The blues of a Monday morning is one of the few things engrained across the many species of the Academy, be it a cold-blooded snake or the most jittery of hamsters. Nothing douses the passion of an adolescent more than the dreaded turn of the midnight clock closing an old week and opening to a new one. Even when attendances are optional, the lingering spirit of the cursed day remains. If given the option between a Monday holiday and an ordinary Sunday, one would be surprised to find the latter prevailing atop the former in terms of popularity.

Most would simply resign themselves to the march of time and trudge on through the wait for the next upcoming weekend. Some do so begrudgingly. A select few even adopted the culture of missing out on classes exclusively on Monday. To those select few, to attend is to submit to the taboo of that dreaded day, as if they’re crossing paths with a black cat, or walking under a ladder. They’d simply commit truancy, going so far as to stay in their dorms without setting a foot out, if possible. Whether this is an excuse for indolence or an actual superstition, the practise was still prevalent within the Academy’s culture.

Still, it did nothing to quell the usual morning rush near the elevators, much to the dismay of the residents of 1450 and many others. More specifically, Vox, who chose to leave the dorm and attend a class today for a subject he couldn’t understand. He soon found himself caught up in the exact reason why he chose to self-study indoors in the first place. By the time regret caught him, he was already swept up in a sea of knees and elbows.

With much effort, he managed to wedge himself between Shiro and Romps, with the former’s knees being sturdy enough to withstand the onslaught of push and shoves and the latter having his size and fur for comfort. The fox took refuge within that small pocket of space between the two canines. He tucked his tail towards his front from good measures, lest some foot made a wrong, blind step.

Shiro glanced down towards Vox whose face was mushed against his hips, “You okay?”

The fox gave the wolf a thumbs up.

“You owe me,” Romps snickered.

Vox returned the sheepdog with sneering silence.

The crowd only seemed to grow denser by the minute as the elevator did its rounds. The surrounding scent grew more varied and exotic as more came pushing along from the corridors and into the halls.

In the meantime, Vox made small talk, asking Shiro if he got darker than last time.

Shiro asked, “I did?”

“He could get darker?” Romps voiced out.

Vox asked Shiro if he could even get darker.

“Maybe he’s growing a new shade,” Romps suggested.

Shiro was surprised, “I can?”

Vox asked Shiro if it’s happened before.

Shiro shrugged his shoulders.

“You don’t know,” Romps asked, “Or you don’t remember?”

Vox suggested to the sheepdog that it’s probably both.

Shiro kept quiet on that.

Vox confirmed that it’s definitely both.

Romps then suddenly said, “You know humans can turn dark too, right?”

Shiro asked, “Like lizards?”

“No,” Romps explained, “They can’t control it, and they only get darker, not lighter.”

“Less heavy?” Shiro asked.

Vox clarified to the wolf that it was shade, not weight.

“They’ve got something called ‘melanin’,” Romps explained, “Or was it ‘pigmentation’? Bah, I don’t remember. Came up for Biology last year. They’ve got something in their skin that turns ‘em dark when they stay under the sun for too long.”

“Can they turn back?” Shiro asked.

“Some can, some can’t,” Romps continued, “What determines that, darn if I know. I’ve seen a white-coloured human go on a day at the beach and come back looking like bloody caramel. Next time I saw the bloke was a week later. It was like he never stepped foot under the sun. Not even once.”

“Black-coloured ones?” Shiro asked.

“What about them?” Romps asked back.

“They stay under the sun for too long?” Shiro asked back.

“Maybe. Maybe not. Too few I’ve seen to tell,” Romps answered, “I’ve never seen a white-coloured human change through the rainbow. Same goes for the black-coloured ones. They get a little darker or lighter. That’s all I’ve seen before.”

“Can black-coloured humans turn white?” Shiro questioned.

“Beats me,” Romps replied.

“No, we don’t,” a voice suddenly shot from behind.

