Fox & Fiber Optic

The ethernet cable lay tangled across my bedroom floor like a dead snake, which felt appropriate considering my social life had gone completely offline since moving to this town.

"You need to get out more," Mom said, tossing a bottle at me. "These vitamin D supplements. You're practically pale from all that gaming."

I caught the bottle. "Yeah, sure. Thanks."

Truth was, I'd been grinding ranked matches for three weeks straight. It was easier than facing the fact that I didn't know how to talk to anyone at Northwood High without sounding like a complete dweeb.

That Friday, I finally left the house. Just a walk. Clear my head.

Behind the abandoned baseball field, something moved in the tall grass. A fox—actual legit wildlife in the suburbs. It stood there, watching me with these weirdly intelligent eyes, like it was judging my entire existence.

Then it bolted toward something shiny half-buried in the dirt.

I followed. Bad idea, probably, but curiosity got the better of me.

The fox had dug up a cable box. One of those old-school modems from like 2005. Beside it lay a plastic case, cracked open, pills scattered everywhere. Vitamin D capsules. The same brand Mom had bought me.

The fox sniffed the pills, sneezed dramatically, and looked at me like *can you believe this trash?*

I laughed. Actually laughed out loud.

"You too, huh?" I said.

The fox's ears perked up. It trotted closer, stopped at a respectful distance, and sat down. We regarded each other. Me in my oversized hoodie, this wild creature with its rusty coat and white-tipped tail.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Discord notification. My squad was online.

I looked at the screen, then at the fox watching me with that I-see-you energy.

Something shifted. Not in a dramatic, movie-montage way. Just... quiet. The weight in my chest felt lighter.

I typed back: *Going out. Catch you guys later.*

The fox stood, stretched, and melted back into the woods without looking back. Some moments don't need an audience.

I walked home with the vitamin bottle in my pocket, thinking maybe tomorrow I'd actually try talking to someone in person. Maybe I'd even sign up for that gaming club they'd advertised in the cafeteria.

Small steps. Even if they started with a fox judging my life choices.