Kitsune: The Flip Side

"Humans and beasts belong to different breeds, and foxes dwell somewhere in between. The living and the dead follow different paths; the fox's path lies somewhere between them. Immortals and shapeshifters take different roads, yet foxes are between them. Thus, one might say meeting a fox is a wondrous thing, but one could also say it is a common affair." — Ji Yun (18th Century)

"Lou… oi, Louis! Fucking hell, you deaf or summat?!" Tom roared right in his brother’s ear. The elder flinched and shot him that specific look—the one Tommy absolutely loathed. It said, plain as day: piss off, I’m busy. In moments like this, the younger felt like they were kids again, and back then, being a nuisance was a one-way ticket to a clip round the ear. Louis had been like this a lot lately—proper shut off, zoning out, drifting god-knows-where. Usually, he was the life and soul, always dead center of the chaos, loved a laugh and hated being bored. Tom didn’t have a clue what was going on with his brother, and it did his head in even more than that look. "Chel called," Tom said. "To you?" "To me. She wanted a word. You’re not pickin’ up your phone." "Naught to talk about," Louis snapped, irritated. "We’ve already talked about everything, for fuck's sake. A hundred times." "What’re you lookin’ at then?" Tom asked, squinting at the laptop screen. "None of your business," he cut him off, blocking the view with a skinny shoulder, a chaotic mosaic of tattoos. "Lou, tell me, what’s the crack with you lately?" Tom finally went for it, asking the question that had been brewing for ages. "Scrapping with Chel, acting like a right weirdo… You back on the gear? Again?" "No, Tommy, not at all! I promised, didn’t I? Everything’s sound, I’m just in a foul mood. And Chel… she walked out on her own. I wasn't gonna beg her to stay." "Not surprised, you’ve been acting like a proper muppet," the younger muttered. "I’ve been a muppet me whole life, mate. Don’t know why everyone’s suddenly making a fuss now." The brothers sat in silence for a bit. "Want to… go for a stroll?" Louis offered, a peace offering. He slammed the laptop shut, hesitated for a second, and shoved it into the desk drawer. Austin—a scruffy little Scottie, hearing the magic word, leaped off the bed and started spinning like a top around the room. Louis was lying through his teeth when he said his mood was foul. It wasn't foul… it felt like his solar plexus was filled with boiling water. Nothing in the whole world mattered except that pulsing burn inside and the one who caused it. Tom was half-right… a drug—you could call it that. The strongest there ever was. And completely free. Louis tried his best to listen to Tom’s rambling. He even pulled one earphone out so he could nod and play along. But his thoughts kept drifting… following the voice singing in his other ear. He didn't understand a single word, and that bloody online translator spat out absolute bollocks half the time… But when he managed to get the gist of a song, he’d get proper goosebumps. Even without understanding the lyrics, the vibrations, the sheer grit of that voice gave him an unreal buzz. So much so that when his girl—with whom things were getting "pretty serious" (or so he thought)—packed her bags and stormed out after another row over nothing, he barely felt a thing. He just noted with a hint of surprise that he’d actually missed the quiet. He wasn't scared of being alone anymore—he had something to fill the void. But, like any addict, the daily dose soon wasn't enough. And it wasn't much of a dose anyway—two full albums and a couple of live sets from some tiny clubs, filmed on a shite phone with a shaky hand. He’d played those songs to death; he could swear he knew them by heart. When he first pressed 'play' out of pure boredom, clicking through random YouTube links, Lou had no idea how hard he’d fall. He didn't even like it much at first. But something kept pulling him back to find more. To watch the lives. To find every single photo of the girl whose voice was now wrecking his head. He put her on his laptop wallpaper, his phone, his iPad. How long had it been? A month? A bit more? And he’d already fallen out with Chel for good… Of course, it wasn't because of the singer. He wasn't an idiot to ruin a real relationship with a fit girl over a mythical obsession… Bollocks… It just happened. And when it did, he realized it was for the best. Let it be. But no matter how much he lied to himself, during that last time with Chel, he’d closed his eyes and pictured someone else. Someone completely different. Not a model like he was used to, not a classic beauty. But those cat-like cheekbones and the long slit of her green eyes eclipsed everything now. They filled his entire universe, his days and nights. Her name was the best music he’d ever heard. Foreign, strange, beautiful… He whispered it syllable by syllable, like a mantra, listening to the sound. He was worshipping. If the lads in the band knew what he was up to sometimes—in the shower, for instance. He didn't even need a photo anymore; he just had to close his eyes and every line of her face, every curve of her definitely-not-model body, the messy strands of her aggressive haircut—it all appeared before his mind's eye like magic. And her feet… so tiny. She sang barefoot, and it drove Louis mental. She was tiny herself—barely reached his chin, probably… Yeah, they’d rinse him for life if they knew. At some point, Louis felt like he was losing it—fancying a singer of some obscure band like a spotty thirteen-year-old fanboy! He got mad at himself, at her, at the whole world. He nuked all her songs and photos, cleared his bookmarks, unfollowed her socials. Oh yeah, like a proper obsessed fan, he’d tracked down every footprint she’d left on the web. He’d even tweeted her about how much he loved the music. And then he’d suffered, heart in his throat, waiting for a reply. She never did… Not that he should be surprised—he never replied to his fans either. He tried to work. Tried to make up with Chel. But nothing clicked. And that pissed him off more than anything. Usually, when he was in love, he worked like a dog. Now, he couldn't squeeze out a single decent line or a proper sketch. Everything felt off, not how he wanted it. And he didn't even know what he wanted. After moping around, Lou put the tracks and photos back and dove straight back into the sweet illusion. Jealousy gnawed at him too. She was five years older than him; of course, there was someone. Maybe even a husband. But that side of her life was kept off the grid, and Louis suffered bitterly, secretly hoping she was free. Once, he’d stared at some long-haired prick leaning too close to her in a grainy photo and decided he was way more attractive anyway… It wasn't even that he wanted to possess her… he just didn't want some random bloke putting his paws on her! "Lou! Where are you again, oi?!" Tom barked, annoyed. Louis smiled, stirring the herbal creamer into his tea. The favorite little cafe was almost empty, and his brother’s voice rang out so loud the waitress flinched. "I’m listening, go on," Lou assured him. He set the spoon aside. Clenched his long, elegant fingers, looking at his hand as if seeing it for the first time. And then he began to sink back into his dream-bubble. What were the odds of them meeting? Sharing a stage, a festival, a telly spot? Zero. Zilch. Different genres, different scales… His band sold out stadiums. And she… she was niche, an acquired taste. Although, in his book, the whole world deserved to hear her. At the very least. He felt that familiar gloom again… And then he thought—f*ck that. Why should he wait for a chance? He was young, he had the brass, and he was free. He wasn't some thirteen-year-old girl whose mum wouldn't let her go to a festival! He could fly to her country, hit her gig—he could bloody well afford that. Yeah, that’s what he’d do. And then… come what may.