It caught the wolf, the sheepdog, and the fox’s attention. They turned to their backs to find the source of the voice, save for the fox, whose snout was stuck in between said wolf and sheepdog and could only tilt his ears ever so slightly to catch the noise.

As if some serendipitous chance of fate, a dark-skinned human happened to be standing behind them. He stood to the height of Shiro’s shoulder, sporting black, curly hair that only grew from his forehead to the back of his head. His ears were akin to those of a monkey’s, only much smaller and delicate. His eyes held a pair of mild, bronze pupils, and within those pupils held a degree of visible frustration. The human seemed to be accustomed to that frustration, as the wrinkles creasing across his expression appeared so natural that it was as if he’d been rehearsing such a scenario for the better part of his life.

“We don’t turn white. We only turn darker,” he grumbled.

Shiro and Romps stared at the human for a moment before looking at each other, clarity blossoming within their eyes.

The sheepdog then asked, “So you can turn this dark?”

“No, I didn’t turn dark,” the human explained with a sigh, “I was born this way.”

Vox shot an inquiry from below, asking if the human turned dark during his time in his mother’s womb.

“No,” the human repeated, this time with much exasperation, “I was born this way.”

“Can you get darker?” Shiro chimed in.

The human snapped, “You think I can tell, you dumb mutt?”

“We can,” Romps replied, “You just keep your shed fur and check with your new batch. Do you shed skin?”

The human gave an audible snort and pushed himself past the trio around Shiro, mumbling under his mouth, “Why do I even bother…”

They watched as the human trudge his way through the crowd, shooting them a dirty look as he disappeared into the sea of ears and heads and tails.

Vox waited until the human was out of sight before giving a comment of his own, stating he’d seen one with light, yellow skin before.

“Yellow?” Romps asked.

Vox gave more details, stating that he’d never seen them turn darker or lighter before.

“How many have you seen?” Romps inquired.

Vox had been in close contact with one only, with the sighting dating as long as half a dozen years ago.

“You’re just a wee lad, then. I’ve been to your place before, it’s sand everywhere,” Romps commented, “Probably got some in your eye when you’re looking up to see the human.”

Vox responded with a swift kick to the sheepdog’s shin. He couldn’t retaliate in any capacity, owing to his size and his inability to reach down without pushing against the already tightening crowd. The most he could do was push his body against the fox, mushing his face against Shiro’s knees.

Just then the elevator opened up. The first to notice was none other than Shiro himself.

The wolf tried to call out, "Hey-"

Before he could even get his second word in, a tidal wave of bodies began pushing from behind, overwhelming the three canines with shock and force. Vox was practically hoisted from his feet and dragged across the air. Nothing beyond an inch was visible to the fox. All he saw were creases of the pants and an assortment of tails, frizzled and swinging across his sight.

By the time the fox's soles made contact with the ground his snout was already kissing the steel wall of the elevator. He managed to twist himself back, only to find that the door had rolled shut, trapping him within a bundle of legs. Stripped of choices and alternatives, Vox made a compromise and leaned against Romps’ thighs. They were better than Shiro’s concrete kneecaps anyway.

The sheepdog himself hadn’t noticed. He’d been so used to strangers taking advantage of his fur within enclosed spaces that the opposite would feel unnatural to him. He long stopped to think of the implications and simply let things be as of now.

As the elevator made its descent, Romps turned towards Shiro.

“So you did get darker,” Romps commented.

Shiro’s eyes widened for a moment, “I did?”

“Seems like it,” Romps replied, “Not much light bouncing off your skin as of late. You’re looking like a shadow the more I see you.”

Then the sheepdog asked.

“Where’d you been?”

Shiro didn’t answer.

Before the sheepdog could pick up from that, the elevator doors had rolled open once more. Everyone’s attention was shifted as they waddled their way out into the elevator halls. The wolf kept his mouth shut throughout his journey towards the lobby. Romps didn’t question that either, as the main priority in his head at the moment was to avoid tripping from someone’s tail or foot.

