (Y/n)’s chest tightened. She tried to imagine it, the first night he’d been abandoned. Cold. Confused. Searching for shelter. Finding that tiny hollow beneath familiar rocks she had once treated like playground equipment.

“I wish I had known,” she said softly. “You could’ve been in the cabin.” She meant it instinctively. Without thinking about logistics. Without thinking about rules. Before she could say more, he looked at her curiously. “How is it,” he asked, “living in the city?” The shift in topic caught her slightly off guard. She looked down at her hands, fingers loosely intertwined in her lap. The breeze lifted a strand of her hair. “It’s…” She paused, inhaling slowly. “Loud.” He tilted his head. “Not just sound,” she clarified. “Everything is loud. Cars. People. Expectations.”

She dug her fingers lightly into the blanket fabric. “There’s always something happening. Someone needing something. Someone watching. Judging.” She huffed softly. “I love my apartment. I worked hard for it. But sometimes it feels like the walls are closing in.” She glanced toward the trees. “I don’t hear myself think there. I don’t feel… quiet.” Taki listened carefully, eyes steady on her. “You feel quiet here,” he observed. She nodded. “Yeah. I do.” There was a small pause before he asked, “Do people hide there too?” The question surprised her. “In the city?” He nodded. She thought about it. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “Just differently.”

She met his gaze. “Some people hide in crowds. Some hide behind work. Some pretend they’re okay when they’re not.” He seemed to absorb that deeply. “And you?” he asked gently. The question landed softer than expected. She looked back down at her hands. “I think…” She hesitated. “I think I hid behind being busy. Behind success. Behind not letting anyone get too close.” The breeze shifted again, carrying the faint scent of lake water. “Because if you don’t let anyone close,” she continued quietly, “they can’t leave.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. Silence lingered. Not uncomfortable. Just honest.

Taki’s voice, when he spoke, was softer than before. “But you let me close.” Her breath caught slightly. She looked up at him. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t teasing. He was simply stating it, like an observation. And he was right. She had. In just a few days. Without even realizing when it happened. The sun dipped a little lower behind him, light outlining his silhouette in gold. “I guess I did,” she admitted quietly. And for the first time in a long time, the idea didn’t scare her as much as it should have.

The light had grown warmer by the time they packed up the blanket and basket, carrying everything back toward the cabin. The air felt heavier now, lazy in that late-afternoon way that made time slow down. As they stepped onto the porch, (Y/n) hesitated only briefly before unlocking the door. “You can come inside,” she said casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. “If you want.” Taki paused behind her. Inside. He shifted slightly, glancing past her into the cabin as if crossing the threshold required permission beyond words. “You’re sure?” he asked. She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. “I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.” He nodded slowly. “I’m not ready to say goodbye yet,” he admitted quietly. Her heart softened instantly at that. “Then don’t,” she replied. He stepped inside.

The cabin seemed to welcome him differently this time, not as a secret visitor slipping in at night, but as someone invited. (Y/n) set the basket down in the kitchen before turning to him. “I need to work on my book for a bit,” she explained. “Deadline anxiety and all that.” He blinked. “Deadline?” “It means I promised my editor I wouldn’t disappear into the woods forever,” she said lightly. He nodded as if that made perfect sense. “But,” she added, gesturing toward the living room, “you can lie on the couch. Watch a movie. Relax.” He froze. “On… the couch?” “Yes.” He looked at it like it might bite him. “My previous owner didn’t allow me on the furniture,” he said carefully. The words were matter-of-fact, but they landed heavy. Her expression softened immediately. “Are you sure?” he asked again. She walked over and gently pressed a hand to the back of the couch. “Taki. It’s furniture. It’s meant to be used. Of course you can.”

He studied her face for any sign of hesitation. There was none. Slowly, he stepped closer. She retrieved her laptop and settled into the armchair across from the couch, tucking one leg beneath her. “Go on,” she encouraged, gesturing to the cushions. He sat down cautiously at first, barely putting weight on it. And then his eyes widened. It was soft. Not damp stone. Not cold rock. Not the uneven floor of a cave. Soft. He shifted slightly, testing it, then leaned back more fully, the cushions dipping beneath him. He let out the smallest, quietest exhale of disbelief. (Y/n) noticed but didn’t comment, just smiled faintly and grabbed the remote. She helped him scroll through movies, explaining genres, laughing when he asked if “romantic comedy” meant people fought in funny ways. Eventually, they settled on something light and easy. “Call me if you need anything,” she said gently before opening her laptop.

Once she put her hands to the keyboard, the words came. Faster than ever. Her fingers moved over the keyboard like she was trying to catch up with her own thoughts. Sentences formed before she could fully process them. Dialogue spilled onto the page. Entire scenes unfolded in vivid clarity. She barely blinked. Across the room, Taki tried to focus on the movie. He really did. But his attention kept drifting. To her.

The way the late-afternoon sun filtered through the windows, painting her skin in a golden hue. The way her brows furrowed slightly when she concentrated. The way her lips moved sometimes, silently shaping words as if she were testing dialogue out loud without sound. And the smiles. Every so often, she’d pause, reread something, and a small, satisfied smile would appear, soft and proud. His chest tightened in a way he didn’t fully understand. She looked alive when she wrote. Not just happy. Alive. He had almost forgotten what it looked like when someone was doing something they loved.

He shifted slightly on the couch, sinking deeper into the cushions. It was still astonishingly soft. Even with the blanket she had given him, the cave had been cold. Hard. Damp. Every night he had curled against stone, listening to water echo against the walls. Here, the couch supported him gently. Warm. Safe. He stretched slightly, careful not to make noise. His gaze drifted back to her. Her fingers were still flying across the keyboard. For a moment, he wondered if she even remembered he was there. And then, without looking up, she said softly, “I’m glad you came inside.” He blinked. “You knew I was watching?” he asked. A small smile tugged at her lips as she continued typing. “I can feel it.”

His ears flushed faintly. He leaned back again, letting himself relax fully this time. For the first time in months, he wasn’t hiding. He wasn’t bracing. He was simply… there. And somehow, that felt even softer than the couch beneath him. The rhythm of the cabin settled into something steady and soft. (Y/n)’s fingers continued dancing over the keyboard, the sharp but gentle tapping filling the space between the quieter sounds, wind brushing against the trees, distant birds calling to one another, the faint hush of water folding over itself at the shore.

Taki had finally turned his attention to the movie, genuinely trying to follow the plot. He found it interesting enough, humans seemed to complicate their own lives in fascinating ways, but what truly held him wasn’t the screen. It was everything else. The warmth of the couch beneath him. The way the cushions molded around his shoulders instead of pressing painfully against bone. The scent of the cabin, wood, sunlight, and something distinctly her. Sweet, clean, comforting. It clung gently to the air like it belonged there. A faint trace of leftover pie lingered from the kitchen, sugar and fruit and baked crust. Outside, a breeze whispered through the trees. A bird swooped low over the lake. A small wave rolled lazily onto the sand. And beneath it all, the steady, rhythmic tapping of keys. Not harsh. Not intrusive. Consistent. Safe. It blended together into something almost musical. A lullaby built from ordinary things. Taki’s eyelids began to grow heavy. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He only meant to rest them for a moment. His body, however, seemed to make the decision for him. The couch rocked him gently in its own still way. The air was warm. His stomach was full. He wasn’t bracing against cold stone. He wasn’t listening for danger. He was simply… comfortable. His breathing slowed. His head tilted slightly toward the armchair where she sat. And quietly, softly, he fell asleep.

~~~

About thirty minutes later, (Y/n) paused mid-sentence, stretching her fingers before glancing up from her screen. The movie was still playing. But the room felt… quieter. She looked toward the couch. Taki was curled slightly on his side, head turned in her direction, one arm tucked beneath the pillow. His chest rose and fell in slow, even motions. A faint, almost adorable snore escaped him. Her expression softened instantly. He must have been exhausted. Living in a cave. Sleeping on damp rock. Constantly alert. Of course he would crash the moment he felt safe. Carefully, she closed her laptop halfway to dim the light and stood, moving quietly across the wooden floor. She retrieved a blanket from the hallway closet and draped it gently over him, tucking it slightly around his shoulders without waking him. He shifted faintly but didn’t stir. For a moment, she simply stood there, watching him. He looked younger when he slept. Less guarded. Less sharp around the edges. Just… peaceful. Her chest tightened with something protective.

After a second, she stepped into the kitchen and pulled out her phone. She opened her messages and texted Fuma. “Hey. When you come over tomorrow, can you bring groceries? A lot of fish. And maybe some shellfish? And anything else you think an otter hybrid would like.” She hit send. The quiet of the cabin returned. (Y/n) glanced back toward the couch one more time. He was still asleep, breathing steady, face turned toward her like even in rest he wanted to make sure she was still there. She smiled gently. And for the first time in a long while, the cabin didn’t feel lonely at all.

