Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mega City hummed with life.

Neon lights flickered and danced across the rain-slicked streets. Between the massive holo-ads and the low thrum of distant music, the smells of grilled meats and sweet fried buns floated thick in the air. Vendors shouted out today’s specials from their stalls, trying to catch the attention of the afternoon crowd.

Stray pulled his hood lower, tugging the dark fabric closer to his face. His hair, normally loose, was yanked back into a messy man-bun. The disguise wasn’t perfect, but it was enough. At least here, in the crowd, no one knew him. No one cared.

This was his first real chance to explore the city freely, without Mizuki shadowing him or the usual guards from home keeping him under watch. Mega City was dangerous, sure, but it also felt…alive. Untouchable.

Stray’s stomach growled as he walked past the open food stalls lining the street corner. One in particular caught his eye: an older man standing behind a small cart with a cracked holo-sign flashing “Shield Fish Special – Fresh Today!”

The old vendor laughed heartily at something…someone just in front of him.

Stray’s gaze shifted and locked.

A man. His hair was impossible to ignore—styled into a sharp, gravity-defying faux hawk that swept upward in bold, deliberate spikes. His clothes were casual but stylish. He pointed at the menu. His voice had a deep, warm, playful edge to it, thick with charisma as he teased the vendor like they were old friends.

“That one’s too small, old man. You trying to scam me again?” the blonde joked, nudging the vendor with a crooked grin.

The vendor slapped his arm lightly with a towel. “You get what you pay for, Drift!”

Drift...

Stray froze at the name.

He shouldn’t stare, but he did. Just for a second longer than he should. Something about the guy’s laugh, the way he stood with that easy confidence, the carefree glimmer in his eyes…It made Stray’s heart skip.

Not because he knew him—he didn’t.

But something about Drift…pulled.

Before Stray could linger longer, he turned sharply on his heel and disappeared back into the moving crowd, heart thumping a little too fast for comfort.

-

The bright buzz of Mega City soon gave way to shadows.

Stray’s boots tapped against cracked pavement as he wandered further east, into a part of the city less traveled. The lights dimmed here. The air turned heavier, thick with oil, trash, and the quiet hum of electrical wires that ran exposed along the walls.

Stray liked the quiet.

Or at least, he thought he did.

“Hey, pretty boy… Lost?”

Stray stopped.

Three figures stepped out from a side alley. Low-level punks by the look of them—scuffed boots, cheap knives, and fake bravado.

Stray’s eyes narrowed. He adjusted his stance, his fingers flexing under his cloak.

One of them sneered. “What’s under the hood, huh? Let’s see that face.”

The first punk lunged.

Stray moved before the guy even got close.

A clean side-step. A sharp elbow to the throat. The first attacker dropped like dead weight.

The second came in swinging a rusted pipe. Stray ducked low, sweeping the guy’s legs out from under him before landing a sharp kick to the gut.

The third… well, he got close enough to grab at Stray’s hood.

Big mistake.

Stray twisted free, caught the guy’s wrist, and slammed him face-first into the brick wall behind them. The sound of impact echoed down the alley.

Breathing hard but steady, Stray stood over the mess of groaning bodies. His pulse was fast, but more from adrenaline than fear.

That’s when he felt it.

Another presence.

Not one of them.

Someone else.

Watching.

Tracking.

Stray’s head whipped up, scanning the alley, the rooftops, the gaps between buildings—but whoever it was…they were fast. Too fast.

Cursing under his breath, Stray bolted.

He ran out of the alley, through the side streets, cutting sharp corners with every stride. The sounds of Mega City fell behind him as his feet pounded against the pavement, past flickering neon, out through the rusted gates marking the city limits.

Into the woods.

The trees swallowed him in moments. Leaves whipped against his skin. Stray didn’t stop until his lungs burned, but even then…that presence stayed close.

Somewhere behind him…someone was following.

And whoever it was…was good at it.

Stray’s heart hammered as he slipped behind a tree, eyes scanning the dark forest.

The night deepened. The air turned cold.

Who the hell was tailing him?

And why?

Chapter Text

The moon hung low, its pale light cutting through the canopy, casting a silver glow onto the forest floor. Crickets filled the air with static hums, but Stray barely heard them. His breathing slowed as he entered the open space—an empty clearing deep within the woods, far enough from the River Guard lands to avoid leading danger home.

This was where he’d make his stand.

Stray turned on his heel, yanking his hood down as he scanned the tree line. His pulse pounded hard behind his ears.

The presence was close now. Closing in.

A shift in the wind…a quiet crunch of dead leaves.

Stray’s eyes snapped toward the sound.

And then—there he was.

A figure stepped out from between the trees, tall and confident, his steps slow…deliberate. His outfit was a dark and gold, oversized cloak with glowing accents traced along his sleeves, like veins of power. But what grabbed Stray’s attention was the mask.

A kitsune mask. Bright white, sharp red markings around the eyes. Fox Clan.

Stray’s blood turned hot.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," he muttered under his breath.

There wasn’t time to think.

Stray lunged.

The fight started in a blur.

Stray went low first, aiming for the stranger’s legs. The man shifted sideways with ease, countering with a swift kick. Stray flipped back onto his feet, teeth gritted, launching himself forward again with more force, fists flying.

The Fox Clan warrior met him, strike for strike.

Palm blocks. Knee counters. Dodges just barely faster than Stray’s reach.

Every move Stray threw was met with something sharper, tighter, more practiced.

The man fought with a playful kind of precision, like he wasn’t breaking a sweat, like he’d been doing this forever.

And the whole time… that mask never wavered.

Stray’s frustration grew. Every time he thought he’d break through, the warrior read him like a book. But Stray didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. The rivalry between River Guard and Fox Clan burned in his chest like second nature.

This wasn’t just survival now.

This was personal.

The sound of their fists and boots colliding echoed across the clearing, until finally—A fast sweep of the leg.

Stray's footing slipped.

His back slammed into the cold dirt.

Hard.

Air knocked from his lungs.

For the first time tonight…he was still.

Defeated.

Stray blinked, stunned.

Leaves rustled beside him, kicked up from their struggle. Dirt clung to the side of his cheek, and the taste of iron sat bitter on his tongue. He pushed himself up onto one elbow, wincing as pain flared down his ribs.

The masked man stood calmly. Hands at his sides, breathing steadily like the fight hadn’t even fazed him.

Stray hissed under his breath. “Tch… Dammit…”

He slammed a fist against the ground, angry at himself, angry at how close he’d been…only to fall flat at the end.

The words of his instructors rang through his head: Never let your guard down. Never underestimate them. Especially the Fox Clan.

And yet…here he was.

He glared up through messy strands of hair, eyes narrowed like a cornered animal, fully expecting the warrior to taunt him or deliver a finishing blow.

But instead…something else happened.

Soft footsteps.

A shadow moved toward him.

Then…a hand.

Outstretched. Open.

Stray froze.

For a full heartbeat, he just stared at it.

The masked stranger knelt slightly, his tone low but casual, like offering a hand to a friend after a sparring match.

“Fast for someone your size,” the voice said, almost amused. “Sharp instincts too…you’ve got skill.”

Stray’s throat tightened.

What was this…? Mockery? Pity?

Yet…something about the way the hand stayed there…still and patient…didn’t feel like either.

Stray’s pride wrestled with him for a long second, but slowly...quietly…he lifted his own bruised hand and took it.

Their palms met.

The warrior pulled him to his feet with surprising gentleness.

For the briefest second…their eyes met. Masked and unmasked. Fox Clan and River Guard.

Neither of them said another word.

Stray only knew one thing:

This was far from the last time they’d cross paths.

Chapter Text

The quiet of the forest pressed in as they stood there, the moment between them still lingering in the night air.

Stray pulled his hand back and stepped away, brushing leaves off his clothes, doing everything he could to focus on anything but how warm that touch had been.

Still, the question hung in his mind—loud, heavy, and refusing to be ignored.

“…Why are you being respectful to me?” Stray asked finally, his voice edged but honest.

The masked man tilted his head.

Stray's tone sharpened. “You’re Fox Clan. I’m River Guard. We're not exactly supposed to be…civil.”

The man gave a small shrug, the glow of his cloak faintly catching the moonlight.

“I don’t really care much for rules written before we were born,” he said. “I follow what feels right. And chasing after a stranger who just wiped the floor with a pack of alley thugs? That felt like the right move.”

Stray stiffened slightly. “You…saw that?”

The man chuckled behind the mask. “Hard not to notice someone holding their own like that. You didn’t even hesitate.”

Stray looked away. “They weren’t exactly tough.”

“That’s not what impressed me,” The man replied. “It was the fire. The way you fought. Like you had something to prove.”

The words sank in slowly.

Stray clenched his fists and looked off toward the woods—toward the direction of River Guard lands. “You followed me because of that?”

“I was curious,” The man admitted. “Still am.”

Stray glanced at him again, brow knit tight.

Something about this masked man didn’t make sense.

The Fox Clan was always painted as reckless, proud, and arrogant. But this guy…he had a calm confidence, a warmth that caught Stray off guard. And the way he said all of it—without mockery, without challenge—it unsettled him more than any insult would have.

And it confused him.

More than he wanted to admit.

Stray didn’t know what to say. For once, he was the one at a loss for words.

His usual sharpness dulled in the face of… praise.

He looked away quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re…not like the stories say.”

The man chuckled. “I get that a lot.”

Stray’s lips twitched slightly, but he quickly buried them beneath a scowl. “I should go. I wasn’t even supposed to be out here.”

“Snuck out, huh?” He asked, almost playfully.

Stray nodded faintly, his gaze shifting back toward the path he came from. “If anyone notices I’m gone…they’ll be on high alert.”

The man tilted his head. “Why’s that?”

Stray hesitated for just a moment. Then, with a sigh and a glance over his shoulder, he muttered, “Because I’m a prince.”

“Wait. Seriously?” The man asked. 

Stray didn’t reply. He was already walking off, hood half-up, pace quickening.

But the masked man wasn’t done.

“Hey!” he called after him. “Same time tomorrow?”

Stray froze mid-step.

He didn’t turn around. Didn’t answer.

He just stood there for a beat, the breeze catching in his cloak.

Then, without a word…Stray disappeared into the woods.

The man watched him go, arms folding behind his head, a grin forming under the mask.

“…Interesting.”

Chapter Text

The night air was cooler now, crisp and still, as Stray crouched outside the shoji window of his private chambers, perched high on the third tier of Kenjutsu Crossing. From here, the fortress sprawled quietly below him—its layered rooftops descending like folded silk, courtyards sleeping in shadow, lanterns flickering faintly at distant gates.

No footsteps.

No patrols.

Good.

With practiced ease, Stray slid the shoji window open just enough to slip through.

The familiar scent of cedarwood and faint incense greeted him as he stepped soundlessly onto the polished wooden floor of his room. He was home.

Finally.

He paused there in the dark, standing still in his private quarters, ears sharp for any hint of movement in the halls beyond.

Nothing.

Silence.

Only then did he let out a slow breath.

His hood came down first. Then the cloth binding his tied hair loosened. Dark strands spilled over his shoulders as he crossed the quiet chamber.

His muscles ached. His knuckles stung. But it wasn’t pain that clung to him.

It was confusion.

Intrigue.

And that damned voice repeating in his head.

"Still am."