The tight squeeze eased out as space opened up in the lobby. The three got separated and split up as the crowd rushed in from behind, with Vox sticking close by the sheepdog and the wolf veering away to the side.

“Catch up in the room,” Romps called out to Shiro.

The wolf gave a nod just before the sheepdog disappeared behind a passing hippopotamus.

With that, Shiro shrugged his shoulders and surrendered himself into the raging current of the rushing crowd.

He quite enjoyed the sensation, as odd as it seemed. To relieve the body and submit to the hectic tides of the morning hustle and bustle. He needn’t worry about directions or unwanted attention; with everyone heading down the same destination, all the wolf had to do was hitch the ride and keep his legs upright; things he could do without a conscious mind. He would compare it to lazing atop the waves of the ocean if it weren’t for recent experiences.

When the wolf came to his senses he was already in the Academy’s main hall, overlooked by the lions tangling amongst one another upon the ceiling mural. He regained control of his limbs, steering himself towards his usual route into the Junior wing.

Something drew Shiro’s eye from the side of the hallway.

It caught the wolf’s attention in a peculiar way. It was a silhouette that stuck out of the many that littered throughout his line of sight, evoking a sense of acquaintance that brought neither positive nor negative baggage; just a shape among others that Shiro felt he should know.

The wolf peered in for a closer look.

And know, Shiro did.

It was a sun bear, wearing a long, white coat over the Academy’s uniform, accompanied by a pair of large brown boots. From what little that showed outside of his attire, he sported dark fur with a mild, silky lustre to it. A pale brown splotch was doused on his snout, spreading its way from beneath his chin to his cheeks and all the way around his two eyes, which the wolf couldn’t see as they were hidden behind a pair of tinted glasses. He stood against the wall, his snout picking scents from the mob trudging past him as they scuttled towards their respective destinations.

Shiro couldn’t see the activity behind the sun bear’s smoked lenses, but he could make a guess he was confident enough to bet money on.

The wolf shifted his path towards the opposite side of the hallway, rubbing the back of his head as he turned his face away.

Whether it worked or not, Shiro didn’t dare check. The less visual contact made, the better.

He kept with the act as he walked, at times glancing up to the ceiling while massaging behind his neck or digging his fingers into the shallow end of his perking ears. The crowd grew thinner the deeper Shiro went into the Academy’s hallways. Every turn the wolf made the hallway opened up a little more with space. The hoots and hollers from before died down, reduced to some subdued chatter among pairs and groups.

Among said chatter came a voice calling out, “Excuse me-”

Shiro dug deeper into his ears and hastened his steps.

He didn’t know where his feet were taking him. He only cared that they took him far and away.

Shiro heard the voice call out again, “Excuse me-”

He could feel his claws digging into a straggling bunch of thin, moist fur cultivating in the inner parts of his auditory canal.

“Excuse me-”

Shiro decided to make a quick dash towards the nearest pair of doors. Where they led to, he didn’t know. He pushed against the mahogany and felt it effortlessly swing from its hinges.

“I’m not asking for trouble,” the voice spoke.

The wolf stopped.

The door opened up to a class in progress. The students were sparse and far from between, but all focused on the topic at hand. Focused, until their lesson got interrupted by the sudden bang of a wooden door. Every head was turned towards the entrance, reptile, mammal, amphibians and all, including the teacher seated on the table in the middle of the hall. An ageing, common frog, whose mouth was ajar with surprise as his protruding eyes gazed towards Shiro. Dressed in a formal outfit, she had a headset wrapped around her head behind her eyes with a microphone sticking out close to her wide lips. She stood hunched beside a projector twice her size, displaying a complicated flowchart unfathomable to the wolf’s comprehension. She carried a tiny book in one webbed hand and a tinier remote with the other. She stared towards the wolf, keeping her two horizontal pupils on the wolf as she blinked twice, wondering if it was an illusion she had just witnessed.

“Ah. The new transfer, is it? You’re just in time,” her croaks boomed from the sound system, echoing across the hall, “We’ve only just started.”

