Light in the Window

 “Floffie time.”

Draykan’s tap on the window pinged dully through the quiet sounds of evening traffic, and inside, the face focused on a synthsheet’s display jerked up, blinking at him.

Dray grinned, tapping again. The edge of the roof dug into his waist, gravity tugging at his head, but it was worth it to see his little brother’s expression twist like that.

The window slid up under Erold’s hands, and his pale face squinted up. “Can’t you just walk in like a normal person? We live in the same house, miffer.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” He shimmied back, offering a hand. “I was taking the high paths back, anyway. It was just a hop to get up here. Besides, this way ‘Tia won’t get any hints.”

Muddy green eyes flicked from hand to face to ground far below. “You’re kidding.”

“You weigh about as much as these packets.” Dray flexed his fingers invitingly, the gentle breeze tousling his dark hair, seafoam eyes twinkling. “C’mon, I won’t let you fall.”

Erold hissed between his teeth, slapping an already-slick palm into his hand with a white-knuckled grip. "Fine. But you'd better not— hnghf!"

“See? You’re fine.” Dray patted him on the back as the twelve-war-old sprawled up over the edge, rolling up to his own feet and hefting the large twin packages of wool-spun stuffing.

“You almost pulled my arm out of its socket.”

He grinned, his wrapped-collar jacket flapping lightly as he turned and headed off, squinting against the low sun hovering above the shimmering city. In his wake, Erold grumbled something under his breath, the tump-tump of his jogging footsteps joining Dray as he hopped down to an upper-level walkway.

“Here, take one.” He handed off the other packet as Erold shivered, rubbing at one skinny arm under his loose throw-over, and tapped at the little multi-application integrated personal-device on his own wrist, unfolding the MIP's screen to check the reply that'd just pinged through. "Already let Mum and Dad know we wouldn't be here for evenaste. Stov's got the food, so we should be set to finish everything tonight."

“What— why is this so heavy?” Erold stumbled in the corner of his eye as he let them know he'd just picked his little brother up. “Isn’t this supposed to be wool stuffing?”

“I said they were as heavy as you.”

“I thought you were exaggerating.”

He smiled, patting his own packet. “Exaggerate? Me? Since when? Where's your evidence?”

“They still can’t be as heavy as me. You’re not that built.”

“You’re that skinny, though.” With a snort, he went to shove him in the side of the head.

Erold threw the packet up between them. “I’ll get my growth spurt! You’ll see.”

Grinning, he lunged around it, tousling Erold’s nut-brown hair, fringe flopping over his eyes.

“Hey!”

Dray laughed. “Sorry to crumble your castle, but a growth spurt’s only going to make you skinnier.”

His little brother scowled at him and swung. “Yeah... well, you’re short.”

“Ow.” He laughed freely at that, whacking it away with his own. “Says the sib who’s still a head shorter than me.”

Erold growled, and he sidestepped another swing, tossing his own up onto the ledge of a plant box ridged into the wall and following. “Nice therrolf impression. Is it Dragon’s Crown already?”

He barely twisted in time to snag the package thrown at him.

“Hph. Only if Akra’s started... setting later than it’s supposed to.” This time Erold scrambled up on his own, arms shaking briefly with the effort. “Besides, you’re the one... who’s tussling around. ...Do you think it’d make me taller?”

Dray let out an amused puff, spotting the moon in question still high above as he gripped the edge of the next ridge up, stems popping under his fingers. “Maybe. You’d get locked in the canid yard, though. I’m not sure if that’s worth it.”

“Wow, you're not lecturing me about how they shouldn't be locked up?”

He hummed as Erold passed the packages up. “Well, wouldn't get all my pens stolen so much if you got bit and locked up."

"Rude."

"Hey." Dray laughed, giving him a hand as he clawed up. "You think they're all dangerous and should be locked away, so there's no problem, right? Unless you think you wouldn't be dangerous."

“...That’s different.”

“Uh-huh.” Dray cocked his head, giving him a lopsided smile, and Erold made a face as he joined him on the garden rooftop, lifting his package again.

“You're starting to sound like Stov.”