~~~

A while later, the credits rolled quietly across the television screen, soft music filling the living room. Taki didn’t move. Still curled on his side. Still facing her. Still asleep. (Y/n) glanced at the time on her laptop and blinked. Three chapters. She scrolled back up just to make sure she hadn’t imagined it. Three full chapters. Clean. Structured. Alive. A small, disbelieving laugh escaped her. “Okay… what is happening to me?” She closed the document before she could start second-guessing it and leaned back in the armchair, stretching her arms above her head. The sky outside had shifted into deeper shades of orange and pink. Night was beginning its slow approach.

She looked at Taki again. Still sleeping. Peaceful. She lowered the laptop screen fully and stood, moving carefully so the floorboards wouldn’t creak too loudly. Once she confirmed he hadn’t stirred, she stepped toward the balcony door. The lake was painted gold and rose under the sinking sun. She slid the door open quietly, stepped outside, and gently closed it behind her. The evening air was cooler now. She pulled out her phone and dialed Euijoo. He picked up almost instantly.

“Hey,” he said. “How’s life at the ancient haunted cabin?” She snorted. “It’s not haunted.” “Debatable.” “I’m good,” she replied, leaning against the railing. “Actually… better than good.” There was a pause. “Oh?” he said, tone sharpening with curiosity. “Why do you sound like that?” She sighed, laughing under her breath. “I’ve had some… unexpected company.” “Unexpected how?” She hesitated only briefly. And then she told him. About the lake. The cave. About Taki. She explained the pie, the movie, the couch. The way he’d fallen asleep like someone who hadn’t properly rested in years. As she finished with, “And now he’s passed out on my couch like he pays rent,” there was silence on the other end.

Then Euijoo hummed. “That sounds,” he said slowly, “like you’re getting attached.” (Y/n)’s gaze drifted back through the glass door. She could see him from where she stood. The blanket rising and falling with his breathing. Her chest tightened. She exhaled softly. “I’m afraid I am.” The words felt heavier out loud. Euijoo didn’t tease her immediately, which somehow made it worse. She quickly shifted topics.

“So. Did you ask Nicholas?” There it was, the reaction. A dramatic groan. “Yes.” “And?” “And,” he said, clearly trying to sound casual and failing spectacularly, “he agreed to go with me to the shelter.” (Y/n) straightened, grinning. “Oh my god.” “It’s not a big deal.” “It’s absolutely a big deal.” “It’s just looking for a hybrid to adopt.” “With Nicholas.” Silence. She smirked. “You know, it’s amazing. I can hear it.” “Hear what?” “The lovesick smile on your lips.” “I am not…” “And the adorable blush on your cheeks.” “I am not blushing!” “You are so blushing.” He scoffed. “I hate you.” “You love me.” A pause. “…Unfortunately.”

She laughed softly, the sound carried away slightly by the evening breeze. “Seriously,” she added more gently, “I’m glad he said yes.” Euijoo’s voice softened. “Me too.” They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, listening to each other breathe, the kind of quiet only long friendships could hold. “You sound happy,” he said after a while. She looked back inside once more. At the couch. At the blanket she had tucked around him. At the faint glow of the living room lamp warming the space. “I think I am,” she admitted.

Euijoo cleared his throat after she finished teasing him. “Okay, but serious question,” he said. “Is Fuma coming soon, or do I need to drive up there and make sure you’re not surviving on crackers and lake water?” She laughed, leaning her elbows on the balcony railing. “Relax. Fuma’s coming tomorrow. You don’t have to rescue me.” “I don’t trust that tone.” “You don’t have to worry about me,” she said lightly. “You can focus on you and Nicholas.” A dramatic groan echoed through the phone. “If you don’t stop teasing,” Euijoo warned, “I’m puncturing Fuma’s car tire.” She burst out laughing. “That wouldn’t even stop him.”

There was a pause, then Euijoo laughed too. “…You’re right. It definitely wouldn’t. He’d just walk over with ten grocery bags hanging off his arms like some kind of determined pack mule.” “Exactly.” “And he’d complain the whole way but still show up.” “Exactly,” she repeated with a grin. They both fell into easy laughter, the kind that came from years of knowing each other too well. Finally, the teasing settled. “I love you,” Euijoo said, softer now. Her smile gentled. “I love you too. Good luck tomorrow.” “You too. With… your mysterious lake guest.” She rolled her eyes affectionately. “Bye, Euijoo.” “Bye.” The call ended.

For a moment, she stayed on the balcony, watching the sky deepen into violet-blue. The first stars were beginning to peek through. Then she exhaled and slid the door shut behind her. Dinner. That seemed like the next logical step. She had just turned toward the kitchen when, movement. Taki jolted upright on the couch, breathing slightly faster, eyes scanning the room in alert confusion. He looked almost startled, like he’d forgotten where he was. Her heart softened instantly. “It’s okay,” she said gently, stepping closer. “You’re still in the cabin.” His gaze found her. The tension left his shoulders almost immediately. “Oh,” he murmured. His breathing slowed. She smiled. “Sorry if I woke you.” “You didn’t,” he said, rubbing his eyes lightly. “I just… thought I was back in the cave for a second.”

There it was again, that quiet reminder of what his normal had been. She stepped a little closer, keeping her voice warm. “I was just about to make dinner,” she said. “Are you hungry?” He blinked at her, then nodded. A small, slightly sheepish smile appeared on his face. “Yes.” She laughed softly. “Good. Because I think I still have some fish in the freezer.” His eyes lit up immediately. “Fish?” “Yes, fish.” He shifted forward on the couch, blanket falling around his waist as he sat straighter, suddenly fully awake. “That sounds perfect,” he said.

And the way he said it, simple, honest, happy, made her chest feel unexpectedly full. “Then perfect it is,” she replied, heading toward the kitchen. Behind her, she could hear him standing, the soft padding of his steps following. The cabin, once quiet and lonely at nightfall, now carried the gentle promise of shared dinner and soft conversation. And somehow, that changed everything.

That night, Taki didn’t return to the cave. He stood near the door for a while after dinner, glancing between the darkening lake and the living room couch, as if weighing something invisible. “You don’t have to go back,” (Y/n) said gently. He hesitated. “I’m not ready for a bed.” She smiled softly. “The couch is perfectly fine.” So he stayed. He curled up on the couch again, the same blanket tucked around him. Not too close to the hallway. Not too far from her bedroom door. Close enough to hear movement. Close enough to feel… secure.

