The first glance isn't the last

The cafeteria buzzed like a jungle at rush hour—species of every kind shuffling trays and throwing glances. Foxes with sculpted fur flicked their tails while chattering near the soda machine. A tiger girl with rainbow ear piercings slurped udon, glaring at a trio of preppy gazelles. And perched on the windowsill like a bored hawk, literally, was Akira—Shibara High’s elusive arts editor, feathers ruffled just so.

Noah sat alone at the corner table, hunched over his sketchbook. His raccoon-boy had evolved—now with sharper lines, a hoodie pulled halfway off, and beside him, a wolf character with wild eyes and a smirk that only Eli could’ve inspired.

> *“They’re getting closer. Even if I’m not.”*

But the air shifted. Eli walked in—his tray piled high, tail swaying with casual rhythm. Students noticed him, like they always did. But Noah noticed something else. Eli glanced toward Noah’s table, paused, and… headed over.

Noah’s heart bolted.

> “Mind if I sit?” Eli asked, sliding across from him before Noah could speak.

> “Yeah—I mean no. Totally. Sit. Please.”

Eli grinned. “Cool sketches. That raccoon guy... he looks braver today.”

Noah tried to smile. Failed. “I redrew him.”

> “Wanna draw mine sometime? I’ve always imagined my fur with streaks of silver.”

It was casual, playful. But the warmth in Eli’s voice made Noah’s ears twitch under his beanie.

Suddenly, a loud *clang* echoed. A tray hit the floor.

Everyone turned.

Standing there was Tessa—a tall, sleek leopard girl with lime-colored eyes and sharp fangs. She crossed her arms, tail lashing like a whip.

> “Didn’t expect *you* to sit with a closet case,” she said, voice dripping acid.

Whispers rippled through the room.

Noah froze. His hands clenched. *Not again.*

Eli stood slowly, eyes locked on hers. “He’s out enough for me.”

Tessa scoffed. “Sure, Eli. Brave talk from a fur-junkie hiding under a hoodie.”

> “At least I know who I am,” Eli said. “What’s under your spots, anyway?”

Gasps. A few chuckles.

Tessa hissed and stormed off.

Noah blinked. “You didn’t have to—”

> “No, I did,” Eli said. “I’ve played safe for too long. Everyone’s got something weird. This is mine.”

He sat back down, picked up his rice ball. “Besides… I like your weird.”

Noah felt heat rush to his cheeks. Something bloomed in his chest. Not fear. Not shame. Just… hope.

The rest of lunch passed in a bubble. They talked characters, fur patterns, art styles. Eli drew a quick sketch on the back of a napkin—a wolf boy leaning close to a raccoon boy under moonlight.

When the bell rang, Noah packed his sketchbook slowly.

> “Hey,” Eli said, nudging him. “Tomorrow… wanna come to my club?”

> “Club?”

> “We meet after school. LGBTQ furs, artists, cosplayers. No one has to hide.”

Noah hesitated. Looked at Eli’s grin.

> “I’m in,” he said.

And for the first time in years, he meant it.

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