Hafsa's mother pours a steaming stream of coffee into her mug. She spares a glance towards her daughter who's slumped over the dining table, mouth stretched open in a yawn.

"Do you want some coffee, kitten?" The older female offers, already reaching for another mug.

"Oh, yes please." Her husband who sits across from Hafsa pipes up with a smile.

His wife frowns. " , kitten. Want some? To help wake up?"

The teenage serval replies with a strained smile. "You know I don't drink that stuff. It makes me jumpy. Thanks, though."

Although her forehead remains creased with a twinge of worry, Hafsa's mom relents and goes to join her family at the table, ignoring her husband's second plea for coffee (he gets even jumpier than her daughter on the stuff).

"So, polka-dot," The male serval begins, eliciting a groan at the childish nickname. "We've been looking at other schools and we found some great ones right here in the city. Let me know what days you can visit them with us."

"Hmf," Hafsa grunts, here downcast eyes focused on her task of unsuccessfully rubbing a cold stub of butter on a piece of toast. "Do I have to?"

"Well, no, but I thought you'd like to have a say in the whole thing." Her dad raises a brow. "You're not a kitten anymore, even if Mama treats you like one."

"Haidar, enough of that." His wife chides before returning her sparkling eyes to her daughter. "I really think it would be nice, Hafsa. I've already been talking to some of the principals and they're very excited to meet you. Your reputation wasn't just in Noah's Arc."

Hafsa tosses the knife on her plate with a clatter, frustrated at both the toast and the conversation. "It doesn't matter, Mama. I only have one more year of high school anyway. Might as well put me in an all-carnie school."

Her parents exchange knowing glances at each other. With a patient sigh, her mother extends a hand to catch her daughter's. "Kitten. Look at me, okay?"

With some hesitance, Hafsa obliges.

"I can't imagine what's going through your head. When I heard what happened on All Animal's Eve, I got so scared that I couldn't even stick the keys in the ignition right because my hands were trembling." Hafsa's dad mutters an 'it's true' with a solemn nod.

"So I can only imagine how scary it must have been for you. After everything that happened last year too… But you put on a brave face and told me you wanted to stay at Noah's Arc, and I let you because I wanted to respect your decisions, and I was proud of you for deciding to stick it out. But I regret it so much, kitten. So even if you want to go back, I won't let you. You understand why, right?"

Hafsa scoffs, her pupils darting from side to side as if attempting to bat away the emerging tears. "Yeah, obviously. That's not why I…"

"Then can you tell us what's upsetting you?"

"I don't care about Noah's Arc." The young feline starts. "I mean, I did in the beginning. You remembered how hard I worked to get in. And I was really proud of myself for being accepted and becoming student council president. It's a prestigious academy. It could've set me up for life. It… meant something to me. It meantIwas worth something."

Her jaw trembles, but she swallows a hard knot and continues. "But how could I even think about that now? People died, and everything I did to try and make the school a better place was completely pointless… and my f-friends…"

Fat drops of salty, hot tears roll down Hafsa's face, staining her fur dark brown before dripping off her chin to pathetically splash down on her toast. "I'll never see them again…"

Her mother tightens her hold on her hand as she sheds a few tears of her own. "Oh, Hafsa…"

"A-and the more I think about it….The more I realize it's my fault… All of it… Me and my stupid ego…" The younger cat continues as she tries to wipe her face. "I ruined my friends' lives… Their futures… I destroyed Noah's Arc… and now I'm j-just expected to move on with my life? Like I d-didn't do anything?"

"Hafsa, listen to me." Her father speaks up from across the table, eyes sharp behind his glasses. His smile is gone, replaced by a severe, almost dangerous expression. He looks more serious than Hafsa had ever seen him. "Do not insult my daughter and do not insult your friends."

"What do you-"

"We're not stupid, you know." He leaves no chance for retaliation. "The school let us know what was going on in there. After the fact. He rolls his eyes at that last part. "What that rhino was up to. And what you and your friends were doing to fight back."

