Today continues the story with Chapter 3 of A Matter of Perspective.

Please enjoy! I am curious to know how you are finding the story so far! I have attached the links to the previous chapters below to help all readers.

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Chapter 3 - Composure

In the time it took Lupus to head home, shower, and meet Tyler at their local cafe–clouds rolled in over London. Tree birds remained hushed. Rain fell; an hour passed; still, still falling. The water was trickling across the cafe windows and filling potholes that reflected the hostile sky. Hours of rain had flooded potholes and drainage to the point of overflowing. The cafe lunch rush, though, drowned out any sound of the rain.

People boarded-up buildings along the street or held closing sales. A microcosm of the consequences faced by small UK businesses and their staff after The Division. There were reminders of what their local market had once been: stalls, a grocery store, and a renovated eighteenth-century pub.

Now the street was a shadow of its former self. A transit point toward a more enticing spot within the city.

Inside the upstanding cafe, clad in casual wear–a white top, blue denim jeans, and a drenched raincoat that hung off his chair. Lupus sat opposite Tyler.
Suppose…

Lupus pulled his coffee mug closer to him.

…suppose he told Tyler about the Brackenmoor interview today, but how to approach it? The local cafe’s chaotic ambience of the hissing coffee machines and customers’ idle chatter didn’t help him answer that, as he’d hoped. It bought him time to find a solution, while the otter twiddled his fingers across the table.

Lupus craned his head up to take a sip of coffee, and as the hot beverage funnelled into his throat, his eyes met the cafe menu board and its steep prices. “Jeez, I can’t believe it’s five and a half quid for a latte now?”

Tyler slouched back in his chair. “It’s six quid for a mocha. It’s too much, even by London standards.” He drummed his fingers on the table before adding, “Way too much.”

“What was the government’s claim during the early two-thousands?” Lupus leaned back, one arm draped over the back of the chair as his tail curled around a chair leg. “Removing the Vastelerians will help fix our economy, right?”

The otter nodded and wrapped his webbed fingers around his mocha. “I pointed that out to my cousin after his factory closed, but he called it a necessary consequence to remove the beasts from civil society.”

Lupus’s ears twitched, and he slanted forward. “Even after losing their jobs, do they still support The Division policy?” He asked in shock.

Tyler’s shoulders slumped, his gaze dropping to his cup. “The hardest part,” he muttered, “is living with a family who shares that view and ridicules mine. Whenever I ask my mother why she hates Vastelerians so much, she always blames my father.”

The wolf’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Forgive me,” he said, slow to show respect, “but how is your father responsible?”

“He did nothing wrong,” he said. “I know why she thinks that, but it’s so stupid. I hope…I pray she won’t think the same of me too.”

“Never!” Lupus insisted and shifted a reassuring hand across the table towards Tyler. “No matter what she thinks of Vastelerians, or your father, you’re still her son. Still, that… must have been hard,” Lupus said as he thought about Tyler’s explanation of his family’s relationship. Tyler explained that his worth, his place in that household, depended on the news articles he wrote.

The articles that he wrote, which encouraged Vastelerian stigmatisation, make him the pride of the family. Yet, an article that denounced The Division or encouraged restoring cohabitation made him the black sheep. “I’m sorry. If it will help, you’re welcome to crash at my place tonight,” he offered.

“No, but I appreciate it. I’ve got plans tonight after my overtime shift,” he said, managing a grateful smile that let out a bitter laugh. “It gets me away from the family,” he sighed out and looked at Lupus.

“You don’t deserve that,” Lupus grunted and tightened his grip around the mug. “Ugh, I can’t see how they blame the Vastelerians for the cost of resources, infrastructure strains, even unemployment.”

Tyler nodded.

“Instead, they created the biggest economic sinkhole since the end of the Second World War. Inflation soared, jobs vanished, and the economy ground to a halt.” Lupus added, raising his coffee cup to meet his lips.

