It was a lazy afternoon. Sunlight streamed through the window lattice, scattering dappled shadows across the dormitory. Emma rested on Fox Lian's lap, her fingers idly twirling the fluffiest tuft of silver fur at the tip of his tail, savoring the rare tranquility.
Suddenly, as if struck by a thought, she lifted her head, gazing into his half-lidded violet eyes, heavy with languid contentment, and asked softly: "Fox Lian, if… I mean if, one day I truly stopped loving you, what would you do?"
She spoke casually, as though it were a meaningless hypothetical.
But the moment the words fell, Emma felt the tail beneath her fingers stiffen abruptly. Even his entire aura froze.
He lowered his gaze to her, the laziness in his violet eyes vanishing, replaced by unfathomable depths, emotions she had never seen before—dark, heavy, almost sorrowful. He did not answer immediately, only stared at her in silence, long enough that Emma nearly regretted asking.
Just as she was about to say "I was only joking," Fox Lian finally spoke. His voice was low, strangely calm, yet it tightened her heart: "I would leave."
Emma froze. She had imagined he might sulk, demand answers, or flare up in jealous protest… but never such a stark, decisive reply.
His fingertips brushed her cheek gently, though his gaze carried a cruel clarity: "If you no longer loved me, any pleading, clinging, or even letting you touch me like this…" His tail drooped lifelessly, slipping from her fingers. "…would only be a burden to you."
He forced a bitter smile. "I don't want to become someone you resent."
Emma's heart clenched painfully. She opened her mouth, but he cut her off.
"But," his eyes locked onto hers, violet depths burning with a hidden fire, beneath the calm a near-obsessive resolve, "I would wait."
"Wait?" Emma echoed faintly.
"Yes." He tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, voice soft as a sigh yet heavy as a vow. "I would wait for you to turn back. A year, ten years, a hundred… even until my spirit fades, my soul dissolves. I would wait."
His fingers brushed the fox-ear pendant at her neck, carved by his own hand, his gaze tender yet sorrowful: "Because besides you, I cannot imagine sharing my ears, my tail… my everything with anyone else."
"So," he lowered his forehead to hers, breaths mingling, voice trembling with fragile plea, "don't let there be that 'if,' alright?"
Emma looked into his eyes, so close, filled with raw insecurity and vulnerability she had never seen. She suddenly understood: this fox, outwardly confident and adored, deep inside was still a child terrified of abandonment, terrified of being unwanted.
She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, pulling him close, giving him a warm, resolute embrace to banish his fears. "There will be no 'if.'" She whispered clearly, solemnly into his fox ears. "Because I've long been poisoned by you, Fox Lian—and there is no cure."
She felt his body tremble, then his tail regained life, cautiously, almost tentatively, curling around her waist again, tightening more and more.
He buried her deep in his arms, voice muffled, brimming with regained joy: "…Mm."
The sunlight remained warm, the years still serene. That question of "if" was never raised again.