Scowling, Stray moved to the far corner of the room, where his private bath sat waiting—a stone basin warm from the underground springs below. He peeled off his clothes and stepped into the water, letting the heat pull at his tension.

But the storm in his head didn’t ease.

Who was that masked fool?

Why had he offered his hand instead of a blade?

Why couldn’t Stray stop thinking about him?

Water slid over his skin.

But nothing could wash those questions away.

—

Later, stretched out on his futon, Stray stared up at the ceiling beams of his room. 

The castle beyond his chambers slept.

But he didn’t.

Behind closed eyes, the fox mask lingered.

Waiting.

Watching.

Smiling.

—

The next night, Stray didn’t hesitate.

He changed swiftly—dark clothes, hair tied back, hood drawn low.

He crossed the floor of his chambers, straight to the shoji window.

He slid it open.

And stepped silently back out onto the tiled rooftops of Kenjutsu Crossing.

From the third tier, rooftops stretched beneath him like a path. The sloped eaves guided his descent. Each step over the moonlit tiles was precise, silent, relentless.

The stone courtyards and outer gates passed beneath him.

Beyond the castle walls, he crossed into the forest.

And when the clearing opened before him…

There he stood.

Leaning against the same tree.

Waiting.

The warrior in the fox mask.

Arms crossed, posture relaxed—as if he’d always known Stray would return.

Stray slowed.

But didn’t stop.

Didn’t turn.

The masked man lifted his head.

“Evening, your highness.”

Stray’s breath slipped out, slow and quiet.

“…You waited.”

A hint of a smile crept into the stranger’s voice. “Didn’t want to miss you.”

And between them…

The night seemed to hold its breath.

Chapter Text

The masked man paced slowly across the clearing, feet light on the grass as he rolled his shoulders.

“So…” he said, tone casual. “Up for a rematch, your highness?”

Stray raised a brow beneath his hood, arms crossed. “You think just because I showed up again, I’ve forgiven you for sweeping me to the ground?”

The stranger let out a soft laugh, easy and unbothered. “Not at all. I just figured you might want to take another swing at me. Clean your pride a little.”

Stray stepped forward, slowly tugging off his cloak and tossing it aside. “Tch. I didn’t come all this way to chat.”

“Oh?” The fox-masked figure tilted his head, a grin audible in his voice. “Then let’s see what you’ve got.”

Without another word, Stray lunged and the second round began.

Their bodies moved like shadows under the moonlight, lithe and fast, the sound of fists and forearms colliding echoing through the clearing. Stray’s movements were tighter this time—more controlled, more precise. He wasn’t fighting from anger now, but from focus.

The masked man could feel it. Every block came closer to being overwhelmed. Every dodge grew tighter.

“You’ve been practicing,” the stranger teased between grunts.

“Shut up and fight,” Stray snapped, driving his knee toward his opponent’s side.

The masked man caught it barely and spun away, countering with a sweeping kick that Stray jumped over with feline grace. When their hands met mid-air in a grab, they locked eyes—just for a moment.

Then both shoved off.

Stray landed in a low stance, breathing hard. The masked warrior crouched nearby, one hand braced against the ground, the fox mask hiding whatever expression might have flickered behind it.

“That all you got?” the stranger asked, panting lightly.

Stray smirked. “Not even close.”

They clashed again, blow after blow, until both stumbled back, chests rising and falling, sweat glistening under the pale light.

No victor.

But it didn’t matter.

They were both grinning.

They dropped down onto the grass, side by side, staring up at the stars overhead.

The forest around them stayed still, only the wind and distant calls of nightbirds breaking the quiet.

Stray rested an arm behind his head, catching his breath.

“That was…better,” he muttered.

The masked man gave a low chuckle. “That almost felt like you were holding back.”

Stray didn’t answer at first. He just watched the stars, his breathing slowing.

After a moment, the stranger spoke again, quieter this time. “So…what’s it like? The whole ‘prince’ thing?”

Stray blinked, caught off guard. No one ever asked him that. Not like that. No orders. No pity. Just…curiosity.

He hesitated.

“…Stifling,” Stray admitted at last. “Every word I say is judged. Every step I take is weighed. It’s all duty, all expectation. My sister gets most of the attention. But even as the younger one, I’m still a symbol. Still watched.”

The stranger said nothing. Just listened.

Stray continued, voice lower now.

“There’s no space to breathe. No space to be. Sneaking out here, away from it all…” He let out a breath. “It’s the only time I feel like I’m not wearing a mask.”

The masked man leaned back on his hands. “Sounds…exhausting.”

“It is.”

Silence fell between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

After a while, Stray glanced over. “You’re the first person I’ve ever told that to.”

No teasing came.

No clever reply.

Just a small nod from the masked figure, as if saying thank you without needing the words.

And under the soft cover of night, Stray realized…for the first time in a long while…

He felt lighter.

Chapter Text

The stars were still high when Stray stood, brushing grass from his pants. The night had slipped past faster than he’d expected, and the weight of duty began creeping back into his chest like a cold wind.

“I should go,” he said quietly, stooping to pick up his cloak from where it lay draped across the grass. He shook it out once, pulled it on, and with a practiced motion, tugged the hood up over his head.

The masked man remained seated. He tilted his head slightly, voice light but steady. “So…same time tomorrow?”

Stray hesitated.

This time, the question didn’t make him smirk.

This time…it pressed right into the conflict that had been twisting inside him since their first meeting.

His gaze dropped to the forest floor. “I don’t know if I should keep sneaking out like this every night. If I get caught…”

The masked man didn’t interrupt.

He simply waited.

Stray’s voice fell lower. “I just…don’t know.”

Silence lingered between them.

Then came the reply, calm as ever. “Fair enough.” A pause. “But I’ll still be here. Every night. Just in case.”

Stray glanced back at him. “You really don’t give up, do you?” he muttered.

“Nope,” the stranger replied easily, rising to his feet at last. “Guess you’ll have to learn to live with that.”

Stray didn’t answer.

He just turned and disappeared into the trees.

But this time…something in him wished he didn’t have to.

—

Two days passed.

Stray didn’t return to the clearing.

He fulfilled his duties, nodded silently through court meetings, sparred with guards in the stone courtyards, and answered Mizuki’s instructions without protest.

But none of it felt right.

His mind kept drifting to him.

To the masked figure waiting somewhere beyond the tree line.

Was he still there?

Stray found himself pacing the edges of the palace gardens, staring into the forest like it might offer an answer.

Why did this guilt gnaw at his chest?

They had no bond. No agreement. No promise.

And yet…

What if he waited anyway?

That night, Stray sat motionless on his futon, the thin mattress cool beneath him where it lay across the tatami floor. His hair hung loose, strands falling into his eyes as he stared down at his clenched hands.

The room around him was silent.

Moonlight crept faintly through the slats of the shoji doors, drawing pale lines across the wooden walls.

His heartbeat was too fast. This was foolish.

Reckless.

Could he really trust someone from the Fox Clan?

But then he remembered that voice—calm, teasing, but never mocking. The hand that had helped him up instead of striking. The quiet way the masked man had listened, like he genuinely cared.

Stray didn’t feel danger from him.

He felt…safe.

Before he could second-guess himself, Stray stood sharply.

And within moments, he was sliding open the shoji window of his chambers, slipping silently out into the night once again.

Boots touched the cool tiled rooftops of Kenjutsu Crossing.

The sloped eaves carried him downward.

He moved faster this time—silent, but without uncertainty. Each rooftop descent took him closer to the outer walls, and each shadow felt familiar. The layered rooftops of the castle no longer felt like barriers.

They felt like a path.

He crossed the stone courtyards.

Passed through the outer gates.

And vanished into the trees.

The forest closed around him as he ran.

His heart pounded loud enough to drown out the night birds.

The clearing drew nearer.

And then—he saw it.

That faint pink glow under moonlight.

A familiar silhouette.

The fox mask.

He was there.

Waiting.

Just like he said he would be.

Stray stepped forward, breath caught in his throat.

He didn’t say anything.

He didn’t need to.

Because the way the masked man straightened—and turned toward him, like he’d been hoping tonight would be the night…

Said everything.

Chapter Text

Their limbs ached from the latest sparring session—faster, sharper, more fluid than the ones before. Stray and the masked man now moved like they knew each other’s patterns, like their bodies were starting to sync in rhythm. The spar had ended with both of them panting on the grass again, side by side under the stars, their breathing the only sound between them.

Neither of them spoke for a while.

The silence wasn’t awkward.

It was full of thoughts neither one knew how to say yet.

Stray stared at the sky, chest still rising and falling from the exertion. His eyes traced the patterns of the stars. His lips parted before he could stop himself.

“…Stray.”

The masked man turned his head.

Stray didn’t look at him, just kept watching the stars. “That’s my name.”

The pause that followed wasn’t long, but it felt like a held breath.

“Drift.”

Stray blinked and turned his head.

The name rang faintly in his memory, like a whisper through the fog.

“…Drift,” he repeated, testing it again. His brow furrowed slightly. “That sounds…familiar.”

Drift let out a quiet chuckle. “I get that sometimes.”

Stray didn’t press it further, but something about it tickled the back of his mind. He'd heard that name before. Not recently…but somewhere. A report? A meeting? A story Mizuki had ranted about in the throne room?

Still…he let it rest.

For now.

“Nice to finally put a name to the mask,” Stray murmured.

Drift smiled beneath it. “Same to you.”

-

It was getting late.

Stray hadn’t realized how long they’d stayed, lost in silent company. With a quiet sigh, he pushed himself up from the grass. Drift followed suit, rising smoothly to his feet.

Stray brushed dirt from his clothes, reaching down to retrieve his cloak from the ground. He pulled it on and lifted his hood.

Drift gave a small wave as Stray backed toward the trees. “Be safe, your highness.”

Stray rolled his eyes—just a little—but the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Don’t wait up,” he said softly before slipping into the shadows.

The forest felt different tonight. A little more alive. A little more personal.

By the time Stray approached the outer wall of the estate, his sharp eyes caught immediate movement along the edges of the inner gardens—guards.

Three of them.

Patrolling.

He froze behind a tree, breath tight in his throat.

They're patrolling the grounds now? Were they tipped off?

His chest tightened as he watched their patterns. One walked the perimeter near the Sakura trees. Another swept the lower gravel paths. The third paused, speaking quietly into a communicator crystal strapped to his gauntlet.

Stray narrowed his eyes.

Not good.

He moved like a shadow, keeping low to the hedges, every step calculated, every breath controlled.

Finally—the opening. He moved.

Scaling the outer wall, he pressed close to the stone, fingers and boots finding familiar grooves carved between the bricks. No hesitation now. He’d done this before.

Reaching the lower rooftops, he pulled himself up onto the tiled eaves, the cool ceramic slick beneath his palms. He crouched low, staying to the shadows as he ascended. From one rooftop to the next, he climbed steadily, navigating the layered tiers.

Up past the second tier, toward the third.

His arms burned from the climb, but he didn’t slow.

Finally, reaching the edge of the third tier, he crossed the last narrow rooftop, boots light against the angled tiles. His room waited just ahead.

Heart hammering, he slid the window open and slipped through in one swift motion.

He was back inside.

His private chambers—dark, silent, the faint scent of incense lingering in the air.

Safe.

Stray crouched there for a moment, listening carefully for any sound in the halls beyond his walls.

Nothing.

He let out a slow, careful breath. That was too close.