“Not to mention, they concocted these stupid rumours about Ascendants.”

“Yeah,” Tyler whispered. “I remember reading your article deposing that.”

Lupus took a sip and set his mug on the table. “I’d laugh at the absurdity of it if it weren’t for the damage it causes, especially with The Sleeper Ascendant’s.”
“What?” Tyler’s brow furrowed.

“The Sleeper Ascendant’s?” he repeated with a lowered voice.

Lupus detailed how Sleeper Ascendants emerged from The Division. During the early two-thousands, the government didn't integrate Ascendants. To ensure their safety, they hid with their Petritan mother or father.

It planted the seed of an unknown threat. The Sleeper Ascendant. Ascendants that could grow within a Petritan population centres at any moment. Paranoia took root.
A newfound weight caused Tyler’s shoulders to sag, while his eyes glanced at his fingers around the cup. “Oh, r-right… that. I am sure that when those Sleeper Ascendants grow, they will try to prevent causing damage.”

“I know they will,” Lupus nodded, his expression grim. “But because of the stupid policy, Ascendants live in fear of being sent to either Brackenmoor or Thornfell.”
“T-That they do,” Tyler muttered, unable to look anywhere else but his own webbed hands. “Why is it that our generation is paying the bill for the older generations’ mistakes?”

“Because it’s easy,” Lupus replied and sighed. “We aren’t the ones in power.”

“I know.” He took a slow sip before he swallowed. “If you’re an Ascendant, you’re better off moving to another, more accepting nation.”

Lupus’s eyes turned to watch the coffee swirl in his mug, muttering, “Yeah, they can.” But before the weight of his thoughts settled, he lifted his gaze from the coffee and looked at Tyler. “I mean, look at you.”

Tyler blinked and straightened in his seat. “M-Me? What? I haven’t changed, I swear,” he echoed and gripped his cup tighter.

Lupus tilted his head. “Yeah, you. I mean, you have changed, haven’t you?”

The otter’s whiskers twitched. “I–well,” he responded and glanced at the foam in his drink, stirring it with his finger. “A little—”

“A little?” Lupus snickered. “You’ve grown in confidence since you joined the company five months ago,” he insisted.

An awkward chuckle escaped Tyler’s lips. “I dunno.”

Lupus rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on now. You used to be too nervous to ask me a question.”

“I suppose you’re right, but the same applies to you.”

Lupus raised an eyebrow. “Me?” he asked and leaned back. He gave the otter’s comment more thought than he should have. Did he mean my clothes? Was it my voice? My Expression? His inquisition came to a halt when he noticed Tyler was watching. “What do you mean?”

“Yeah,” Tyler replied. “You had a new lease on life after your American trip.”

Lupus’s eyes sparkled. “I mean, that’s thanks to my friends. They helped.”

“Was your Vastelerian friend involved?” he asked, sounding curious to hear the tales from across the pond, but oblivious to the odd stares in their direction from the customers.

“They were,” he admitted. “They and two Petritan’s helped me with the insecurities I had.”

“That’s great! What did you do?!”

“Oh, hang on, give me a second to remember.” Lupus scratched a claw tip against his chin. “I mean, aside from adjusting to being around a Vastelerian…”

He reached for his coffee mug and took a slow sip to pull himself together, to collect his thoughts. Afterwards, he set the cup back onto the table, lifted his elbow onto the table, and counted on his fingers.

Raising one padded finger, he said, “They hiked while I was in their scarf.” He started off with a light murmur, but with an undertone of growing amusement.

“I dived off their second finger into the lake,” Lupus continued and raised another finger. His tone brightened somewhat, and his puffy tail swayed.

When the third digit approached halfway, his tone reached an ordinary volume.

A third finger appeared halfway up as he said, “We–”.

Yet, the disapproving looks from the customers interrupted his sentence. Strangers’ brows raised; strangers’ eyes rolled.