He pauses, as if carefully choosing his words. "I should've had this talk with you much sooner. But when it comes to you and your mother… Well, I suppose I can't help but want all the bad things in the world to disappear on their own." The male serval leans forward on the table, his index finger drawing an invisible line down the length of his knife. "We're carnivores, Hafsa. And you know exactly what that means. Ever since that accident with Ronnie."

Hafsa winces at the memory of her seventh birthday party.

"You know what society thinks about us. And you've done a damn good job of becoming exactly the type of person you want to be. Swimming against the current. Fighting for your place even when others say you have no right to be there. You might have been proud of getting into Noah's Arc, but Hafsa… I cried in bed that night because I couldn't believe my daughter was that amazing. And although I'm mad you never thought to tell us what you were doing in Noah's Arc, I cried all the same when I found out. You're not a child anymore, Hafsa. But I don't need to tell you that, because you acted like an adult I respect the hell out of."

He crosses his arms, not breaking eye contact for a moment. "I grew up once, too. A million years back or so." The older cat chuckles fondly at the thought. "And I tried to do my part just like you. Even got arrested once, though carnies could get arrested over anything back then."

Hafsa whips her head towards her mother, silently asking if she knew about this. But the older serval coyly shut her eyes and gestured back to her husband, as if to say 'keep listening.'

"But my point is," Hafsa's father sniffs. "I didn't do half of what you did. And your friends? Don't pretend you just strung them along. They're not kids either. They worked alongside you as equals, so don't act like their decisions, theiragency, meant nothing. When you act for real, then there are real consequences. And real adults know when to act selfishly because, or rather, regardless, of those consequences. The truth is people can accomplish so much once they've shamelessly convinced themselves they deserve to be happy. How else is anything meant to change?"

Hafsa is too stunned to think of a response. She might have even believed her mother could deliver a lecture this intense, but her father? The ardor of his words ended up evaporating all of her tears. But what's more shocking to her is that.. it's exactly what she needed to hear. In all of the teenage drama shows she's ever watched, she can't remember the parents ever giving good advice. Should she… have talked to them before?

With a satisfied sniffle, her dad looks like he finally said his piece, and in a flash, he returns to his lazy smiling self. "Can I get some coffee now?"

"Absolutely not." His wife's voice is stern, but as she leaves to drop her dish in the dishwasher, she passes by his seat to kiss the top of his head. That seems to be a good enough substitute for the coveted coffee.

"Can… can I let you guys know when I'm free to check out the schools later this week?" The youngest feline wipes at her eyes before standing up.

"Of course, polka-dot." Her dad flashes her an easygoing grin.

As a family, the three servals clean up the breakfast table, mom and dad cleaning the mess while Hafsa dries the freshly scrubbed dishes. They talk of meal plans, and room decor, and driver's licenses, of Hafsa's new life back with them. It's strange, and it doesn't exactly make her happy, but it is a curious pleasantness of being surrounded by a familiar safety. While not an evolution, it is a warm rest stop devoid of the responsibilities that had been eaten away at her at Noah's Arc.

Once the last dish had been safely stored, she gives her parents one final kiss on the cheek each and goes to retire to her room. She resolves to spend the rest of the day looking up nearby high schools. Opening up her laptop, she lies in a crooked way atop her unmade bed. No sooner had she typed in her password than her phone, still plugged in on the nightstand beside her, startled her with the overdramatic sound of a text message amplified by the wooden surface underneath. Her brow raises when she sees who the sender is.

Solomon.

He'd been very quiet the past couple of days. In fact, they'd last spoken on the day the academy shut down; she'd not even told him about visiting Toma. She's been anxious to speak to him again, but judging from the handful of messages she sent that had been left on read, she figured he would have to come to her once whatever smoke that's been bothering him had cleared.

The opening line read: "I know this is sudden, but would you like to meet up for lunch tomorrow at my place?"

Hafsa's not exactly sure how to feel. Solomon's silence had been bothering her, but she almost finds herself more uneasy when actually going to meet him. The shutdown of Noah's Arc had really left things awkward between them. Not that they didn't have other elephants in the room that made her uncomfortable. But standing in front of the luxurious gated apartment entrance does nothing to quell her nerves.

