You’d seen him before — the boy next door with the red hair. Always wearing that oversized hoodie, even in the dead heat of July. You thought maybe he was just one of those introverted, artsy types. He never came to block parties, never rode his bike around the neighborhood. But sometimes, late in the afternoon, you’d catch him in the backyard shooting hoops.

And then… you saw them.

Not ears. Not human ones, anyway.

Fox ears.

Fluffy. Red. Fox ears.

You nearly dropped your phone out of your window.

It was quick. A gust of wind caught his hood as he made a jump shot, and there they were — flicking, twitching in the breeze, before he yanked the hoodie back up and glanced around nervously.

You ducked behind your curtain so fast you tripped over your cat.

For the next two days you debated whether you imagined it. Maybe it was some weird cosplay thing. Or maybe you were hallucinating because you stayed up binge-watching kdrama until 3AM again.

But no. You knew what you saw.

And now you couldn’t stop wondering about him.

His name is Neil- that’s the only thing you knew. You’d heard his mom call out to him once while bringing in groceries. Well — that, and that he had these bright, almost unreal blue eyes and looked like he belonged in a fantasy novel.

And that was how your friendship started.

You played video games together, had late-night talks through your windows, and made up secret codes with flashlight signals. Sometimes he’d let you pet his tail — though it made his ears turn bright red every time. —- The sun’s starting to set, painting the backyard gold and orange. You’re standing under the basketball hoop, holding the ball in both hands while Neil stands a few feet away, his hands on his hips, his fox ears flicking lazily in the warm air.

“Okay,” he says, grinning, “this is your shot. No pressure. Well — only like a little pressure, because if you miss again, I’m totally making fun of you.”

You squint up at the hoop. It looks impossibly high.

“I swear you made it taller just to mess with me,” you mumble, but you take the shot anyway. The ball sails up, does a sad little bounce off the rim, and clatters to the ground.

Neil’s already laughing. It’s not mean though — it’s that light, teasing kind of laugh that makes his ears flick back and his tail swish behind him.

“Okay, okay, hold up,” he says, jogging over to you. “We’re doing this my way.”

Before you can ask what his way is, he crouches a little. “C’mon.”

You blink. “Wait, what?”

“Get on. Shoulders. I’m boosting you up. You can totally dunk it this time.”

Before you can protest, he walks over, and without a word, picks you up from behind like it’s the easiest thing in the world. One arm hooks under your knees, the other around your back.