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"So. You gonna be around Resident Services this Sunday?"
You glance up from your notebook with reminders for your ongoing art exhibit (the reminders themselves given by Blathers; "Girl With a Pearl Earring does not have star earring, the Venus de Milo is not wearing a necklace, the Mona Lisa does NOT have eyebrows"). "I'll be on the island, why?"
"Meant for the fireworks, dummy."
You look up at him fully now. "Fireworks?"
There's a certain look of excitement in his eyes that he's trying to contain. "Uh huh, every Sunday in August. Around evening there's a fireworks display, Isabelle's gonna be taking design ideas outside Resident Services. And yours truly-" Redd points one clawed finger toward himself, looking... proud? Genuinely proud? It's almost cute, you think, before mentally batting the thought away with a baseball bat. "is hosting raffles. Like this, but a little more... festive, it's got a little more pizazz."
"Whoa. Tom actually let you set up on the island??"
"He doesn't even try to shoot me or anything," he says, grinning so wide his eyes squeeze shut.
"Huh." You flip your notebook shut, taking one of Redd's 'sold' stickers and slapping it on Lady with an Ermine (you didn't see any notes for this one, so you certainly hope the ferret looking thing is supposed to be grey). You press the necessary bells into the fox's open and waiting paw, quirking an eyebrow at the snicker he gives you. "Yeah, I'll come by. What time would it...?"
Leaning back against his raffle table, Redd looks at you almost warmly. "Starts at 7pm sharp, runs til midnight. I'll be there early so I can get all set up and whatnot."
"Works for me," you say, shoving your wallet back into your purse.
"How many pieces of art d'you still need in that museum, by the way?"
"5 or 6 left, I think?"
"Betcha the Mona Lisa is one of 'em."
"Don't piss me off right before a celebration, I'll get Tom right now."
"Alright, fuck, you don't gotta pull out the big guns! Shit."
You smirk to yourself, moving to leave. As you walk through the archway and toward Wilbur's (sea) plane, you casually shout over your shoulder, "Also, if that painting is fake, I'll kill you."
You bite back a grin at the familiar laughter that rings out behind you.
-----
You're nearly disgusted by how much you look forward to Sunday. It's all you can do to distract yourself, and you find yourself at the museum.
Peeking your head through the doorway, you're pleased to see that Blathers is awake (though if the coffee in his hand and bleary-eyed expression are anything to go by, it's a rather new development this afternoon). He catches sight of you, blinks the sleep away, and then a welcoming smile spreads across his face as he processes you walking up. "Why, good afternoon! Welcome to the museum. Is there something I can help you with?"
"Got a new painting for you, I didn't see any notes on this one so I'm hoping it's legitimate." You glance at his to-go cup, elegant logo from The Roost on display. "What brew is that, if you don't mind my asking??"
He lights up at the question, obviously enjoying the prospect of some pleasant conversation. (You know he's good friends with the barista upstairs, but you suspect he isn't the talkative type.) "This is the Blue Mountain blend! Brewster has been talking about ordering some new coffee beans for ages, to introduce a bit of variety. From my understanding, he used to serve 4 different types of beans at the last café he ran. Perhaps he's been feeling nostalgic for old times? Regardless, it would seem he's finally put his bells where his beak is, so to speak, hoo-hoo!"
You chuckle with him, glad to see the museum curator in good spirits. You pull out your newest find from Redd, praying the artwork is real this time. "So, I got my hands on this, and..." You see the regretful look that crosses Blathers' face as he lays eyes on the alleged Lady with an Ermine, and trail off mid-sentence. "No. No. Please say sike."
"Alas, I cannot say sike."
---
Eyebrows furrowed, coffee in hand, and painting stuffed back into your questionably large pockets (how does that even fit in there?), you trudge down the steps out of the museum. You grumble to yourself as you study the new additions to your trusty notebook, with Blathers' elegant handwriting scrawling the words "Lady with an Ermine - ermine is WHITE" being amongst them.
When you arrive home, closing the front door behind you with a huff, you pull the painting out again before setting it with the other counterfeit pieces you've collected. Glaring down at them, you try to focus on the annoyance you feel, instead of the longing tugging on you in the back of your mind. (There was no way you were missing the con artist while actively looking at your wasted bells. There was just no way.) Instead, your thoughts shift to wondering what to do with the paintings. Timmy and Tommy wouldn't accept them, Blathers of course couldn't possibly take them, but throwing them out just felt like a waste. And really, were the memories attached to each one so bad? The Mona Lisa, Rooster and Hen with Hydrangeas, Lady with an Ermine... even a perfect replica of Sunflowers, though supposedly there was already a donation of the same painting, so you'd had to take it home. An idea crosses your mind, and you get to work.
