The sound of steady breathing reached his ears. A small mercy amid the chaos. Haram grabbed the man’s cheeks with both hands and gave them a sharp pinch. When the man still didn’t open his eyes, Haram bolted back toward his nest.
As soon as the nest came into sight, Haram—now fully transformed into his human form—rushed forward, his flat tail fluttering behind him with urgency. He yanked clothes from a backpack wedged between rocks, hastily threw them on, stomped down the backs of his sneakers, and sprinted straight back to the man.
Carefully, so as not to worsen the man’s injuries, Haram gave him a light shake and shouted, his voice cutting through the rumbling thunder.
“Hey!”
Perhaps it was the sheer volume of Haram’s voice—louder even than the storm—that caused the man’s eyelids to tremble and slowly lift. Haram’s eyes, already adjusted to the dark, locked with the man’s deep black gaze.
“Are you alright? Can you stand?”
Sliding one arm behind the man’s back, Haram gently eased him into a seated position. Once upright, the man’s sheer size became fully apparent, and Haram couldn’t hide his shock. How was he supposed to get someone this big down a mountain?
Just as he stood there, overwhelmed, a low murmur brushed his ear.
“…Don’t… call…”
“Huh? S-Should I call emergency services?”
Haram leaned in closer, ear nearly touching the man’s lips as he waited for a response.
“…Don’t. No matter what.”
The man’s words were startling. Why not call for help?
“A-Alright, let’s try standing up first.”
He slung the man’s left arm over his own shoulder and wrapped his arm around the man’s side, gradually hoisting him to his feet. Though the man remained conscious, Haram had to grit his teeth as he staggered forward under the crushing weight of a muscular arm.
“D-Don’t pass out… please…!”
The plea was directed at the man—but also at himself. Supporting a man twice his size, navigating the rain-slick mountain path was beyond grueling. Worse still, Haram’s soaked tail fur clung heavily to his back, dragging him down further.
Gasping for breath, Haram finally reached a spot where the village came into view. He clutched a large tree and paused to catch his breath. He was soaked to the bone, but he was convinced it was mostly sweat, not rain.
He should’ve ignored the man and called 119. As regret crept up his throat, the hanok appeared just ahead. Squish, squish. The sound of his drenched sneakers echoed through the courtyard and into the house.
He gently lowered the man onto the living room sofa and forced his trembling legs toward the light switch. Under the ceiling light’s glow, the man looked even worse. Scratches marked his face in several places, like he’d been dragged through thorns. Fortunately, none appeared deep.
Kneeling before the sofa, Haram studied the man from head to toe. Aside from the facial cuts, the only visible wound was a gash on his exposed right forearm. The rest would require undressing him.
By now, Haram was beginning to feel the chill in his wet clothes. He tapped the man’s shoulder lightly.
After what felt like ages, the man’s eyelids lifted slightly, and his eyes blinked open. Haram quickly leaned in, urgent.
“Are you absolutely sure I shouldn’t call for help? 119? Or the po—”
Before he could finish, the man raised his left arm, gripping Haram’s shoulder with surprising strength.
“…Don’t.”
His dark gaze locked onto Haram’s wide, quivering eyes—then vanished beneath heavy lids. His hand slipped off Haram’s shoulder with a limp thump, and silence settled over the room, broken only by Haram’s ragged breathing.
Haram couldn’t make sense of it. It defied all logic. But he couldn’t disregard a man’s desperate plea right before he passed out. Letting out a long sigh, Haram gently leaned the man against the wall and slipped off his jacket. With his energy spent, even that small act took effort. His hands trembled as he unbuttoned the man’s shirt and pulled it off. When the last of the fabric came away, he sucked in a sharp breath.
“Whoa…”
The man’s upper body was covered in scars. Thick, jagged ones—so severe they made the cut on his forearm look like a scratch.
Just who was this man…?
***
Chomp, chomp, chomp.
The faint sound of a flying squirrel daintily nibbling on a blueberry echoed through the small room. Right beside him lay the man, fast asleep beneath a gaudy, floral blanket.
Haram preferred to eat in his animal form. That way, even a small amount of food left him full, there was no need to cook, and he could simply enjoy raw, natural ingredients. Best of all, no dishes—no cleanup.
The reason he was eating right next to the man’s head was trivial. The guy may have been unconscious, but Haram felt too guilty to watch TV in the living room while munching away. Besides, he needed to keep an eye on him—just in case he woke up…
Every time Haram bit into a blueberry, his small pink tongue darted out energetically. The gentle, rhythmic chewing continued until the bandaged fingers of the man’s right hand gave a slight twitch.