"And he's got a point. They were human once, and before the reformations they got to live just like the rest of us, doing normal jobs. They even still get to join the force as hunters, too. Maybe on a leash, but everyone seems fine with them running free to catch criminals.”

Little movement-detection lights glimmered on at his feet—despite the sunlight still spilling across every leaf and flower—as Erold huffed. “Maybe, but they’re not human anymore. Their souls are literally tainted.”

“Doesn’t mean they aren’t still people.”

Erold snorted quietly under his breath, and Dray smiled again, raising an eyebrow over his shoulder. “Just because somebody’s different from you doesn’t make them a monster.”

“Yes, please, lecture me,” the other deadpanned. “Next you’ll be saying psychopaths on the dark end shouldn’t be put in prison.”

He just shook his head, huffing a quiet laugh. He doesn’t get it yet. Stepping over the rail at the other end, blinking against the sun as it peeked around a distant spire, he dropped his load to the next rooftop and followed it.

By the time they jumped the fence into the industrial backyard—Dray catching Erold’s stuffing after the first failed attempt at throwing it over sent it bouncing back with a grumbled curse—the sun had disappeared. The rest of the moons in the Last Hunt lit everything in a dim glow, instead, the abandoned shuttle station looming overhead and the whispers of busy streets a vine-crusted wall away echoing strangely.

Glancing around at the shadows in the crawlers quietly overtaking the old disused walkway, Dray kept half an ear out as Erold grunted and rattled his way over the fence, just in case. No alert rang out, though.

As quietly as he could, he tossed the second package up onto the lip of the sheltering overhang sticking out the side of the building and grabbed hold of the gnarled crawlers winding up a support. Behind him, Erold groaned softly, and he paused, glancing back. “Want me to boost you?”

The other waved him off. “I just hate the climbing parts.”

He gave an amused snort, pulling himself up easily. “Sure you’re not just too tired from roughhouse?”

“Ugfh.” Erold’s head popped up over the edge as Dray picked up the stuffing again. “I'm quitting. I just get bruises every time I step on the mat.”

He shrugged, hefting the package. “Even if it’s not your thing, basic self-defense is good to learn. If you know how to use your size to your advantage and go for speed over strength....”

“Thanks, Uncle Menton,” Erold snorted. “I’m not fast. And that’s the problem.”

“Okay, maybe you’ll never be the best at it, but you’ll learn.” Dray gave his shoulder a pat as Erold gathered his package and they started off again. “Besides, you are getting better. Krist isn’t giving you as much trouble since you broke his nose.”

“You broke his nose. If you hadn’t been there I’d be smeared on the pathway.”

“All I did was draw his attention. You were the one who tripped him and cracked his face on the wall.”

“So was it the wall or you punching him in the face after that broke his nose?”

He winced a little. “...I.... Okay, fair tick.”

Erold smirked back at him. “What? Say that again, I need to record it and put it on the board.”

Rolling his eyes, he reached back and tussled Erold’s hair before he could duck away, half-locking him around the throat with a grin. “Don’t push your positives, you’ll throw things out of balance.”

The package slammed into his middle. “Hey! Watch the—! Stop messing up my hair!”

“You’re such a girl,” he teased, pushing back and mussing at the lanky strands almost threatening to cover his little brother’s eyes. “I don’t know why it’s so important to you to win ticks in an argument, anyway.”

“You only say that because you have so many.” Erold leaned away from him, sweeping the fringe back into place with a glare as they stepped up to the little closet-shaped block sticking out of the slope.

Dray just laughed, stepping up to the hatch and brushing back the stem of a wind-bobber someone must've bumped. The plant sat in one of the mismatched pots nestled alongside the nook, curtains almost masking the hint of light spilling out through the age-frosted glass window in its side.

It’d probably been a maintenance closet, once. The kind for keeping exteriors free of the vines now creeping over everything. Once they got their roots in, there’d be shoots pouring out of the walls.

Taking hold of the handle at the bottom, he pulled the hatch up, the old slat-roll mechanism grinding. Light and warmth spilled out, and he ducked in, glow filaments hung from the ceiling and old posters beside crowded shelves greeting him, throw-bags and blankets piled on the trapdoor in the corner.

The trespasser sitting on them glanced up. “You finally got here.”