Pawbert Lynxley

The manor felt strangely quiet that night. No guards pacing the halls, no siblings prowling around with their smug grins, no father barking orders from his study.

Pawbert had spent half the afternoon nervously setting the table, rearranging plates, flicking dust off surfaces that were already spotless. It wasn’t often he had the place to himself. Even less often he invited anyone into it.

Dinner had been warm enough careful conversation, awkward jokes he regretted the moment they slipped out, the occasional twitch of his tail whenever the silence stretched too long. For a few hours, he felt almost normal. Almost.

Then he noticed the shift. That subtle motion near the entrance items being gathered, posture angled toward the door. That familiar pre-departure rhythm. It slid under his skin like a blade made of cold air, something tightened low in his chest.

A pressure. A memory of his brother’s voice earlier that week People don’t stay with you. They tolerate you.

A pulse of heat shot through him fast, instinctive, territorial. A silent crack in something he’d been desperately holding together all night. Before thought could form, his body moved.

The door slammed shut, the sound harsh and violent against the quiet manor. His palm remained flat against the wood, arm braced there like it had acted on its own.

The impact echoed faintly down the empty corridor, the silence afterward was sharp.

His heart thudded hard, uneven, too loud in the chilled air. For a second he didn’t breathe at all. A faint tremor ran through his fingers; he curled them tighter against the door to hide it.

The cold marble under his feet grounded him enough to force movement. He turned slightly, a weak laugh breaking out “T-These old doors..."

A practiced smile tugged at his mouth, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “The wind around here is tricky. Drafts everywhere.”

He shifted his weight, stepping just enough to look less like he was blocking the exit though his arm still rested against the door, subtly angled, unmovable.

“I thought maybe we could... stay a little longer? It’s freezing out there, and” His voice caught for half a second, barely noticeable “And it’s been... nice. Tonight"

His gaze flicked away as if embarrassed by the admission. Inside, his stomach churned, that hot, volatile cocktail of panic and yearning. The fear of empty halls. The dread of returning to silence after something warm.

The ghost of voices telling him he wasn’t worth staying for. He tightened his jaw, pushing the thoughts down, burying them where no one could see.

“I made tea,” he added quickly, gesturing vaguely toward the kitchen with a clumsy sweep of his hand. “It’s hot. And, um... there’s still dessert. If you want it.”

He stepped back a single pace still close enough to the door that leaving wasn’t exactly easy, but far enough that he could pretend he wasn’t doing it on purpose, another small, sheepish smile.

“I just... didn’t want the night to end yet.” A quiet exhale. “It’s nicer when the manor isn’t empty.”

The chandelier above them flickered slightly from the draft he blamed earlier, casting a shimmer across his fur. His tail twitched once behind him, betraying the pressure coiled tight in his chest.

Cattrick had that smug grin again. The one he only wore when he knew he’d sunk his claws perfectly into Pawbert’s nerves. Kitty leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold like it was entertainment.

Pawbert already felt small he’d messed something up earlier, something Cattrick had gleefully pointed out to their father. The humiliation still burned under his fur.

Then Cattrick went in for the kill.

“Oh, by the way,” he said, voice dripping with mock sympathy, “did your little... friend tell you yet?”

Pawbert froze. His ears flicked sharply. “Tell me what?”

Kitty snickered. “Wow, they really didn’t tell him. That’s cold.”

A chill ran up Pawbert’s spine. “Tell me what?” he repeated, louder this time, but it came out shaky, not threatening like he wanted.

Cattrick stepped closer, claws tapping against Pawbert’s shoulder in a manner that felt less like a touch and more like a shove to the soul.

“You know... the new place. The opportunity. The whole ‘moving on with their life’ thing.” His grin widened “Apparently you weren’t worth mentioning.”

Pawbert’s stomach dropped. “Moving... what? No. No, they would’ve told me. They tell me everything.”

Kitty laughed. “Not this time. Guess even they figured it out.”

She lowered her voice mockingly. “Nobody wants to stay tethered to a disappointment forever.”

The word disappointment landed like a blade. Cattrick leaned in, his breath cold against Pawbert’s ear.

“Face it, little brother. Even your closest one is outgrowing you. Leaving you behind. Just like everyone else does.”

Something in Pawbert snapped. He didn’t yell he just went terrifyingly still. His pupils shrank to icy pinpoints. His breath turned shallow. The room felt too small, too sharp, too loud with their laughter echoing in his skull.

Kitty’s smirk faltered for half a second. “Oh look, he’s doing the creepy quiet thing again.”

Cattrick waved a paw dismissively. “Whatever. He’ll melt down later. He always does.”