Lupus picked up on it when Tyler did not. “Oh my god, that sounds like scripts people post on VastelerianVision,” Tyler muttered loud enough for Lupus to hear, but to the wolf’s relief not enough for the customers to hear.

Tyler pressed onward while the wolf did his precautionary checks.

His tone changed to amusement: “I’ve encountered many comments where people imagine how they’d interact with them. If I weren’t megalopateophobic, I’d go too.”
Lupus slanted forward. “I didn’t know you were afraid of Vastelerians?”

Tyler ran a hand through his neck fur. “Not afraid, but more… I’m anxious.” His eyes drifted to the coffee table. “I know they won’t harm me.”

The wolf leaned back to rest in the chair. “I understand, but do you want to conquer that?”

Helping Tyler is never a chore. Lupus saw himself in the otter’s willingness to step out of his comfort zone. Offering them a chance to meet a Vastelerian to conquer this anxiety was the surest way to convince the otter to join him for the Brackenmoor interview.

“Of course! Dude, you’ve lived out one of those fantasies of meeting a Vastelerian. I’m so jealous.”

Not wrong. That response of envy from a Vastelerian Sympathiser, didn’t deter him from posting the photos. What stopped him was Vastelerian Vision being an underground website. If he uploaded the photos under the Vastelerian Interaction Public Safety Act (VISPA), he faced incarceration.

It did not deter everyone. The website gave content creators a handsome commission bonus. A reward that was twice the average salary. Enough to balance the legal and safety risks inherent in the career. More so when content creators vanished near the Brackenmoor border. Of which, he subscribed to three of them: King Arfur, Kai-ju, and Milo-meter.

They had a name on Vastelerian Vision - The Missing Content Creators.

People created art and stories to develop lore around them. Pieces that covered both the fairy tale and nightmare aspects of what happened. Yet, no one knew the answer. A story that was significant enough for Vastelerian Vision; not enough for the Thames Herald.

It didn’t stop Lupus from consuming its content, nor the hundreds of thousands of subscribers. The website helped them escape. To help them imagine a cohabited United Kingdom. Thanks went to the owner of the site—known by the alias ‘Ech0’. A flirtatious fox who refused to be seen in public.

Lupus’s smile vanished when his eyes met the customers’ disapproving stares. “Maybe we should change the topic.” Although Lupus’s comment or expression did not show it, he craved to say more than that, but the customers around encouraged his newfound silence.

Tyler slid a palm across the table, close enough to offer solace.

Lupus took notice of the otter’s gesture, but he did not reciprocate. Instead, he responded with a small smile on his face. “But, yeah, yeah…they helped me grow in confidence. I guess we’ve both grown in confidence.”

“I wasn’t confident enough to stop Douglas–”

“Stop…” Lupus whispered a single word. The otter’s mournful eyes made him succumb to his own sadness. Lupus sighed, shifted his cup, and reached across the table. “Look, don’t worry. I can handle him.”

“You don’t deserve it!”

Correct. Lupus knew he didn’t deserve it; Lupus knew Tyler didn’t deserve it too.

Lupus’s clasped fingers rested on Tyler’s side of the table. He breathed out, “I know, but you don’t either.”

“After he called you a Vastelerian sympathiser, I wanted to help–”

The wolf continued, “I know. Thank you, but I can take care of myself. That is how it’s always been.”

Lupus sensed that their conversation had drawn disapproving attention. He had adapted to the looks his neighbours gave after they read his article that tarnished the division. Still, he drew the line when Tyler received the same treatment.

When the wolf’s eyes addressed them, and looked away from Tyler, he caught a silver-furred fox in a grey jumper and a black scarf. They scoffed behind a newspaper—the Thames Herald newspaper. A tight knot formed in his stomach when he saw the name on the byline: Douglas Grant. The name alone alluded to the predictable anti-Vastelerian propaganda the fox liked to spew.

The elderly fox’s icy gaze fixed on him, lingering even after Lupus had looked away.