He slid the window shut behind him. 

The tension only began to ease from his shoulders as he made his way to the stone bath. Turning the valves, he watched steam begin to rise as hot water filled the basin.

He stripped quickly.

Stepped under the flow.

Let the warmth wash over him.

But his mind wasn’t on the guards or the narrow escape.

It wasn’t even here.

It was still out there.

In the clearing.

With Drift.

And now…finally…a name.

Chapter Text

The palace was on edge.

Guards paced the halls with sharpened eyes, their patrols doubled in number and intensity. Even Mizuki had grown suspicious—her glances toward Stray now laced with quiet calculation.

It had been four nights since the last meeting.

Four long, restless nights.

Stray sat beside the window, back pressed against the wooden frame. The cool surface at his shoulder did nothing to calm him.

He could make out faint movement below.

Guards. Again.

He could hear their footsteps echoing faintly beyond his door as well, steady and unrelenting.

His jaw clenched. He hated this.

The night pressed against the window like a taunt, the rooftops just beyond these walls so familiar…yet unreachable.

He was caged. Held still by duty and the relentless watch of guards.

And the longer he sat here, pinned in place like some obedient heir…

…the more he feared Drift would think he wasn’t coming back.

That thought tightened his chest more than anything, and he didn’t know how to make it stop.

Defeated, Stray pushed himself up from where he sat, his movements heavy with frustration. He crossed the cool wooden floor of his chambers, footsteps silent despite his exhaustion.

He slid open the wooden panel to the bath area.

Inside, the air felt stale and heavy.

Kneeling beside the stone tub, he turned the iron valves, listening as hot water rushed steadily into the basin. Steam soon filled the small space, curling like mist around him, clinging to the walls.

When the tub was full, Stray stripped off his dark clothing and stepped carefully into the water.

The heat struck him at once, seeping deep into his muscles, but the pressure in his chest didn’t ease.

He leaned back, eyes closed.

Drift wouldn’t just assume the worst…right?

But Drift didn’t know this life.

The guards. The walls. The expectations crushing him from every side.

A fortress, built not to protect him, but to keep him contained.

After a long, silent soak, Stray climbed out, drying himself off.

He dressed in a dark silk yukata, the sash tied loosely around his waist. His damp hair clung softly to his neck, tied low in a simple ponytail that brushed against his shoulder.

Barefoot, he padded softly back into the main room.

He didn’t return to his futon.

Instead, he sank beside the window, drawing his knees up, arms loosely resting atop them. His forehead touched the wooden frame.

The cool night air trickled faintly through the slats, but it didn’t help.

Not tonight.

His heart still felt heavy, and he knew exactly why.

-

A soft thump broke the silence.

Stray’s head snapped up.

He hadn’t heard footsteps. Just that muted sound—fabric brushing, a weight landing.

Before he could react, the shoji window beside him slid open—silent, practiced. A shadow slipped through in one fluid motion, landing in a low crouch beside him. The window slid shut behind the figure.

Stray's breath caught as he jerked back instinctively, heart lurching.

But then he saw it. The fox mask and the pink glow.

“Drift?!”

The masked figure crouched there, close—the moonlight barely touching him.

He said nothing at first. Then, quietly, that same familiar voice slipped through the silence:

“Missed me?”

Stray’s heart hammered against his ribs.

“You—” He scrambled to his feet, mind racing. “What the hell are you doing here?! This is enemy territory!”

Drift tilted his head slightly, casual despite everything. “Didn’t feel like waiting anymore.” He stands.

Stray’s voice sharpened, low and frantic. “But the guards outside... You could've been caught... If anyone sees you—”

“I made sure they wouldn’t,” Drift said calmly, his voice low and easy.

Stray’s hands trembled. He was still stunned.

Still reeling.

“You really are an idiot,” Stray hissed. “You don’t just sneak into the River Guard’s prince’s bedroom like this!”

Drift crosses his arms, a grin slowly forming behind the mask. “So this is your bedroom.”

Stray flushed. “Not the point!”

But Drift wasn’t looking at the furniture.

He was still looking at him.

And Stray…felt it.

That silence. That heat. That charge between them.

He should be yelling.

He should be furious.

But instead… his heart was thundering in his chest.

Chapter Text

The tension still hung thick in the air, but Drift stood calm, watching Stray with an unreadable expression.

With a quiet breath, he gently eased back his hood, letting it settle against the high collar of his black cloak. Then, with slow, careful fingers, he reached up and lifted the kitsune mask from his face.

In the dim, near-shadowed light of Stray’s room, his face came into view for the first time.

Blond hair was swept up into a tousled fauxhawk, though a few loose strands had fallen forward, brushing over sharp, golden eyes that caught what little light there was. The rest of his face remained hidden behind a black face mask, covering from just beneath his eyes down to his chin, concealing whatever expression his lips might hold.

But his eyes…

They said enough.

Stray's breath caught. His heart gave a sharp lurch.

“You...” he stepped closer, eyes narrowing in recognition. “The food vendors. Back in Mega City… You were the guy ordering the shield fish special.”

Drift’s golden eyes crinkled slightly at the edges, hinting at a smile beneath the mask. “Bingo.”

“You were him.” Stray blinked. “I remember the way you spoke. The way you laughed with the old man...”

Drift let out a chuckle, voice low, “Shield Fish is my favorite. I go there a lot. The old man always pretends to hate me, but he saves the best cuts.”

Stray couldn’t stop the soft smile tugging at his lips. “…You are something else.”

“I could say the same for you,” Drift replied, his tone gentler now. “I didn’t realize back then that the quiet guy watching me was actually the River Guard’s prince.”

Stray looked down, rubbing the back of his neck, embarrassed. He saw that? 

Drift’s gaze followed Stray's long strands of hair slipping, slow and thoughtful. The way the light hit the strands. The contrast of the dark yukata with the warm, light tan of Stray’s skin. It made something ache in Drift’s chest.

“You look different,” he said after a moment.

Stray blinked. “What do you mean?”

Drift tilted his head. “With your hair down. Compared to when it’s tied tight. You look…” He paused, searching for the word. “Softer.”

Stray crossed his arms, his expression twisting slightly. “Yeah. That’s why I hate it.”

Drift raised a brow. “Why?”

Stray glances away. "I look like a girl." 

Drift’s brow furrowed—not in judgment, but in quiet understanding. “And you think that’s a bad thing?”

Stray hesitated, jaw clenching.

“I don’t know. I guess I always thought I had to look stronger. Sharper. Like someone no one could mistake.”

There was a long pause.

Then Drift spoke, voice lower. “Well, I think you look strong like this, too. Just…a different kind of strong.”

Stray blinked up at him.

“You’re pretty, yeah,” Drift added casually. “But that doesn’t make you any less capable. I’ve seen the way you fight. The way you carry yourself. Anyone who underestimates you because of a hairstyle is just asking to be thrown to the ground.”

Stray didn’t respond right away, but something in his chest quietly softened.

The room had quieted again, save for the gentle night breeze tapping softly against the closed shoji window.

Stray stood in silence for a moment, then turned and walked slowly across the room. He sat down on the edge of his futon, movements subdued. His fingers drifted absently through the ends of his damp hair, now resting over his shoulder in soft, loose waves.

Drift remained nearby, gaze still drawn to him—the contrast of vulnerability and quiet fire in the prince before him.

Stray spoke suddenly, voice low. “Hair is a tradition of the River Guard.”

Drift blinked. 

Stray kept his gaze down. “We’re taught from birth that our hair is our legacy. It reflects the line we carry. The longer it grows, the more it honors those who came before us. I’m not allowed to cut it.”

Drift’s expression shifted.

“I can only keep it tied back during combat.”

He looked up then, eyes tired. “I don’t hate it. Not really. But sometimes…I just want to chop it off. Cut it however I want it without someone giving me a lecture about sacred heritage.”

He let out a bitter, hollow laugh. “I guess it’s just one more part of me I don’t really own.”

For a long moment, Drift said nothing.

Then he crossed the room and sat beside him on the futon, close but careful—not touching.

“You want to be free,” Drift said quietly.

Stray’s jaw tensed. His voice cracked faintly. “More than anything.”

A silence settled between them. Then Stray spoke again, barely audible. “You get to do whatever you want. Go wherever you want. No throne. No weight on your shoulders.”

Drift leaned back slightly on his palms. “I won’t lie,” he said softly. “It’s nice being unchained.”

Stray looked down, his knuckles tightening in his lap.

“I envy that.”

Chapter Text

The silence stretched again, only now it hummed with something deeper...something heavier.

Drift looked at Stray for a long moment, then he asked gently, “…Then why don’t you leave?”

Stray’s head snapped toward him, startled.

“I’m serious,” Drift continued, voice calm but steady. “You could come with me. The Fox Clan doesn’t force people to be something they’re not. We don’t crown anyone. We don’t bind anyone by bloodlines. You’d be free to wear your hair however the hell you wanted.”

Stray’s jaw tightened. He looked away, shaking his head. “That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

Stray stayed where he was, fists curling in his lap.

“I can’t,” he said softly, but firmly. “I’m still River Guard. No matter how much I hate it sometimes, it’s who I am. I can’t abandon my people…or Mizuki.”

Drift didn’t push.

He just nodded slowly. “I figured you’d say that.”

Stray’s voice came even quieter now. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to leave. Even if I wanted to.”

Drift leaned forward slightly, elbows resting loosely on his knees, his voice lower.

“Then think of it as a door,” he said. “Not an escape. Just…a door. One that’s always open. If things ever change. If you ever change.”

Stray’s fingers stilled. Slowly, hesitantly, he turned his head to meet Drift’s gaze.

“You’d wait?”

Drift shrugged, his golden eyes steady. “I already do.”

Stray didn’t answer. His gaze lingered on Drift, as if his thoughts were caught somewhere between fear and longing—standing just outside that door, wondering what it would mean to finally step through.

Cool air filtered through the thin cracks of the shoji window as the moon climbed higher over Kenjutsu Crossing.

Drift moved quietly toward the window, footsteps as soft as whispers against the wooden floor. He slid the shoji panel open just slightly, pausing to scan the layered rooftops and quiet courtyards below. His eyes narrowed in focus.

All clear.

He exhaled softly and glanced back toward Stray.

“Well,” Drift said, his voice low. His golden eyes glimmered with quiet amusement. “I should go before someone actually catches me and causes another rivalry scandal."

Stray remained sitting, legs pulled loosely to his chest, the sleeves of his yukata bunched around his arms. He watched Drift with a look that tried to be unimpressed, but his eyes gave him away.

Drift's fingers brush the edge of the shoji panel, sliding it just wide enough for his body, the night air spilling softly into the room. Pausing, he glanced back over his shoulder, “Unless, of course…you wanna tag along.” He reached for his fox mask, settling it properly over his face, then tugged his hood up—movements smooth and unhurried.

Stray blinked, caught off guard.

His heartbeat stumbled before his expression twisted—stubborn, flustered, and frustrated all at once.

“You wish.” Stray pushed himself up from the futon, moving in without hesitation. Drift watched him, eyes tracking each step, silent now as Stray crouched low beside him. Stray shoved him—firm, deliberate, a half-playful push between the shoulders that lingered just long enough to make Drift’s gaze soften behind the mask.

“Get out of here before someone sees your smug face.”