Shiro kept his silence as he stood at the entrance. The students stared at him, most gawking with confusion while a few glaring with annoyance.

“It won’t take long,” the voice added.

“This is the Biology class,” the frog said, “You are here for Biology, right?”

“Please,” the voice pleaded.

“Sorry,” Shiro bowed as he called out, “Wrong class. Where is World History?”

“I see. I guess the Academy hasn’t given you a proper tour around their halls yet,” the frog said.

Shiro gave a wry nod.

“Down the corridor, take the second left, first door from the right,” the frog replied.

“Thank you. Sorry,” Shiro bowed again.

“Do close the door behind you please,” the frog added.

Shiro left and shut the door behind. He kept his face towards the mahogany for a while, taking in a few breaths before turning towards the source of the voice.

“Thank you,” Bara said, standing just shy of a head taller than the Shiro, casting a deep shadow over the wolf’s presence, reducing him to a dull dark silhouette with striking red eyes.

“A message from Dove,” the sun bear said.

The wolf remained silent.

“‘Today’, was all he wanted to say,” Bara relayed, “You don’t need to go see him yourself. He’ll see you when the time comes.”

A moment of reticence passed between the two.

Shiro asked, “Any more?”

“Prepare yourself,” the bear replied, “That isn’t from him. I wanted to tell you that.”

The wolf didn’t respond to that.

Bara heaved out a sigh.

“My acquaintances don’t exactly paint me in a desirable image,” he said, “I’ll admit up front that I do share their fascination of you, but not of their expression of such. Though, there isn’t much I can do about that problem. They’re creatures of their own accord. I won’t blame you if you think I’m making an excuse. I merely wish to assert my credibility. This is for our mutual benefit.”

“That all?” Shiro asked.

Bara stayed quiet for a while.

“I won’t speak on their behalf, but I will speak on mine,” he said.

“Face Dove. It is for the best for his and your-”

“I know what to do,” Shiro shot out.

“Good, good,” Bara raised his head, pushing his glasses above his snout, “That’s reassuring to-”

The wolf then asked, “You?”

The sun bear froze for a moment.

“Pardon?”

He glanced down, meeting the wolf at his snout.

Bara knew all he needed to know from the look in Shiro’s eyes.

He held his tongue for a few seconds.

He answered, “Depends.”

“Good morning,” Shiro proclaimed as pulled his chair, setting his briefcase on the counter.

Likewise, Krin wrote.

The wolf responded to that with a simple nod.

Without a second word, he pulled out his notebook. Krin herself had been ready since Shiro first stepped into the entrance. Her notes and textbooks and material had been filed into neat piles on the side, prepared for the wolf’s arrival at any moment.

They carried on with no interruptions, proceeding with Maths as their first subject. Shiro lost the topic’s name halfway through Krin’s teaching, but he did remember the concept. It was something about brackets and complicated equations. He did one as an exercise but was called off by the lizard. As it turned out, Shiro wrote more than needed. Krin explained that he was including simple additions and subtractions into his work; things that will cut through his allocated time at a detrimental degree during a test.

As per her words, They’re not needed at this level.

And so, Shiro followed her orders to a tee.

Though it did leave his work feeling a tad bit incomplete. He didn’t know why. It was a sensation he discarded soon after anyway.

“Done,” Shiro proclaimed half an hour later. He checked his work with the answers. He was far from a passing grade, much less finishing said work on time, but it was better than last week, where he spent an hour on the same question and managed to get everything wrong.

He glanced towards Krin. Her snout was pointed towards the wolf’s work, remaining there for quite a while. Shiro waited, anticipating further instructions. The lizard, however, was unresponsive, her skull still and motionless, almost as if she was asleep, or worse, unconscious. The wolf couldn’t tell. He could check for signs of breathing from the subtle rising on her chest, but rather not, out of various reasons.

It wasn’t until the wolf decided to call out to her when she was snapped awake from her trance, “Krin?”