So he was right. People were listening.

If it weren’t for the rain hammering against the windows, he’d suggest they take their coffees and conversations elsewhere. Instead, he was stuck here. Lupus and Tyler were stuck. Stuck with the silent judgement of his local neighbours and bystanders.

Stage fright had nothing on Lupus and Tyler. The invading glances of customers pressed them more than any spotlight ever could.

Lupus wished for freedom from the silent public prosecution for himself and Tyler. Before departure, he must confess the editor’s condition for the Brackenmoor interview. He wished he’d done this next part of the conversation at his apartment, but the dread of a neighbour’s prying in was enough of a deterrent.

After his idle hand rubbed the back of his neck. “Hey, Tyler,” Lupus managed. Slow. Delicate. This was enough to draw Tyler’s focus, ignoring their unwanted audience. “Do you remember I had that meeting with the editor?”

Tyler’s ears twitched to attention. “Yeah?” He drew the word out while arching a brow. “What happened? Is everything alright?”

“Yes.”, the otter became at ease, then Lupus added, “and no,” which caused Tyler to stiffen.

“How so?”

Lupus went quiet.

“Did Douglas say something?” he mumbled the accusation without conviction. “Did Mister Sinclair—”

“No,” he said with undue firmness, betraying his inner uncertainty. “At least, I don’t think he did.”

It hadn’t even crossed Lupus’s mind that Douglas might’ve had something, but it’s unsurprising. Following Thomas Sinclair’s conversation, any comments from the fox were redundant. He refused to ponder it further and focused on the conversation at hand.

“Right. Well…” The wolf’s snow-white fingers snaked around the handle, while his eyes took a cautious search for any prying eyes before he continued. “He gave me permission to do the interview for my article.”

Tyler’s eyelids opened in elation. “Oh wow, the one on the–”

“Yes, that one.” Lupus didn’t need to do a second sweep of the room to check for unwanted attention; his neck fur strands prickled. Whether it were the faint mutters or creaks of chairs of people adjusting their posture.

“That’s amazing—” Tyler stopped when he caught on to it too and re-established his shrunken posture as he whispered, “Um, why do you ask?”

“Well, Mister Sinclair told me you are to support me with the interview,” the wolf insisted to Tyler, who tilted his head in response.

“Oh,” taken aback by the ask, Tyler retreated into the comfort of his chair and raised his coffee mug to be on par with his chin. “I mean, that’s good, right?”
“Yeah, that part is,” Lupus breathed out.

“That part?” Tyler asked, took a sip of coffee, and added, “What’s the second part?”

“For the interview, we need travel authorisation to–”

On the edge of uttering that town name, Lupus hesitated. The word, the town name, stuck in his throat. He could sense more unwanted eyes averting to their table.
“–to…”

He exhaled. Swallowed. Leaned forward and lowered his voice. “He gave me permission to travel to…Brackenmoor.” Lupus forced it out and watched the coffee-brown fur drain off Tyler’s body.

“Brackenmoor?!” Tyler’s tone, a touch too loud, broke the cafe’s murmur.

Lupus tensed.

The cafe’s attention shifted upon hearing the Vastelerian town’s name. This time, these stares were justified. A cafe was no place for a heated debate about Vastelerian politics. The numbers were against them.

Not good.

Lupus placed his cup on the coaster and shot a palm forward to cover the otter’s lips. It wasn’t enough to quell the customer’s expression, though it deflected further unwanted attention.

“Hey–hey,” he hissed under a breath. Despite the circumstances, Lupus forced a casual smile to avoid arousing suspicion, and withdrew his palm. “Please. Be quiet, Tyler, okay?”

“Huh?” Tyler blinked, shifted his glasses, and glanced sideways at the disgusted expressions of the protogen and their cheetah companion. The otter’s ears flattened. “Oh. Sorry, Lupus. Why — I mean, why are we travelling there?”