Before she turned in for the night, she paused beside him. “Fuma’s coming tomorrow,” she reminded him. “Just, a reminder.” Taki nodded, more composed than the night before. “I’m ready.” She studied him for a second, making sure he truly meant it. “I think you’ll like him,” she said. “I’ll try,” he replied earnestly. That was enough. “Goodnight, Taki.” “Goodnight.”

~~~

Morning came softer than expected. Sunlight filtered through the windows, pale gold and gentle. The lake shimmered quietly outside. (Y/n) reached for her phone before even getting out of bed. A message from Fuma. “Found some clothes that should fit. Heading out soon for groceries. Should be at the cabin around lunch. I expect coffee.” She snorted. Of course he did. She typed back quickly. “Coffee will be waiting, your highness.” Then she rolled out of bed and padded toward the living room. She expected to find Taki still asleep. Instead, he was sitting upright on the couch. Reading. One of her books rested carefully in his hands, pages held with surprising delicacy. His posture was straight, focused, completely absorbed. She stopped in the doorway for a moment. She had forgotten she kept extra copies here. He must have found them on the small bookshelf near the fireplace.

As if sensing her presence, he looked up. The moment their eyes met, his ears flattened instinctively against his head. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, sitting up straighter. “I didn’t mean to take it. I just saw your name and, I thought maybe it was yours, and I wanted to see, I can put it back.” The apology tumbled out all at once. She blinked. Then smiled. “I’m not angry,” she assured him. His shoulders eased slightly. “I just forgot I even had copies here,” she admitted. “You can help yourself to any book in the cabin.” He looked down at the cover again. “You wrote this?” “Yes, that’s my second book.” He turned it over carefully, studying her name printed across it like it was something sacred. “It’s good,” he said quietly. “I like how the main character doesn’t talk much but still says everything.” Her breath caught for a second. “That’s… very specific.” He nodded, eyes flicking back to the page. “You can tell what she’s feeling even when she doesn’t say it.”

She hadn’t expected that kind of observation before breakfast. “That means a lot,” she said softly. His ears lifted a little from their flattened position. “I didn’t know you were…” He hesitated. “Important.” She laughed lightly. “I’m not that important.” “You are,” he said simply. No teasing. No exaggeration. Just certainty. She felt warmth creep up her neck and quickly turned toward the kitchen. “Coffee?” she asked. He nodded, setting the book down carefully on the coffee table, not bending the spine, not folding a corner. “I’ll finish it later,” he said, almost shyly. “You have time,” she replied. “We’ve got all morning before Fuma arrives.” The cabin felt different in daylight. Less like a place she escaped to. More like something slowly becoming shared.

Breakfast was simple. Toast. Fruit. Leftover pie that they both pretended counted as a responsible morning decision. Taki listened while she talked lightly about plot twists and stubborn characters. He didn’t understand everything about publishing, editors, or deadlines, but he understood the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about stories. After eating, she returned to her laptop with determined focus. “One more chapter before lunch,” she declared. Taki nodded solemnly, as if she had just announced a heroic quest. He picked up the book again, her book, holding it carefully against his chest before stepping outside.

The dock creaked softly under his weight as he sat down at the edge, lowering his legs into the cool lake water. The chill wrapped around his calves instantly. He exhaled. He had missed this. The gentle sway. The subtle pull of water around his skin. The way the surface shimmered and distorted the sky. For a moment, he simply sat there, eyes closed, letting the lake greet him. Then he opened the book and began reading again. He handled it with reverence, turning each page slowly, carefully, fingertips barely brushing the corners. As if the paper itself might bruise.

Inside, (Y/n)’s fingers moved steadily over the keyboard. The words came easier now. Maybe it was the quiet. Maybe it was the steady presence of someone just outside. Maybe it was knowing she wasn’t alone. Two hours passed before she finally leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “Done,” she murmured. She stood, stretching, and headed for the kitchen. Coffee. Fuma would be arriving soon, she could feel it in her bones. He had a habit of showing up exactly when he said he would. As the machine hummed to life, she glanced out the window toward the dock. Her chest softened at the sight.

Taki sat with his legs in the water, completely immersed in the book. His posture was relaxed, but attentive. Every so often, he would pause, brow furrowing slightly at a line, then soften again as he continued. He turned each page with extraordinary care. Like the book mattered. Like it was something living. She smiled to herself. Just as the coffee finished dripping, a familiar engine sound rolled into the driveway. Right on time. She poured a generous cup, the steam curling upward, then stepped onto the front porch.

Fuma’s car pulled in beside hers. The door opened, and he stepped out, tall, slightly dramatic even in the way he shut the car door, grocery bags already visible in the backseat. She waved brightly. He waved back immediately. “You better have my coffee!” he called out before he’d even fully closed the door. She held up the cup in response. “As requested.” Out on the dock, Taki had looked up at the unfamiliar sound. His body went still. He watched as the man approached the cabin, confident stride, familiar smile exchanged between him and (Y/n).

A small flicker of nervousness tightened in Taki’s chest. This must be Fuma. The friend. He studied him carefully. There was no tension in (Y/n)’s posture. No guarded tone. Just warmth. And Fuma’s expression when he looked at her held nothing sharp, only fondness and ease. Taki swallowed lightly. If someone as kind as her trusted him… Then maybe he wasn’t someone to fear. Still, he stayed seated on the dock for a moment longer, fingers resting on the open page, heart beating just a little faster as he prepared to meet the next piece of her world.

(Y/n) stepped onto the porch again and called toward the dock. “Taki! We’re just going to put the groceries away, then come say hi, okay?” From the water’s edge came a slightly strained, “Okay!” She exchanged a quick glance with Fuma. “Nervous?” he asked quietly. “A little,” she admitted. “Be gentle.” Fuma gave her an exaggerated offended look. “When am I not?” She raised an eyebrow. “…Don’t answer that,” he muttered, grabbing the grocery bags from the backseat. They carried everything inside together, fish, shellfish, vegetables, rice, snacks. Fuma had clearly taken the list very seriously. At one point, she blinked into the trunk.

“Is that a replacement plank for the dock?” “You said one of them needed fixing, I figured I’d just replace it,” he replied casually. “And save you a future accident.” She stared at him for a second, then shook her head, smiling. They stocked the fridge and freezer, filling the space more than it had been in months. When everything was put away, Fuma took a long, dramatic sip of his coffee. He closed his eyes. “Perfect,” he declared. “Exactly how I like it.” (Y/n) laughed. “You’re ridiculous.” “And yet correct.” She nudged him toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go meet Taki.” Fuma straightened slightly, nodding once. “Lead the way.”

~~~

Out on the dock, Taki had stood up the moment he saw them approaching. He inhaled deeply. His hands were trembling. He curled his fingers into loose fists to hide it, but it didn’t help much. Fuma noticed immediately. Of course he did. Just a few steps from the dock, Fuma slowed. Then he stopped entirely, leaving a comfortable distance between them instead of walking straight into Taki’s space. He kept his posture relaxed. Shoulders loose. Hands visible. “Hi,” he said simply.

His smile was soft. Unthreatening. Taki swallowed. “Hi,” he replied, voice quieter than usual. Up close, the size difference was obvious. Fuma was taller. Broader shoulders. Stronger build. If he wanted to be intimidating, he absolutely could be. Taki’s instincts registered that immediately, potential threat. But his other senses contradicted it. Fuma’s scent wasn’t sharp or aggressive. It carried coffee, fabric softener, and something faintly citrus. His eyes held no calculation. No judgment. Just curiosity. Warmth. And something else. He hesitated only a second longer.

Then, gathering the courage he’d been building for the last few minutes, he stepped forward slightly and extended his hand. An offering. A choice. Fuma’s smile widened, not triumphant, not amused. Just… pleased. He took one careful step closer, slow enough for Taki to pull back if he wanted. Then he gently took his hand. His grip was firm enough to feel real, but careful. Controlled. He gave it one respectful shake. “It’s really nice to meet you, Taki,” Fuma said sincerely. Taki blinked. No hidden tone. No forced politeness. Just… genuine. “It’s nice to meet you too,” he answered.

Behind them, (Y/n) released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The tension in Taki’s shoulders eased slightly. Not gone. But less sharp. Fuma released his hand without lingering and stepped back again, restoring the space intentionally. “I brought a ridiculous amount of fish,” Fuma added casually. “I was told that would be appreciated.” Taki’s ears twitched upward slightly. “You did?” “Oh yes. Enough to start a small seafood market.” A faint, tentative smile appeared on Taki’s face. “That… sounds good.” Fuma grinned. “Good. Because I am not driving it all back.” (Y/n) laughed, the sound light and relieved. And standing there on the dock, lake shimmering behind them, something subtle shifted. Not trust, fully. Not yet. But the first layer of it. And sometimes, that was enough to begin.

Fuma stretched his arms over his head, glancing at the lake like it had personally offended him by existing without being swum in. “So,” he said casually, turning to (Y/n), “do you have an hour or two you can spare from your literary genius schedule?” She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Maybe. Why?” “Because,” he replied, already grinning, “I brought my swimming trunks. And I fully intend to use them.” Her face lit up instantly. “You planned this?” “Obviously. It’s been forever since we swam here.” She hesitated only a second before nodding. “Yeah. I can take a break.” Fuma clapped his hands once. “Excellent.”