She took a second to react, rearing her head towards Shiro in a quick flash before glancing down to her feet, the tips of her shoes tapping against one another.

The wolf could tell there was something else in her mind. He didn’t press on about it. He simply waited.

A minute later, Krin grabbed her red board.

About Dove.

It was all she wrote. She turned the board back on her lap, placing her fingers on the two knobs. She kept her snout pointed towards the screen, her hands and legs fidgeting.

Her concern only brought her so far. It felt as if she wanted to cross a bridge, but didn’t know how. All she knew was that there was a bridge, and that it needed to be crossed.

Shiro took the board from Krin. The lizard, struck with surprise, left both her hands suspended in the air as she watched the wolf place her board on the counter.

“I know what to do,” he said to her as he turned back towards his notes.

Krin grabbed her board back from the counter and placed her two fingers against the knobs, eager for a response. She didn’t write anything, however. Rather, she couldn’t. She could only hold it as such as her bony snout lingered in Shiro’s direction.

Just then, the doors to the library’s entrance suddenly swung open. It caught the wolf’s attention and sent both his ears perking towards it before the lizard even noticed the sound.

In stepped a dog.

He stopped at the entrance for a second, leaving the doors open to glance around the place. He then stormed towards the counter in fast strides as if he had no time to lose.

“Where’d you keep your foreign dictionaries?” the mastiff inquired. He was a breed belonging to the larger side, complete with a pale brown coat, some whitened patches of fur, and a black snout. He seemed decades older than he should be, sporting valleys and trenches of wrinkles atop his forehead and a sagging neck spilling out of his collar.

Shiro answered in kind, “O-On the left. Shelf section P.”

The mastiff shot the wolf with a look of displeasure, “Well, go get it, smartass.”

Krin stood from her seat, raring to be up for the task.

She raised her red board and wrote, Which language are you looking for?

The mastiff was thrown off by the lizard’s unorthodox way of communication. Shiro presumed he wasn’t a regular. Nevertheless, he gave Krin his answer. As soon as the words left his mouth, the lizard gave a bow and went on her merry way for his request.

The mastiff left a lingering eye of repulsion and confusion as Krin left the counter. He then turned back towards the counter.

“What are you looking at, mutt?”

Shiro glanced back down to his notebook, continuing with his work.

“N-Nothing.”

The evening came as abrupt as the day ended. Just like that, the sky turned to a dull swirl of marron and orange, without so much of a warning or any fanfare. The events in between were just as if not more uneventful. He got the usual glares and avoidance, though most have started to nudge towards the direction of ignorance. Most grew tired of the act and simply started to treat the wolf as if he’s air. They committed to that act very well, going so far as to ignore Shiro’s presence during rush hours, even when he’s a member of the committee. It’s gotten to the point where they’d rather form a long queue towards Krin than suck it up and approach Shiro for convenience’s sake.

It was an improvement, at the very least.

Speaking of improvements, Shiro kept on with his academics, grasping more of the concept and the little niches the more he practised. He managed to finish a mock test within the allocated time limit, though with the compromise of having all but one of his answers incorrect. This was a crowning achievement and a historical milestone for Shiro. He’d barely finish half a page in his old days, wondering if he was even doing the same test set as the others had received. Now, he actually understood what the questions demanded instead of taking wild guesses.

The culmination of events set up the wolf in a decent mood for the rest of the day. Even when Krin left him some difficult homework to do, he felt as if he could take on the world. What’s better was that everything occurred before the main event of his schedule.

For a long while, Shiro felt excitement for what’s to come.

As soon as the last students disappeared out of the library’s exit, the two began closing shop, making final checks to ensure things don’t fall apart the next day. They rearranged the chairs and returned strewn books to their rightful places.

Halfway through the ordeal, as they were rearranging the last of the shelves Krin wrote to Shiro, I can help you deal with the rest.