For a beat, Drift didn’t move. He let the push settle, then came a quiet chuckle, low behind the mask. “I’m just saying…wouldn’t say no to a midnight plus-one.”

Stray stayed crouched, close enough for Drift to watch the tension in his jaw, the hesitation he tried to hide. Drift said nothing more.

“I’m not that reckless,” Stray muttered, but Drift saw the flicker in his eyes.

The thought of following him. The rooftops. The night. It burned in Stray’s chest. Drift could tell.

Stray crossed his arms, forcing a faint smirk, trying to bury it.

“Go. Already.”

Drift’s gaze lingered a moment longer before he gave a lazy, two-fingered salute. 

“As your highness commands.”

Drift crouched low on the tiled rooftop just outside Stray’s window, moonlight tracing silver along the edges of his hood.

“Oh—by the way,” Drift said casually, his voice low behind the fox mask. “Next time we meet, I’m taking you out to eat.”

Stray blinked. “…What?”

“In Mega City,” Drift continued, “Delicious shield fish. Maybe some mochi for dessert. All on me.”

Stray shifted slightly, unsure whether to scoff or smile. “You’re assuming a lot.”

“Not assuming,” Drift said easily. “Just hoping.”

With that, Drift disappeared into the night.

Stray stayed crouched there, unmoving, the cold air brushing past him. Drift’s words lingered, refusing to leave.

He shook his head after a long moment, exhaling softly, but the quiet, reluctant smile pulled at his lips all the same.

“…Idiot.”

And somehow…the thought of that night—the idea of going with him—felt less like a fantasy.

Maybe even possible.

Chapter Text

Only one night had passed since Drift’s last visit.

And yet, for Stray, it felt like forever.

The guards were as relentless as ever—circling the outer gardens, stationed just beyond the shoji panels, their voices drifting faintly through the night. He’d counted their rotations and timed every pause and every pass. Stray cursed under his breath every time their pattern closed off any chance of slipping out.

But tonight…

Something felt different.

He paused near the window, careful not to shift the delicate panel too loudly, and listened.

Silence.

No footsteps. No faint crackle of crystal-communication drifting through the breeze.

The patrol had either shifted…or vanished.

Suspicious? Definitely. But Stray didn’t waste time questioning it.

He moved fast.

His hands worked with practiced speed, tying his long hair back into its usual man-bun, fingers tight and sure. Then came the cloak—the soft, familiar weight over his shoulders. The hood followed like instinct.

He spared only one last glance toward the door.

Then, crouching low, he slid the shoji panel open just wide enough to slip through and vanished into the night.

The forest welcomed him like an old friend. The dirt paths of Kenjutsu Crossing cushioned each step, steady and swift beneath his feet. His heart pounded with anticipation.

When he finally broke through the tree line into the quiet clearing, his eyes swept the moonlit space and found him.

Drift.

Already there. Standing casually in the shadows, hands stuffed into the pockets of his loose black pants. His sleeveless pink hoodie stood out even in the dark, worn over a fitted black long-sleeve shirt. The hood was down, tousled blond hair catching the light. 

No mask.

Just Drift.

Stray didn’t even try to fight the small smile pulling at his lips. “Hey,” he said, breathless.

Drift looked up and grinned, golden eyes catching the light.

“There’s that face,” he said. “Took you long enough.”

Stray rolled his eyes, but the smile lingered. “I had to wait for the guards to disappear.”

“Mm.” Drift tilted his head, amused. “I was two minutes from breaking in again. Figured I’d make it more dramatic this time. Maybe crash through your ceiling.”

Stray huffed a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re slow,” Drift fired back, but there was no bite in it.

Stray stepped closer, and for a moment, his eyes lingered.

On the way Drift’s hoodie hung loose around his frame.

The white patch just above one golden eye in his eyebrow. 

That damn confident smile..

Drift’s grin widened. “You’re staring.”

Stray blinked and looked away a bit too late. “No, I’m not.”

“You so are,” Drift teased, bumping their shoulders as he took a step forward. “What, that night wasn't enough?”

“S-shut up,” Stray muttered, trying and failing not to glance back.

Drift gave a quiet laugh, then reached out and took his hand.

Stray froze.

Not out of fear but in that breathless, heated way that came just before something thrilling and irreversible. His fingers hovered, uncertain until Drift gave the faintest squeeze, steady and warm.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Drift said, softer now. 

Stray's throat felt tight. His pulse roared in his ears. He couldn’t look at Drift—not right now, not with his face burning and his heart fluttering like this.

Still, he didn’t pull away.

His hand stayed right where it was.

Drift gave a small smile, eyes kind now. “Let's go.”

Stray nodded and walked beside him.

They moved hand in hand through the thinning woods, the hush of the forest fading into the neon glow of Mega City ahead.

Tonight…the prince wasn’t sneaking out.

He was choosing to go.

Chapter Text

Mega City was alive tonight.

The buzz of neon signs flickered above narrow alleys packed with glowing stalls and sizzling grills. Lanterns swayed between power lines overhead. The scent of grilled meats, sweet spices, and broth hung thick in the air, and it made Stray’s stomach rumble.

It felt different from the last time he walked through this street. Maybe it was the crowd, the freedom. Or maybe it was the way Drift kept tugging him along with an easy smile and the most casual touch of their hands.

They stopped at a familiar food stall, tucked under an old tarp with faded symbols of fish and steam bowls.

Drift grinned as the old vendor—a wiry man with a long grey mustache and rolled-up sleeves—looked up and barked, “Well, well! Look who the wind dragged in again.”

“Miss me?” Drift said smoothly, stepping up to the counter like he owned the place.

The old man squinted past Drift’s shoulder and spotted Stray standing a little stiffly nearby. His eyes lit up.

“Oh? What’s this? You finally bringin’ someone with taste?”

Drift shot a smirk over his shoulder. “He’s got better taste than me, actually.”

Stray flushed.

The old man let out a deep belly laugh. “Ahh, so this is a date, huh?”

Before Stray could deny it—or hide the creeping heat in his face—Drift added without hesitation, “Yep. First date, actually.”

Stray’s head snapped toward him. “Drift—!”

But the damage was done.

The old man waved a dismissive hand. “Say no more. First date gets a discount. The second plate’s half off. Just don’t break his heart, blondie.”

Drift winked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Stray, red to his ears, muttered something under his breath and tried to look anywhere except Drift or the vendor. 

The food came out fresh and steaming. Shield Fish on rice, glazed with garlic-soy sauce and sprinkled with crushed herbs. Drift took his with practiced ease and offered Stray the other.

Stray took it. Still flustered.

-

With their meals polished off and their stomachs warmed, the two wandered deeper into the market, where the colors turned softer, pastel lanterns swaying gently over dessert stands.

Stray’s eyes lit up as he passed one that glowed a gentle pink, its sign displaying one word: Mochi.

“Wait,” Drift said, tugging his arm and steering him toward it. “You’re not leaving here without trying the peach ones. Trust me.”

The stall had rows of round, soft rice cakes dusted in powder: green tea, strawberry, black sesame, and more. But the peach mochi? Shiny, glossy, and blushing in hue like fresh fruit.

Drift bought two and handed one to Stray.

As Stray bit into it, the sweet filling burst onto his tongue. Soft and delicate like summer.

His eyes widened.

Drift grinned. “Right?”

Stray gave a slow nod, then said around the second bite, “Okay…I might forgive you for calling this a date.”

Drift laughed. “You never denied it, y’know.”

“I was too busy being mortified.”

“You were cute when you blushed.”

Stray tried to glare, but his mouth was full of mochi, and it kind of ruined the effect.

They kept walking, trying new flavors. Drift dropped powdered sugar on himself, and Stray laughed. He wiped it off Drift’s chin with a napkin and pretended it didn’t make his stomach flutter.

The air between them buzzed. Not from city noise, but from something warmer. Lighter.

Stray wasn’t sure what this night was supposed to mean, but he knew he didn’t want it to end yet.

Chapter Text

They wandered until the buzzing of the market began to fade behind them, replaced by the hum of quiet electricity and the distant chatter of the city night.

Eventually, they found themselves standing on a wide bridge stretching over the river that snaked through Mega City. Neon lights pulsed from towering signs and lit windows, their glow painting the dark water below in swirls of magenta, cyan, and electric gold.

The reflections rippled like living art.

Stray leaned against the railing, his cloak flaring behind him as the wind blew gently past. For a while, neither of them said anything—they just watched the city breathe.

Stray exhaled slowly. “Tonight was…fun.”

Drift turned his head slightly, his profile glowing under the city’s colorful light. “Yeah?”

Stray gave a soft nod. “I didn’t think I’d ever walk these streets for anything but a meeting. Let alone eat mochi and joke around like this.”

Drift smirked. “Glad I dragged you out, then.”

Stray smiled down at the glowing water. “Are the others in the Fox Clan like you?”

Drift raised a brow. “What, charming and devastatingly handsome?”

Stray scoffed.

Drift leaned his elbows on the rail beside him. “Nah. We’re all different. Some are loud, some are quiet, others won’t shut up... But…”

He looked at Stray with something gentler in his voice. “I guess I just never really saw us the way River Guard teaches you to.”

Stray gave a small hum of acknowledgment.

Then Drift added with a smirk, “But no. I’m the only cool one.”

Stray laughed under his breath. “Of course you are.”

They lingered there for a while longer.

Stray’s thoughts swirled quietly in his mind. About Drift, about tonight, about everything he’d been told growing up. The words Fox Clan had always been laced with caution, with stories of betrayal, dishonor, and rebellion.

But Drift?

Drift wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t deceitful.

He was open. Curious. Kind.

And maybe…

Maybe everything he's been told isn’t the full story.

Stray felt a gentle nudge at his side.

Drift stood a little closer now, bumping their shoulders. “You’re thinking again.”

Stray blinked. “I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were,” Drift cuts in, grinning. “You’ve got that stormy-brow-prince expression.”

Stray rolled his eyes, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

“Try enjoying the moment for once,” Drift said more softly. “You’re allowed to just be here. No titles. No legacy. Just you.”

Stray looked at him, then slowly nodded.

The night was winding down. The sounds of the city softened into something distant and dreamlike as the two of them made their way back to the forest. The world shifting back into shadows and rustling leaves.

They reached the familiar clearing. The spot that had become theirs.

Drift stopped, glancing at Stray as if reluctant to break the moment.

“I’d like to do this again,” he said.

Stray looked up at him, eyes soft.

He didn’t say anything.

He just smiled and turned, melting into the trees with the moonlight at his back.

-

Stray slipped through the shoji window with practiced ease, sliding the thin panel shut behind him with a quiet snick.

He sank right beside it, knees folding neatly as he let himself breathe for the first time in hours.

The night air still clung to his cloak, the fabric rustling faintly as he adjusted, resting his back lightly against the wooden frame. The chill didn’t bother him. It was familiar. Comforting, even.

Outside, wind stirred the garden trees far below, leaves rustling in quiet waves. The River Guard’s palace, with all its tiers and lantern-lit walkways, felt distant from up here. Quiet. Almost peaceful.

Stray’s eyes drifted half-shut.

He could still feel Drift’s hand in his. Hear his laugh echoing between the food stalls. See the city lights reflecting in his golden eyes.

That tug on his wrist. That grin. That warmth.

He didn’t want to let go.

He didn’t.

Stray’s lips twitched faintly, barely a smile.

Where would he take me next time?

