Chapter Text
~Attention all passengers—last call for Pawbrook station. This is the last call for Pawbrook station~.
Your head pops off the cool glass of the window; vision blurred from suddenly waking up. Looking around, you feel confused for a moment as you’re not familiar with your surroundings. It isn’t until you hear the train’s announcement chime once again that your muddled brain catches up.
Stretching your sore muscles, you adjust your backpack to sit higher on your lap. Strange to think that you could only pack a few outfits and essentials last night during your…ex-partner’s drunken rage. It was hard to believe that you had finally left, but the crumbled ticket clenched firmly in your hand is enough of a sign that this wasn’t another dream. For whatever reason, you thought that there would be a feeling of elation, maybe even relief at this separation. But, as you adjust your backpack to sit a bit higher on your lap you’re left feeling numb, void of any emotion other than quiet melancholy.
Perhaps, in hindsight, it would have been better for you to take a flight instead of riding the railway system if you wanted to truly get a fresh start. Alas, that’s a luxury you could in no way afford. Even after pawning off what little jewelry you owned, it was just enough bells to buy you a few train tickets and snacks. It was the best option you had, and train-hopping is a decent way of putting as much distance between yourself and your hometown as physically possible.
…You were exhausted, to put it quite plainly. Anyone who had just gone through your past 24 hours would be too.
A shutter runs through the car before you feel yourself pushed back against the seat as the locomotive starts forward again. You balance out as soon as it starts going, eye flicking up to the small electronic display hanging from the ceiling. From the letter scrawl, it looks like you have some time before the next stop was coming up. You just miss the name of the stop, only catching the transit time.
Oh well, not like you were aiming for any location in particular.
The swaying and constant rumble of metal tracks on wheels was just grating enough to your ears that you couldn’t fall back into a deep sleep, only able to get 15 to 20 minutes naps at a time. You kept this up for roughly two hours before giving up.
The outside terrain wasn’t familiar to you anymore. No longer were you in the city where you had spent your youth—the cracked pavement and iron clad fences swapped to trees as far as the eye could see. Mountain ranges slowly creep upwards in the background with the last of the snow covering their peaks melting with the changing of the seasons. If you had to guess, you had to be somewhere near the coast now, or at least within a good drive of it. Even through the sides of the train car you could catch the faintest whiff of salt in the air.
After the landscape begins to make your vision swim from the blur of colors, you decide to rummage through your bag. After fishing around, you decide to take one of your limited rations in the form of some off-brand pretzels to stop the cramping in your stomach. Taking a bite, you cough harshly from how painfully dry and stale they were. Rubbing your chest after getting your coughing-fit under control, you decide to save them for when you have access to water.
Sighing, you really wished you had managed to grab a book or one of your handheld game systems. Having a distraction would be nice now that you weren’t worried about being pursued immediately. As much as you thought of bringing your phone, you are ultimately glad that you left it behind. You didn’t want the tracker app to give you away, let alone have any family or “friends” try to guilt trip you into going back.
No, as bored as you were, it wasn’t worth the risk.
Outside of the train window, the sky was now becoming a swirl of oranges and pinks. If the sunsetting was anything to go by, you would say it was a bit after 6 o’clock. If you were lucky, the next station you stopped at might have a diner or even a motel you could check in at for the night. You aren’t sure how you can stretch your last bells but that would give you a slightly better chance of getting some much-needed rest. A swaying train car wasn’t the ideal sleeping quarters after all.
As if the universe had heard your thoughts, the gentle chime of the loudspeaker jerks you from your thoughts:
~Attention all passengers; the train will be arriving at Bellwood Station shortly. Ensure that all personal belongings are taken with you. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform when departing. The next station will be Newville Central Plaza Station, estimated transit time: one hour and thirteen minutes.~
May as well be a good a stop as any to see if you could get a place for the night. If anything, you could always just hop back on and try again at the next station.
