Chapter 3: Chapter 3
The knock at the door was hesitant, almost uncertain—a stark contrast to the way Loona had stormed out of his apartment just days before. Marcus paused mid-stroke, his charcoal smudging across the paper as he tilted his head, listening. The sound came again, a soft but deliberate rap, like someone testing the waters before diving in.
He set the charcoal down, his fingers leaving black smudges on the edge of the sketchbook. The air in the apartment was thick with the scent of linseed oil and dried paint, the morning light filtering through the grimy window in thin, golden slivers.
Marcus wiped his hands on his jeans and walked to the door, his bare feet silent on the warped floorboards. He didn’t bother checking the peephole. There was only one person it could be.
He opened the door.
Loona stood there, her tail flicking behind her like a metronome set to restless. She wasn’t looking at him. Instead, her gaze was fixed on the cracked linoleum of the hallway, her claws flexing and retracting in a nervous rhythm. The morning sun caught the silver streaks in her fur, making her look like some kind of celestial being who had wandered into the wrong dimension.
“You forgot something,” she muttered, still not meeting his eyes.
Her voice was rough, like she’d been shouting or crying—or both.
Marcus blinked. “What?”
She exhaled sharply through her nose, then reached behind her back. When her hand reappeared, she was holding the shredded remains of her top, the fabric torn into jagged, useless strips. “This,” she said, thrusting it at him. “I can’t exactly walk home like this.”
He took the ruined garment, the soft, damp fabric brushing against his fingers. It smelled like her—like rain and something wild and untamed. “You could’ve just knocked and asked for it back.”
“Yeah, well.” She finally looked up at him, her golden eyes flickering with something unreadable.
”I didn’t come back for the shirt.”
Marcus felt his pulse quicken, the air between them suddenly charged. ”No?”
She shook her head, her ears twitching. ”I came back because I can’t stop thinking about you.”
The words hung between them, raw and unfiltered. He could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her claws were digging into her palms. This was a confession that cost her.
”Come in,” he said softly.
She hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. The door clicked shut behind her, sealing them in the quiet of the apartment. The morning light spilled through the window, painting stripes across her fur.
She stood in the middle of the room, her tail twitching like a live wire, her golden eyes darting around as if she expected the walls to start closing in. Marcus watched her, the torn fabric still clutched in his hand, the scent of her lingering on his skin.
"You didn't have to come back," he said, his voice steady, but his heart pounding. "But I'm glad you did."
She turned to face him, her expression a mix of defiance and something softer, something she was trying to hide. "Don't get all sentimental on me, Marcus. I just—" She cut herself off, her claws flexing.
"I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here."
Marcus set the shredded fabric on the table, then took a step closer. "You don’t have to know," he said quietly. "You can just be here."
She let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "That’s not how I work."
"No?" He reached out, his fingers brushing against the fur on her arm. "Seems like you’re doing it anyway."
Her breath hitched at his touch. "I don’t do this," she repeated, but her voice was softer now, the edge dulled. "I don’t come back.
I don’t stay. I don’t let anyone see me like this." Her claws flexed against her palms, digging in just enough to leave crescent marks on her skin. "You’re the only one who’s ever seen me like this, and I’m already regretting it."
Marcus didn’t pull away. Instead, he tilted his head, studying her with quiet intensity. "You’re not alone here."
She let out a low, humorless growl, her tail flicking in agitation. "I don’t want to be alone. I just don’t know how to not be."
He reached out, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin beneath her ear. "You don’t have to know.
You can just be here." His voice was steady, his fingers gentle on her skin. She felt the warmth of his touch, the softness of his voice seeping into her, like rain on parched earth. She wanted to lean into it, to let it soak her, fill her. But she was scared. Scared of the vulnerability, scared of the want, scared of the softness that was threatening to break her.
She pulled back, her tail lashing behind her. "I can't just be, Marcus. I'm not built that way."