Taki, who had been standing quietly beside them, felt something warm settle in his chest as he listened to them banter. Their laughter was easy. Natural. No sharp edges. Fuma turned to him. “What about you?” he asked gently. “Want to join us?” Taki blinked. He hadn’t expected to be asked so naturally. He nodded. “Yes.” (Y/n) smiled brightly. “We’ll be right back. And we’ll bring soda.” At that, Taki’s ears perked slightly. Soda. He had discovered it only yesterday, the fizz, the sweetness, the way it made his nose tingle. He nodded again, this time with more enthusiasm. “I’ll wait here.”

~~~

Inside, (Y/n) and Fuma moved quickly, laughing as they rummaged through drawers and bags. “You didn’t tell me he was that cute,” Fuma whispered dramatically while pulling on his shirt. “Stop,” she hissed, throwing a towel at him. “I’m just saying.” “Focus.” They changed into their swimwear, grabbed three towels and three sodas from the fridge, and headed back out. Taki was sitting at the edge of the dock again, legs in the water, sunlight catching faintly in his hair. When they approached, (Y/n) held out the sodas. “You get first pick.” He looked between them carefully, examining the labels. His eyes landed on one. “Strawberry.” She handed it to him. He opened it carefully this time, prepared for the fizz, and smiled when it only tickled instead of startling him.

“Ready?” Fuma asked, already bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. (Y/n) didn’t answer. She just grabbed his wrist. “Three,” “Hey!” “Two,” “Taki, count with me!” “One!” They jumped. Water swallowed them in a rush of cool clarity. Taki surfaced almost instantly, sleek and effortless in the lake. The water embraced him like it belonged to him. Fuma came up next, sputtering dramatically. “It’s colder than I remember!” “It’s not!” (Y/n) laughed, splashing him. Taki blinked at the scene, then, slowly, a grin spread across his face. Fuma turned toward him with mock seriousness. “Race you to the buoy.” Taki tilted his head. “Are you sure?” “Absolutely.” They took off.

For about three seconds, it looked almost competitive. Then Taki surged ahead with natural ease, cutting through the water smoothly, barely making a splash. Fuma flailed behind him. “Okay, this is unfair! You’re literally built for this!” Taki reached the buoy and turned back, trying, and failing, to hide his smile. “You said race.” (Y/n) burst out laughing, floating on her back nearby. Fuma swam up, shaking water from his hair. “Rematch. On land. Where I have a chance.” “No,” Taki replied immediately, and the fact that he answered so quickly made them both laugh. The tension that had hovered earlier was gone. Completely. Fuma splashed water toward Taki. Taki splashed back.

Soon all three of them were laughing, water flying everywhere, mock protests and exaggerated accusations filling the air. They dove beneath the surface. Floated lazily on their backs. Raced again, with the same result. At one point, Fuma dramatically pretended to drown just to make (Y/n) shriek before he popped back up laughing. Taki watched them, then joined in, splashing Fuma square in the face when he least expected it. And when Fuma laughed instead of retaliating harshly, something solidified quietly inside Taki. This wasn’t a threat. This wasn’t someone waiting for weakness. This was… safe. The sun glinted across the lake’s surface, their laughter echoing across the water. And for the first time in a very long time, Taki wasn’t thinking about hiding. He was thinking about winning the next race.

They stayed in the water until their arms felt heavy and their laughter turned breathless. When they finally climbed back onto the dock, water dripping from their hair and clothes, the world felt warmer somehow, lighter. (Y/n) reached for her towel first, squeezing water from her hair. Fuma stretched dramatically. “I demand a rematch next time. With flippers. Or a boat. Something that gives me a fighting chance.” Taki smiled faintly as he stepped toward where he had left the book. And then he froze.

The pages were swollen. The cover warped. Water dripped from the bottom edge, pooling onto the wood beneath it. The book looked like it had been dunked straight into the lake. His ears flattened instantly against his head. His tail stilled completely. His breathing went shallow. Oh. He must have left it too close to the edge. Or maybe when they jumped, it ruined the book. His chest tightened. (Y/n) noticed the silence and followed his gaze. She stepped closer, picking up the book gently. Water dripped from the pages as she turned it over once, examining the damage. “Well,” she said after a moment, “there’s no saving this one.” Taki’s heart dropped. “I,” he tried. The words stuck. His throat felt tight. “I’m so,” He couldn’t even finish it. She looked up at him, and her expression wasn’t sharp. Wasn’t disappointed. Just mildly resigned, and maybe a little amused. She shook her head softly. “It’s not your fault.”

He blinked. “If anything, it’s mine,” she continued. “I’m the one who grabbed Fuma and jumped without thinking. It probably splashed the dock.” Taki stared at her. “I’m just sorry you won’t get to read the ending now,” she added with a small smile. “That part’s actually good.” He swallowed. “You’re… not angry?” he asked carefully. The question felt fragile. She shook her head again, more firmly this time. “No.” Fuma stepped in beside her, drying his hair with his towel. “She’d never blame you for this,” he said easily. “You didn’t mean to do it. It was an accident.” He shrugged. “That’s different.” Taki looked between them. Different. He understood the words. He understood the logic. Accident versus intention. But his body hadn’t caught up yet. His ears slowly lifted, just a little. “You’re sure?” he asked quietly. (Y/n) reached out and gently nudged his shoulder with hers. “I promise.” There was no hesitation in her voice. No hidden frustration. Just truth. Something in his chest loosened, cautiously. He nodded slowly.

Fuma clapped his hands together lightly, shifting the mood on purpose. “Alright! While you two recover from your tragic literary loss, I’m going to replace that plank before one of you falls through it dramatically.” He pointed to the slightly warped board near the edge of the dock. (Y/n) laughed. “You’re doing manual labor on vacation?” “Of course,” he replied. “I have a reputation as the responsible one to maintain.” She snorted. “Responsible? You?”

“Yes. Me. And then, we can cook dinner together,” She folded her arms. “By ‘we’ll cook dinner together,’ you mean I cook and you look pretty, right?” Fuma grinned immediately. “You know it.” Taki let out a small, genuine chuckle. They really did know each other well. There was an ease between them that didn’t require explanation. Teasing without cruelty. Help without expectation of repayment. It was… steady. Predictable in the best way.

Fuma went to grab the new plank from his car, already assessing the dock with focused eyes as he passed it. (Y/n) wrung out the ruined book one last time and sighed lightly. “Guess I’ll have to sign you another copy.” Taki blinked. “You would?” “Of course,” she said simply. “Maybe keep that one away from the lake.” A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Yes,” he agreed softly. “That sounds wise.” As Fuma returned and knelt to start working, humming under his breath, and (Y/n) gathered the towels, Taki stood there for a moment, watching them. No yelling. No punishment. No cold silence. Just… acceptance. He wasn’t sure he fully believed it yet. But he wanted to.

Taki stayed on the dock while Fuma worked. He didn’t drift away. Didn’t retreat back to the water. He stayed. Fuma could’ve replaced the plank alone in half the time, but he didn’t say that. Instead, he handed Taki the small box of screws. “Hold these for me?” Taki nodded immediately. He crouched beside him, watching intently. Fuma’s movements were steady and confident, measuring twice, adjusting the plank carefully, aligning it just right before drilling. He handled the tools with ease, but not carelessly.

Every time he needed a screw, he’d hold out his hand without looking. And every time, Taki placed one into his palm. Precise. Focused. He watched everything, the way Fuma braced the wood, the angle of the drill, the quiet hum of the machine as it bit into the plank. Every now and then, Taki’s gaze flicked toward the cabin. Through the open window, he could hear the soft, rhythmic tapping of keys. (Y/n) was writing again. The sound had already become familiar. Comforting. He looked back at Fuma.

“Can you tell me a story about her?” Taki asked quietly. Fuma paused mid-motion, glancing up with a small smile. “Oh?” he said. “Has she been telling stories about us?” Taki nodded. “About you. And Euijoo.” Fuma’s grin widened. “Did she tell you about the first time Euijoo met Nicholas?” Taki smiled faintly and nodded again. Fuma laughed under his breath. “Of course she did.” He secured another screw before settling back slightly on his heels. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll tell you one about her.” Taki leaned in just slightly, attentive.

“When I opened my dance studio,” Fuma began, “I was struggling. Badly.” He didn’t say it dramatically. Just honestly. “I’d taken a huge risk. Used all my savings. Signed a lease. Bought mirrors, sound equipment… everything.” He shrugged lightly. “But no students means no income.” Taki listened carefully. “I was close to giving up,” Fuma admitted. “I didn’t say that to her, of course. She was still in high school. She had enough on her plate.” He reached for another screw, and Taki placed it into his hand without being asked. “But she noticed,” Fuma continued. “She always notices.” Taki glanced toward the cabin again. Yeah. That sounded right. “She started making posters,” Fuma said. “Designed them herself. Printed them out. Put them up at school. At cafés. On bulletin boards.”

He chuckled. “It didn’t work.” Taki blinked. “It didn’t?” “Nope. Zero response, no one wants to take a chance on something completely new.” Fuma tightened another screw. “So,” he continued, grin creeping back, “she changed strategy.” Taki tilted his head. “She put my picture on the posters.” There was a pause. “…Why?” Taki asked. Fuma raised an eyebrow playfully. “Because, apparently, I’m ‘good-looking.’ Her words.” Taki studied him briefly. That was… objectively accurate. “And suddenly,” Fuma went on, “I had girls, and a few guys, signing up left and right.” Taki’s ears lifted slightly. “They came because of your face?” “Tragic, I know,” Fuma sighed dramatically. “But yes.” He shook his head fondly. “Once they joined, though, they stayed because they actually liked dancing. Word spread. Slowly, I got a handful of real students.”

He glanced toward the cabin, where the soft tapping of keys continued. “And then,” he added more quietly, “she published her first book.” Taki’s attention sharpened. “She based one of the characters on me,” Fuma said. “A dancer chasing a dream. And in interviews, she mentioned the studio. Said which one inspired her.” Taki’s eyes widened slightly. “What happened?” he asked. Fuma smiled. “My studio filled up, to this day, I have more applicants than I could ever have time for.” Not exaggerated. Not boastful. Just fact. “Students came because they loved her book,” he explained. “Because they wanted to see where that inspiration came from.”

He leaned back, examining the finished plank. “She never asked for anything in return,” he added. “She just wanted me to succeed.” Taki looked toward the cabin again. The steady sound of her typing floated across the water. “She does that,” Fuma said gently, following his gaze. “She’ll push for everyone else long before she pushes for herself.” Taki’s fingers tightened slightly around the remaining screws. “She told me about the first book release,” he said quietly. “How her friends, you, stood up for her.” Fuma nodded once. “We always will.” There was no hesitation in his voice. No doubt. Just certainty. Taki absorbed that slowly.

The way they spoke about her. The way she spoke about them. It wasn’t obligation. It wasn’t convenience. It was… chosen. Fuma stood, brushing sawdust from his hands. “Plank’s done,” he said. “Solid as ever.” Taki looked at the repaired dock, then back at Fuma. “You’re lucky,” Taki said before he could stop himself. Fuma tilted his head. “Lucky?” “To have her,” Taki clarified. Fuma’s expression softened. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.” He glanced toward the cabin one more time. “But she’s lucky too,” he added. “She just forgets that sometimes.” Taki followed his gaze.

