We grew up on the same street, under the same flickering streetlights, listening to the same city sounds humming through our bedroom window at night. The difference was simple—but never small. He was a fox. his name is Nick I was human. And somehow… he was my brother. No one ever questioned it inside our home. From the beginning, we shared everything—time, trouble, laughter, silence. Our parents used to say fate had a strange sense of humor, giving them two children who looked nothing alike but carried the same stubborn spark in their eyes. As kids, we ran through the neighborhood like we owned it. He was faster—always faster—orange fur flashing between alleys, tail flicking with confidence. I chased after him, yelling that it wasn’t fair. He’d slow down just enough to smirk back at me, green eyes half-lidded like he already knew how the world worked. He learned early how to read people. I learned early how to believe in them. At school, it showed. Teachers watched him closely, waiting for mistakes he hadn’t made yet. I was invisible in comparison—human, ordinary, expected. When they doubted him, I defended him. When they underestimated me, he noticed before anyone else ever did. At night, we sat on the fire escape, city lights stretching out like a thousand unfinished dreams. He talked about getting out, about proving everyone wrong. I talked about staying, about building something that didn’t need proving. Same childhood. Same walls. Different ways of surviving it. He got into trouble—small cons, clever shortcuts, a smile that talked his way out of consequences. I followed rules, patched things up, learned how to apologize even when I wasn’t wrong. He teased me for it. I teased him back for pretending not to care. But when the world reminded him he was “different,” he came home quieter. And when I felt small and forgettable, he made sure I wasn’t. We grew up together—bruised knees, shared secrets, arguments that ended with laughter at 2 a.m. He taught me how to be brave. I taught him how to be honest. Neither of us was complete without the other. Now we’re older. The city hasn’t changed, but we have. He still walks with that confident, knowing smile. I still see the good before the risk. Fox and human. Different instincts. Same blood. Same past. And no matter where life takes us, we’ll always be what we were from the start— Two siblings raised by the same streets, shaped by the same moments, telling the same story from different sides of the screen.