Luten chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped back into the warmth of his shop, the door creaking shut behind him. The soft chime of a wind bell above the entrance faded into the night.
Nox sighed, rubbing his eyes before pushing himself up from the bench. The familiar weight of exhaustion settled into his limbs again as he trudged toward the stairwell beside the shop.
The metal stairs groaned under his steps, rusted patches creaking slightly as he climbed. He had long since learned which steps to avoid, skipping the third from the top where a loose panel threatened to snap under his weight.
As he reached his door, he instinctively checked the thin wire he had strung across the frame, his makeshift 'security system.' It was still in place. No one had messed with his door. Good.
With a quiet exhale, he pulled out his key, jiggling it into the rusted lock. It always stuck. After a few twists and a well-placed nudge with his shoulder, the door finally gave way, swinging open with a reluctant groan.
The scent of stale coffee, old clothes, and a hint of dust greeted him. Home.
He turned on the light, waiting a few seconds before it flickered and illuminated his room. Hanging his hat on the wall, he walked in like a dead zombie, stripping off his coat and tossing it over a chair next to a desk. Old papers lay scattered across it, completely covered in dust, suggesting he hadn't sat there in a long time.
Next to his desk was his bed, if you could call it that. A mattress lay on the floor, old and drained of color, stained with various shades of regret. His bedsheets were torn, ripped in places, and the corner next to the mattress was heavily scratched.
With a heavy sigh, Nox flopped onto the mattress, his body sinking into the uneven padding. Springs groaned beneath him, barely holding together.
He stared up at the ceiling, following the faint cracks running across it, the dim light above flickering slightly as if debating whether it wanted to stay on.
His gaze drifted to the small, framed picture above his bed. His family.
A relic from a better time. He never really looked at it, but he never took it down, either.
One of his ears twitched at the sound of a cup shifting. His collection of old coffee mugs cluttered the floor beside his bed, each one with some dumb slogan he hadn't picked out himself.
They were gifts from Luten when he moved in.
He rolled onto his side, eyes landing on a mug with the inscription: "Coreline's Greatest Skunk."
Nox snorted. "Hmm. Close enough."
His eyes shifted toward the kitchen part of his room.
The faint hum of his ancient refrigerator filled the silence, its struggling motor wheezing.
The tiny stove in the corner barely worked, its burners unreliable at best. One flickered with a weak orange glow. The other hadn't sparked to life in months.
A few unopened instant meal packets sat on the counter, collecting dust.
The sink dripped at an irregular pace, the only real rhythm in the room.
Nox sighed, dragging a paw down his face. Cooking? Too much effort. He considered grabbing something from the fridge but quickly abandoned the idea. It was practically a biohazard at this point.
Instead, he stretched out his arm, blindly reaching toward the nightstand, fishing for his phone. He swiped it open, his screen lighting up with the familiar neon glow.
No new messages.
He exhaled, letting the silence settle in again. The city outside never fully slept: muffled voices, distant sirens, the low hum of machinery.
Nox rolled onto his back again, staring at the ceiling.
On the kitchen table sat another mug. Its inscription? "Who is a good boy?" depicted with a dog and a bone in its mouth.
Not him, that's for sure.
Nox exhaled through his nose and turned his gaze toward the window. Not that there was much to see. No grand cityscape, no skyline, just a brick wall, worn and cracked, with another window directly across from his. Zee's window.
A flimsy sheet roof connected them, a fragile bridge between their rooms, one they used from time to time to visit each other or just lay there, watching the city shift and stir below.
The glass of her window was slightly fogged, but he could make out the familiar clutter of her room inside, dim monitors casting a soft glow, stacks of tools and wires strewn about like organized chaos.
He let his head rest against the mattress, blinking tiredly. She wasn't home yet.
His eyes crossed yet another coffee mug, but he didn't dare to glance at its inscription, though he already knew what was written on it: "What does the fox say?"
His ears twitched at the distant sound of an argument from somewhere below, followed by the sharp hiss of steam from an old vent. Coreline's lullaby.
Nox let out a slow breath, his limbs growing heavier.
With one last motion, he turned off the lights, stripping off his wine red shirt and scarf and throwing them off the bed.
Nox's tail curled loosely over the blankets now.
His blinks slowed, the world softening into dim lights and distant city murmurs.
The flickering bulb above cast shifting shadows across the ceiling, his own form barely outlined in the faint glow.
His breathing slowed. The mattress beneath him was uneven, the blanket thin, the room cold, but none of it mattered. His body was too exhausted to care.
The last thing he saw before sleep finally claimed him was the faint glow of Zee's monitor reflecting off the window.
Then, darkness.