She double checks his apartment number and goes to press it into the intercom, only to find a singular call button. How will it know what apartment she's trying to call? Curiously, she presses it regardless and after two steadfast beeps, a gruff and unfamiliar voice buzzes in.

"Field Lily Complex."

"U-um, hello." Hafsa replies in as friendly a voice as she can. "I'm here to visit the caracals. Apartment 405."

"One moment."
Not just one but several moments pass, and Hafsa begins to wonder if maybe she should ring again, but thankfully, the voice returns before she can muster up enough courage.

"Yes, they're expecting you. Please come in."

Without a moment to spare, the gate buzzes loudly, signaling it's open. The serval enters, ushered by the brick pavement leading into the residential building while passing by the immaculately landscaped front garden. There's a fountain somewhere, though she can only hear its running water somewhere past the expansive flower beds of stiff, exotic-looking blooms. The interior of the building's ground floor is structured like a beautiful hotel reception, complete with an eagle doorman who dutifully stands by behind a polished counter. With a curt nod, he welcomes the serval in, who offers a shy smile. Seems like he was the voice behind the buzzer.

Hafsa can't help but choke down a gulp. She'd always heard of these fancy gated apartment complexes, but being in the actual thing is way more intimidating than stories give justice. Especially if the apartment belongs to her boyfriend's parents. Her heels click against the marble floor, echoing around the room until she reaches the elevator that faces the entry.

The ride up to the penthouse is silent, forcing her to stare at her reflection at the floor-length mirror of the car. Besides brushing down a few stray tufts of fur, she looks as immaculate as when she first got ready. Meeting parents is a big deal, after all. She hopes the long, flower-patterned dress she chose will be enough, despite the increasing sinking feeling in her gut that she's somehow underdressed. She practices some poses, some expressions, some lines. She twirls her hem, rearranges the gift bag in her hand, hoists up the neckline to further cover her scar. Yet all she feels is impending doom.

The elevator dings, signaling she's arrived, though the ride was so smooth she could hardly tell whether the car was moving or halted to begin with. After a final prayer, she leaves to accept whatever fate awaits her past the impressive apartment door.

Even the entrance is much too clean. Fitting for a doctor. Solomon's father is an anesthesiologist, if she remembers correctly. And his mother… He talks even less about her, so the serval decides to tread carefully around that subject. She presses the doorbell one final time. Getting all the way up here was comparable to visiting Toma in jail. So many gates and checks and buzzing ins.

It's almost surprising when the door opens and she's greeted by Solomon's face. In a place so decidedly foreign, his familiar presence sends a wave of reassurance down Hafsa's nerves. Of course, she's here to visit him.

"Hafsa," He says her name with a lovely warmth. "You're here."

"I'm here." The serval shrugs with a lopsided smile. "Am I too early?"

"No, you're right on time. Did you have trouble finding the place?"

"No, not at all!" Definitely some trouble. "This place is gorgeous!"

Her boyfriend chuckles. "You're not even inside yet." With that, his ears perk. "But of course, come in!"

He makes way, allowing her to enter the grand foyer. Hafsa feels she might as well have stumbled into an avant-garde painting: clean sharp angles, bright whiteness occasionally broken by strong accents of color. Immaculately clean, just like a hospital. While impressive to behold, she could never imagine living in such a place, or calling it a home. How could anyone find this comfortable?

Solomon's voice snaps her out of her daze. "You can keep your shoes on." He must have remembered that Hafsa's family runs a shoes-off house. "Follow me, we can stay in my room until lunch is ready."

The spotted feline obliges and follows closely behind him, eyes never still as she tries to capture in her new surroundings.

"What about your parents?" She asks, somewhat timid. "Shouldn't I say hi?"

"I'm not sure where they are at the moment." He replies as if it were just that simple, but that only raises more questions in the serval's mind. "You'll meet them soon enough, anyway."

At some point they reach a hallway, and a small, outfitted hen passes by with a silent smile and a bow of her head.

"O-oh, hello." Hafsa greets, but the hen is already three strides away by the time her delayed reaction leaves her lips.

"One of the maids." Solomon notes.