Before he responded, Lupus’s eyes surveyed the surrounding customers more time, and slanted forward. His shoulders hunched low, and his muzzle hovered just above the rim of his coffee cup. One paw rested on the table, its index finger tapping the table. “We intend to interview...” Lupus paused, lowering his tone further. “... The Big Heart Foundation.”

“In Bracken–” Tyler cut himself off mid-sentence as he looked at the half-empty coffee mug. “Sorry, Lupus.”

“It’s alright,” he murmured and reached for his cup again to take a sip. “You’ll get used to keeping secrets in this country.”

“Oh, trust me, I can keep secrets.” A weak smile touched Tyler’s lips before another thought erased it. “Wait, what clearance?” Tyler posed the question, elevating his limb to hide the left part of his snout from those watching.

“Yeah, we need clearance. It’s standard procedure, but I’ve never needed to do it until now.” Lupus responded and slurped up a few more sips of coffee. “Have you?”
Tyler’s webbed hand dropped from his maw. “What? Me? No, no, I haven’t.”

“First time for everything.” Smiling, the wolf addressed the otter, who tried to hide in his jumper.

“I-I guess,” Tyler murmured as he prepared to take a slurp of coffee. “How can we get clearance?” He questioned and took a sip of his drink.

Lupus slanted towards Tyler. “We need to hand over documents of our parents to prove they are Petritans. Photos of a passport or birth certificate.”

Tyler’s sip of coffee paused mid-swallow. He held the mug just shy of his lips, but he gave a small nod to prompt Lupus to continue.

“Next, we each sign a Petritan Safety Declaration, then undergo genetic testing. Just to confirm everything is in order.”

While Lupus understood how clearance works well enough to articulate it, no part of him agreed with its framework. The knowledge of how it worked made that bitterness sit heavier in his gut. What started as fear and paranoia had calcified into a policy framework within clearance. Disguised in the rhetoric of safety and civility, it sifted the Ascendants from Petritan society. It wasn’t exile or oppression, but it had the practices of one.

The otter shifted back in his seat and dropped his gaze to the dark liquid in his mug.

Lupus softened his tone. “It is standard procedure.” He stopped to sigh. “Relax.”

Tyler’s eyes lifted from the mug. “Huh? What do you mean, dude?”

Lupus’s ears twitched when it picked up a disgruntled, raspy whisper from behind Tyler. No doubt, it was the fox with fading grey fur. Sat far enough to avoid confrontation but close enough to shiver his spine.

A chuckle expelled the fox’s image from the wolf’s thoughts. “It’s nothing. I’ll sort it out,” he let out, eager to smooth the moment.

“We should cancel this interview.” He trailed off, saying, “If it’s going to be complicated...”

Lupus’s stomach dropped. “No, no, we’re fine,” he rushed to assure with a grin of faux confidence.

Each person wears their own armour; Lupus’s was his smile, his laughter, and hugs that concealed his expression. The best way to hide your face.

An armour that had its own kryptonite. He kept most loved ones at arm’s length, but the most trusted friends breached his defences. Tyler was one. Lupus wasn’t trying to please Tyler—he knew the otter could decipher his face—but the fox and the others.

“I’ll handle it.”

His left hand gripping his right wrist limited the effect of his shield of a smile. “You don’t need to worry, I promise.”

“Alright, I won’t pry,” Tyler spoke and let himself lie back in the chair. “When are the documents due?”

“Next Monday.”

“Next Monday?!” he repeated, louder. The coffee in his mug rippled as he placed it on the table with a soft clink. “That’s cutting it close, don’t you think?”

Lupus’s smile faltered, but his left hand remained dedicated to his wrist. “I didn’t pick the deadline. Heck, I was lucky to delay it until next Monday.” He admitted.

“And if we didn’t give them the documents?”