Not having much on your person to begin with, you swing on your backpack snuggly before reaching up to pull your beat up suitcase down from the rack. Holding onto the safety bar, you carefully make your way past the other passengers and towards the doors. A few of them are sleeping, with coats draped over them as makeshift blankets or hats covering their eyes. Not wanting to be a nuisance, you leave them be. If they had needed this stop, they would be awake by now.
The train car comes to a stop, the release of the breaks heard through the glass doors. You were the only passenger getting off it seemed, giving one last glance to your seat to make sure you didn’t leave anything behind accidentally. With a gentle hiss, the train doors open up in front of you. Stepping over the gap and crossing the yellow line, you see there is no one else at the station. With no one boarding, the doors close rather quickly. The train horn sounds off twice in short bursts to signify its departure, and slowly chugs out of view.
The only other living being in the station is the station master; a monkey sporting the typical blue station porter uniform, topped with a matching hat with red ribbon. He has an ever-present smile on his face, and he gives you a wave.
“Welcome to Bellwood Station! I hope you enjoy your stay!” he says in a chipper voice. You return the wave, offering a small “thank you” out of politeness but otherwise remain silent as you look around.
The station itself looks well kept, although it does seem a bit on the empty side. Standard lockers are available to your immediate left, next to what looks like the time schedule for this specific train line. A flag with an image of an oak tree hangs next to a rather large clock. You can confirm that it’s 15 minute’s past six if the clock was believed to be correct.
You think to ask the porter if there were any hotels or hostels nearby, but opted not to. A walk would do you wonders from being seated all day, anyways. You give one last polite smile and wave before grabbing your things and walking down the stairs.
As you step out from the train station, a slight breeze tickles the back of your neck sending a small shiver up your spine. There isn’t that much time to appreciate the temperature difference as there seems to be an entourage of animal-folk waiting just outside of the entrance of the station. There are four in total, each a different species, standing as though they were waiting for someone specifically.
“OHMIGOSH! Look who just got into town!” Says a zebra, trying but failing to whisper yell to the eagle standing next to her.
He huffs air from his nostrils, leaning over to reply. “That’s got to be them, right?”
“We can’t just stand here! Let’s all say hi!” states a black and white pig who looks excited.
You blink in surprise as a yellow Shih Tzu steps forward, clearing her throat. She addresses the others in a loud voice. “Okay, everyone! Here we go. . .Ready? And. . . From those of us in Bellwood- “
All four animal-folk shout “WELCOME!!!” to you with excited demeanors.
Confused and a bit taken back, you turn towards the Shih Tzu who is walking up to you. She offers you a kind smile, beaming like a sunflower at you. “Mayor! We’re so happy you’re finally here!”
Mayor?
All you can do is blink blankly at the smiling pooch as your mind races. There has to be a misunderstanding going on here, thinking back to the passenger’s still asleep when you departed the train. You suddenly feel extremely guilty for not rousing them when the train was stopping.
You try to offer an out, putting on a playful tone with a lifted brow. “Whose this ‘Mayor’?”
The Shih Tzu shuffles her feet side to side, looking just as confused as you feel for a moment. “Um-“ her expression switches to one of laughter, like she was in on a secret. “-oh, come on! Quit joking around. You know exactly who you are! You sent a letter stating which train you’d be arriving on!”
It seemed that it was a big mistake not waking up the other passengers on the train car. You shake your head, resting your luggage on the ground.
“No, that wasn’t me.” You say in disbelief. The Shih Tzu suddenly looks very smug with a mischievous glint in her eye.
“Oh no! You can’t fool me! Things are just as you said they’d be! All is well, there’s no mistake! Tee hee, you’re a real jokester aren’t you!” She playfully nudges you with her elbow before standing up straight, tail wagging behind her.
The other animal-folk laugh at the presumed joke, chatting amidst themselves, but you feel the exact opposite of jovial right now. Waving your hands in front of you, you shake your head.
“W-wait!” You try to reason, but nothing you say seems to be getting through to this girl! She simply gives you a gentle shoulder pat, beaming all the while, before lifting a finger triumphantly.