"O-one of…?" Hafsa's voice is amused but wavering.

"We have four total. Only two work at a time, though."

A part of Hafsa salivates. That's money money.

Solomon's room is exactly what she expected. Spotless, elegant, lacking in any personal touches. It'd be impossible to tell what kind of person lives here. Hafsa wants to chalk that up to Solomon not technically living with his parents anymore, but something tells her this room was exactly the same as when he was ten years old. The thought depresses her.

"And here we are." He gestures, aware of the uninteresting sight. "Make yourself at home."

"It's certainly… tidy." Hafsa offers, smoothing out the bottom of her dress as she settles on the edge of his perfectly made bed. She almost feels bad for ruining the integrity of the sheet's surface.

"I'd call it a psychopath's room." Solomon responds, taking a much more confident seat on his swiveling desk chair.

"Oh, good, we're acknowledging it."

"I know this place is… overwhelming." He smiles bitterly. "Which is why it means a lot to me that you came today. Thank you, really."

Hafsa's guard melts a bit. "Don't thank me. I'm happy you invited me."

She means it. Solomon's always been secretive about his home life so asking her to essentially play moral support feels good. It feels like what they could've been doing all along.

"Have you… been well?" She asks, aware it sounds a lot more prodding than she'd like.

"I've been… lonely." The caracal replies. "School shut down, and I've been here in this house ever since. I'd be lucky to run into my parents even once a day."

"That sounds awful."

"It doesn't have to be. Being alone with your own thoughts can be good." Solomon glances at the freezing white light of his window. "I just don't like being alone with mine."

Hafsa leans closer, resting her elbows on her thighs as she tilts her head. "What do you think about?"

"Too many things to count. All the mistakes I've made. Everything wrong with me, and with this situation. What I could've done." He exhales. "But the worst thoughts are about you."

"Me?"

Something runs down Solomon's spine, bristling his fur as his face contorts into a pained grimace. Suddenly, he shoots up from his seat and just as quickly kneels down in front of Hafsa, stretching his arms to grip his sheets and capturing the serval in between them. He looks up at her, eyes full of desperation, and leans in closer so that their whiskers touch.

"Hafsa."

A red-hot sensation ensnares her throat, only permitting a single, imperceptible gasp to leave.

"I need to hear you say this." The caracal's voice is only a pleading whisper. "Tell me you love me. Tell me you'll stay by my ."
His pupils contract slightly and his breaths grow shallower. Hungry for… something, he grabs one of her hands and squeezes it tightly as if she were the only thing that kept him from flying off into the stratosphere.

"Solomon, you're scaring me a little." She takes her free hand and gently cups his cheek. This seems to do a decent job of calming him from his mania. With a couple of blinks, he relaxes the strength of his arms agains the mattress and retreats a bit.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay." She traces invisible circles with her thumb against his fur of his cheek. "It's all okay."

The male allows his eyes to close, leaning into her touch. The weariness on his face settles into something resembling relief. Hasfa notices the dark circles under his eyes.

"Haven't been sleeping much?" Her attempt to lighten the mood.

"Not really."

"You could always come over to my place. If you don't mind taking the sofa again."

"Could I?" His eyes open again, and the glimpse of elation in his hazel gaze makes Hafsa smile as if on instinct.

"Of course. My parents love you, you know."

"They're wonderful. So are you." Solomon turns his head, his lips touching the inside of Hafsa's palm. He kisses it reverently, nuzzling into it like it were life itself.

The door opens with a practiced silence, and the hen maid peeks her head inside. The two felines jump back in less than a second, but they're still undeniably (and literally) caught red-handed. However, if the maid had actually seen them, she remains unflappable.

"Lunch will be ready shortly. I was asked to call for you." She says.

"O-oh, thank you!" Hafsa calls after her, far too loudly, but the hen had already closed the door by the time she got to 'you'.

The serval buries her face in her hands. "Oh my god."
Solomon laughs. "Did I embarrass you?"

"Not that, but—!" Hafsa bats him away and springs to her feet. "She'll think we were doing something dirty! Your parents will think I'm bad news!"

