“Chik, chiek?”
Where the hell could it be?
Ever since he was a kid, his grandmother had drilled into him—so often he could hear it in his sleep—that whatever you use, you put it back exactly where it belongs. He’d always thought it was one of the better habits he’d picked up from her, but today? Today was enough to make a ghost cry.
He’d searched everywhere for the missing kitchen knife—crawled under the sink in his Sky Squirrel form, climbed on top of the cupboard—but not even the tip of the blade was in sight. All he got for his efforts was a coat of dust clinging to his fur. His already dull silver-gray coat looked extra dusty and clumpy today.
There was more than one kitchen knife, sure, but for some reason, he had to find that one. Still, that didn’t stop the creeping irritation from crawling up his spine.
“Chik! Chik!”
Where is it! Where is it!
Slapping his flat tail against the floor to vent some of his growing frustration, Haram pressed his belly flat to the ground again and blinked his large eyes, scanning beneath the sink. Still no sign of the knife.
With a defeated wriggle, Haram pushed himself up and plopped down on the floor with his butt flat, completely deflated. He sat there, spacing out, still fixated on where the hell the kitchen knife had gone, when the front door opened.
He instantly dropped to all fours and darted toward the entrance to greet Kang Tae-yi.
“Chiek!”
Tae-yi!
As soon as the tiny cry rang out, Tae-yi bent his head so low it looked like his neck might snap, then lifted his arm high like a fan unfurling, laughing out loud when he saw the little ball of fur welcoming him home.
Then, crouching to match the squirrel’s eye level as closely as possible, he smiled and said:
“Hey, little squirrel. I brought back some lettuce.”
…He cut some lettuce?
Haram blinked, momentarily stunned by what that even meant. But when he saw what Tae-yi was holding, his tail shot upright in reflex. The knife he’d been looking for all this time was in Tae-yi’s hand. But more importantly, this city bumpkin hadn’t picked individual lettuce leaves—he’d chopped down the whole stalk, leaves and all, and brought it back like a mini tree.
It looked like he was holding a lettuce bouquet.
“Chik, chiek…?”
At Haram’s baffled squeak, Tae-yi, who’d been about to present it like a bouquet of flowers, took one look at the squirrel’s tiny size and gently set the whole thing down beside him instead.
Haram stared blankly at the bouquet of lettuce, then looked up at Tae-yi with wide eyes and snapped:
“Chik! Chiiik! Chik!”
That’s not how you pick lettuce! You don’t cut it like that!
Grabbing a single lettuce leaf with his tiny front paw, Haram shook it dramatically as he scolded him. His already big eyes seemed even larger today, and they practically screamed judgment at Tae-yi.
“…Sorry.”
Tae-yi couldn’t actually understand a word, but the way that lettuce leaf flopped pathetically in his tiny grip made it clear how pissed Haram was, so he apologized anyway.
Apparently satisfied with the apology, Haram dropped the leaf and gave a small nod.
“I’ll put the knife back.”
“…Chik.”
He never in a million years would’ve guessed that Tae-yi was the one who took the knife. When had he even grabbed it? Still, the absurdity of him cutting lettuce like that made it hard to argue further.
Trailing behind Tae-yi into the kitchen, Haram watched as he placed the knife in the sink and started washing his hands. Haram looked up at him.
“Can I pet you?”
Tae-yi had suddenly dropped to the kitchen floor, and it wasn’t clear whether he was sitting or squatting. He looked at the squirrel and asked gently.
Startled, Haram blinked and then slowly nodded before approaching him. Tae-yi carefully scooped him up in his large hands and gently stroked his back using only his index finger.
“You’re seriously soft.”
“…Chik?”
…Really?
Haram didn’t usually transform when people were around. Every time he did, people would coo over how cute he was and touch him without even asking. It made him uncomfortable.
The village elders and grandkids who’d visit during holidays were the worst—just hearing that a Sky Squirrel Beastfolk lived nearby had made them swarm him like bees to honey. The memory still made his back itch like his fur was falling out in patches. His own personal version of post-holiday trauma.
Still, he’d always endured it—because those elders were kind, always bringing him things and looking out for him since he’d been on his own.
But Tae-yi’s touch… it was so cautious, so gentle. Despite being the biggest person he’d ever met, Tae-yi had the softest hands.
“Feels familiar. Like I’ve touched something like this before.”
“Chiek?”
There weren’t any other Sky Squirrel Beastfolk around… He’d heard he had a few distant relatives in other provinces, but beyond that, Sky Squirrel Beastfolk were rare. Practically nonexistent. So what was Tae-yi talking about?