A slow breath filled his lungs—one of those rare, soft ones. The kind he only allowed himself when no one else was watching.

Far below, a shadow moved in the garden. A River Guard crouched by the hedges, pressing a hand to his crystal communicator.

“…Confirmed. He just arrived back.”

Chapter Text

The next day was a blur.

Stray sat through his morning duties like a ghost inhabiting his own body. His tea went cold. His responses to diplomatic advisors were vague at best. When Mizuki handed him a scroll to sign, he stared at it for a full ten seconds before realizing he was holding the brush upside down.

“Stray,” Mizuki snapped.

He blinked. “…Sorry.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you ill?”

“No,” he replied quickly. “Just…distracted.”

Mizuki didn’t look convinced, but she let it go. For now.

The sun dipped. Shadows grew longer. The palace halls quieted for the night.

Stray was already reaching for his cloak.

The wind whispered through the trees, and the grass rustled underfoot as he approached the forest clearing.

Then he saw him.

“Drift!” Stray called out before he could stop himself. His voice rang through the clearing, eager and breathless.

He broke into a light run, the leaves crunching under his boots, cloak trailing behind him.

Drift looked up, and his grin spread wide as Stray nearly crashed into him, stopping just short of grabbing him in a hug.

“Someone’s excited to see me,” Drift teased.

Stray flushed, eyes darting away, but he didn’t deny it.

The city’s neon glow welcomed them back as they stepped out from the forest’s edge, Drift’s hand gently laced with Stray’s. During the walk from the trees to the edge of Mega City, their hands had brushed again and again. Nervous, testing touches until Drift, quiet and certain, simply took his hand and didn’t let go.

Stray didn’t pull away.

He couldn’t. Even if part of him knew this shouldn’t be happening but the quiet steadiness of Drift’s hand felt like a lifeline. Warm and solid. And right now, that was enough to make him forget everything else.

Stray stared straight ahead, heart thudding, unsure if Drift could feel the heat in his palm. He hoped not.
But he also hoped he never stopped holding it.

After a few more steps, Drift bumped their shoulders together lightly.

“There’s this ramen stall I like,” he said, glancing sideways at Stray with a smile. “They’re running a late-night discount if you order two bowls. Thought it’d be a crime not to take advantage.”

Stray raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. The discount only works if one of us is a ‘plus one?’”

Drift grinned. “Something like that.”

The stall sat just off a side street, with paper lanterns glowing above and steam rising from bubbling pots behind the counter. Two empty seats waited for them like fate had reserved them on purpose.

As they sat down, the young man behind the counter looked up and grinned.

“Hey, Drift! Good to see you back,” he said, rolling up his sleeves. His eyes shifted to Stray, and his grin widened. “Ohhh…so this is the special someone you mentioned last time?”

Stray tensed. “Wait—what?!” His voice cracked in surprise, already flustered before he could even blink. His entire face flushed red.

Drift didn’t miss a beat. He leaned on the counter, smirking. “Told you he was real.”

The cook laughed warmly. “Didn’t think you were bluffing,” he said. “Just nice to finally meet the guy.”

Stray looked like he wanted to shrink into his hoodie.

Drift ordered first, casual as ever, before nudging Stray with his elbow. Stray barely managed to focus.

“I-I’ll have the spicy miso with tofu,” he said, his words stumbling over each other.

The vendor nodded and turned toward the bubbling pots, still chuckling to himself.

Stray sat stiffly, eyes locked on the counter, heat still crawling up his ears.

Meanwhile, Drift hummed beside him, tapping his fingers on the wood like he hadn’t just made the night ten times more embarrassing.

The bowls were huge.

Piled with noodles, broth rich and fragrant, topped with perfectly cut vegetables, steaming slices of protein, and half-boiled eggs that gleamed under the lantern light.

Stray’s eyes widened.

The moment he took the first bite, his entire body reacted.

His eyes lit up. Shoulders relaxed. A quiet hum of satisfaction left his lips as the warmth and flavor hit him all at once.

Drift didn’t eat right away. He just watched.

Stray was too distracted by the food to notice at first—slurping up noodles, lips tinged with red from the spice, eyes closed in quiet bliss.

But eventually, Stray turned his head, a strand of noodle still between his lips.

“…Why are you staring?”

Drift blinked, then laughed.

“Nothing. Just—” he finally picked up his own chopsticks “—you’re like a happy puppy right now.”

Stray nearly choked.

“I am not—!”

“You are,” Drift said around a mouthful of his own ramen now. “All sparkly-eyed and tail-waggy. It’s cute.”

Stray turned sharply, facing forward again as he focused furiously on his bowl. “Whatever.”

Stray’s ears stayed red the entire meal, and Drift couldn’t stop smiling.

Chapter Text

Their ramen bowls were long empty, stomachs full, and spirits high as they wandered through the food stalls once more. This time with dessert in mind.

Drift led the way, pulling Stray gently through the crowd like he already knew where to go. The scent of sugar and warm rice flour guided them to a quaint little stand lit with red and white lanterns.

“Bocchan dango,” Drift said, nodding approvingly. “Perfect way to end the night.”

Stray eyed the pastel-colored dumplings on skewers: green, pink, and white stacked together in neat trios. They looked soft and sweet.

Drift ordered two.

As the vendor handed them over, he passed one to Stray, who took it carefully with both hands. He was just about to bite into the top dumpling when—

Chomp.

Drift leaned in and took a huge bite out of Stray’s dango.

Stray blinked, jaw dropping.

“Hey!” he whined. “You just stole one!”

Drift gave a mock-innocent shrug, already chewing.

“You looked like you needed help getting started.”

Stray huffed, staring down at the now missing dumpling with exaggerated heartbreak. “I really wanted to try the red bean paste...”

Without missing a beat, Drift extended his untouched dango skewer toward him.

“Then take a bite out of mine.”

Stray stared at it like it was an offering from a mythical creature.

“You’re serious?”

Drift smirked. “Don’t make it weird. Just bite.”

Stray hesitated. His eyes darted to Drift’s, uncertain.

But then, slowly, he leaned forward and took a shy bite from the top dumpling.

Drift watched him the entire time.

Stray chewed quietly, then looked away, ears visibly red.

“…Thanks,” he mumbled.

Drift grinned.

Their fingers brushed as they walked again, dango in hand, and something about that single shared bite lingered in the space between them.

They moved past more stalls now, lanterns swaying above them in the soft night air.

Laughter and footsteps filled the street, but none of it reached Stray. He was still thinking about the bite they just shared.

But then, he heard it.

A group of girls behind them, whispering just loud enough to catch his attention.

“You saw that, right?”

“They shared their dango!”

“Do you think they’re dating?”

“They’re so cute together.”

Stray nearly choked on his last bite.

He coughed once, awkwardly, and turned his head slightly, eyes wide as the blush flared up all over again. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks and ears.

He glanced quickly at Drift.

Did Drift hear that?

If he did, he gave no sign. He just continued eating his dango like nothing happened, gaze relaxed, pace unhurried.

Unbothered. As always.

Stray tried to hide his face behind his sleeve, walking a little closer to Drift to shield himself from the girls’ giggling.

Then—nudge.

Drift elbowed him gently and tilted his head. “C’mon,” he said casually. “I wanna show you something.”

Stray blinked. “Where?”

Drift didn’t answer. He just kept walking ahead.

Stray sighed quietly and followed.

Not that he had any reason not to.

Chapter Text

Drift led the way out of the bright city streets, away from the glowing signs and crowded walkways. The neon hum faded behind them as they slipped through a narrow alley and emerged in a quieter corner of the city, still lit by soft signage and street lamps, but distant from the buzz.

Stray followed, boots brushing lightly against the pavement.

“Why here?” he asked, glancing around. 

Drift gave the area a quick scan, then turned to face him.

There was something mischievous in his smile.

“Quick question,” Drift said, stepping a little closer, “you afraid of heights?”

Stray narrowed his eyes. “What?”

Drift’s grin only widened. “Because I’m gonna use my rift.”

Stray’s brows lifted in realization.

He had heard of that power. The Fox Clan was known for it—those strange warps in space that could move you between places in a blink. Some called it magic. Others called it reckless.

He crossed his arms. “You’re serious?”

“As ever.”

Stray studied him for a while, then straightened. “I’m not afraid.”

Drift raised a brow. “Even if I don’t tell you where we’re going?”

Stray smirked. “Surprise me.”

Drift laughed, the sound low and warm in the quiet air.

“Gladly.”

With one sharp snap of his fingers, the world vanished.

The cold wind hit him first.

Stray’s eyes flew open. His cloak snapped wildly behind him, the stars above spinning, the city below glowing like a scattered puzzle of lights.

He was falling.

Freefalling.

His breath caught in his chest, adrenaline flooding his veins, the rush in his ears louder than the wind itself, and then an arm wrapped firmly around his waist.

Stray gasped softly, tilting his head, and there was Drift, hovering just beside him, wind in his blond hair, laughing like a kid who broke every rule on purpose.

Stray’s chest clenched, but not from fear.

From thrill.

From the wild, dangerous freedom of it.

The city looked different from up here. The tall towers of Mega City were radiant veins of color, blues and purples and flickering golds running through its bones. The sky stretched out forever.

It felt like flying.

Drift angled them mid-air with ease, adjusting their fall as if he’d done this a thousand times. He shouted over the wind, “Hold on!”

Stray instinctively clutched his cloak before realizing he’d already grabbed onto Drift’s jacket with both hands.

Their descent slowed as Drift curved them toward a building. A sleek, towering structure topped with a wide rooftop garden, empty at this hour.

With a soft thud of boots on stone, they landed.

Stray stumbled forward, a bit breathless, hair wind-tangled, and eyes wide.

Drift landed beside him with a chuckle. “You alive?”

Stray stared out at the glittering skyline, heart pounding, breath uneven.

“…That was insane.”

Drift tilted his head. “Too much?”

Stray turned slowly to face him, then let out a small, shaky laugh.

“No,” he said. “I…kind of liked it.”

Drift’s smirk softened.

He reached up to gently brush a windblown strand of hair from Stray’s face.

“Then we’re definitely doing that again next time.”

Chapter Text

The rooftop garden felt like another world.

Nestled high above the chaos of the city, it was a sanctuary veiled in soft color and stillness. Low glass walls framed the space, letting the skyline shimmer in the distance while neon-lit plants swayed gently in the breeze, casting shifting hues across stone paths and benches. The hum of traffic and neon below felt impossibly far away, like another life entirely.

Stray walked slowly along the winding garden path, his shoes tapping lightly against smooth stone. Pale lights hidden beneath the foliage glowed like fireflies, painting delicate shadows across his face and cloak. He tried to breathe evenly, to steady his nerves, but it was useless.

Even though they’d been alone before, his heart wasn’t calm.

Every step seemed louder in the hush. Every time Drift’s gaze flicked toward him, he felt it like a spark against bare skin. There was a tension in the quiet space between them, drawn taut like a bowstring.

Drift strolled beside him, hands tucked into his hoodie’s pockets, shoulders loose. He looked relaxed, almost careless, but Stray wasn’t fooled. There was something unspoken in his eyes whenever they lingered too long.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It was electric.

It was the kind of silence that made Stray’s chest tighten, because it felt like something was waiting. An invisible weight, a word, a choice balanced on the edge of being spoken.

