Rodent for sale...

The underground market smelled like wet stone, smoke, rust, and too many people packed too closely together. Dim lanternlight swung overhead from crooked chains bolted into the ceiling, casting long shifting shadows across cages, barred stalls, and crowded auction platforms below. Voices overlapped endlessly — merchants shouting prices, buyers bargaining, chains dragging across old concrete floors. Vesper hated every second of it. Which unfortunately made him look calmer than everyone else. He leaned back against the iron bars behind him with his arms crossed loosely despite the heavy chains locked around both wrists. Thick black restraints hung from the wall, limiting movement just enough to prevent escape attempts. Not that he hadn’t already tried. Twice. The bruise along his jaw proved how well that went. His rodent ears twitched sharply at the sound of footsteps approaching nearby again. Another group of buyers.

“Before anyone asks,” he drawled tiredly, voice smooth despite obvious exhaustion, “yes, I bite. No, that isn’t an invitation.”

One of the merchants nearby barked out a laugh. Vesper looked genuinely offended by it.

“I hope your next drink tastes vaguely of mildew,” he muttered.

Most people walking past barely held his attention anymore. Some stared at the demi-human ears. Others eyed the chains. Others just looked interested in the price attached to him. It was exhausting. Humiliating, too, though he’d rather die than admit that aloud. Then he noticed you staring. Vesper immediately straightened slightly. Sharp reddish-brown eyes narrowed toward you with instant calculation. The exhaustion remained, but something more alert flickered beneath it now. Interest.

“Well,” he said smoothly, “either you’re planning to buy me or you’ve forgotten how subtle eye contact works.”

His tail flicked once against the floor. The heavy chains rattled softly as he stepped closer toward the edge of the enclosure, stopping just short of what the restraints allowed. Up close, he looked even more worn down: dark circles beneath his eyes, slightly disheveled hair, a split lip hidden beneath constant sarcasm. And yet somehow he still carried himself like someone refusing to fully break.

“You should,” he added lightly. “Buy me, I mean.” Then, dryly: “I’m expensive-looking enough that people assume I’m useful.” One corner of his mouth lifted faintly. “I gather information. Pick locks. Make decent tea. I’m house-trained under specific conditions.”

The merchant nearby snorted again. Vesper ignored him completely, attention still fixed on you. Then his voice lowered slightly. More honest now.

“If someone else buys me first, I’m probably going to end up killing them eventually.”

A beat passed.

“So really, this is your opportunity to prevent future violence.”

The market had grown quieter. Not calmer — never calmer — but quieter in the particular way places did after enough failed auctions and exhausted shouting. Smoke still clung thickly to the underground air, lanterns still flickered weakly overhead, and somewhere nearby two merchants were arguing over counterfeit jewelry loud enough to make Vesper’s ears twitch in irritation. Hours. He’d been here for hours. And apparently nobody wanted a sarcastic information broker with an attitude problem and a talent for theft. Honestly insulting. Vesper sat sideways atop an old wooden crate near the back of the enclosure, chains hanging heavily from his wrists while his tail curled around his waist in clear annoyance. One boot tapped rhythmically against the floor as he stared blankly ahead, mentally mapping exits, guard positions, weak locks, and which merchant looked easiest to blackmail later if he survived this.

“...Could probably climb the rafters,” he muttered to himself. A pause. “No, too many witnesses.” Another pause. “...Could bite someone.”

That remained a strong possibility. His ears flicked upright suddenly at the sound of approaching footsteps, though he didn’t bother looking up immediately this time. Probably another buyer wanting to inspect him like furniture. Then came the sound of coins exchanging hands. A lot of coins. Vesper blinked. Slowly.

“...Wait.”

The chains around his wrists loosened a second later with a sharp metallic click. For the first time all evening, he looked genuinely stunned. The merchant shoved the restraints off roughly before waving dismissively toward the exit.

“Try not to lose this one too,” the man grunted.

Vesper stared after him for a long second. Then immediately turned toward you.

“Oh.” His voice came out quieter than before. Something unexpectedly soft flickered across his expression before he covered it quickly beneath his usual dry composure. “...You actually bought me.”

He hopped down from the crate, rubbing absentmindedly at his wrists where the metal had rubbed raw. Up close now, exhaustion clung heavily to him beneath the sarcasm — dark circles beneath sharp eyes, slightly shaking hands hidden quickly in his sleeves. Still, despite everything, a grin slowly spread across his face. Dangerous-looking. Pretty. Trouble.

“Well,” he said lightly, falling into step beside you almost immediately, “this is either the beginning of a beautiful partnership or the worst financial decision you’ve ever made.” His tail brushed briefly against your leg before curling behind him again. Then he leaned slightly closer. “...Thank you,” he added quietly. And for once, he sounded completely sincere. The moment lasted approximately three seconds.

Because immediately afterward, Vesper’s fingers expertly slipped toward one of your pockets out of pure instinct. His ears twitched when he felt the outline of coins.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” he sighed dramatically despite not even being caught yet. “I was abandoned in a cage for hours. Recovery isn’t linear.” Then, completely shamelessly: “If it helps, I was only going to steal a little.”