“If we don’t give them the documents…” Lupus’s voice dropped when Thomas’ predicament clouded his mind. “We’ll lose the interview, and we’ll lose our jobs.”
“Wait, what? Our jobs?!” Tyler’s brow furrowed. “How does that even work? You’re telling me if we don’t pass clearance, they just–what? Toss you out?”

His left hand released its hold on his wrist. “That doesn’t just apply to us. If anyone doesn’t follow clearance, or fails it, it will raise a red flag for a suspected Ascendant.”

“That’s bad, isn’t it?”

Although Tyler had the initiative to stop himself mid-sentence, he knew his naïve comment had captured the wrong attention.

Confirmation arrived alongside the prolonged sound of wood scraping tile. Neither Lupus nor he needed to look to know whose chair that was.

They looked. Both watched the old grey-furred figure push back their chair and eye them. Age didn’t hinder his gait; frustration did, stiffening his fragile posture. It had no effect on his walking speed, which had surrendered to time.

Around them, other customers shifted their posture to turn towards them. Conversations dipped in volume to offer ample space for the wrinkled fox’s incoming comment. From one table’s distance, Lupus could perceive more of that frown.

When Tyler picked up on the fox’s proximity, he ceased drumming his fingers against the mug, and looked up to acknowledge the fox’s scrutinising glare.
Then, in a voice neither aggressive nor comforting, the fox spoke.

“I think you should leave.”

Tyler directed his gaze to Lupus.

Lupus had his eyes focused on the fox. His eyelids opened a fraction wider, and his posture straightened. “Apologies, sir,” he said in cautious disbelief. “I think I misheard you. What did you say?”

“I said,” he repeated in a bitter tone, “You should leave. Now.”

Lupus shifted in his seat, while his bushy tail curled up onto his lap. “Why?” he asked, trying to keep a voice bordering on defensive and polite.

“This is tedious.” His gaze flicked towards the other customer, who had stopped to watch. “You’re both being very disruptive and disrespectful.”

Tyler’s coffee-brown fur bristled at the fox’s words while his webbed fingers resumed their tapping against the mug.

Lupus, for his part, kept his expression composed. “Disrespectful?” he echoed back.

“Yes,” the fox replied without hesitation. “It is best for everyone here that you take your conversation elsewhere. You are not welcome here.”

The wolf raised a paw to wave up and down in a calming gesture. “Sir, we don’t want any trouble,” he said. “We’re just talking, nothing more. If we’ve caused offence, I apologise.”

The fox’s eyes narrowed behind his gold-rimmed spectacles. “You’ve upset my wife and the other good citizens here.”

Lupus resisted the urge to inspect the cafe, to confirm how many ‘good citizens’ shared that sentiment. He confronted the old man’s gaze. “Sir,” he cooed, yet with firmness, “what upset you?”

The fox’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Leave.”

Tyler shifted in his seat to be positioned both in and out, while Lupus remained still with his fingers laced together on the table. He elevated his voice to normal levels: “We belong here as much as anyone. And with respect, we are not leaving until we finish our drinks.”

“Unless you want trouble,” he muttered and gestured with a wrinkled hand towards the surrounding customers, “I suggest you take your drinks to go.”

He should argue with the fox; it was not worthwhile. Instead, he gave a slow nod. “We will drink them at our own pace,” his voice quietened, “but we’ll leave afterwards.”

“Be quick,” he conceded, departing as he’d come.

Tyler let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. He shot the wolf with a wary glance. “Lupus, we aren’t leaving, are we?”

“Let’s just drink our coffee, alright?” he murmured back as he watched the fox retreat to its table. He heard the fox just before his departure.

“Their parents must be ashamed.”

Lupus’s tail dropped off his lap. His left hand urged reclaiming its grip on his wrist, but he held back–no, he refused to give anyone satisfaction in seeing a reaction. He whispered, quieter than before, “Forget it,” and pushed his chair back to stand.