~~~

The cabin filled with warmth as evening settled in. The smell of sautéed garlic and vegetables drifted through the air, mixing with the faint scent of lake water that still clung to their skin. At the small table near the fireplace, Fuma and Taki sat cross-legged on the floor with a board game spread between them. The rules were half-understood at best. “That is absolutely not how that piece moves,” Fuma protested. “It said diagonal,” Taki argued, squinting at the instructions. “It did not say unlimited diagonal!” “You didn’t read it properly.” “I did read it properly!” “You skipped three lines.” Fuma gasped dramatically. “Betrayal.”

From the kitchen, (Y/n) smiled to herself as she sliced carrots. They weren’t very good at the game. But they were having fun. And Taki was laughing. Not the small, hesitant exhale she’d heard before. Not the quiet, careful chuckle. A real laugh. Bright. Unrestrained. Alive. She reached for a tomato. Her thoughts caught up to her. I’ll help you find a home. She had said that. Promised it, even. She stared at the tomato in her hand. A real home. Not a cave. Not temporary safety. Something stable. She lowered the knife slowly. The idea of sending him away pressed painfully against her chest. Her throat tightened. Her eyes burned unexpectedly. She wanted him here. In the cabin. On the couch. On the dock with his legs in the water. She wanted to hear that laugh again tomorrow. And the day after.

But her life wasn’t still. Her work meant travel. Book tours. Panels. Events. Sometimes across the country. Sometimes across the world. Weeks away. Months, occasionally. She couldn’t bring him along everywhere. Not easily. Not safely. He deserved stability. Routine. A home that didn’t disappear the moment she boarded a plane. He deserved laughter every day. Warm meals. People who were there. Her grip tightened slightly around the tomato. Could she be that? Could she really?

From the living room, another burst of laughter. “Ha! I win!” Taki declared triumphantly. “That was pure luck!” Fuma shot back. “You said that last time.” “Because it was!” (Y/n)’s lips curved faintly despite the ache building behind her ribs. She peeked around the corner. Taki’s eyes were bright. His shoulders relaxed. No tension in his posture. No fear in his expression. He looked… lively. Happy. He deserved that. He deserved to feel alive. Her vision blurred slightly. She quickly blinked the moisture away. Not now. Not tonight. Tonight there was food cooking. Friends in the living room. Laughter echoing through wood-paneled walls. She picked the knife back up. Carefully. Steadily. And began slicing the tomato again. For now, she would push the sadness aside. For now, she would let herself enjoy this, the noise, the warmth, the shared space. The way the cabin no longer felt empty. Tomorrow could carry its own weight. Tonight, she chose the sound of his laughter.

Was the food was finished, they brought it out to the balcony. Dinner tasted better outside. The balcony overlooked the lake, now painted in soft purples and deepening blues as evening settled in properly. They sat close enough that their shoulders occasionally brushed. Fuma took an exaggeratedly satisfied bite of his food. “See? This is why I drive all the way out here. Free meals.” “You bring groceries,” (Y/n) replied dryly. “You earn your plate.” He pointed his fork at her. “Exactly.” After another bite, he leaned back slightly. “Oh, before I forget. I still have a couple bags in the car. Need to grab them before I head back.” (Y/n) glanced at him. “What bags?” “The clothes.” “Ah,” Taki paused mid-bite. “Clothes?” he echoed quietly. (Y/n) smiled gently. “I asked Fuma to see if he had anything that might fit you. So you don’t have to keep wearing the same shirt and pants.”

Taki looked down at his plate. The food blurred slightly in his vision. Clothes. For him. He swallowed. They were so kind. So… effortlessly kind. He had never had someone think ahead like that. Not about comfort. Not about something so simple and ordinary. His chest tightened. He never wanted to leave this balcony. This cabin. Them. But somewhere beneath the warmth was the quiet knowledge that he couldn’t stay forever. He didn’t belong here permanently. He was just… passing through. “Thank you,” he said softly. The words were sincere. Weighted.

(Y/n) glanced at him at the tone, softer than expected. Sadder. She met Fuma’s eyes. He noticed it too. The way Taki’s shoulders dipped slightly. The way his gratitude carried something heavier underneath. And then Fuma noticed something else. The way (Y/n) was looking at Taki. The way Taki kept glancing back at her when he thought she wasn’t watching. It was subtle. Gentle. But unmistakable. The same looks she and Fuma had mercilessly teased Euijoo about when he talked about Nicholas. Except this time, (Y/n) didn’t seem aware of it. Not yet. Fuma hid a small smile behind his glass. Interesting. Very interesting. But he said nothing. Instead, he leaned forward, nudging the mood lighter.

“By the way,” he said, pointing between himself and Taki, “we need a rematch sometime. I refuse to accept that I lost three times.” “You didn’t read the instructions,” Taki replied calmly. “I skimmed.” “That’s not reading.” “It is selective reading.” (Y/n) laughed, the sound soft and bright in the night air. “You two were terrible,” she informed them. “Rude,” Fuma said. “Accurate,” Taki countered. They dissolved into easy teasing again, the earlier heaviness dissolving into warmth. For now, they just ate. Shared bites. Shared stories. Shared laughter drifting over the lake. And if there were unspoken fears sitting quietly in their chests, they let them rest there, just for tonight.

After eating, they went to get the bags. The night air had cooled slightly by the time they reached Fuma’s car. Crickets hummed softly in the trees, and the lake reflected the moon like brushed silver. Fuma opened the trunk, lifting out two slightly overstuffed bags and a shoebox. “I honestly don’t know if any of this will fit,” he admitted. “But I figured it was better than nothing.” “It’s more than nothing,” (Y/n) said quietly. She took the bags and handed them to Taki. “You should go try some on.” Taki’s eyes lit up, not dramatically, not loudly, but enough. “I will,” he said, hugging the bags close before jogging back toward the cabin. They watched him disappear inside.

Silence settled between them. Then (Y/n) felt it. The look. She turned slowly and leaned back against the car door, folding her arms. “What?” she asked. Fuma shut the trunk with a soft thud and faced her fully. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly. “You tell me.” She groaned softly, dropping her head back against the cool metal. “Don’t start.” “I’ve only been here a few hours,” he continued casually, “and even I can see it.” “See what?” “You’re getting attached.” She closed her eyes briefly. “…I am.” “And?” “And I shouldn’t be.” Fuma stepped closer and nudged her shoulder lightly. “Why?”

She hesitated. Because saying it out loud would make it real. “I’m scared,” she admitted finally. “Of letting someone into my life like this. Not just someone, a hybrid. Someone who needs stability. I can’t just… try this and mess it up.” Fuma didn’t interrupt. “I can’t keep him,” she went on. “My job isn’t stable. Book tours, signings, interviews. I’m gone for weeks sometimes. Months. I can’t bring him everywhere. And I can’t leave him alone.” Her arms wrapped around herself, fingers digging lightly into her sleeves. “I live in the city. He can’t live there. He needs water. Space. Quiet. Not traffic and concrete.” Fuma hummed thoughtfully, leaning back against the car beside her. “You don’t have to live in the city.” She looked at him. “It’s an hour drive,” he continued. “That’s not the end of the world. I drive longer than that for rehearsals sometimes.”