---
With your little home project finished, there's little to distract you from your thoughts.
You'll sooner die than admit it, but everything seems to remind you of that fucking fox. If you experiment with outfits, in the back of your mind is how much Redd might like it. If you try to enjoy the weather and go diving for sea creatures, you catch yourself glancing off toward the north, looking to catch a glimpse of tell-tale smog. You can't even sip coffee at The Roost in peace without the question of "does a fox ever visit up here?" bubbling up in your throat. (Worse yet is the follow-up, "how does he take his coffee?" Far too domestic to even think about.) And god forbid you try to spend some time in your own home, with those paintings.
So you're having a terrible time.
---
Sunday finally rolls around, and you make your way toward Resident Services while cursing yourself with every step. You'd managed to distract yourself until barely 5pm, but the threat (promise) of seeing that fucking fox for a little while before the festivities start is too tempting. You try to take a detour, smell the flowers, appreciate the beautiful day. All you end up accomplishing is picking a particularly juicy looking peach from a tree on your way, and stuffing it into your bag. You think up excuse after excuse on your way, and they all die on your tongue when you catch a flash of orange fur behind a festival stand.
"Wow," you begin, making Redd jump badly enough that he almost knocks his head against the top of his little raffle stand. "He really did let you set up on the island."
"Don't do that, I hate you," he hisses, scrambling to pick up the sparklers that he sent flying in his momentary panic.
You can't hold back a laugh dripping with mischief as you rummage through your bag. "You'll live." Your hand closes around the peach and you toss it toward him.
Redd catches it with ease as he stands to his full height again, eyeing it with interest. "I hate you mildly less." He sinks his teeth into the fruit, a bit of juice dripping from his mouth, and you decide that's a fantastic time to focus elsewhere, like the pavement of the plaza, or perhaps a nearby blade of grass. (He notices, making a show of licking his fangs when your gaze flicks toward him again, and cackles when you whip your head in a different direction to avoid him. Asshole.)
"Anyway," he starts through his mouthful of peach, "whatcha doing here so early? Business with Isabelle?"
"I was just passing by anyway, so..." Your sentence trails off as you shift your focus onto his festival stand.
Redd's mouth pulls into a sly grin. "Right, uh huh. And the peach?"
You stumble over your words, before huffing in exasperation. "I picked it on the way here, shut up, maybe it was my snack-"
"Ooh, sharing your food with me now?"
Your face burns, but at least you have ammo this time. "Don't start, I remember seeing your fucking fridge-"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," he says loudly, frantically, cutting you off. A victorious grin spreads across your face, and Redd's nose crinkles in frustration. He brings the fruit to his mouth for another bite, seemingly to avoid the subject.
"Coward. Anyway, I was bored, sue me. Is your stand thingy set up yet?" You pick up some bubbles to inspect them. (He never had bubbles at his raffle at Harv's Island, the stingy bastard.)
"Almost. Just gotta open a few more boxes of prizes." He swallows, and then thinks for a moment. "Actually, if you wanna help, I'll throw a few freebies your way."
"Fine, but if counterfeit bubbles exist, I'll skin you myself." He snickers, gesturing to a box behind the stand for you to start unpacking.
-----
It takes around 15 minutes to finish fully setting up for Redd's Raffle. True to his word (for once), he gives you a good handful of sparklers, a little container of bubbles, some boba milk tea, and a balloon (did he... know your favorite color, or-- nevermind, actually, it's better to not think about it).
"There, don't say I never do anything for you." He closes the boxes back up. "We got almost 2 hours to kill before the show starts."
"What do you usually do until the fireworks?"
"I dunno, make small talk with miss Isabelle, harass Nook... Not a whole lot to do here, o mighty island rep."
"Hmm. Well, I want to drop some of this stuff off at home first, I guess we can figure out something to do after that?"
"What, you don't want my fuckin' bubbles?"
"I'm trying not to lose the balloon, fuckwit."
He grins, but lets it go. "We could always just kill time at your place."
You raise an eyebrow suspiciously, ready to smack him if the need arises. "...You just want-"
"No, no, no." Redd puts his paws up in an attempt to placate you. "It's been a hot minute, I just figured it'd be nice to, ah. Spend some time like that."
"Ah." Your face warms, and you quickly decide that the clouds are far more interesting than looking him in the face. "...I'm going to be honest, it's only been a few weeks, so I, um... haven't exactly finished unpacking. Or tidying, really. I even brought some boxes back from my old town, and haven't gone through them... It's just a lot, and-"
"Lemme help."