He didn't push, didn't try to hold her. Instead, he stepped back, giving her space. "I know," he said.
"But you're here now. And I'm here. And we're not going to rush this. We're going to take it as slow as you need to."
She looked at him, her eyes searching his face. She was looking for the lie, the catch. But all she found was sincerity. She let out a slow breath, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction.
"Okay," she said. "Slow."
He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Slow."
He gestured to the futon, now made up with fresh sheets. "Want to sit?"
She hesitated for a moment before walking over and sitting down, her movements stiff, like she was expecting the furniture to bite her.
Marcus sat down next to her, leaving a respectable distance between them. He didn't try to touch her, didn't try to invade her space. He just sat there, his hands folded in his lap, looking at her with that quiet, steady gaze of his.
"So," he said, breaking the silence. "You like art."
It wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway. "Yeah. I do."
"Any particular style? Or artist?"
She shrugged, her tail flicking behind her. "I like the old masters. The way they could capture so much emotion in a single brushstroke. The way they could make you feel something just by looking at a painting."
Marcus nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face.
"I see. There's something about the way they could convey so much without saying anything. Like they understood the unspoken."
Loona looked at him, her golden eyes reflecting the muted light of the room. That's it exactly."
Marcus reached for his sketchbook, flipping through the pages until he found the drawing he had started earlier. He handed it to her, his fingers brushing against hers as he did so. She took the book, her claws retracting slightly as she looked at the charcoal sketch.
"It's just a rough sketch," Marcus said. "Nothing fancy."
Loona studied the drawing, her expression unreadable.
It was a sketch of her, or at least, a part of her. The curve of her ear, the angle of her jaw, the way her tail curved around her body. It was done in charcoal, the lines bold and stark, the shading subtle and nuanced. It was her, but not quite. It was like he had captured her essence, her spirit, and put it on paper.
"It's good," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "Really good."
Marcus shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "I'm glad you like it."
She handed the sketchbook back to him, her fingers brushing against his.
The touch was fleeting, but it sent a jolt through him, like static electricity. He took the book, flipping through the pages until he found the drawing again. He studied it, seeing what she saw.
"You drew me," she said, her voice barely audible.
Marcus nodded. "I did."
She looked at him, her golden eyes searching his face. "No one's ever drawn me before."
"I know," he said softly. And I want to see you. All of you."
Her breath hitched. She looked away, her tail flicking nervously. "I can't let you do that."
"Why not?" he asked, his voice gentle.
"What are you afraid of?"
Loona's tail flicked, her claws flexing. "I'm not afraid of anything."
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Everyone's afraid of something, Loona."
She looked at him, her eyes flashing. "Not me."
He didn't push. Instead, he flipped through the sketchbook, stopping at a blank page. He picked up a pencil, his fingers wrapping around it like it was a lifeline. "Tell me about your tail," he said, his voice casual.
She blinked, taken aback. "What?"
He gestured to the appendage in question, his eyes on the paper. "Your tail. It's beautiful. I've never seen anything like it.
It's like you've got your own personal weather system going on back there." He started to sketch, the pencil moving fluidly across the paper, capturing the curve of her tail, the way it tapered to a sharp point.
Loona watched him, her eyes following the movement of his hand. She was tense at first, her tail flicking nervously, but as he continued to draw, she began to relax. "It's not something I can control," she said finally, her voice soft. "It does its own thing."
Marcus nodded, his eyes on the paper. "That's part of what makes it so beautiful. It's wild, untamed.
Like you." He didn't look up from the sketchbook, his fingers still moving with practiced ease. "Like you're always moving, always shifting, but there's this beautiful rhythm to it."
Loona's ears twitched, her tail stilled for a moment before beginning to sway again, more slowly this time. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks, her claws retracting into her paws. "You're good at this," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Marcus glanced up at her, his eyes warm and full of understanding. "I like to see things. To capture them.