She frowned faintly. “And Euijoo and Nicholas would absolutely come visit,” he added. “You know they would. We’d make weekends out of it. Or you come to us.” She didn’t respond. “And when you have to travel?” he went on. “Taki stays with me. Or I come out here and stay at the cabin while you’re gone. I need to get some fresh air and quiet sometimes, too." She blinked. “You’d do that?” He gave her a look. “Obviously.” The word was simple. Firm. “It’s not impossible,” he said gently. “You’re acting like this is some unsolvable equation. It’s logistics. Logistics can be figured out.” She stared at the gravel by her feet. “He deserves more than a ‘figured out’ life.” “He deserves people who care enough to try,” Fuma corrected. That landed.

“You think he hasn’t noticed?” Fuma asked quietly. “Noticed what?” “The way you look at him. The way he looks at you.” Her stomach flipped. “It’s the same look we used to tease Euijoo about when he first met Nicholas,” Fuma added lightly. “Only difference is, you’re completely oblivious.” She pushed off the car, flustered. “That’s not,” “It is.” She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. Because she didn’t actually have a defense. Fuma’s expression softened. “You don’t have to decide everything tonight,” he said. “But don’t push him away just because you’re scared of the ‘what if.’”

The cabin door creaked open. Both of them turned. Taki stepped out hesitantly. The jeans fit almost perfectly. The sweater sleeves were slightly long, but he had pushed them up. The shoes looked like they’d been made for him. He shifted awkwardly under their attention. “Does it… look okay?” he asked. (Y/n)’s breath caught for just a second. He looked comfortable. Like he belonged here. “It looks perfect,” she said honestly. Fuma grinned. “See? Fashion icon.” Taki smiled shyly at that. And as (Y/n) watched him walk toward them, more confident in steps that had once been hesitant, she realized something terrifying and wonderful all at once. This wasn’t just attachment. This was already something deeper. And maybe… Maybe it wasn’t impossible.

The sound of Fuma’s car faded slowly down the gravel road. Headlights disappeared between the trees. Silence returned. The kind that felt bigger after laughter. Taki stood on the porch a second longer than necessary, staring at the empty space where the car had been. “I’ll see you next time,” Fuma had said. Next time. The words echoed quietly in his mind. What if there wasn’t one? What if this, the lake, the cabin, the warmth, was temporary? What if he blinked and it was gone? His fingers curled slightly at his sides. He pushed the thought down. Tonight had been good. He would hold onto that.

(Y/n) nudged the door open gently. “Come on. It’s getting cold.” He followed her inside. The cabin felt softer now. Dim lamps on. Shadows warm instead of lonely. “I’ll help with the dishes,” Taki offered quickly. She glanced back at him. “You don’t have to.” “I want to.” She smiled. “Okay. Thank you.” “I’ll take a quick shower,” she added. “Then we can watch a movie before bed?” He nodded. “Okay.” By the time she came back, hair damp, sweater pulled over comfortable sleep clothes, the kitchen was clean. Dishes dried. Counters wiped. Lights dimmed. Taki was curled slightly into the corner of the couch, remote in hand, flipping carefully through options without actually choosing anything.

She paused in the doorway for a second. Domestic. Normal. It felt… right. “Thank you for helping,” she said softly. He looked up. “It was the least I could do.” She sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched lightly. He didn’t move away. She picked a movie at random, something light, something easy, and pressed play. The screen flickered to life. Soft music filled the room. But neither of them were really watching. Taki’s hands rested loosely in his lap. He was aware of her warmth beside him. The steady rhythm of her breathing. The way the cabin felt safe at night. He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to find another place. But he also didn’t want to be a burden. Didn’t want to make her life harder.

Beside him, (Y/n)’s thoughts were just as tangled. Just ask him. The words circled endlessly. Stay. It should be simple. But what if she gave him hope and then failed him? What if her schedule pulled her away too often? What if he woke up one day and realized he needed more than she could give? She glanced sideways at him. His expression was calm. Soft. But there was something else there. Carefulness. Like he was trying not to take up too much space. That hurt more than anything. She muted the movie.

Taki blinked. “Is something wrong?” Her heart thudded. Now. Say it now. “I was thinking,” she began slowly, fingers twisting together in her lap. “About earlier. About… finding you a home.” His body stilled almost imperceptibly. “I meant what I said,” she continued gently. “You deserve something stable. Somewhere you can stay. Somewhere you feel safe.” He nodded quietly, eyes lowered. “But,” she added, voice softer now, “I might have been wrong about something.” He looked up at that. “I kept thinking about all the reasons it wouldn’t work. My job. Travel. The city.” She exhaled slowly. “But I didn’t think about all the ways it could.” Hope flickered across his face, small, fragile. “I don’t have everything figured out,” she admitted. “But… if you wanted to… you could stay. Here. With me.” Silence filled the space between them. Not heavy. Just stunned.

“Stay?” he repeated. “As long as you want,” she clarified. “We’ll figure out the rest. Together.” His throat tightened. He hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been holding himself together until that moment. “You… want me here?” he asked quietly. She reached over without thinking and gently took his hand. “I do.” That was all it took. The careful composure cracked. His eyes shimmered, ears lowering slightly, not in fear, but emotion. “I don’t want to leave,” he admitted in a whisper. “Then don’t,” she replied just as softly. He leaned forward before he could second-guess himself, wrapping his arms around her carefully, like he was still unsure if he was allowed. She hugged him back immediately. Firm. Certain. The movie continued playing unnoticed. Outside, the lake remained still. Inside, something settled into place. For the first time in a long time, neither of them felt temporary.

~~~

The movie had long since ended. Credits rolled in silence. The television cast a soft glow over the room before dimming automatically into darkness. Neither of them noticed. They had drifted off somewhere between quiet conversation and comfortable silence, arms loosely around each other, foreheads nearly touching. For the first time in years, (Y/n)’s sleep was deep. Not restless. Not interrupted by thoughts of deadlines or empty rooms. Just warm. Safe. Morning came gently but persistently. Golden light spilled through the windows, stretching across the wooden floor and climbing up the couch cushions. Taki stirred first. His nose twitched faintly at the warmth. Then his eyes fluttered open.

For a brief second, confusion. Then awareness. Soft sweater fabric under his cheek. A steady breath against his shoulder. (Y/n). He froze slightly, afraid to move. As if shifting too much might break something fragile. Beside him, she stirred too. A small hum in her throat. Her eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the brightness. They both became aware of two things at the same time: The sunlight. And the stiffness in their necks. She let out a quiet laugh. “Okay,” she murmured, voice rough with sleep. “Maybe that wasn’t our smartest decision.” Taki smiled, eyes still heavy. “I didn’t mind.” His honesty made her laugh again, softer this time.

She carefully untangled herself, sitting up and stretching her arms above her head. Her back cracked slightly. She groaned dramatically. “Yeah… my spine disagrees.” Taki sat up too, rubbing the back of his neck. “A little sore.” “A little?” she teased. He shrugged, smiling sheepishly. She stood, stretching once more before yawning widely. “I’m going to steal my bed for a couple more hours,” she said, voice still thick with sleep. “You can take the guest room if you want. Or the bed in my office. Or conquer the couch properly this time.”

He glanced at the couch. Then at her. “…Okay,” he said softly. She paused for a moment, studying him in the morning light. His hair slightly messy. Eyes warm, not guarded. Comfortable. “I’ll make breakfast when I wake up again,” she added. He nodded. She hesitated, just a second, before stepping closer and gently ruffling his hair. “Good morning,” she said quietly. “Good morning,” he replied. She disappeared down the hallway. The cabin settled into early morning stillness again. Taki remained sitting on the couch for a while. Listening to the faint creak of the wood. The distant sound of water against the dock. The soft closing of her bedroom door. He pressed his palm lightly against the cushion where she had been. It was still warm. And for once, when he looked around, he didn’t feel like he was somewhere temporary. He felt like he had woken up at home.

Late morning sunlight filled the kitchen. The lake shimmered outside the window, small ripples catching the light like scattered glass. (Y/n) moved around the stove in comfortable rhythm, cracking eggs, flipping toast, slicing fruit. Taki stood close by the counter, watching carefully, like he was memorizing each step. “You don’t have to supervise,” she teased lightly without turning around. “I’m not supervising,” he replied. “I’m learning.” She smiled at that. They carried their plates to the small table and sat across from each other. For a few quiet minutes, they simply ate. But something was weighing on him. She could see it in the way his ears slowly lowered. In the faint twitch of his tail against the chair leg. He set his fork down carefully.

“…Are you sure?” he asked. She looked up. “About me staying.” There it was. The uncertainty. The fear that it might disappear. She paused, giving the question the seriousness it deserved. “There’s a lot to figure out,” she admitted. “A lot of practical things to make it work properly.” His ears flattened further for a split second. “But,” she continued gently, leaning her elbows on the table, “I’m sure.” He searched her face, like he was trying to see if she was just being kind. “I never imagined adopting a pet,” she said with a small laugh. “Let alone a hybrid.” His expression flickered at the word pet, but she reached across the table and tapped his hand lightly. “You’re not just that,” she clarified softly. He relaxed again. “But then I met you,” she went on, “and now I can’t really imagine my day without you in it.” That landed. His tail stilled completely.

“…What do we have to figure out?” he asked. She took a slow breath. “Well. First, I’d have to sell my apartment in the city. If we’re doing this, I’d live out here full-time.” His eyes widened slightly. “You’d move?” She nodded. “It makes more sense. You need water. Space. Not traffic and noise.” He absorbed that quietly. “Then the cabin needs a few updates,” she continued. “The shower is ancient. It barely has consistent hot water. And insulation could be better before winter.” He nodded seriously, as if mentally adding it to a checklist. “We’ll need to figure out grocery deliveries, since we’re an hour from the nearest store,” she added. “Or schedule proper supply runs.” Another nod. “And when I travel for work…” She hesitated slightly. “We’ll coordinate with Fuma. Or Euijoo. Maybe they can stay here, or you stay with them, as long as there’s water access.”

He listened carefully to every word. Not overwhelmed. Just… thoughtful. After a small pause, he asked the most important question in his mind. “Will I get to meet Euijoo?” She blinked, then laughed softly. “Of course you will.” “And Nicholas?” “Definitely.” His ears lifted slightly. “We can invite all three of them out for dinner,” she suggested. “Make a whole thing of it. You’ll like Euijoo. He’s very calm. And Nicholas talks a lot.” Taki considered that. “I’d like that,” he said quietly. She smiled. There was still uncertainty in his posture, but it was softer now. Less like fear. More like cautious hope. He looked around the kitchen. At the sunlight. At the lake beyond the window. At her.

“…I can help,” he said suddenly. “With renovations,” he clarified. “And carrying groceries. And cleaning. And cooking. And,” She laughed gently. “Hey. You’re not earning your right to stay.” He stopped. “You don’t have to prove anything,” she said firmly. “You’re here because I want you here. Not because you’re useful.” His throat tightened slightly at that. He wasn’t used to being wanted just… as he was. He nodded slowly. Breakfast continued. Plans floated between them, half-formed but hopeful.