“Now, let’s get you all registered, shall we? Follow me to the Town Hall and we can get started on your paperwork!” With that, she turns on her heel and begins walking into the town.
You try to look to the others there for support, hoping that at least someone saw how distraught and confused you were. Unfortunately, they all seem to have lost interest in you. The eagle walks off with the zebra, chatting about nothing noteworthy while the pig pulls out a butterfly net, following a bug that fluttered in front of her. You were too flustered and too tired to cause a scene or continue with this needless back and forth. Giving in, you hold your tongue and grip tightly onto your luggage as you trail behind the Shih Tzu who was now several paces ahead.
You assumed she must be the secretary or some sort of acting official if her attire was anything to go off of, or her official demeanor. As you duck through the various trees, trying to keep pace, you mentally try to piece together an explanation, maybe even an excuse for when you got to your destination.
You were just the unlucky person who just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, being mistaken for the next figurehead for this town. It shouldn’t take more than a short conversation (if you could manage to get some words in, that is) to explain your situation and everything would right itself out…hopefully. It may be a tad bit awkward and embarrassing, but you would rather put a stop to this charade then have it go too far.
A tall building comes into view, nestled close to the cliff faces that act as a natural boundary for the town. It’s official looking, paired with a clock face right above the door and two loudspeakers atop the roof’s shingles. A flag bearing the same oak tree at the station waves in the breeze from a rather tall flagpole next to the building. Some flat stones act as a walkway up to the entrance, your shoes patting softly as you walk up behind the Shih Tzu. She opens the door for you, flashing another smile and wink before ducking inside.
Oh boy, here we go.
Following inside, it looks just like you’d expect a town hall to look. One of those black seating chairs that almost every office has sits against the right wall next to a decorative plant. Paperwork piled higher than your head sits on the front desk, various pens and highlighters spread across the work surface. A handful of sunflowers sit in a yellow vase next to what looks to be a microphone? It must be for morning announcements or public broadcasts.
You don’t get much more time to look around as the Shih Tzu turns towards you, the bells tying up her hair jingling as she does so. “Ok Mayor, this town hall will be your base of operations!”
“Um, about that-“ You try to begin your explanation but are interrupted as the Shih Tzu exclaims.
“Oh!” She smacks a paw to her face, a rosy blush coming over her cheeks. “I completely forgot to mention I’m on staff here too! I’m Isabelle, your secretary, and I’m here to help you in any way I can.”
Isabelle rambles as she busies herself with the pile of papers on the front desk, rummaging around. “But, if I may be frank, I was surprised to see someone as young as yourself step off the train. I mean, our last mayor was always out of town on business trips, never around too often, and then the mayor before him held the position for many, many years and was quite set in his ways.”
She selects a pink form out from the chaos with a small “ah-ha!”, setting it off to the side before opening around in a drawer out of sight.
“We. . .haven’t really had a mayor in quite some time, to be honest with you. I did my best to keep things in order, but I’m just a secretary! There isn’t much I can really do to help Bellwood out besides file some papers or submit requests. I don’t have the administrative power to provide ordinances or enforcement the folk need. . .”
She looks a bit distraught, looking off to the side as she thinks for a moment. It doesn’t last long, her almost ever-present smile returning as she produces a pen from the depth of the drawer. Why she didn’t use one of the several laying atop the desk, you don’t know.
“But! That’s why I was so excited to get that letter from you that you were coming into town! You even went so far as to type it out, looking all official and professional. Your youth is a breath of fresh air. And exactly the new image our town needs! You’re perfect for the job!”
You feel extremely guilty at how much this girl has just trauma dumped onto you. Especially with the undertones of how the last mayor treated this town, she is desperate for some help. The people-pleaser in you wants to keep quiet, but you need to tell her the truth; just rip-off the Band-Aid. You try once again to explain yourself, this time with a bit more gusto.