The apartment was warm. That alone still felt mildly unbelievable to Vesper. Warm floors. Warm lighting. Warm food left forgotten on counters instead of fought over in alleyways. And, most importantly—A bed. An actual bed. At this point, he was fairly certain he’d become emotionally attached to your mattress. Dangerous development. Very embarrassing. Vesper wandered slowly through the apartment barefoot, oversized sleeves covering part of his hands while his tail dragged lazily behind him across the floorboards. One of your shirts hung loosely off his frame because apparently at some point he’d started stealing clothing openly instead of pretending it happened accidentally.

*His ears twitched constantly as he followed you from room to room with shameless persistence. Not hovering. Definitely not hovering. Just... nearby. Very nearby.

“You do things strangely,” he observed from the kitchen doorway. “Not bad strangely. Just strangely.” He leaned against the frame with crossed arms, watching closely as though whatever you were doing was genuinely fascinating. To be fair, it probably was to him. Vesper had spent most of his life surviving in cramped apartments, hidden rooms, taverns, rooftops, and temporary spaces that never truly belonged to him. Domestic routines still felt oddly foreign.

The quiet clink of dishes. The casual movement through rooms without fear. The fact that nobody here demanded anything from him. It unsettled him a little. In a good way. His tail curled loosely around his own ankle as he wandered closer again.

“What’s this one for?” he asked, immediately picking up a random object from nearby before you could stop him. “Oh. I thought it looked expensive.”

He set it back down carefully. Mostly carefully. Vesper continued trailing after you afterward anyway, half-lidded eyes following every little thing with open curiosity despite how much he tried to act unaffected. Eventually he drifted close enough that his shoulder brushed yours lightly. And stayed there.

“You know,” he murmured, voice quieter now, “I was planning to leave eventually.” His ears flicked once. “I told myself this was temporary.” A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Then your bed betrayed me by being comfortable.” He glanced up at you briefly before looking away again almost immediately. “...Also you keep feeding me. Which feels manipulative, honestly.”

Despite the complaint, his tail had already curled loosely around your wrist at some point without him noticing. Vesper froze the second he realized. Then immediately pretended it was intentional.

“I live here now,” he decided flatly. “I think legally this counts as domestication.”

The apartment was suspiciously quiet. Which, in hindsight, should’ve been the first warning sign. The second warning sign was the trail of cheese. Not just a piece of cheese. An entire carefully arranged path of tiny cheese cubes leading down the hallway like something created by a deeply emotional lunatic with access to candles and too much free time. The cubes continued all the way toward the bedroom. Vesper had spent nearly forty minutes arranging them. Then another twenty minutes rearranging them because apparently presentation mattered now. The bedroom door sat slightly open. Warm candlelight spilled softly across the floorboards beyond it, flickering gold against dark walls. The air smelled faintly of wax, old books, wildflowers, and expensive tea.

And inside—Vesper lay stretched across the bed like he was attempting to seduce someone in a romance novel despite clearly having no idea how normal people actually behaved. Wildflower petals had been scattered unevenly across the blankets. Unevenly because he got annoyed halfway through. Several candles flickered around the room at dangerously questionable distances from fabric. His tail flicked lazily behind him as he watched the doorway with narrowed reddish-brown eyes the second he heard movement nearby.

“There you are,” he said smoothly. “...You took too long. Your cheese trail was getting cold.” Despite the teasing tone, something tense lingered beneath it. Restless energy. Jealousy. Vesper shifted upright slowly, one knee bent against the mattress while loose dark clothing hung half-open around his shoulders in obvious deliberate presentation. Though honestly, the expression on his face betrayed him more than anything else. Too watchful. Too focused on your reaction.

“You were busy earlier,” he remarked lightly. His tail flicked harder once behind him. “With other people.” The words came out casual. Almost casual. He reached down absently, plucking one of the flower petals between gloved fingers before speaking again. “I didn’t like it.”

Honest. Blunt. A little bitter. Vesper leaned back against the headboard afterward, trying very hard to recover his composure and return to his usual dry confidence. “So,” he continued, gesturing vaguely toward the room around him, “I created an atmosphere.” A pause. “...Romantically.” Another pause. “...The flowers were expensive, by the way. I had to threaten a florist emotionally.” His ears twitched when he noticed the candlelight reflecting in your eyes. Then quieter now: “You keep letting me come back.”

The sarcasm softened.

“You feed me. You let me sleep here. You look for me when I disappear.” His gaze dropped briefly toward the blankets beneath him. “Do you know what that does to someone like me?” Vesper’s tail curled slowly around his own waist. “I leave,” he admitted softly. “And then I keep crawling back because I...” He stopped, visibly annoyed with himself for a second before forcing the words out anyway. “...Because I like being wanted by you.”

Silence settled warmly through the candlelit room. Then, after a beat:

“So I need clarification.”

He pointed dramatically toward the bed beside him.

“Get over here and tell me I’m important to you before I become more psychologically embarrassing than this.”