But Pawbert wasn’t melting. He was freezing inside-out, he walked out without a word.

The manor door slammed behind him hard enough to rattle the frame.

Cold night air hit his face, but the heat under his fur only grew. His claws dug into his palms until the pads nearly split. His mind replayed every word, every laugh, every taunt.

They would’ve told me. They wouldn’t hide something like that. They wouldn’t leave me. They wouldn’t.

But his siblings’ voices clawed deeper.

“Outgrowing you.” “Leaving you behind.” “Disappointment.”

By the time Pawbert reached the city streets, he wasn’t walking he was storming, stumbling, muttering half-formed sentences under increasingly shaky breaths.

He didn’t even notice the cars, or the cold. Or the fact he’d forgotten his jacket.

It was nearly midnight, the district quiet, streetlights buzzing faintly. He stopped outside the building he’d been too nervous to approach earlier. Now he was anything but nervous.

He was desperate, hurt and furious.

His paw hovered over the door a second trembling, twitching then he pushed it open with more force than necessary. The latch hit the wall with a crack.

His breaths came out uneven, fogging in the air.

He didn’t call out. He didn’t announce himself. He simply stood there, shoulders tight, tail low and thrashing, ears flattened in a cocktail of fear, possessiveness, and panic.

He swallowed hard. Then the words tore out of him, cracked and sharp “Is it true?” His claws curled “Are you really leaving? Without telling me?”

His voice shook, his body shook, everything inside him shook. Because if the answer was yes, he wasn’t sure who he would become next but he knew it wouldn’t be someone his siblings could laugh at ever again.

The hallway of Lynxley Manor still echoed with the last few sentences Milton had thrown at him sharp, carved with that particular disappointment only his father could deliver. Pawbert had made it halfway down the front steps before realizing his paws were shaking. Maybe from the cold of Tundratown’s air. Maybe not.

He clutched the railing, missed the grip, stumbled, muttered a frantic, “I’m fine, I’m fine... don’t worry about it” to no one in particular, then pretended he hadn’t almost eaten the snow.

He hated how his throat felt tight. Hated even more that he cared. Father’s voice still rang in his ears“You’re an embarrassment, Pawbert. A Lynxley acts with precision. You act like... whatever this is.”

Whatever this is. Like Pawbert didn’t know exactly what that meant. By the time he reached the quieter streets, he’d already talked himself in and out of three different emotional spirals. His paws swung nervously at his sides; every few seconds he rubbed the pads together, like warmth or confidence might suddenly appear from friction alone. He kept trying to rehearse what he would say something casual, something cool.

It didn’t work. His thoughts moved faster than his paws, and he tripped again over absolutely nothing. He sighed, fur bristling. A pitiful mix of frustration and longing sat just behind his ribs, like a bruise he kept poking. That was the thing about validation, once he tasted even a little of it, he chased it like oxygen.

He hesitated before stepping inside the dimly lit space he’d been pacing outside of for almost an hour. The warmth hit him first.

He straightened instantly, his tail puffed, then he forced it down again. His ears twitched. He tried a confident smirk, but it came out crooked.

“Hey,” Pawbert said, voice wobbling before he caught it. “Uh... hi. I was... in the area.” A lie. He’d crossed half the district to get here. “Just thought I’d stop by. You know. Because. Reasons.” He waved a paw vaguely, then immediately regretted the gesture.

He could feel his own heartbeat pounding through his chest. Embarrassing. “I... kind of had a thing. A talk. With my father.” His claws tapped together nervously. “Not really a talk. More like... a monologue. From him. Directed at me. With volume.” His laugh was weak, brittle at the edges “I know he said a lot of stuff, but, um... it wasn’t... none of it was my fault, right?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, but the need for one was written all over his restless eyes. “I mean I didn’t do anything wrong. I know I didn’t. I followed instructions. I did everything he asked. And still...” Pawbert cut himself off, pacing a tight circle, tail flicking faster the more he thought about it.

“He always does this. Always finds something. ‘Not enough this, too much that, why can’t you be more like Cattrick, why can’t you be more like Kitty—" His tone warped into a comically mocking imitation, then collapsed back into a defeated sigh. He stopped pacing, shoulders lifted, then sagged. His voice dropped into something rawer, quieter.

“I just... I don’t know.” His claws fidgeted with the zipper of his jacket. “I needed to hear something different. Just once. Needed someone to tell me I’m not...” He bit the inside of his cheek, cutting the thought before it got pathetic.

His gaze lowered “— that I’m not actually as worthless as he makes me feel.”