Chapter Text
The day went on normally. Too normally. When nothing happened, it always meant something worse was coming, and it made Sieun even more anxious. It was obvious by now that these guys wouldn’t back down, that they wouldn’t stop until Sieun lay dead on the ground. So why? Why did they not even look in this direction for the whole day?
As soon as the teacher dismissed the class at the end of the day, Sieun packed his bags as fast as he could and dashed out the door. If it were anything like last time, they would try to ambush him at the school’s gates. If he wanted to avoid that, he had no choice but to run out of there before they could catch him.
His feet brought him to the forest again. He doesn’t remember when he stopped running, doesn’t remember how he got here again. It happened sometimes, Sieun’s mind would go blank for a few minutes. Maybe up to an hour on the unlucky days. It was as though his body was running on autopilot.
The snow was mostly gone around the village, melted by passersby and cars, but here, where everything was left untouched, there was still quite a bit of it. Sieun was supposed to go to cram school, not here. He thought for a second before deciding fuck it, and walking into the forest like he had done that very morning.
It was quiet. So quiet.
Nothing felt as good to Sieun’s ears as the silence that surrounded the forest.
He went over to the tree. Always the same one. It was so big and easily recognizable. He stood there for a bit, wondering whether he wanted to sit on the snow, at the risk of getting too cold too fast. In the end, he didn’t.
The fox didn’t come this time. Sieun couldn’t help the sting of disappointment rising in his chest. It was an animal, and yet, nothing felt closer to a friend than it did.
The sun was setting quickly, but Sieun still took the time to walk around a bit further. If things didn’t go well… People would just find his dead, frozen body the next morning.
Or maybe the next month, once people would have noticed he was gone.
Would anyone accuse the bullies of murdering him? It’d be satisfying to see them rot in prison. But then again, they have money, and money buys everything.
Freedom included.
The right to stay in the same school without trouble while also beating up other students in plain daylight. That kind of thing.
It was honestly so beautiful. More beautiful than anything Sieun had ever seen before. The trees stood tall, covered in white. His footsteps marked the otherwise untouched ground. The last rays of sunlight shining through the branches. If it weren’t so cold, Sieun would stay there forever. He would much prefer it to his unloving home.
The walk home felt never-ending. Sieun was now freezing.
The apartment was dark, the lights off, and dirty dishes in the sink. His father was home. Sieun looked around, but there was no food for him. He sighed, opening the fridge, then the cupboards, then the fridge again. In the end, he decided he didn’t have the energy to make anything. Instead, he took a long, hot shower, sitting under the stream of water, with no strength left to hold himself up, even less to get out and dry himself. Once the water turned cold, he turned it off and instead of picking up a towel, Sieun didn’t move; he remained sitting, his back against the wall, long enough for his body to dry by itself. He almost fell asleep like this, but ultimately, after an eternity, Sieun got up and got ready for bed.
☼
The next day was similar.
Sieun woke up, his eyes barely staying open as he walked out, carefully avoiding his father. The familiar anxiety rose at the sight of the school, yet Sieun still walked in.
He walked to the library, as he usually did early in the morning, to see a sign announcing that it would be closed. With an ache growing in his chest, Sieun walked to his classroom instead, hoping it would be open.
And it was.
Because inside was a sleeping boy.
He was uncomfortably spread out onto three different desks, a blanket so small it didn’t cover half of his body, over his head. Sieun didn’t dare stare for too long and so he went to his desk and began working as if no one was there.
He didn’t hear the boy waking up. Didn’t feel his eyes boring into the back of his head the rest of the day.
Weirdly, he avoided the bullies once again. Two days in a row was unheard of, which did nothing to ease the growing pit in his stomach. As soon as the last bell rang, he ran out, unmistakably running away from the potential consequences of being left alone for two whole days.
Oh, the next time they’ll touch him, it will be violent. Sieun wondered if they were planning on killing him.
The snow was almost fully melted now. Even in the forest, some specks of grass began to show underneath the white coat covering it. Rays of sunlight shone between the trees.
Sieun may have seen this a few times now, but he didn’t think he could ever get used to the beauty of it.
He walked around, not yet ready to go home, when the fox appeared again. Sieun could tell it was the same one from the little brown spot right under its left eye. It looked unusual yet pretty.
The fox kept its distance at first, wary; Sieun couldn’t blame it. Instead of trying to lure it in, he simply put down his gray hoodie onto the ground and sat on it, merely staring until the fox dared come closer.