Shiro, with one arm clutching onto a collection of dictionaries and the other stretching towards a compartment just half a palm’s height too tall for him to reach, even on tipped-toes, glanced towards the lizard and answered, “I’m fine. I can reach there.”

Krin shook her head.

The president sent me a message, she wrote, He wants the dictionary section rearranged with new codes.

“O-Oh,” Shiro stepped down, “I can help you.”

Krin shook her head again, I can do it myself.

Shiro opened his mouth, then closed it again. He figured she knew her things when she asked to do things alone.

The lizard then wrote, You can wait for me in the back.

Shiro froze for a second.

After that second, he laid the dictionaries on the floor, gave Krin a nod, an “Okay, and left towards the library’s storeroom.

The wolf fought to keep his snout from breaking into a grin.

He traversed across the library, reaching that specific part of the wall where a white door stood. It had neither a frame nor hinges; just an inconspicuous slab of concrete cut out to a shape of a door and painted over. He pushed onto one side of the door and heard a click.

The cold, iron shelves felt comforting and inviting, like walking through warmth radiating off the doorway of one’s own house after an exhaustive day. He traversed across them on light feet, strolling by the sparse lighting hanging above that shone in dim cones, passing the giant rooms of shadows left untouched in between. It felt easy to the wolf’s eyes and brought a sort of rhythmic calmness to his heart. He treaded his usual path; a path he could commit with closed eyes.

He tried taking that path as a pair with Krin before. He also tried walking alone as the lizard’s piano filled the air, practising by herself, awaiting his arrival. He never tried walking alone in silence before. No accompanying footsteps, no distant melodies playing; just the low, mechanical hum of the air conditioning and the occasional light click from his claws tapping against the floor. It was a different feeling; one he could see himself getting accustomed to.

Not a second too soon, the piano came into view, sitting amongst many other items and artefacts lying dormant under dust-caked tarps. A stool accompanied the instrument, complimenting its dark, glossy sheen with its black cushioned seat and muted linings.

There he stood, staring at the piano. A giant, expensive instrument the wolf felt himself to be inadequate to interact with. He didn’t know how big of a fortune that thing would cost, but he knew whatever it was, it was a fortune. He dared not touch the keys or even lean against the side, lest something gives way and leads the wolf to a receipt he couldn’t pay up in a lifetime.

The same went for the stool. The wolf made the safe assumption that the stool wouldn’t cost as much as its greater half, but the wolf still refrained from sitting down as he waited. A hot seat would spell discomfort for both parties, both ways, respectively. The wolf himself didn’t mind, either. He found greater relief on his feet, considering he had spent the better part of the day on his bottom.

Ten minutes later, the wolf caught the sound of footsteps approaching from behind. He turned his head to the back, squinting his eyes in search of dull shapes in the darkness. He found nothing. The noises were the only clues he had, and if the clues told him anything, he’d be seeing a detailed silhouette any time soon.

The footsteps came at a rapid pace, covering ground in a furious collection of stomps. They started muffled, like a drumroll being played with cotton buds. They soon grew louder and fiercer, as if the cotton had gradually eroded, giving way for the wooden base to start hammering against the tarps, banging off rage at a greater force than the last beat.

They sound nothing like Krin’s footsteps.

A figure emerged through the darkness in an angered rush, parting the shadows as if they were nothing but frustrating curtains that stood in the way.

Shiro froze on the spot.

The figure too stopped in his tracks as his eyes met with the wolf.

“You,” the club president said.

The otter’s face held an expression that he’d rather not hold. It was a face reserved for those whom his desire to avoid was one that he was willing to exchange for in monetary values. The wolf knew that fact too. He didn’t need visual confirmation to understand his position in the club president’s sight.

If there was anything mutual shared between the two, it was distance. That is, the further one is from the other, the better.

The otter asked, “What are you doing here?”

At that same moment, Krin came into view from behind the club president, hoisting her sling bag around her shoulder and a cardboard box in her arms. She came to a sudden halt, stopping just right where her skirt brushed against the otter’s tail. From where Shiro stood, the otter now seemed as if he’s standing behind an actual curtain.

