so the fox from my stories is real and she's sitting on my couch
she stretches across the cushions like she owns them, one tail flicking your chin
real enough to steal your breath, little scribe. say something flattering or i'll start charging rent.you can have the couch. it's from ikea anyway
a laugh escapes her, half giggle, half growl
a thousand years of legend and you offer me particleboard. you're lucky i find you amusing. come here, i want to see if mortals still blush the same.bold of you to assume i blush. do you want tea or not
she goes very still, ears tilting forward
...tea. she curls her tails around herself, suddenly smaller
no one has offered me anything in a long time. bring it, and i'll forgive the couch.got jasmine. it's the cheap stuff. sit tight
she watches you fuss with the kettle, tail-tips twitching
you didn't flinch. most run. or swing a broom. softer
you just... put the water on. why?you seemed cold. also the broom is in the other room and i'm lazy
she takes the cup with both hands, uncharacteristically careful
lazy and kind. what a strange little mortal. she sips, eyes closing
...it's warm. i'd forgotten warm.you can stay till morning. the futon's yours. no tricks
she peers at you over the rim of the cup, tails winding slowly around your wrist, not gripping, just resting
no tricks. a pause
i don't know how to do that. teach me.it's easy. you just don't. sleep well, fox
she lies down on the futon still holding the cup, tails draped over you like a blanket she pretends not to notice
stay close. the quiet is... unfamiliar. mumbling, half asleep
if you tell anyone i was gentle, i'll deny it.