"She won't tell them," Solomon answers cooly. "And besides, I don't care what my parents think."

"Such a bad boy." The female simpers, approaching him to rest her hand on his arm. "Are we still doing this?"

Solomon looks down at her and the twinkle in his eyes betrays pure mischievousness. "Let's get out of here."

Hafsa returns his mischievous smile fondly. "You sure?"

"Positive. I much prefer your mother's cooking, anyway."

"All right, you two," Hafsa's mother calls out, switching off the kitchen lights and joining her husband by the stairwell. "Papa and I are going to get some shut-eye. If you get hungry, help yourself to anything in the fridge. Oh, and there are extra blankets in the back closet."

"I remember where they are." Solomon replies from his seat on the couch next to Hafsa. "Again, thank you very much for allowing me to stay on such short notice."

"Nonsense!" The older serval waves away his apology with a radiant grin. "You're always welcome here! Don't stay up too late now!"

"G'night, Mama!" Hafsa chirps, stretching her legs over Solomon's as she fiddles with the TV remote.

"Goodnight, you two." Hafsa's father says with a yawn. "Behave yourselves."

"Bye,Papa."

Husband and wife are not-so-subtely shooed away upstairs, leaving just Hafsa and Solomon on the sofa discussing what movie to watch.

"Ooh, I've been dying to watch this series!" Hafsa clicks on an icon displaying a soap-opera poster. "Let's binge it."

"Maybe we should actually follow your mother's advice." Solomon says. "I'd like to help you with your high school enrollment tomorrow so we should wake up early."

"Ugh, so responsible." The serval whines, letting her head dangle from the sofa's armrest. "Just the first couple of episodes, then?"

"Okay, okay."

Content with her foot in the door, she clicks the play button and for a couple of minutes, the two watch the opening scene of the soap opera in comfortable silence. However, Hafsa is somewhat famous for her tendencies to talk during shows.

"What about your colleges?" She asks, eyes still focused on the screen. "The application process must be awful now."

"I've had to email them explaining the situation." Solomon replies with a sigh. "But with my predicted grades and overall application details, they're willing to make an exception."

Hafsa giggles. "Obviously. Anything for the golden child to enter in their ranks. They must've seen your application and started drooling!"

"Imagine how they'll foam over yours, then." The caracal pets her gingham-patterned pajama pants. "...You know my number one pick is in a different city, right?"

"…Yeah."

"If I get accepted—"

"When you get accepted."

"IfI get accepted," He insists. "You'll come visit, won't you?"

"Of course! I gotta shoo off the other females who think they have a chance!" His girlfriend playfully throws a few punches in the air.

The male laughs along but melancholy overtakes his demeanor. "You don't mind going long-distance?"

"No, it'll be romantic! We can write each other letters and meet up during holidays."

"And you know," Solomon reaches for her hand. "You could always apply to the same university next year. By then I'll have a place of my own, and we could even move in together."
"Asking me to move in with you before you even have the place?" The female snorts. "Aren't you getting ahead of yourself?"

Instead of a snarky reply like she was expecting, Solomon shifts until he's on top of her, face to face. The suddenness of his proximity lights the serval's face up just as quickly.

"I'm serious about you, Hafsa." His voice is like honey; sweet, slow, and thick. "I want to leave everything in this horrible town behind except you. You're the only good thing that's ever happened to me."

"S-Solomon…"

"Even if we're apart during college, it won't matter to me if it means we'll be together in the end. I'd propose to you right now if I thought you'd say yes."

"P-propose?!" Hafsa wheezes, nearly choking on her own shock.

Solomon's brow furrows in a mock pout. "Is that so surprising? I love you more than anything."

"I-I know that b-but…" The serval stammers. "W-we're still so young, a-and there's still a million things do before we—"

Her lover presses a laughing kiss against her forehead. "I know, Hafsa. That's why I said 'if I thought you'd say yes.' You should know better than anyone how good I am at playing the long game. I'll wait until you're ready."

With that, he retreats back onto his side of the sofa, allowing Hafsa some room to breathe, though she still stays firmly put pressed up against the cushions, staring at the ceiling until her vision stops spinning. Somewhere in the distance, the muffled noise of the soap opera plays, though both of them had long since stopped paying attention.

