"Hetare," came the voice from above, smooth as radio static and twice as annoying. Tadashi Wakahara didn't even need to look up to know who was perched on the courtyard wall like some self-satisfied observer. Kitsune Momoi's tail—actual, literal fox tail-twitched in lazy arcs against the afternoon sun. (Note: “Hetare” means pitiful in an endearing, cute way in Japanese.)

Tadashi kept walking, pretending not to hear. His own puppy ears—floppy and brown, currently pinned back in irritation—betrayed him by twitching toward the sound. The courtyard’s gravel crunched under his shoes, each step deliberate. He’d learned the hard way that reacting to Kitsune only encouraged him.

"Aw, don’t ignore me," Kitsune called, hopping down from the wall with unsettling grace. His uniform was predictably disheveled. He landed right in Tadashi’s path, grinning like he’d just won something. “You’re even more meager when you try to act cool."

Tadashi's hands clenched into fists at his sides, his tail stiffening behind him like an offended flagpole. "Move," he gritted out, refusing to meet Kitsune's gleaming gold eyes. The fox hybrid had a way of looking at him that made Tadashi feel like a bug trapped to a board—studied, examined, and found thoroughly unimpressive.

"Oh? Or what, clumsy puppy?" Kitsune teased, leaning in just close enough. His grin widened when Tadashi flinched. “Gonna bark at me? Wag your tail? Oh wait—" He flicked one pointed ear, feigning sudden realization. “You can't even do that right, can you?“