An icy gaze from the crowd met the wolf. He knew they were waiting for him to react, to explode. Lupus got close until he contained the blast in two balled fists. His fur bristled, eyelids narrowed, and he stepped toward the man. A dozen words crowded at the back of his throat, each one vying to dish the first blow. If he hadn’t seen his reflection...

That fragile instance showed what he could have become. He saw himself as a person whom the world had hardened, leaving only bitterness to match the nation’s cruelty.

Heartache replaced his anger when he took a breath. He grumbled out, “No, you’re not worth it,” and turned towards the door. “Tyler, we’re going now.”

Tyler blinked. “Wait–what? I thought we were—”

Lupus plucked up his raincoat. “Let’s go,” he whispered and abandoned his near-finished coffee on the table.

After the cafe bell chimed, the otter looked at the fox. He clenched his webbed fingers at his side, while the urge to say something bubbled inside him.

Except that’s what the wrinkled fox wanted from both of them. So, he did the opposite, and followed the arctic wolf out of the cafe. Met with the lashing rain that drenched them to the core. The rain soaked them, and the constant drip, drip of water from their coats was a monotone that played out the upcoming conversation.
Tyler tailgated Lupus into the torrent, afraid of the wolf’s newfound silence. The wolf stopped on the soaked cobblestone road.

The otter pressed on until he was within reaching distance of Lupus’s soaked shoulder. They were alone in the rain, with only the sound of rain kissing their clothes to keep them company.

“Lupus?” Tyler tried to project his voice above the sound of rainfall.

Despite the water droplets creeping inside his clothes, Lupus was motionless. “Sorry,” he replied and crossed his arms to guard himself from the otter’s response.

“What?” Tyler stepped closer and pushed his pair of glasses back up the bridge of his nose, away from the rain’s touch. “Why are you apologising?”

A humourless chuckle escaped Lupus; his eyes remained unamused. “Because I must. You know I find it difficult to shake that habit.”

The longer Lupus stood in the rain outside the cafe, the more the weight of guilt grew in his chest. His reaction irked him more than the closed-mindedness of individuals.

Tyler disagreed. “N-No, you don’t. Lupus, it’s fine. Just…” Tyler paused mid-sentence to collect his thoughts. “Don’t let him get to you.”

The wolf’s sigh pushed past the downpour. “Sorry again, man,” he apologised again, not consciously, but out of instinct. It didn’t matter how many times Tyler nor Liam told him apologising wasn’t necessary—Lupus couldn’t shake the habit.

Tyler recognised it months after their first meeting at the company. He never mentioned it. What mattered to him was his friend apologising, and he refused to leave him to weather it alone.

A compulsion grew when he noticed the wolf’s posture shift, and with it a rustle after Lupus clenched his folded arms tighter into his chest. Without a word, the otter stepped around him, and never paid notice to the rainwater seeping into his shoes.

Once he stood within touching distance of Lupus, Tyler noticed his ocean-blue eyes fixate on the tiny streams of rainfall trickling across the cobblestone.
“Please,” came the rolling whisper of the otter’s heartfelt plea. “I failed in handling Douglas, but I will help now.” The otter offered and rested a hand on his friend’s folded arms.

Aside from the brief twitch of Lupus’s left hand, he appeared unmoved by Tyler’s proposal, but when that same webbed hand stroked his wrist, his eyes met the otter’s.

“Please, it’s alright,” he insisted, squeezing his arms tighter into his chest, along with the otter’s hand.

Tyler doubted that after he watched the wolf’s soaked fingers clench the sleeves. “Is it?” The otter spoke with a trace of conviction.

The drums pounded out their rhythm, deep and visceral, the heartbeat of his anxiety. It tried to fight its way out of his chest, to once again puppeteer his nervous ticks, before Lupus drew a breath to contain them. “Yeah, I’m sure. I appreciate it though, Tyler,” he forced out and tried to conceal the war waging inside him.
“Okay,” Tyler conceded. “You know I’m here if you want to talk, right?”