The otter turned towards the lizard and asked, “What is he doing here?”

With both appendages occupied, Krin couldn’t reply, leaving only the conclusion for the club president’s interpretation, and one he did make immediately. He gazed towards the piano behind Shiro, then to the wolf himself, before looking at Krin, and glancing back towards Shiro once more.

He pointed towards the piano and spoke, “You’re not-”

“N-No,” Shiro rebutted, “I don’t play. It’s Kri-”

The wolf’s mind managed to catch up with his words and clasped his jaw shut around his tongue. At that point, the proverbial cat had one foot out of the bag. He snapped his eyes towards Krin who, to Shiro’s surprise, gave a reassuring nod towards him.

The otter replied, “Ah, she roped you into this.”

Shiro was left in a confused daze for a moment before he managed to put two and two together.

“I asked her f-first,” He tried to reason, “A-Asked if she-”

Before the wolf could finish, the otter turned towards Krin and spoke, “Right, so there’re two sets in- just lower the box, will you? Good. Now, as I said, two sets in here. Those I’ve marked go to the racks. The rest you leave with the archive. Got it?”

Krin nodded her skull in silence.

“Don’t just nod,” he said, “Go.”

Krin went, the box in her hands, swallowed whole into the bowels of the darkness again.

The club president then snapped his head towards Shiro again. The wolf’s eyes widened for a second, caught off guard by the otter’s sudden attention.

“You touched anything?”

Shiro shook his head.

“Good,” the otter said, “Keep it that way.”

That was the last time the wolf saw the club president.

Krin returned just a moment later, the box in her hands replaced with her signature red board.

She had words pre-written on its surface reading, Sorry for the wait.

“Just got here,” Shiro smiled.

You didn’t, Krin wrote back.

“Pretend I did,” Shiro said.

Krin moved up towards the stool and took a seat. The wolf moved towards his place at the side of the piano.

The lizard dropped her sling bag down on the floor and pulled a sheaf of manuscripts out. She propped the papers against the stand. With a flick of a finger, she flipped across the pages in quick succession before stopping them with her palm. She checked for the page number before retracting her hands. She made tight fists with her pair for some time before letting her fingers go, planting them on the keys.

She steered her snout towards Shiro for a second.

The wolf nodded.

The lizard glanced back towards the manuscript and began playing.

Her dark, green scales looked beautiful against the dark, glossy sheen of the grand piano.

They walked together, side by side, as they’ve always done. Their shadows would cross underneath the light as they passed beneath the fluorescent tubes. The two were too preoccupied to notice that, or anything else for the matter.

“No mistakes today,” Shiro said.

I may have gotten used to your company, Krin wrote.

The wolf perked his ears to the back, pulling the skin around his snout to hold off from showing the delight in his heart on his face.

He replied, “Is that bad?”

I wish it isn’t, the lizard wrote back.

As they conversed, their footsteps drew from a brisk walk to a sedate stroll, as if the ceiling was an expansive night sky, the passing lights pulses from a dousing moonlight partially obscured by clouds, the iron racks trees, and the low hums of the air conditioning running currents of a faraway river. They matched each other’s pace, each going as slow as they could without lagging behind the other.

My instructor will arrive this weekend, Krin wrote, Maybe I’ll know by then.

“He teach you good?” Shiro asked.

She, Krin wrote.

“She teach you good?” Shiro asked again.

We rarely meet, Krin wrote, But she tells me what to practise when we do.

“She didn’t tell you to practise anything else?” Shiro inquired.

It was then when Krin’s fingers stopped operating the knobs. Shiro too, came to a distressing realization when the lizard’s reaction prompted a quick recap on what he said.

“I-I didn’t mean-”

The wolf found himself unable to finish his words. He was reduced to a shameful husk, cowering under the weight of his idiocy. All he could do was stare at Krin, and make silent hopes for forgiveness.