~~~

The two weeks passed faster than either of them expected. Fuma visited twice more, each time with groceries, tools, and exaggerated complaints about how rural roads were “personally attacking” his suspension. Each visit ended with laughter, board games, and quiet reassurance. The adoption process, however, was more complicated. At the local shelter, they’d learned that Taki was still legally registered under the name of the person who had abandoned him. And since deserting a hybrid was a criminal offense, authorities had to attempt to locate the previous owner before terminating those rights. It meant paperwork. Court appearances. Waiting. About a month, they were told. A month before it would be official. A month before Taki would legally be hers. The waiting didn’t scare her as much as she thought it would. Because in every way that mattered, she had already chosen him.

And in those two weeks, something undeniable had shifted. She didn’t just care about him. She trusted him. Laughed with him. Relied on him. Thanks to the quiet mornings, the steady presence at her side, and the way he would sit near her while she wrote, sometimes with his legs dangling off the dock, sometimes curled on the floor with a book, she had finished her book in record time. The fastest she’d ever written. She’d sent it to her editor three days ago.

Now, she was packing a small overnight bag. Taki stood near the door of the cabin, excitement barely contained in the flick of his tail. “The city isn’t too loud at night?” he asked. “It is,” she admitted. “But just for one night.” He nodded. He trusted her. That realization still startled her sometimes. They drove into the city late in the afternoon. Buildings rose where trees had been. Water replaced by pavement. Taki sat upright in the passenger seat, staring out the window with wide curiosity. “So many people,” he murmured. “So many people,” she agreed. Her apartment felt smaller than she remembered. Colder.

But it was clean, organized, temporary. Just one more thing to let go of. She had a meeting scheduled the next morning with a potential buyer. And later in the week, contractors would visit the cabin to evaluate renovations, starting with the ancient shower and insulation. But tonight was for something else. Dinner. At Euijoo’s place, the second she had told him she was bringing Taki to the city, he had invited them, Fuma and Nicholas, over for a dinner. Taki stood near the apartment window now, watching the cars below. “You used to live here all the time?” he asked. “Yeah.” He turned slightly toward her. “…Do you miss it?” She looked around. At the walls that once felt like accomplishment. At the desk where she’d written alone for years. At the quiet that used to feel heavy. She thought about the cabin. The lake. The dock. The sound of his laughter echoing through wood-paneled walls. “No,” she said honestly. His ears lifted just slightly.

That evening, they walked to Euijoo’s building. Taki walked close to her side, not hiding, but not straying either. When the door opened, Euijoo stood there with a warm, steady smile. Behind him, Nicholas leaned over his shoulder. “So this is Taki?” Nicholas said brightly. Taki blinked once. Then smiled shyly. “Yes,” he said. And for the first time in the city, he didn’t feel out of place. He felt… welcomed. Beside him, (Y/n) felt something settle in her chest. This was working. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t finished. But it was working. And in a month, officially, legally, he would be hers. But in every way that mattered, he already was.

A knock echoed through the apartment just as (Y/n) and Taki stepped fully inside. Nicholas turned toward the door dramatically. “That’ll be the final boss.” Fuma’s voice came from the hallway. “I heard that.” Laughter broke the slight tension of introductions, and within minutes, all five of them were gathered around Euijoo’s dining table. The table was… impressive. Or at least it looked impressive. Platters of salmon glistened under warm light. Shrimp arranged neatly around dipping sauces. A steaming pot of fish stew at the center. Crab legs stacked high. Taki’s ears lifted instantly. “It smells amazing,” he said softly, eyes wide. Euijoo smiled calmly. “A little bird told me you liked fish.” Nicholas straightened proudly. “That bird was extremely reliable.” “And loud,” Fuma added. Taki looked overwhelmed in the best way. “There’s so much,” he murmured. “All thanks to me,” Nicholas declared. “I cut everything.” Everyone burst into laughter. “You cut the lemon,” Euijoo corrected gently. “And I did it beautifully.” Fuma leaned toward Taki. “Most of this is from a restaurant.” Nicholas gasped. “Betrayal again!” “You two once burned instant noodles,” (Y/n) reminded him. “That was experimental cooking.” “It was smoke.” The teasing flowed easily, overlapping conversations and shared glances filling the space.

As they ate, (Y/n) found herself watching Euijoo and Nicholas quietly. The small touches. The way Nicholas nudged Euijoo’s shoulder when he talked. The way Euijoo automatically refilled Nicholas’s water without being asked. Soft. Natural. Whatever had happened during their shelter visit… it seemed to have gone well. She took a sip of her drink before asking, “So… how did it go? The shelter visit?” Euijoo’s expression softened immediately. Nicholas looked over at him with something close to excitement. “I think,” Euijoo began carefully, “I might have found someone.” (Y/n) smiled. “Really?” He nodded. “A bunny hybrid,” he explained. “He’s shy. Very cautious. He doesn’t approach easily.” Nicholas leaned in. “But when he does warm up? He’s hilarious. Dry humor. Weird little comments. It’s great.” Euijoo gave him an affectionate side glance before continuing. “He’s worried, though. You can tell. So I’ll need to visit a few times. Let him get comfortable.” “But hopefully,” he added quietly, “I’ll be able to adopt him.”

Taki listened intently. A bunny hybrid. Shy. Worried. He understood that feeling. “That sounds a little familiar,” (Y/n) said gently, glancing at Taki. “Someone else I know was very shy in the beginning.” Taki blinked, then looked down bashfully. Nicholas leaned forward dramatically. “You? Shy? Impossible.” Taki huffed softly. “I was not that shy.”

(Y/n) chuckled “You barely spook in the beginning.” “That’s not true.” “It absolutely is.” (Y/n) laughed, reaching over to squeeze Taki’s hand briefly. “He was shy,” she confirmed. “But now? He’s basically a happy pill.” Taki’s ears turned pink at the tips. “A what?” he asked. “A happy pill,” she repeated. “You make everything lighter.” Silence settled for half a heartbeat. Not awkward. Just… full. Euijoo’s gaze softened at the sight. Nicholas smiled quietly. Fuma leaned back in his chair, satisfied. Maybe this was what it looked like when things fell into place. Five people around a table. Stories of new beginnings. Second chances. Taki glanced around the table again. At the warmth. The laughter. The easy acceptance.