“That’s’ just the thing, ma’am, I’m not-“
“Of course we need you to get started right away on your work as mayor!” She interrupts you again! As she clicks her pen a few times, looking up at you expectantly, you get a sinking feeling in your gut.
“Therefore, first we must complete your resident registration. A mayor really should be a resident!” Isabelle laughs to herself as she comes back around the desk, standing in front of you. She offers you a clipboard with the pink slip attached, the pen tucked under the clip
“So, what is your name Mayor? Um, full name if you’d please~” Isabelle—bright-eyes, smiling too-wide, clutching the clipboard like’s it’s a life preserver.
...she’s staring at you like you’re supposed to know what comes next.
This was the moment; you should correct her. You know you should. One simple truth, and this whole thing unravels before it ever begins. But when you open your mouth, nothing comes out. Instead, you notice the quiet hum of the office fan, the smell of coffee that’s been left on too long, the setting sunlight crossing her face as she waits for your answer—hopeful, unguarded.
It’s been a long time since anyone looked at you like that.
Up until that moment, every glance felt like a test. Every word an opening for…him to pounce, twist, shrink you smaller until you barely recognized the sound of your own voice. But here, miles away from that monster, in this accidental silence between question and answer, something shifts.
There’s something in her genuine look that makes backing out feel…cruel. She’s almost a mirror of yourself, at least a past version of you. Besides if you tell her the truth, then what? She panics, starts making calls, everyone finds out you’re not the mayor, just you—a nobody with a suitcase full of laundry and bad timing.
Isabelle believes you’re capable…and maybe that’s enough for now.
Your hands are shaky when you take the clipboard, unclipping the pen and scrawling your name delicately at the bottom of the page. Blowing gently at the wet ink, you hand it back to her with a sheepish look, unsure of what to do now.
Her smile widens; eyes scanning over the page with a glow of excitement. About halfway through, Isabelle pulls a face suddenly, like she just ate a lemon. She thwacks herself on the head with the clipboard, groaning as she does.
“I can’t believe I forgot something so vitally important again!”
She looks up at you with worried eyes, shuffling back and forth anxiously. “In order to register you as a town resident, we need your address for the form! You don’t have a place to live yet. . .and here I made you come all the way to the town hall for nothing! I apologize for being so flakey!”
You think you can see her shoulders begin to shake as she bows her head in shame, staring at the ground. Looking at Isabelle, you feel your heart squeeze in sympathy. She definitely reminds you of yourself not too long ago now, always looking to please and constantly apologetic for things that were out of your control. From her habit of smacking herself with various things, you know that this must have been a result of severe stress.
Who in their right mind left this girl behind to run an entire town by herself?
Chalk it up to your exhaustion from the day, or your people-pleasing attitude, but your hand moves before you register it. Gently patting her on the head, ruffling the tuft of fur in such a way the bells jingle gently with each movement, you let out a sigh. You hope this wasn’t seen as rude, but you’re trying your best here.
“Hey, um, Isabelle…? It’s alright, I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”
Suddenly, her head pops up. A paw wipes her eyes quickly before meeting your eyes. She’s a head shorter than you, so she has to look up to meet your gaze. You offer a timid smile, one that you try to muster as much kindness and understanding into as you can.
She mirrors it easily, like her moment of sadness hadn’t even happened.
“On the other side of the train tracks on Main Street is Nook’s Homes, the real estate office! It should be easy to get you set up with some property and then—oh, hold on I’ll give you a map it’ll make it easier to explain.” Isabelle flips around, rummaging through the papers once more to pull out a well-worn map of the town. She hands it to you, pointing to drawings on the surface.
“Head north from the train station and that will get you to Main Street. It’ll be this blue building here, next to the postal office. They should be open for another hour or so, you’ll have to speak with the owner to see about getting something temporarily. I’m sure he’ll agree to help, Mr. Nook is a very agreeable man.”
The talk of property makes you sweat a bit, unsure of how to explain you were flat out broke but that would be just another thing to address at a later time.