“Where was it…”
Haram tensed, watching Tae-yi’s face contort in genuine concentration, then placed a tiny paw gently on his finger.
But as soon as his front paw touched Tae-yi’s index finger, Tae-yi immediately pulled his hand back.
“You feel like you’d break if I wasn’t careful.”
He really was small and fragile—like he’d snap with just a flick. Flustered by the sincerity in Tae-yi’s voice, Haram yanked his paw back and instead lay down on Tae-yi’s open palm, belly first.
By now, he must’ve gotten used to it, because Tae-yi started kneading him softly, and Haram flailed his tiny limbs in the air like he was swimming. It didn’t hurt or feel bad, just… odd. The rhythmic squishing was unfamiliar.
“Oh, sorry. Did that hurt?”
Tae-yi immediately stopped and apologized, but Haram shook his head. With his tiny head, he vigorously wobbled back and forth to say “no.”
Amused by the gesture, Tae-yi chuckled softly and began picking off the clumps of dust from Haram’s otherwise snowy white belly, so different from his dusky back.
“Beastfolk are all betas, right?”
“Chik!”
In a world where humans and Beastfolk coexisted, there were Alphas, Betas, and Omegas. But Beastfolk didn’t manifest Alpha or Omega traits. They were all Betas, without exception, and they didn’t even need to get tested for it. No one knew why—it had just always been that way.
“Chiek, chik?”
What about you?
Raising a paw, Haram pointed at Tae-yi and asked. He’d gone to a tiny village school with barely ten kids in the whole grade, so he’d never even seen an Alpha or Omega in person. They were rare to begin with, and people didn’t exactly flock to his near-deserted village. He thought he’d heard once that someone in the next town over was an Alpha, maybe.
Everyone in Haram’s village was a Beta. He’d never even asked anyone this kind of question before. It was clear he was nervous.
But Tae-yi didn’t answer. He just smiled quietly, and Haram, uncertain, slowly lowered his paw again. A storm of doubt swirled through his mind.
Was that rude? Was I not supposed to ask that? Did I mess up?
“…Chiiiek.”
…Sorry.
Clutching his flat tail to his chest like a blanket, Haram glanced nervously up at Tae-yi, who still hadn’t said anything. But Tae-yi just stroked Haram’s head gently with one finger, looking thoughtful.
He’d lied and said he was on the run from debt collectors just to stay in this house. But now telling the truth was way more complicated than he’d expected. Thinking about it, it didn’t even make sense why he’d gone that far. If he just wanted to avoid trouble later, he could’ve just used a fake name.
He could’ve stayed for the week, rested up, and moved on. So why the hell had he lied about everything except his name?
Why? What the hell was wrong with him?
But even now, if he went back in time, he couldn’t imagine lying about his name to someone like Da Haram, who looked at him with such innocent eyes.
The week they’d agreed on was almost over. Even if he’d lied about his designation, it wouldn’t change anything.
“…Beta.”
Tae-yi’s voice was unusually quiet. Haram’s small ears twitched. And then, a bright, chirping cry rang out.
“Chiek, chiek!”
We’re the same!
There were so many things he had in common with Tae-yi. Haram really felt like he’d finally found someone he could be friends with long-term.
Feeling bubbly again, Haram blinked his round eyes and wagged his tail slowly from side to side. Tae-yi, gazing at him with a lazy smile, kept picking dust off his furry little belly.
***
Late breakfast was bibimbap topped with a mountain of fresh lettuce salad in spicy seasoning. The side dishes? More lettuce. Piled high on a plate. All thanks to a certain someone.
“What do Sky Squirrels even eat?”
Tae-yi stirred his bowl, mixing the seasoned lettuce with stir-fried veggies and spicy sauce, and asked offhandedly.
“It depends. Some Sky Squirrel Beastfolk like fresh shoots or tree nuts.”
Just like people had different tastes, so did Beastfolk. Though Haram had never heard of a Sky Squirrel Beastfolk who was into meat.
Tae-yi nodded thoughtfully, then smirked.
“So, peanuts?”
At the mention of peanuts, Haram’s head bobbed enthusiastically.
“Yup! I love all nuts. And fruit too.”
Whenever the topic turned to something he liked, Haram would perk up, his little ears poking through his silver hair. Watching him get excited like that made Tae-yi forget all about the asshole he’d dealt with earlier that morning.
“What do you like?”
Haram hadn’t even touched his food. He just sat there holding a spoon in midair, eyes fixed on Tae-yi as he asked.
Tae-yi hesitated for a moment, then answered.
“Alcohol.”
“…Alcohol?”