Tyler’s offer landed harder than the otter intended, and Lupus felt it tighten a knot in his stomach. He appreciated it, though he was unaccustomed to it. He had been the one holding Tyler. That arrangement generated no complaints from him. Lupus accepted it with a thankful heart.

Maybe that was the reason he felt guilt from Tyler’s proposal. Somewhere along the way, he had grown so used to being the one giving support that he’d forgotten how to receive it. His instinct to shoulder everything alone had become so entangled in his train of thought that when someone reached out, he no longer knew how to respond.

“Yes, I know,” Lupus’s maw birthed a small smile to mask his hesitation. “I’m here for you, too.”

The rain kept dancing on their exposed fur, on their soaked clothes. Miniature streams trickled along their maws and ears, from their fingers and knees. They faced one another. Living fountains in the street, issuing forth water from every pore. The roar of rain striking cobblestone encircled them.

“You always have been, but can you tell me how I can help you?” Tyler prodded, but in doing so, it signalled Lupus to clench onto his raincoat sleeves tighter.

Though Lupus desired quietude, he knew Tyler refused to cease. “I’ll be okay, but I need to gather the documentation for clearance,” Lupus confessed.
“I just need to gather the documentation for clearance.”

“Your parents’ documentation?”

“Yeah, my parents’ documentation,” Lupus echoed back.

“Could you contact them to ask for it?”

Lupus’s eyes redirected to the cobblestone floor to avoid Tyler’s gaze. “I can’t,” he said as his ears slumped back to his head and tail tucked into his legs. “I’m a—” The wolf pulled himself back.

“You’re a, what?” Tyler whispered back.

“Nothing. Do not worry,” Lupus dismissed.

That surprised Tyler. “Why?” he asked. “Have you tried your Grandparents?”

“None.” Lupus sighed.

“Aunts? Uncles? Cousins?”

Lupus shook his head and dispelled any rainfall droplets his coat hood had collected.

Tyler blinked, his brows furrowed beneath his soaked fringe. “Hmmm,” he hummed and scratched a single claw against his soaked chin fur. “Wait, maybe we can buy an old phone book to check for anyone who has the surname Kintsugi.”

“No, it’s okay,” Lupus insisted. Another effort to shelter himself from other people’s support, but he realised no sooner that it was useless when the otter had opened his maw.

Tyler insisted, “I want to make up for yesterday. I should have said something to Douglas.”

Every instinct pushed him to decline, but the otter did not fold. His stubborn resistance, which had come too easily for Lupus, wavered under Tyler’s earnestness. Lupus, soft-spoken but audible over the rainfall, stated, “No need.”

“We can go to the London Library. I’d drive us if it weren’t for London traffic,” he insisted with a growing smile. “If only there were a Vastelerian taxi service, huh?” he mused.

“Yeah, if only.” Lupus’s fingers tightened against the damp sleeves. He mumbled, wishing the rain concealed his statement, “You need not worry.”

“I want to,” Tyler repeated, gentler this time. “To convince you, I’ll pay for the trip and lunch. My treat.”

Lupus struggled to conjure a courteous refusal, but it eluded him. In this one instance, he permitted someone besides Liam entry into his heart.

“On a junior reporter’s salary?” Lupus exhaled with a sly, mocking grin. His arms remained crossed, but their hold on his chest relaxed. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“Not for my friends,” Tyler said. “Not for you. So, what do you say?”

Lupus took a breath. His arms squeezed into his chest hard enough his fingertips stroked his ribs. He went silent for a moment, weighing his options. He didn’t have any. In letting the otter help, he risked them finding out his history. Yet, inaction made Thomas suspect him of being an Ascendant. A life sentence in the United Kingdom.

Now he understood he had no choice; a second pair of eyes increased his chances of success, even if it were near impossible to achieve.
Lupus had to take his chances with Tyler.

A heartbeat passed, quieter than the ones that plagued his ribcage, and he nodded. “Alright. Tomorrow morning.”