The lizard wrote in twitchy handwriting.

They aren’t as good.

The two glanced away from one another, letting their trudging footsteps take the soundscape between them for a while.

About half a minute later, Shiro spoke.

“C-Can-”

Krin turned her skull to meet the wolf.

“Can I hear them?” Shiro asked, “The other ones.”

Krin didn’t have an answer for a solid moment. A lot when through her head during that solid moment. The weight of her thoughts threw her skull around as they sent it glancing around in a flurry of panic. It’ll sometimes unlock its jaw to say something despite its inability to do so, only to stay silent for a couple of seconds before snapping itself shut again to turn towards a different direction.

The process repeated itself for the subsequent minute before it stopped, keeping it down towards the floor.

The lizard stayed that way for a while.

Then she lifted her snout and wrote.

Tomorrow.

A tinge of solace hit Shiro in the chest as he read those words.

The door came into view. Shiro ducked out of the doorway whilst Krin had to make a full bow as she exited the storeroom. The wolf pushed the door back into place, and it became part of the wall once more.

They walked between the shelves, traversing their way towards the common area where the tables and chairs sat.

Dove was there to meet them.

He stood in front of the counter, wearing clothes that would’ve looked loose on an animal of average size. On the Doberman, they stretched to the thinnest layer of fabric, exposing places they should be covering instead. His wrist leaked out from the sleeves of his tank top whilst his ankles peeked out from beneath his sweatpants.

His face was the same as always; crossed wrinkles fixed beneath his forehead and between his eyes that carried the same pair of monotonous anger for as long as his pupils were bronze. There was no other emotion present in his appearance.

Shiro was the first to step out from the maze of shelves to meet Dove’s glare as they spotted each other from afar. The wolf stopped in his tracks, followed by Krin, who was intrigued by the sudden pause of Shiro’s footsteps before tracking his gaze and getting hit with a stunning shock.

The wolf simply kept his poker face.

The two canines locked eyes for a while, expressions unchanging.

Without a word, the Doberman unzipped his jacket, relieving it from its strain as he scrunched it into a ball and laid it on the counter. He revealed a white tank top worn beneath his overclothes, among other things.

Krin forced an involuntary step away from Dove as she took her first gaze at the Doberman wearing something that wasn’t long-sleeved.

Shiro responded with a walk. He made a stroll towards Dove, leaving Krin behind as her jaw slowly unhinged from her skull.

He stopped in front of the Doberman, standing at just two arms’ length away from him, meeting his glare with his unfazed gaze from half a head above.

At a closer view, Shiro could see more. He could see the white tapes running across his wrists and hands. They coiled like a pair of Feral snakes, constricting the Doberman’s palm, eating into his skin as they forced grotesque shapes from the muscles beneath. Only his fingers were left exposed, gangly and dangling in the cold air.

Dove raised his shoulders and ducked his head, hiding his snout between his forearms. He bunched his palms into fists, digging his fingers into the tape. Sharp mountains and deep chasms began forming across his knuckles, stretching the tape thin. He kept a sharp eye on the wolf, anticipation and focus being the chief fuel burning up his pupils.

Shiro, still in his uniform as he’d worn since that morning, slacked his shoulders and dug his hands into his pants pockets. He did nothing else.

The only thing that’s changed was his eyes.

His pupils seemed to glow a tad brighter than before.

They both sustained their stances. The library was gone. The floor was a dark chasm where neither two fell nor suspended; they simply stayed in place. The ceiling simply vanished. There was nothing else around them, much less anyone else. No walls nor any broad horizons.

There was only two. A Doberman and a wolf.

Dove remained in his stance, both his docked tail and ears perking upwards, tense enough to break concrete.

He waited on the wolf to do something.

Anything.

Shiro kept his hands in his pants, his gaze staring down towards the Doberman.

He opened his mouth, prompting the Doberman’s attention.

He spoke.

“You first.”

Dove felt a spark go off in his chest.

His upper half disappeared.