Nicholas wiped his mouth dramatically after a long sip of his drink and suddenly pointed across the table at (Y/n). “Since you’re moving away,” he declared, “you’re hosting Christmas this year.” She nearly choked on her water. “Absolutely not. It’s your turn.” Nicholas shrugged. “It was my turn. But only because your old apartment was the size of a shoebox.” “It was not,” “It was,” Fuma and Euijoo said at the same time. Nicholas continued, smug. “Now you have a whole cabin. Cozy. Lakeside. Very holiday-core.” She narrowed her eyes. “You just don’t want to cook.” “That is slander,” Nicholas replied. “I cook.” Euijoo blinked slowly. “You do?” “Yes. Emotionally.” Fuma snorted. (Y/n) sighed dramatically. “Fine. But you better bring amazing gifts. For both me and Taki.” Nicholas placed a hand over his heart. “I always bring amazing gifts.” “You once gifted me a rock.” He shrugged “It was a crystal, thought it would help you write better.”

Taki, who had been quietly following the fast back-and-forth, tilted his head. “…What’s Christmas?” Silence. Four heads turned toward him at once. “You don’t know what Christmas is?” they asked in unison. He shrank slightly under the sudden attention. “Should I?” Euijoo immediately softened. “We have to make this the best Christmas ever.” Fuma nodded seriously. “Absolutely.” Then he turned to Taki. “Christmas is a holiday. Usually in winter. People decorate with lights, there’s a tree, good food, friends and family gather together.” “And gifts,” Nicholas added importantly. “You give presents to people you care about.” “There’s music,” (Y/n) said. “And movies. And sometimes snow.” Taki listened carefully. “…You all spend it together?” he asked. “Every year,” Euijoo said. “It’s chaotic,” Fuma added. “Loud,” Nicholas said proudly. “Warm,” (Y/n) finished softly. Taki considered all of it. “It sounds nice,” he said quietly. “It is,” (Y/n) agreed.

Then she leaned back and groaned playfully. “But it is July. Can we please not start arguing about Christmas in the middle of summer?” They laughed. Nicholas immediately began debating what kind of tree they’d need. Fuma argued about whether real or artificial was better. Euijoo calmly suggested they survive autumn first. The conversation spiraled into teasing, stories about past disasters, and exaggerated complaints about wrapping paper. Through it all, Taki listened. Sometimes he asked what a word meant. Sometimes he asked why people hung socks over fireplaces. Every time he asked, someone answered without hesitation. No one laughed at him. No one brushed him off. They explained. Included him. Pulled him into the memory as if he had always been there.

And slowly, quietly, something settled in his chest. He wasn’t visiting. He wasn’t temporary. He wasn’t an outsider peeking in. He was at the table. Laughing with them. Planning holidays months away. Assuming he would still be there. Because of course he would. He glanced at (Y/n) as she argued with Nicholas about gift budgets. She caught his gaze mid-sentence. Smiled at him. Not politely. Not out of obligation. But warmly. Like he belonged beside her. In that moment, the city didn’t feel overwhelming. The future didn’t feel uncertain. He had a home. He had a family. And he had someone who loved him, not despite what he was, but simply because he was Taki.

~~~

The apartment felt quieter than before when they returned. City noise hummed faintly outside the windows, distant sirens and passing cars blending into the background. It was late, later than either of them usually stayed up, but neither seemed ready to sleep yet. They sat down on the couch. Taki exhaled softly. “Your friends are nice.” (Y/n) smiled. “They’re the best.” There was warmth in her voice. Pride, too. She leaned her head against his shoulder, gesturing lazily around the apartment. “I am not looking forward to moving all this.” He chuckled. Not loudly, but enough that his shoulders shook slightly under her cheek. Her head bumped lightly against him. She pulled back just enough to look at him. “You’re shaking.” “Sorry.” “It’s cute.” He blinked at that. Before he could respond, he leaned his head gently against hers, a soft, instinctive movement. He rubbed lightly, slowly. She had learned by now what that meant.

Scent marking. A hybrid gesture of trust. Of claiming safety. Of affection. He stilled after a moment, almost like he worried he’d crossed a line. But she didn’t hesitate. She tipped her head and gently rubbed it back against his, mirroring him. A quiet reassurance. I feel it too. His breath softened. “…Thank you,” he said quietly. “For what?” “For giving me a chance.” Her chest tightened slightly. She lifted her head enough to look at him properly. “Thank you,” she replied softly, “for showing me there’s more to care about than just… going through life.” He shifted then, turning a little so he could see her better. She straightened slightly too, still close. Close enough that the air between them felt thinner. He paused.

“There’s something in your hair,” he murmured. “Oh?” He leaned closer. Careful. Slow. His fingers brushed near her temple, gently catching a tiny piece of lint or thread she hadn’t noticed. But in doing so, his face ended up only a breath away from hers. Too close. Or maybe not close enough. Her heart skipped. Then stuttered. Had he always been this handsome? Well, yes. But something about the way he was looking at her now felt different. Less shy. More certain. His hand lingered for half a second longer than necessary. He noticed it too. The way she was looking at him. Not just warm. Not just fond. Something deeper. Something that made his pulse quicken.

He forgot to move back. Forgot to breathe properly. He was aware of everything at once, the warmth of her, the faint scent of her shampoo, the softness in her eyes. He felt stuck. Not trapped. Just… suspended. Like if he moved, the moment would shatter. She swallowed softly. Neither of them spoke. The city noise outside faded into nothing. There was only this. This quiet space between them. Her gaze flicked down for just a second, to his lips, then back up to his eyes. His breath caught at that. He had never done this before. Never stood this close to someone and felt wanted. He wasn’t sure what the right move was. So he stayed. Waiting. Silent. Eyes searching hers for permission he didn’t yet know how to ask for.

(Y/n)’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Are you okay?” Taki blinked, like he’d almost forgotten she’d asked something. He hesitated. “I feel… weird,” he admitted. Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “Weird?” He swallowed. “Not bad weird. I think.” She smiled softly. “Can you explain it?” He nodded slowly, trying to find the words. “My stomach is doing this strange thing,” he said, pressing a hand lightly against it. “Like it’s flipping. And my heart is racing. And my cheeks feel really warm.” Her smile widened, gentler now. “I feel the same way,” she said. He searched her face carefully. “It feels like…” He paused, embarrassed but determined. “Like how you describe falling in love in your books.”

A quiet breath left her. “That’s right,” she said softly. He looked between her eyes and her lips, unsure, curious. He licked his own lips nervously. Her heart fluttered again. She took a slow breath. “Do you like me?” she asked. There was no teasing in her voice. No pressure. Just honesty. He nodded. No hesitation this time. “Yes.” Her hand lifted carefully, giving him enough time to pull away if he wanted to. He didn’t. Her fingers rested against his cheek, warm and steady. She guided him closer, slowly, watching his expression the entire time. When their lips met, it was soft. Tentative. A question answered gently. No rush. No fear. Just warmth. Taki’s breath caught in his chest as he kissed her back, careful, like he was handling something precious. Like the books he used to turn page by page, afraid to damage them. But this wasn’t fragile. It felt steady. Right.

When they finally pulled apart, neither moved far. She leaned her forehead against his. Their breaths mingled. “I love you, Taki,” she whispered. His chest tightened, not painfully, but fully. “I love you too,” he said. And for once, the words didn’t feel like something he might lose. Outside, the city carried on. Cars passed. Lights flickered. Life moved. But inside that small apartment, something new had begun. Not dramatic. Not loud. Just certain. Two weeks ago, he had been alone. Two weeks ago, she had been stuck staring at blank pages, convinced something was missing. Now, she had finished the book that once felt impossible. He had found a home that once felt unimaginable. All because of chance. A lakeside cabin. A dance studio poster years ago. A story written from the heart. And maybe, just maybe, some muffins stolen in the middle of the night. And that was how the rest of their lives began.

~~~ The End ~~~

Okay, that's the end of this, I hope whoever requested this, will enjoy it!

Also, in honor of Euijoo and Nicholas' trip to Hawaii, I had to add them as an easter egg couple... they're just too perfect together!

And we have supportive Fuma, of course, and who wouldn't have a crush on him... he's awesome.

Next up, is the Kei hybrid request, before I actually start writing the hybrid series. And of course, we have the last part of the werewolf au too.

See you next time guys!

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