Isabelle takes your luggage from you, stumbling for a moment from the weight but setting it down on the waiting chair with an umpf-! Her cheery demeanor returns as she takes your backpack from you as well.
“Some fresh air and exercise would do you good after a day of train travel! While you talk with Mr. Nook, I can get more of your registration done here! Once you’ve figured out your living situation, please come back here and let me know right away!”
“Sure, sounds like a plan.”
You offer her a small wave before walking back into the night air. It was still warm out, with just a hint of a breeze, though the sun had moved to sit lower in the sky. Backtracking was a bit difficult had it not been for the faint footprints in the soft soil. Despite seeing several houses, you have no view of your welcome party. Following Isabelle’s instructions you make sure to be careful as you walk over the railroad tracks and up the stone paved road.
It's only a ten minute walk from the “neighborhood” but that gave you plenty of time to overthink. You tell yourself this is fine, totally fine. Just find a place to stay, smile, nod, sign a few things, keep the story afloat a little longer until you could figure something out.
Simple.
Except it feels familiar—the way your body defaults to compliance, the way you smooth things over before anyone even asks. You know this choreography too well. The difference, you insist, is that this time you chose it. This time it’s your lie, your performance, your peace treaty with the universe. Maybe impersonating someone confident is the first real choice you’ve made in years…
Main Street comes into view and you are pleasantly surprised at what is there. Much different from the bustling suburbs and city, there are a few essential businesses. There is a humble looking shack labeled Nookling Junction with a smaller shed attached on the side, followed but a two-story building for a clothing store/boutique labeled Abel Sisters. To your left you see the Postal Office with a traditional weather vain slowly wobbling in the breeze; further left is the fated Nook’s Homes. As you make your way through the otherwise barren street, you wonder if there’s some sort of relation between two of the shops—maybe Nook was the founder of Bellwood?
Nook’s Homes has a darling design of a house within a leaf on the door—it seems as if there’s a foliage motif with the iconography in the town. The lights are on, coming through the frosted windows softly. Stopping on the doorstep, inhaling dust and the remaining sunlight, you hope to give yourself some false confidence. A thought does flash in your head that there was absolutely no going back after doing this. You could just hop on the train and bail, consequences (and guilt) of leaving your things behind be damned.
The sound of gentle chimes somewhere in the distant helps break you from your thoughts.
No, there’s no way you can back out now. After all, it’s not like you’ve ever picked your own home before, and you were secretly excited at owning something on your own. Might as well start fresh somewhere with a decent porch.
The door chimes as you push it open. The overhead lighting casting a white glow to the space. Stepping in fully, you blink at all the different displays on the floor. From doors to mailboxes, even a small-scale house with a castle exterior? you’re left even more out of your element. A deep voice, male you suspect, calls out from the stairs in the back you had yet to notice.
“I’ll be there in just a moment!” They call.
You stand there, admiring the detail in the house model when before long the owner makes himself known. At the final step, you turn towards him and take in the gentleman who greats you warmly.
“Ah, hello! Welcome! Welcome! You must be the new mayor, am I right? Isabelle at the town hall told me to expect you! On behalf of the Bellwood chamber of commerce, I’m pleased to welcome you!” His tone is warm and deep. It’s oddly comforting, bringing out your own smile to match his.
“Thank you, um Mister-?”
“Nook! Tom Nook.” He states, offering his paw to you. Taking it, you offer your own name while giving a firm shake to the businessman.
Nook…like Ta-nook-i? He didn’t look like the raccoons back in the city…
Taking your hand back after a moment, you end up folding your arms as you looks around the shop.
“Isabelle told me you could help me with a house?” You ask timidly.
“I can build one just about anywhere you want, yes, I can indeed!” With his cheery demeanor, Tom walks over to the two blue armchairs and motions for you to sit. You accept the offer, careful to stay on the edge of the seat as to not get too comfortable.
“So have you decided on where you want to live?”
“Well…” you trail off a bit, wondering how you were going to explain this without trauma-dumping on the poor guy. “Because this move was rather, uh—sudden, I don’t have the most bells on hand right now so I’m not sure if that will affect my choices.”