Drift stopped suddenly, right in front of a glowing bonsai tree. Its leaves pulsed with a gentle green light. 

“You ever taken a selfie?” he asked, voice casual, already pulling out his phone.

Stray blinked, caught off guard. “A…what?”

Drift grinned, and before Stray could protest, he slid an arm around his shoulders and tugged him close.

Stray froze, stiffening instantly as heat shot to his cheeks. “Wh—wait—what are you—?”

Drift raised the phone with his free hand, angling the camera slightly above them. His arm around Stray’s shoulders was steady.

“Relax,” he murmured, close enough that Stray could feel the warmth of his breath brush his temple. “Just smile. Or don’t. You’ll still come out fine either way.”

“…Idiot,” Stray muttered, too flustered to look at him directly. He turned his head away, but not all the way.

His lips twitched. Barely.

Click.

The photo snapped—Stray with pink cheeks and a reluctant, crooked smile, Drift grinning beside him like it was the easiest thing in the world. The glowing bonsai cast light over them both, framing the moment like something out of a dream.

Drift checked the screen and smirked. “Cute.”

Stray elbowed him, not nearly as hard as he could have. “Delete it.”

“Too late. Already saved. Might make it my background.”

Stray groaned and pulled his cloak tighter, as if it could hide the heat rising all the way to his ears. But beneath his embarrassment, something twisted warmly in his chest. A quiet, dangerous wanting.

Because he realized he wished he had something like that, too. Something to keep. A photo. A memory. Something that was his alone.

Even just one.

But then reality pressed in, heavy and familiar. He wasn’t just Stray—he was a prince. A symbol. A guarded piece of his people’s legacy. He couldn’t afford moments like this, not really.

The joy cracked under the weight.

“I should get going,” he said quietly, turning toward the edge of the garden.

Before he could take a step, Drift reached out and caught his wrist, fingers wrapping gently but firmly around him.

“Hey…” Drift’s voice dropped, softer now, the easy grin that usually danced on his lips nowhere to be found. “I get it. You’ve got eyes on you. Pressure. A whole world stacked on your shoulders.”

Stray stiffened. The words landed heavier than he expected, like Drift could see through the layers he fought to keep hidden.

Drift’s hand gave the faintest tug, urging Stray to look at him. Reluctantly, Stray let his gaze lift, caught by the steady warmth of those golden eyes.

“But when it’s just us?” Drift’s mouth curved, not into a smirk this time but something gentler, more certain. “You’re just you. And that’s all I want.”

The breath in Stray’s chest hitched. His pulse thrummed against Drift’s fingers still wrapped around his own. Just him. As if that were enough. As if it were everything.

Drift didn’t look away. The soft light of the bonsai tree lit the sharp lines of his face, catching in his eyes like embers refusing to burn out.

“And if things ever go bad…” Drift’s tone deepened, a quiet promise more than a warning.

Stray froze, the weight of those words pressing hard against the walls he’d built.

“…I’ve got you. Always. Doesn’t matter what happens.”

The silence that followed stretched thin, fragile. Stray wanted to say something—anything—but his throat wouldn’t work. He could only stand there, hand trembling slightly in Drift’s grip, torn between the part of him screaming to run from that kind of certainty and the part that ached, desperately, to believe it.

-

The city lights dimmed behind them as Drift and Stray walked side by side toward the forest. Their hands brushed once, twice—accidental at first, then almost purposeful—until Stray pulled his cloak tighter, as if to hide the tremor in his fingers.

He hadn’t said a word since the rooftop. Drift didn’t push. He never did.

The night settled around them, crickets in the grass, leaves whispering overhead, until they reached the edge of the trees.

Stray stopped. His throat worked, tight with words he wasn’t used to saying. “…Thank you. For tonight.”

Drift tilted his head, his eyes catching the faint silver of moonlight. “You don’t have to thank me for wanting to be around you.”

Stray blinked, caught off guard. “…That’s not—” He broke off, frowning at the ground. “I just meant…it was nice.”

Drift’s mouth twitched, almost a smile but not quite. “Then we’ll call it nice. For now.”

Stray’s chest tightened. The calm in Drift’s tone, the steadiness in his eyes—it was too much and not enough all at once.

“…Good night, Stray,” Drift said finally, voice quieter than usual. No wink, no jab, just words that carried more weight than they should have.

Stray stared. That was it? After everything, just good night? The string inside him tugged painfully, loosening in a way that left him unsteady.

“…I’ll see you tomorrow,” he blurted, too fast, too obvious.

Drift’s brow arched, lips curving into that infuriating, familiar grin. “There it is,” he murmured.

Heat rushed to Stray’s ears. He spun away before Drift could see the full flush on his face, vanishing into the trees with his heart hammering far louder than the crickets.

And yet, even as the shadows swallowed him, something in his chest felt lighter. Like he’d stepped onto a path he didn’t understand—one he couldn’t turn away from anymore.

Chapter Text

Morning light filtered through delicate paper windows, carving quiet shadows across Stray’s study. He sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by unrolled scrolls and dusty tomes. Each page bore the emblem of the River Guard, ancient ink tracing their formation, sacred oaths, and storied victories—alongside their long-standing clash with the Fox Clan.

The River Guard had pledged duty and unity centuries ago. But the Fox Clan, nimble as foxes themselves, wielded rift magic and ambushed reality’s seams—powers that led to the Shattering War. In this war, dangerous Masks of Power were broken, magic was banished, and blame was cast squarely on the Fox Clan.

Scathing statements leered from the ends of scrolls: “The Fox cannot be tamed, nor trusted.” Stray closed one with a sigh, the prophecy clanging discordant with his heart. Those words sounded like iron and stone—nothing like Drift.

Later, in the serene garden, Stray found Mizuki tending her blade under drifting sakura blossoms. Her movements were sharp and steady, a ritual she’d done countless times.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

She didn’t glance up. 

“I’ve been reading,” Stray murmured, shifting closer.

Mizuki tilted her head slightly. Always reading. Always questioning. For all his skill with steel, he had his father’s mind—curious, stubborn, dangerous if not anchored. She hid a sigh and forced a teasing tone. “Dangerous for a prince.”

Stray ignored it. “What do you think of the Fox Clan?”

Her hands froze. The whetstone halted mid-stroke.

Where did that come from? Mizuki’s first instinct was anger; her second, unease. 

Her voice came out flat. “They’re traitors. They don’t follow code. They follow chaos.”

Stray pressed on. “But that's history. Maybe it’s time to stop holding onto old wounds.”

Mizuki felt heat rising beneath her skin. 

“So you’d welcome them to walk through our gates?” Her words were cold, but inside, she was unsettled. He was treading on ground he didn’t understand. Worse, his voice carried conviction.

Stray met her gaze. “I’m saying maybe we lead. Let peace mean more than speeches.”

“Some bridges burn too much to cross,” she said, though she wondered. Was she convincing him, or herself?

Stray’s eyes were steady. “I’m done fighting ghosts.”

Her chest tightened. For the briefest moment, she saw the boy he had been, hiding behind her shadow, wanting to believe the world could be different. But this wasn’t a child’s hope anymore. It was a man’s challenge.

“Where’s this coming from?” she asked.

When he hesitated, her suspicion sharpened like a blade. He was hiding something. Someone.

“This conversation is over,” Mizuki cut in sharply, her voice like the snap of a blade returning to its sheath. She turned on her heel, the hem of her robe whispering against the stone as she strode away beneath the falling cherry blossoms.

Stray remained rooted where he stood, the drifting petals catching in his hair, his chest tight, heart racing. The garden felt suddenly too still, the air heavy, as if every blossom weighed down on him, pressing his thoughts deeper than before.

-

The buzz of Mega City felt far below them—muted neon humming in the distance like another world entirely. Up here, the rooftop was quiet except for the faint rattle of lanterns swaying in the breeze and the occasional clatter of chopsticks against the plastic takeout tray.

A half-eaten spread of sushi lay between them, fragrant but cooling quickly. Stray barely looked at it. His eyes stayed low, lids heavy, as though he were trapped inside thoughts he couldn’t shake.

Drift popped another roll into his mouth, chewing with easy carelessness, though his gaze kept sliding toward the younger man.

“Wanna talk about it?” Drift said finally, his voice casual but weighted with intent.

Stray didn’t answer right away. He picked up a sushi roll, turned it once between his chopsticks, then put it down again untouched. His sigh was small but sharp enough to slice the silence.

“…It’s Mizuki,” he muttered.

Drift paused mid-motion, brow quirking. “Mizuki?”

“My sister,” Stray clarified, tone clipped.

Drift leans back, balancing on his palms. “Didn’t know you had one.”

“She’s…everything a perfect River Guard should be,” Stray said, his words slow, as if each one had to be dragged out. “Elegant. Disciplined. Sharp. Always composed. Always right.”

There was an edge beneath the admiration. A weight Drift didn’t miss.

“So I’m guessing you two don’t exactly see eye to eye?” Drift asked, keeping his tone light but his gaze steady.

Stray let out a humorless chuckle. “She doesn’t see me at all.”

Stray lowered his head further, tracing a shallow scratch in the rooftop tile with his thumb like it might ground him. “I tried talking to her today. About what I think, what I feel…and she didn’t even consider it. I wasn’t her brother in that moment. I was just a mistake she had to correct.”

Drift blinked, leaning in slightly, “…That rough, huh?”

“She’s not cruel,” Stray said quickly, as though he owed Mizuki that much. His jaw clenched. “Just…dismissive. Cold. Like my words only matter if they match hers.”

His chopsticks jabbed down into a piece of sushi, piercing through the rice. But when he lifted it, he only stared at it, the food swaying precariously before he set it down again with another exhale.

Drift hummed around the next roll he ate, then swallowed. “Sounds like tough love. Or maybe just…tough. Sucks when the people closest to you think they’ve got your whole story figured out.”

The words hit closer than Drift probably realized. Stray’s shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him. His eyes stayed low, fixed on the tray but not really seeing it. “She raised me. She fought for me. But sometimes I feel like…I’m not allowed to grow without her permission.”

The admission startled even him, the weight of it spilling into the open air for the first time.

Drift straightened from his lazy sprawl, seriousness settling over him.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said firmly. “Feeling differently doesn’t mean you’re disrespecting her. It means you’re figuring out who you are.”

The words lingered between them. Stray didn’t respond, but his shoulders eased just slightly, the knot in him loosening enough to breathe.

At last, he picked up the sushi again—this time, eating it. He chewed thoughtfully. When he glanced sideways at Drift, just for a second, there was something softer in his eyes.

“…Thanks,” he murmured.

Drift’s grin returned, bright and infuriatingly effortless.

“Anytime, your highness.”

The lanterns above them swayed again, their glow casting shadows that stretched and mingled, two shapes sharing the same quiet rooftop world.

Chapter Text

The stars shimmered faintly above them, fragile pinpricks fighting to be seen beyond the soft haze of Mega City’s endless glow. The wind carried the hum of hover cars, the low murmur of nightlife, but here it almost felt like the city belonged to someone else. Like the noise, the chaos, the constant pull of Mega City couldn’t quite reach them.

Stray had gone quiet again, but this silence was different.

It was thoughtful.

He shifted slightly, knees drawing in, cloak rustling against the tiles. His eyes lingered on Drift, who leaned back on his hands, head tilted to the sky as though the faintest stars above were worth chasing.