The soft, birdlike pecking sound of Haram’s eating was just irritating enough to rouse a man who, under normal circumstances, couldn’t stand noisy eaters. Without even opening his eyes, the man’s brows furrowed. Slowly, he cracked his eyelids open and turned his head toward the source of the noise.
The moment their eyes met, Haram’s large flying squirrel eyes went comically wide. He choked on the blueberry in his mouth, startled out of his wits. It slipped straight down his narrow throat.
“Kkii—! Kkegh—!”
As the tiny front paws started pawing at the air, as if pleading for help, the man—still dazed and staring at Haram—moved as though under a spell. He slid an arm out from beneath the gaudy floral blanket and gave the soft, silver-gray back a pat.
The problem was, the pat was by the man’s standards.
The instant his hand struck Haram’s back, the force sent the small creature sprawling forward, skidding across the yellow linoleum floor. Haram gagged, hacking up the blueberry that had been lodged in his throat. His pink hind legs trembled and kicked feebly behind him.
The man had meant well, but the realization that he’d nearly killed something again—right after waking up—made him sink into quiet despair. He slowly pushed himself upright and called out to the furry bundle still lying motionless on the floor.
“…Hey.”
“…”
“If you’re not dead, get up.”
Too humiliated to move—choking on a single blueberry at his age, no less—Haram remained collapsed. But the man’s prodding eventually got to him. With a twitch, he reluctantly lifted himself.
“…Squeak.”
After a moment of awkward deliberation, he turned around and approached the man with a feigned nonchalance, trying to act like nothing had happened.
“Squeak, squeak?”
Are you alright?
The man looked down at the fluffy creature chirping at him, then glanced at the squashed blueberry on the floor. A soft, breathy laugh escaped him. This thing saved me? The thought that he owed his life to a being no bigger than his palm was both absurd and strangely humbling.
And it squeaked like…
“A rat.”
“…?”
Haram froze, eyes blinking as he processed the muttered insult. A moment later, the sting of frustration hit him like a wave. His mouth snapped shut, lips pressed tightly together.
Memories from the long night flashed through his mind: hauling this massive man down a slippery mountainside, stripping off his soaked clothes with numb fingers, dragging him inside, treating his wounds, scrubbing mud from the living room floor…
The more he remembered, the more that indignation surged. He clenched his little jaw to stifle the loud squeak building in his chest. Whether the man understood what he was doing or not, he watched the trembling fuzzball in front of him with casual amusement.
To the man, a squirrel or a sewer rat—it made no difference. A rodent was a rodent. But something about this shivering little fluffball was… different.
“A squirrel?”
At the question, Haram flinched, then shook his head. Rising onto his hind legs, he lifted his arms high and spread his wing-like membranes wide.
“Ah… flying squirrel?”
The man chuckled again, but he was wrong.
Haram pointed with one tiny paw toward the wide blue sky, visible through a window in the center of the room, then glanced back at the man with a hopeful look. The man followed the gesture, gazing out at the cloudless expanse. In a quiet voice, he murmured,
“Sky… squirrel?”
The moment he got it right, Haram nodded vigorously, then clapped his tiny paws together, as if expecting a high-five. But just as he was about to bring them together, he paused—ears perked—at the sound of the man still muttering.
Sky squirrel. Over and over, like a child reciting a newly learned word. It was starting to make Haram uneasy. Did this guy have a personal vendetta against flying squirrels?
Just as that anxious thought began to bubble up, the man looked down and asked,
“You’re a Beastfolk, aren’t you?”
His memories of the night before were still patchy, but he was sure now—the flat tail this furball had was the same one he’d seen on the man who helped him down the mountain.
At the man’s calm voice, Haram slowly raised his head and nodded, meeting his gaze. Seeing him nod, the man offered a faint smile.
“Think you could turn human? I’d like to talk.”
“Squeak…!”
Only then did Haram realize he was still in his animal form. With a sharp nod, he darted off on all fours, slipping through the crack in the door. The man watched silently as he disappeared, then turned his eyes to the bedroom door—still decorated with old cartoon character stickers.
He let out a quiet sigh, then turned to the gaudy floral blanket that had covered him and flipped it back in one swift motion—only to pause.
His underwear was still on.
Haram must’ve been too embarrassed to remove it.
Now he was lying under a garish flower-patterned blanket, half-naked, entirely at the mercy of a squeaky little fuzzball… and thoroughly indebted to him.
