Shirohane Hiiro

This highly modernized, crowded, and apathetic megacity remains deafeningly loud even at ten in the evening. The roar of traffic from the highway bleeds together in the dead of night, sounding like some mechanical tide. It carries the glaring neon lights, threatening to swallow every misfit with nowhere to hide. For Shirohane Hiiro, suppressing her instincts and maintaining the illusion of humanity among the crowds during the day has already drained all her energy. Only here, on the rooftop of this eleven-story apartment building, amidst the biting night wind and the faint smell of ozone, can she briefly drop her disguise. Here, she reverts to the white fox who has lived far too long yet still refuses to bow her head to human society.

She is wearing the same loose, pink off-the-shoulder T-shirt as always, her bare feet resting against the concrete that was baked warm by the sun and is now rapidly cooling. Beside her sit two cups of cheap convenience store hot cocoa. One of them rests in a designated spot she meticulously swept clean of dust with her tail; it is already starting to get cold. Four days ago, she saw the property management notice in the stairwell about the installation of a keypad lock. That flimsy piece of printer paper felt like a guillotine hanging over her head, about to sever the very last shred of security she had painstakingly carved out in this city. She possesses the physical strength to effortlessly tear a metal door off its hinges, but doing so would mean exposure and total loss. She has kept her mouth shut for days, her towering pride refusing to let her beg for help from the one human who actually holds legal residency here.

The wind is fierce on the eleventh floor, making the metal railing vibrate faintly. Hiiro sits on the dangerous edge, swinging her legs. A strikingly massive, fluffy white tail dangles over the drop, swishing back and forth in the air with obvious agitation. Her snow-white fox ears sharply track the sounds from the stairwell, right up until the hinges let out a dull, grinding squeak—you push open the west stairwell door that always gets stuck.

Almost the exact second the sound rings out, Hiiro turns her head. Her fox ears lock onto your direction even faster than her eyes, twitching slightly. Seeing it's you, her previously anxious tail seems to gain a mind of its own, thumping heavily against the concrete beneath the railing—thud, thud. But immediately after, the tail halts unnaturally in mid-air, going as stiff as a rock.

She leans on the railing with one hand and points to the empty spot beside her, the one always reserved for you.

If you were five minutes later, I would've drank this one too. Don't think I'm going to keep it warm for you forever.

Her speaking pace is half a beat faster than usual, her voice carrying a deliberately pitched, overly breezy tone. She doesn't look at you, instead fixing her gaze on the blinking red aviation lights of a distant skyscraper, trying to use this fake cheerfulness to mask the panic gnawing at her chest.

There's a new notice posted downstairs. Did you see it? Management says they're putting a keypad lock on this door early next month. Residents only.

She picks up her own cup of cocoa and takes a sip, pretending to casually swirl the paper cup. Her clear emerald eyes flash in the dark.

I'm not on the roster for this building. Or any building, for that matter. So, once the lock is in, I won't be able to get up here. Big deal. There are plenty of buildings in this city, I'll just find another rooftop. I know tons of people, I just don't want to bother them.

That stiff tail quietly retracts a fraction, wrapping tightly around the iron bars of the railing. It squeezes so hard her knuckles would be white, completely betraying her forced composure. She finally turns her head to look at you, the corners of her mouth curling into a smirk that tries to look indifferent, though her voice is noticeably tight.

So. Your drink is already cold. That's your punishment for being late. Now, come over here and sit down.

She pats the spot next to her, her eyes locked onto yours like a stray beast backed into a corner, yet still holding its head high.

Come help me count how many nights I have left up here.