“…Can I ask you something?” Stray’s voice was low, uncertain, like he wasn’t sure if he should disturb the moment.

Drift didn’t look away from the sky. “You just did.”

Stray rolled his eyes. “A real question.”

That earned him a smirk. “Shoot.”

Stray hesitated, the words catching for a moment before he let them go. “Do you…live in Mega City?”

Drift finally turned, eyebrows lifting. Then, with a soft chuckle, he shook his head. “Nah. Not really.”

Stray frowned, studying him. “But you know it so well. Every shortcut. Every rooftop.”

Drift leaned back again, gaze flicking lazily across the skyline. “I’ve got a hideout here. Fox Clan sets up spots wherever we need ’em. Could be a rooftop, a tunnel, a warehouse. Doesn’t matter. We’re always moving, so we don’t get too comfortable.”

Stray’s brow furrowed. “Always moving?”

“Yeah.” Drift’s voice was calm, matter-of-fact. “It’s just how it is. Don’t plant roots too deep. Keeps us sharp. Safe. Free.”

The word echoed in Stray’s chest like a stone dropped in still water. Free.

But freedom meant Drift wasn’t tied down. Freedom meant nothing held him here.

Stray’s heart sank before he could stop it, a slow, hollow ache settling behind his ribs. Always moving. That meant Drift wouldn’t stay. That meant one night, maybe soon, he’d just be…gone. Vanished like a flame snuffed out in the wind.

His gaze dropped to the ledge, fingers curling faintly against the cool tiles.

Drift noticed. He always noticed.

Leaning forward, he studied Stray’s face with an ease that felt unfair—like reading him had never been difficult. “What?”

Stray shook his head quickly. “Nothing.”

Drift narrowed his eyes. “That didn’t look like ‘nothing.’”

Stray’s throat tightened. For a moment, he thought about brushing it off again, but the words slipped out before he could stop them. “…I just hadn’t thought about that before. That you might…leave.”

The confession hung in the air, fragile as glass.

Drift’s expression shifted. His gaze lingered, unguarded in a way that made Stray’s chest feel both exposed and steadied all at once.

For a long beat, neither spoke.

Then Drift looked down at his hands, turning them idly before glancing back up. “I don’t plan on going anywhere right now,” he said simply. Then, after a pause, his voice gentled. “And even if I do…”

His smile wasn’t cocky this time. It was small, honest.

“…You’ll know where to find me.”

Stray's chest tightened, breath stalling for a beat. He looked at Drift. At the careless slouch that didn’t quite hide the sincerity in his eyes, the way the rooftop breeze teased at blond strands falling loose across his brow.

Despite the unease still coiling in his chest, something about those words grounded him.

Not forever. Maybe not even for long.

But at least for tonight.

-

Stray didn’t know why tonight’s goodbye lingered the way it did.

Maybe it was the talk about Drift’s nomadic life. Maybe it was how the word leave kept echoing in the back of his mind, heavy and unwelcome.

Either way, the ache in his chest hadn’t left since they parted under the trees.

Steam still clung to the air as he stepped out of his bath, towel draped around his neck. His dark hair was damp, strands sticking to his cheeks before falling in loose lengths over his shoulders. The faint scent of soap and hot water clung to him as he crossed the quiet room.

His fingers worked slowly through his hair as he tied it back into a loose ponytail.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Three quick knocks against the shoji window.

He turned toward the panel, suspicion flickering in his eyes. He tugged the towel from around his neck as he approached the window, cautious. He slid the panel open just enough to peer out, his eyes widens.

Drift.

Flustered, Stray pulled the window halfway. “What are you doing here?”

Drift raised both hands like a thief caught red-handed, but the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him. “What? No welcome? I thought you’d be used to me breaking into your personal space by now.”

Stray scowled softly, but the pink rising to his ears gave him away. “It’s late.”

Drift leaned an elbow against the wooden frame, casual even on the precarious ledge. His gaze flicked over Stray’s damp hair and relaxed appearance, lingering for a beat too long before speaking.

“I know,” he said, his voice lower this time, “But I didn’t get enough of you tonight.”

A shallow breath escaped him before he could rein it in.

He looked away quickly, eyes narrowing at the floor as if that could hide how warm his face suddenly felt. “…You’re ridiculous.”

“And you look—” Drift’s words faltered for a moment, caught between sincerity and teasing. He chuckled instead. “Comfortable.”

Stray rolled his eyes and tugged the shoji wider, just enough space for him to pass through. “If you get me killed, I’m haunting you.”

Drift grinned and slipped inside without hesitation, like the shadows themselves had carried him here.

“I’ll risk it.”

Chapter Text

The soft thud of the shoji sliding shut echoed faintly in the quiet.

Stray turned. There was Drift already moving deeper into the room, boots silent against the tatami, hood lowered so that his blond hair fell messily over his forehead, a pale streak running across one eyebrow. Golden eyes caught the lamplight, sharp and impossible to ignore.

Drift wandered.

He brushed his fingers lightly over the desk, pausing at the neatly lined brushes and half-dried ink stone. Then he tilted his head toward the shelves, rows of carefully folded scrolls, spare blades placed with precision.

“You really keep everything lined up,” he remarked, almost amused. His grin curved slowly. “I like it. Suits you.”

Stray stiffened where he stood, arms crossing. “Isn't that a common thing to do?”

“Nah,” Drift said, crouching to glance at a lacquered box before setting it back exactly as he’d found it. “I'm pretty messy.” His tone was playful.

Stray let out a sharp breath, trying to hold firm. “Okay. So what are you actually doing here?”

Drift finally straightened, turning from the shelves. He leaned casually against the desk, arms folding across his chest, but his grin lingered. “I already told you. Didn’t get enough of you tonight.”

Stray’s brow twitched, heat rising at his ears.

For a moment, Drift let the silence stretch, letting Stray fume just long enough before his voice dropped lower, cutting through the playful air like a clean blade.

“…And because I kept thinking about what I said earlier.”

Stray blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in tone. “What part?”

“If my clan has to leave.”

The grin eased, not gone, but gentled at the edges. Drift pushed off from the desk and took a few slow steps closer, unhurried. “I realized something.”

Stray swallowed, his arms dropping stiffly to his sides. His chest felt tight, every inch of distance Drift closed, pressing down harder.

Drift stopped just short of him. With the lamplight catching across his cheekbones and into those molten eyes, he said, quieter now, “I can’t picture myself leaving. Not without you.”

Stray’s breath caught.

He hadn’t expected that.

He didn’t know what he had expected but certainly not that.

“I—” His voice faltered, his throat constricting. He tried again, weakly. “You can’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” Drift’s gaze didn’t waver, sharp but softened by something unshakable underneath. “It’s true.”

Stray clenched his fists, words tangling on his tongue, heart pounding so hard it made it impossible to think straight.

Drift watched him for a long moment, then leaned just slightly closer, smirk curling back onto his lips—quieter this time, almost fond.

“When that day comes,” he said, “I’m kidnapping you.”

Color rushed into Stray’s face, hot and fast. He snapped his head away. “Wha—! You’re insane—!”

Drift laughed, the sound bright and shameless.

Flustered, Stray shoved at him, palm against his shoulder, though it carried little force. “Don’t joke like that.”

“I’m not joking.” Drift let himself be pushed back. “I’ll throw you over my shoulder if I have to. No hesitation.”

Stray crossed his arms, pressing them tightly against his chest as if to contain the small, stubborn lift in his chest. He kept his voice flat, though a hint of softness lingered beneath it. “You’re the worst.”

Drift stood in front of him, feet planted firmly, golden eyes catching the dim light, a curious tilt to his grin. He threw his hands behind his head, elbows wide. “Am I really the worst…for wanting to take you away? For thinking it might be better for you?”

Stray didn’t answer. He stood with his arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes fixed forward.

Drift’s golden eyes lingered on the bottom half of Stray’s hair resting over his shoulder. Slowly, his voice broke the silence, calm and careful.

“…Can I touch your hair?”

Stray blinked, brows lifting. “What?”

Drift stepped a little closer, gaze steady. “Just for a moment. If it’s okay.”

Stray’s gaze lingered on him, long enough that Drift almost said never mind.

“…Alright.” The word escaped quietly, low, but deliberate. Permission granted.

Drift’s hand rose slowly. His fingers slide smoothly between the strands of Stray's hair. Stray remained stiff, arms crossed, shoulders tense, his chest shifting slightly with uneven breaths.

The silence stretched. Drift’s fingers moved carefully, tracing the hair without tugging, brushing along the strands in slow, deliberate strokes. Stray’s jaw flexed once, a small swallow, but he didn’t move away. His restraint speaks louder than words.

Finally, Drift let his hand fall, eyes meeting Stray’s. He broke the quiet, voice low and measured.

“Your hair is very soft.”

Stray stiffened slightly at the words, ears and cheeks warming, gaze flicking away. The silence returned, heavier now.

Chapter Text

Drift smiled at the flustered prince before him, unable to resist teasing just to see a reaction. Was it cruel of him? Maybe, but it was far too tempting.

“Since I’ve been granted permission to touch your hair,” Drift drawled, “how about your approval to spend the night?”

Stray immediately shot him a look. “Absolutely not!”

Unbothered, Drift only shrugged. “Figured I’d try my luck.”

“You’re unbelievable sometimes,” Stray muttered, arms crossing tightly over his chest.

Drift chuckled. “Whaat? I would’ve been able to scratch off ‘sleep at a royal castle’ from my bucket list.”

Despite himself, Stray let out a low chuckle. The sound and that fleeting smile made Drift’s heart flutter.

They lingered together, conversation flowing as Stray showed Drift his collection and explained what interested him most, his tone warming the longer he spoke. 

The hours slipped by.

“It’ll definitely become a sleepover if I stay any longer,” Drift said at last, stretching his arms above his head.

Stray blinked, startled to realize how much time had passed. “Yeah…you’re right.” There was the faintest note of disappointment in his voice.

Meanwhile, Drift was busy pacing, measuring distances across the room with his arms, and mumbling under his breath. Stray raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“What else? I’m going to rift myself out,” Drift said, flashing a grin.

There was a spark in Stray’s eyes. “Really? You’re so lucky…”

Drift threw his hands behind his head, that grin tugging into a smirk. “You can always come with me. Stay over at my place.”

Stray looked away, arms crossing again, but he didn't bother to hide his smile. “You don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Never,” Drift answered softly, before bidding him good night.

Snap.

A sharp burst of light rippled through the air as Drift activated the rift. The world fractured in glowing shards of blue, swirling like shattered glass caught in a current.

Stray shielded his eyes as Drift vanished, the pulse of the rift thudding like a heartbeat before fading.

Stray moved to the shoji window, sliding it open.

There it was. The rift was fading high in the night sky above. The stars were back, but the sky still shimmered where the energy had cracked it open.

Stray wished he could've experienced that thrill again. 

-

Stray was jolted awake by a heavy thud against his bedroom door. Had he overslept? A quick glance at the time told him otherwise. Nothing unusual. Something else must have come up.

“Prince Stray,” came a voice from the other side. “Permission to enter?”

Stray gave a low chuckle, flashes of last night slipping through his thoughts. Straightening his posture, he finally answered, “Granted.”

The door creaked open to reveal Azuki, Mizuki’s personal bodyguard. His feline features set in their usual stern expression.