"Huh??" Your head whips toward him again.
"Are you deaf? I said, lemme help." It seems to be Redd's turn to analyze clouds. "I've already been over before, anyway. If nothin' else, I can sit there and keep you company while you go through shit."
It's so oddly sweet you feel like you might be sick. Instead of stress vomiting like you really want to, you stumble over your words for a moment. "Yeah, I mean- I mean, sure. We can do that. Thanks."
"Yeah yeah, shut up, c'mon." Seemingly embarrassed, Redd starts making his way down the path, toward your house, clearly familiar enough to get there with ease. He doesn't bother looking over his shoulder to see if you're following (he already knows you are).
-----
"Sorry for the mess. I haven't even had the chance to sweep or dust or anything, there's been a lot going on-"
Redd forcibly stops your sentence in its tracks with a solid flick right to your forehead (christ, why does that hurt?), and he snorts. "I have two homes. One is a boat. The other is a trailer on a hippie's island. Shut the fuck up, your house is perfect."
Your face warms again, but you stop apologizing. Closing your front door behind you both, you flick on the big light to reveal a metric fuckton of boxes in your living room. You're already fighting with your embarrassment when Redd waltzes in like he owns the place, and his eyes slide up to the counterfeit paintings adorning your walls. You're expecting a snarky remark, a joke about how much you missed him, but nothing of the sort comes. His gaze slowly moves from painting to painting, and if you notice him blinking something away, you don't have it in you to point it out.
Redd gives a minute shake of his head before turning on his heel, picking up a box from the couch (a heavy box, if you remember correctly, that he picks up like it's nothing. Mentally, you slap yourself, and try to focus), and setting it on the rug below, freeing a seat for himself. He repeats this, making sure you've got a seat right next to him.
He slides his claw along the sloppily applied packing tape on the top of a box, slicing it open, and then looks at you expectantly. "Where do we start?"
-----
You do not get much actual unpacking done.
Not because Redd is misbehaving, per se; quite the opposite. You rummage through boxes that have been sealed for years, collecting dust in your old home, finding sentimental treasures you'd all but forgotten about. Redd asks questions, radiating a genuine curiosity you haven't seen on him often, attention rapt on you as you speak.
A model of an anniversary cake. Bouquets of preserved flowers from old villagers you were close with. Some balloons from a New Year's celebration. He listens intently as you reminisce about old friends and events long past, throwing in the occasional sly remark or giving encouragement for you to continue.
He helps you pull items out, handling them carefully and being mindful of his claws as he inspects them curiously. He doesn't point out how carefully you'd hung the forged paintings that surround you, physical reminders of encounters past, and you don't point out how his eyes linger on them, full of a feeling you've gotten uncomfortably familiar with.
You get through two boxes before you hear the first fireworks.
-----
You and Redd manage to scramble back to Resident Services in record time, nearly tripping over your own feet in your hurry. He collapses onto his raffle stand, panting, and you'd make fun of him if you were faring any better. Eyes still closed, Redd reaches around blindly (narrowly avoiding knocking his entire raffle box onto the ground below) until his paw touches a cup of boba (mango, if you're seeing correctly; it is getting dark out). He pops the straw in and drinks it down like he's dying, eyes barely open. To his credit, he shoves a coffee flavored one in your hand without a word.
You watch him scurry around his stand, making last minute preparations, as you sip on your own boba. The different colored lights from the fireworks bounce off his fur, illuminating the concentration on his face. You turn to look at the sky, leaning against Redd's stand as you watch the brilliant display light up the night. The warm breeze, a cool drink, the laughter and chatter of the other residents filling the air... if you could bottle this feeling and put it on display back home, you think you would.
Feeling two taps with sharp claws on your shoulder, you turn around to face Redd again. He's leaning against the stand, propping his head up with one paw. (He's closer than you thought he'd be. Your heart jumps, and you act like you don't notice.) "Care to partake in my humble raffle here, miss? Only 500 bells a ticket, and every ticket's a winner."
You think for a moment. "500 bells... Can I pay 1000 instead, and buy a specific prize? Or is that bribery?"
Redd squints suspiciously, but if anything, his grin grows. "If it was anyone else I'd say no. You were eyein' up that cotton candy, right? Or was it..."
He quickly scans over his merchandise, trying to assess what it is you could possibly want. You place the 1000 bells onto his stand, grabbing him by the front of his stupid festive shirt, and pull him in for a kiss.