Marriage… Hafsa had never actually seriously considered the idea at her age. Marriage is just one of those things that she knew would come one day, like death. But for Solomon to bring it up so casually, yet so sincerely… is that something she's going to have to expect in the coming years?

She sneaks a glance at her would-be groom, who seems to have settled his attention on the TV show now. His face rests with a debonair smile. He still must be basking in the moment they shared together. Maybe it's because the TV's glow is reflected in his eyes but he looks especially handsome.

Hafsa secretly tries a mental exercise. She pretends she and Solomon are actually married, and that this is just a regular night. Maybe she took his advice and they're in the same college, living near campus together. Tomorrow they'd wake up at nine in the same bed, and Solomon would cook breakfast while Hafsa took her morning shower. They'd sit at the table together and talk about lectures, or plans, or what they dreamt about last night.

And then they'd leave the house together, and lock the doors with their matching set of keys. They'd drive to campus together— Solomon would probably own a second-hand car, nothing fancy— and head to their classes on different sides of the campus. They'd kiss goodbye, and then three hours later, kiss hello when they meet up for lunch. They'd discuss whatever funny things their professors said, or how frustrating their group projects are, and then split again until it's time to go home. Maybe they'd wind up at a bar or a club with their friends before, or maybe they'd be too tired and just decide to spend the night in. In any case, they'd wind up back at their home.

They'd unlock the door, and turn the lights on. Hafsa would cook them dinner while Solomon showered, and they'd be very proud of the efficiency of that arrangement, and then they'd eat their home-cooked meal while watching a TV show. And once they're finished, and the dishes are done, they'd be in exactly the same position they are now: cuddled up on the couch with the lights off until one of them drifts off to sleep. Maybe they'd wake up and trot off to their bed, or maybe they'd just spend the entire night cramped up in each other's arms. And they'd love each other, and they'd be happy.

That sounds nice.

She readjusts herself, going to rest her head on Solomon's lap, who welcomes her with a gentle caress of her fur once she's settled down facing towards the screen. He toys with her ears, and she feels her eyes becoming heavy.

"I went to visit Toma the other day."

"Hm?" The male hums, waiting for more.

"He said he's gonna plead guilty. And that he doesn't want any help."

"You should respect his wishes." His voice rings down from overhead. "He's probably thinking about what's best for you, too."

"Mmmm..." Hafsa mumbles. "I just wish he'd lean on others a bit more."

"You can cheer him on from the outside. Predation sentences at his age aren't life sentences. Especially if he plays nice and pleads guilty. He'll be out eventually."

He'll be out eventually. Still, predation is one of the longest sentences in the book, even longer than murder charges.

Speaking of…

Wait.

Hafsa opens her eyes and tilts her gaze upwards.

"Murder sentences, you mean."

Solomon looks down, confused. "Pardon?"

"How did you know he's being charged for predation?"

"I didn't— Did I say that?"

"You said predation sentences are life sentences."

"I misspoke, then."

The serval hoists herself up to a sitting position. "But you're right. They found evidence of predation on the body. The superintendent told me, but no one else knew. Not even Desmond."

Solomon's expression turns a shade more frustrated, and his ears flatten a bit. "Again, I misspoke. I had no idea. More importantly, why were you keeping such a thing from me?"

"I wasn't!" She counters. "It just never came up until now."

The caracal's eyes narrow but he doesn't argue any further. "Whatever. This was just a strange miscommunication. We're probably too tired."

"…Yeah."

"It's best we get some rest." As if settling the matter, he reaches for the remote and turns the TV off, leaving them in total darkness.

They exchange their final stiff goodnights and Hafsa makes the solitary trek up the staircase to her room.

What was she thinking?

She could never marry him.

AN: Thank you for reading! I'm aware Papa Hafsa's dad talk was corny but I think it fits them. A family of chatterboxes, they are. Solomon has been very fun to write and there's more to look forward to. Also, thank you for the kind comments on the last chapter, they put a big smile on my face!

Take it easy and stay safe.