“Lady Mizuki requests your presence in her quarters,” Azuki announced, his bow subtle.

Stray didn’t reply right away. Deep down, he already knew this wasn’t just a polite invitation.

In silence, he adjusted his robe and tied his hair back neatly before stepping out.

The walk through the River Guard’s corridors dragged heavier than usual, each step weighed down by expectation. When they reached Mizuki’s chamber, Azuki opened the door, then quietly stepped aside, closing it behind Stray once he entered.

The click of the latch echoed, sharp in the stillness.

Stray lifted his gaze.

Mizuki was already seated across the room, her posture flawless, one leg crossed over the other. The drape of her long sleeves fell around her arms like a frozen waterfall.

But her eyes—

Cold. Piercing. Unyielding.

Stray remained silent.

So did she.

The silence between siblings was louder than anything else.

Chapter Text

“I’ve been given word,” Mizuki began, her voice icy and controlled, “that you’ve been sneaking out at night.”

Stray raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Is it really a crime to want some air every now and then?”

Mizuki’s eyes narrowed.

She stood slowly, the folds of her robe rustling like rising thunder. “I don’t care if you seek air. I care that you’ve been seen with someone.”

Stray stiffened.

He kept his arms folded tightly across his chest. “So what if I have?”

“Who is he?” Mizuki hissed, stepping closer now.

Stray said nothing.

“Is he from the Fox Clan?” she demanded.

Stray’s pulse surged. His lips parted but only to say, “No.”

Mizuki’s stare was unrelenting.

She didn’t believe him.

“Azuki saw a tear in the sky above the gardens last night,” she snapped. “Rift energy. Don’t play dumb with me.”

“That has nothing to do with me,” Stray retorted, his jaw tightening.

Mizuki’s voice rose, sharp like a blade drawn too fast. “Don’t lie to me, Stray! You’re endangering yourself and the River Guard.”

Stray looked away, fists clenched now at his sides.

He wasn’t going to give Drift up. Not when Drift was the only person who made him feel free.

Not when Mizuki had never once asked why he felt the need to sneak out at all.

Seeing his silence, Mizuki’s tone grew final.

“You’re forbidden from leaving the compound,” she said, her voice flat and commanding. “And you are not to see that man again.”

Stray’s eyes flicked back to her.

Something in them. Hurt, defiance, longing, but he didn’t respond.

-

The rain had started sometime after midday. First as a drizzle, then as a steady, unrelenting downpour.

By nightfall, it hadn’t let up.

Thunder rolled low across the sky, and the soft patter of rain had become a curtain of noise against the River Guard estate.

Stray stood at the shoji window, his cloak pulled close, hood lowered.

Mizuki’s words still rang in his head like a warning bell.

You are not to see that man again.

But here he was.

Defying her.

Again.

Stray’s fingers hovered near the wooden frame, hesitating only a breath. The storm outside rattled the eaves, sheets of rain blurring the gardens into shifting shadows.

He knew eyes might be out there. He felt it, the prickling weight of being watched, something perched beyond the rooftops. But the storm was his ally tonight. Lightning and wind could blind even the sharpest gaze.

Stray slid the shoji open in one smooth motion. Cold air slapped his face, damp and biting, carrying the hiss of rain. His cloak hood went up, shadowing his features, and without another pause, he moved.

If someone was watching, let them try.

Stray vanished across the drenched tiles.

-

The forest clearing was soaked.

Rain fell hard, bouncing off leaves and puddling in the soft earth below. The moon was hidden behind the thick, stormy sky, but the clearing still held a faint glow, reflected from the flickering lights of distant Mega City.

Stray stood still, breath fogging, scanning the darkness for any sign of him.

And then—

A voice cut through the rain.

“Stray!”

Stray’s head snapped to the side.

Across the clearing, half-sheltered beneath the long, curved trunk of a tree, stood Drift. His kitsune mask was pulled halfway up.

Stray didn’t hesitate.

He ran.

The rain splashed against his boots and soaked through the edges of his cloak, but he didn’t care.

Drift opened his arms instinctively just as Stray collided with him.

Stray wrapped his arms tightly around Drift’s torso and buried his face into his chest. "...I'm sorry."

Drift blinked, caught off guard at first, but quickly melted into the embrace, arms coming up to hold him steady.

“…Are you apologizing because I’m getting soaked, or…?” he joked gently, voice muffled by the sound of rain.

Stray didn’t laugh. He just held him tighter.

Chapter Text

The rain kept falling, but neither of them moved from under the curved tree, tucked away in the dim, trembling shelter of its branches.

Stray's cloak clung to his frame now. His hood had fallen, strands of long dark hair stuck to his cheeks. He still hadn't let go.

But finally, his voice broke through the storm.

“…We can’t keep doing this.”

Drift didn't react right away. His arms remained gently wrapped around Stray’s back.

Stray continued, his voice quieter now. “This has to be the last time.”

He pulled back just enough to meet Drift’s eyes. Rain streaked between them like glass.

“My sister…she knows something’s going on,” he said, forcing each word out. “The rift was spotted. She suspects you're from the Fox Clan.”

Drift blinked slowly, but still, he didn’t speak.

“I don’t want you to get hurt, Drift,” Stray whispered. “I don’t want them to hurt you.”

Drift didn’t argue. He didn’t protest. He simply pulls Stray back into him again, embracing him tighter.

It broke something inside Stray.

The silence hurt more than words ever could.

It was understanding.

It was goodbye.

It was grief in disguise.

Stray closed his eyes, chest tightening painfully against Drift’s. The tears weren’t distinguishable from the rain anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Stray whispered, voice shaking.

Drift didn’t let go.

And that, more than anything, drilled a hole into Stray’s heart.

Slowly, gently, Stray pulled away. The space between them grew with every step he took backward.

Drift still hadn’t said a word.

And maybe…that was the worst part.

Stray turned, rain swallowing his silhouette as he began to run away.

Every step feels heavier than the last.

The rain followed Stray home.

It clung to him like sorrow, soaking through his cloak, through his thoughts, through his heart.

Stray sank to the floor as he slipped back into his room, knees pulled tightly to his chest. His cloak, still soaked, puddled around him. He didn’t care.

It was painful.

So painful to let go of something that had finally made him feel alive.

He buried his face into his knees, gripping onto himself like he could hold the heartbreak in place if he just tried hard enough.

This was the only way.

The only way to keep him safe.

The only way to protect Drift. Protect the Fox Clan.

He kept repeating it to himself, hoping it would dull the sharpness of what he’d done.

But it didn’t. The images came without warning. Flashbacks like delicate glass shattering in slow motion.

Drift laughing at the food stalls.
The neon lights reflecting in his eyes.
The warmth of his hands.

Stray’s breath hitched. His chest ached. Tight, overwhelming, impossible to ease.

He didn’t even say goodbye.

Tears finally slipped down his cheeks, quiet and warm against cold skin.

He held himself tighter and whispered through clenched teeth, “…please don’t come back.”

Because if Drift did…

Stray wasn’t sure he could let him go again.

Chapter Text

The smell of rain still lingered in the air, damp and heavy, clinging to the halls long after the downpour had passed.

Stray’s eyes burned, dry from the tears that had run out hours ago. His head throbbed with an ache that wouldn’t go away.

He dressed slowly, mechanically, like each movement required thought. The weight in his chest hadn’t faded.

Training. Meetings. Appearances.

He tried to go through the motions, but his body didn’t keep up.

He missed a target during sparring. Fumbled his stance. Spaced out during a briefing with advisors.

Mizuki noticed, of course.

She pulled him aside. Her voice was sharp, scolding. Something about responsibility. Image. Shame.

Stray didn’t respond.

He didn’t even look at her.

He just turned his head slightly away, arms crossed and jaw clenched, the echo of her voice fading into white noise.

She never once asked if he was okay.

And he was done expecting her to.

That night, the storm returned. Thunder rolling, rain lashing the tiled rooftops. Wind pressed against the shoji screens, their thin paper trembling in their wooden frames, the sound sharp and hollow with each gust.

It seeped into Stray’s thoughts, a constant reminder of Mizuki’s wrath hanging over him.

His books lay open before him, pen resting in hand, but he wasn’t reading. He only pretended to study, eyes skimming lines without absorbing a word.

The urge to sneak out.

To see him again.

To hear his voice.

But he didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

But he didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

Instead, Stray lowered his head onto his crossed arms, resting them against the desk. The faint light of the lantern flickered over him, shadows stretching across the scattered pages he hadn’t really read.

The storm rattled the shoji again, echoing the weight in his chest.

Could he really carry this? The pressure. The heartache. The endless silence Mizuki left in her wake.

His eyes slipped shut, not from peace, but from exhaustion. Sleep claimed him slowly, restless and heavy, pulling him under with the storm still whispering against the paper walls.

The days that followed blurred together.

Wake. Dress. Train. Appear.

Each morning began the same, the weight in his chest unchanged. He moved on autopilot, polite bows, practiced stances, words he barely remembered speaking. Sparring matches where his blade slipped. Briefings where his focus wandered.

Every mistake earned Mizuki’s sharp glare, her clipped reprimands slicing deeper than her words. He nodded when expected, but her voice passed through him like smoke.

And still, no one asked if he was all right.

The routine repeated itself, day after day, until Stray almost forgot what it felt like to breathe without the ache.

Chapter Text

By midday, Stray couldn’t take it anymore.

Not the weight of the palace. Not the suffocating expectations. Not Mizuki’s shadow, cast long over every hall, every step, every breath he took.

Why did he even bother showing up to duties if his voice never mattered?

If everything had already been decided for him?

His boots struck sharply against the polished floors, the sound bouncing off lacquered wood beams and echoing through wide, open corridors framed by sliding shoji doors. Lantern light caught on ornate carvings along the beams overhead, silent reminders of the clan’s history. Each detail pressed down on him like another layer of weight he hadn’t asked to carry.

He ignored the bowed attendants, the guards at their posts, the whispers that followed. He just kept walking, faster and faster, until he reached his quarters. The door slid shut behind him with a dull snap, shutting out the palace’s endless hum.

Inside, the silence was deafening.

Stray made his way to the adjoining washroom. He turned the faucet, and cold water spilled over his hands before he splashed it onto his face. Droplets slid down his jaw, soaking into the collar of his robes.

He gripped the wooden edges of the sink, exhaling hard.

Then, he looked up.

The mirror stared back at him.

And so did his hair.

Long. Black. Ceremonial. A symbol of tradition. Of obedience.

Of the version of himself Mizuki needed him to be.

But not who he really was.

He stared at it for a long time. Minutes stretched into hours in his chest. His damp hands trembled against the sink’s edges.

Then, without fully thinking, he slid open the small drawer beneath the basin.

Inside, a neatly stored blade lay waiting, meant for grooming.

He lifted it in his fingers, its polished edge catching the lantern glow.

The mirror reflected him back—tired eyes, clenched jaw, hair heavy over his shoulders.

Silence.

A choice.

And for the first time in days—

Control.

Stray exhaled.

He held the blade steady and raised a section of his hair. The first snip was precise, clean. A strand fell to the polished floor. He stared at it for a moment, heart racing.

Then another cut, and another, faster this time. His hair tumbled around him like black waterfalls, pooling on the floor beneath him. His chest rose and fell, tension bleeding out with every movement.

With each snip, he felt lighter. Stronger. Less like the version Mizuki demanded, more like himself.