A Fox's Whisper

ᗰOᗪᗴᖇᑎ ᗩᑌ: |几卂尺|

(I saw a very funny prompt the other day and I thought it would work perfectly for Kazuha and Inari. It felt nice to write after not having touched this book in several months since I've finished it. Hope you like it! Maybe I'll write more in the future if I have ideas.)

꧁༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺꧂

He's back at it again. I feel my own scowl digging into my lips as I peer through the curtains at the boy ruining my life. Every Sunday. Every single Sunday without fail he's here outside the fence gating my yard in, picking my dendrobiums. He's here so often in fact that I'm certain he's taking them faster than they can grow.

I can't even count the hours of work I put into them year-round--weeding, trimming, pruning, deadheading--all so they can bloom. This garden is my pride and joy, each flower a living thing that grew through my care. Anyone who passes by it is merely an acolyte. I've had it with this delinquent thinking he can mooch off of my hard work and take them for himself without even asking. To him, it might just be a few plucked flowers. To me, it's a massacre.

The first few times I'd noticed him there, I let it slide. Maybe he thought they were wildflowers, and there really wasn't any harm in him taking a few. But every week? I can't stand for it. I noticed it became a habit of his, every Sunday afternoon at around two o'clock. He takes five flowers. Every. Single. Time.

Who even needs that many flowers? He must be giving them to someone. I'm mad at the thought of it being a girlfriend of his. He could easily buy flowers for her, or even grow his own.

There he is now, strolling up the sidewalk. It's cold out. He wears a black sweater and a red scarf; his hands are in his pockets. He pauses in front of the fence and crouches down. I've watched him do this so often I know exactly how his routine works: he looks over the flowers for a little while, and then he plucks five of the best, brightest, and healthiest dendrobiums. Look, he's doing it right now. There goes one. And another...
I do notice that he's careful to not ruin the rest of my plants. But by the time he takes the fourth one, I'm so mad I could spit. This is the final straw.

I yank my curtain shut and slide my shoes on. I'll catch him in the act and put a stop to this. I stomp to the front door, wrenching it open just as he finishes picking his fifth flower.

"You," I snap, jabbing an accusatory finger at the flower thief.

He looks up, startled. His eyes are as bright a red as the dendrobiums and his scarf.
I slam the door shut behind me and storm over to the gate.

"Me?" He asks, confused. His voice is slightly strained, quiet in nature. He tucks a loose strand of pale hair behind his ear. It's uncannily messy, even though most of it is tied back in a loose ponytail.

"Yes you! Just what do you think you're doing?" I like the fact that he isn't much taller than me. It makes it easier to yell at him.

He looks at the flowers in his hand, then back at me. "Well, I was--"

"I know what you're doing! The question was rhetorical!!"

"Then I--"

"Those are my flowers! You have no right to take them every week."

"Oh." His voice goes very quiet, and then he smiles a little. "I had no idea."

His smile makes my stomach twist into a bundle of knots that I don't like. My hands clench into white-knuckled fists as I fix him with my best glare.

"That's no excuse. Do you even have any idea how much time I've spent growing these?? You should at least make sure before stealing other people's flowers and--"