It walked around Sieun, as if unsure whether to trust him or not, before sitting next to him too. They sat in silence together.
Sieun kind of wanted to pet it.
Instead, however, he grabbed his backpack, carelessly thrown next to him earlier, and took out a small lunchbox. He had brought it with him, hoping to eat for lunch, but the anxiety eating at him had made it impossible to even think about the food resting in his backpack.
So instead, he opened it now and presented it to the animal. It sniffed the content of the box, ears perked up in curiosity, before staring back at Sieun.
The fox nudged the box closer to Sieun, as if telling him to eat it for himself. When he didn’t, it let out a disapproving noise. Or Sieun interpreted it as such, at least.
Sieun wanted to say something, even if it was just the word “eat” or “for you”, but his voice would be hoarse from disuse, and he couldn’t get anything out but a small sound, a whine.
Sieun pushed the lunchbox toward the animal once again, and this time, it ate. That made him all warm and fuzzy inside to see such a cute thing eat next to him. Eat what he gave him. Sieun almost smiled. For the first time today, his shoulders relaxed, easing into the quiet moment they shared.
The fox ate everything and still asked for more. Sieun shrugged. He didn’t have any more. He felt guilty that his lunchbox was small, and the food inside hadn’t even been enough to fill it. Was the fox hungry? It must be harder to find food during the winter, Sieun thought, especially when it snows.
The fox nudged Sieun’s hand placed on his knee. Carefully, he lifted it, his hand, for the first time brushing against the animal’s soft fur.
It felt like touching something sacred.
Sieun's fingers lingered in the fox's fur, hesitant at first, then firmer, more certain. The warmth beneath his hand reminded him that the creature wasn’t just soft or beautiful, it was alive. Real.
The fox leaned into the touch.
Sieun blinked slowly, not used to being wanted, not like this. Not even by an animal.
He exhaled, long and quiet, his heart no longer pounding in fear but something softer. Something close to peace.
Then the fox moved.
Not away, no, just closer. Its head settled lightly against Sieun’s leg, as if it had been waiting for him to be calm enough, still enough, for this.
The tightness in Sieun’s chest loosened.
For a long while, neither moved. The breeze whispered between trees, and birds called from somewhere beyond the branches, but here… it was just the two of them.
Sieun didn’t want to leave. Not yet. Not when this felt more like home than home ever had. But the sun had dipped lower in the sky, and with it came the reminder of time slipping away.
The fox lifted its head, watching him. Sieun brushed his fingers along its side one last time before quietly standing, brushing off his clothes. He gave the fox a small bow of gratitude, like he was saying thank you, the only way he knew how.
The fox tilted its head. Almost as if it understood.
Sieun felt more understood by an animal than any human he had ever encountered. Did that say a lot about him or others?
And as he turned back toward the village, he swore he heard soft paw steps following him. Just close enough to hear, just far enough to leave him wondering.
Only when he started walking did he realize how cold it was. The fox had been keeping him warm the whole time, but now, there was nothing but his clothes to protect him against the freezing air.
The door cracked open just as the sun had completely disappeared. Sieun expected to find an empty space, dirty dishes, or laundry, but instead, the sound of the TV invaded his ears, overwhelming. His father was not only at home, but he was also occupying the living room.
Sieun tried passing by. If he were lucky enough, he’d just get ignored.
“Why do you keep missing cram school these days?” His father’s strong voice resonated through the house as he turned off the TV to walk over to his son.
Sieun lowered his gaze. Even if he had a voice, he would’ve kept silent.
“You never used to disappoint me like this. So, what is it? A girl?” He smirked disgustingly, and Sieun’s stomach churned. “Right, as if a girl would want a weak, mute guy like you. Do better, Sieun, or else…”
Sieun bowed his head lower, stepping past his father like a shadow slipping through cracks in the floor. The hallway felt longer tonight, colder, and each footstep sounded too loud against the quiet the man had left behind.
His room was exactly as he’d left it: small, stale, a little too dark. But safe. Or at least safer. He closed the door gently behind him, locking it without a sound.
His fingers trembled slightly as he unzipped his jacket, the warmth of the fox’s fur already distant. Fading. He sat on the floor, back against the bed, knees pulled up to his chest.
No one asked why he came home bloodied.
No one asked how long the bruises had been there.
No one cared that his voice had never come back.
But the fox had stayed.
And for now, that was enough.