Mr. Nook hums in understanding. “That’s no problem at all. Nook’s Homes offers loans to cover the remaining cost if the full amount can’t be paid at time of purchase. Let me see what options we currently have available. Now—are you interested in buying new or used?”
“…what does “used” entail?”
“I’m not sure if you’ve made your way through the entire neighborhood yet, but the former mayor’s home has sat vacant since their departure. Due to failure of up-keeping contractual obligations, the ownership has fallen back to my company. This means, if you’re willing to take on a bit of a project, then I could give the property to you at a lower cost.”
The tanuki flips through the papers on the table before pulling out a stapled bundled, checking to see if it was what he needed. Satisfied, he offers them to you. Reading through it, you see that the property was last surveyed a few months ago. Pictures are included on the second page, which you flip to in interest. While the exterior seemed fine for a pre-established home the interior looks rough for ware. The “used” terminology makes more sense as you scan through the photos.
“As for the electronics and appliances, I could get one of my contractors out tomorrow to make sure everything is within code. That is, if you choose to go with this home option-” picking up a separate bundle of papers, Mr. Nook taps them on his knee, “-if you are, however, interested in a new home we could also discuss what options we have in that regard.”
“I don’t mind a cheaper option. And you’re sure I wouldn’t get any trouble with the previous owner?” This makes Mr. Nook laugh, a deep belly-laugh that puts you on edge for a moment before he reins himself in.
“Oh no, no, no, nothing like that. The fact that you’re here in my store is evidence enough that it would remain vacant whether you choose to move in or not, yes, yes.”
For a moment you feel a bit skeptical.
“Mr. Nook? I don’t mean to be rude or sound unappreciative, but that sounds a bit too good to be true.”
“I understand your skepticism. Animal-folk and human-folk run operations a bit different here in the countryside than in the city. This is a small town, a place where when folks settle down it’s for the long run, yes. There is a certain trust and comradery—an expectation if you will, in these small towns. What, would you not be able to pay the loan back? Or maybe you don’t intend to?”
You miss his teasing tone, standing straight up from your seat; clutching the papers while floundering to defend yourself.
“I assure you I would, Mr. Nook! I intend to do my best as mayor, and that includes fulfilling rental agreements!”
Remembering yourself, your face flushes hot as you apologize for the outburst. If any offense was taken, Mr. Nook isn’t making it known. His smile remains the same, standing up as well after a moment.
“No need to be sorry. It’s comforting to know you intend to stay honest in your dealings, yes? But, before we sign any paperwork let me show you the property. I just need to grab my coat first.”
“Y-yes! Thank you, sir.” You stammer, moving to stand awkwardly beside the tanuki as he grabs a yellow windbreaker from the coat rack in the corner.
With that, the walk back to town is relatively quiet. It all sort of blurs together as you keep pace with Mr. Nook. There’s no idle talk, which you appreciate since you embarrassed yourself and didn’t want to do so again. Way to make yourself look like a proper mayor…
As Mr. Nook brings you to the front of the house, his tail flicks with a kind of professional enthusiasm. The pictures don’t do the actual property justice. Weeds are overgrown, making it a bit difficult to walk through the taller grass. The house itself leans a little to one side, like it’s tired of pretending to be sturdy. The roof’s missing shingles, one window’s cracked like a spiderweb, and the porch groans under your weight as if protesting the intrusion when you step upon it.
“It’s a fixer‑upper, but the price reflects that,” Tom says with a salesman’s smile. You almost laugh. Fixer‑upper feels generous. It’s barely standing, but at least it’s honest about it. As you shake some brambles from your pant leg, Mr. Nook fishes out a key from his coat pocket, fitting it in the front door before promptly pushing it open. Stepping to the side, he nods to indicate you should enter first. Hesitantly, you step inside the space.
The air is heavy with dust and disuse. Someone’s old life still clings to the walls—faded wallpaper, a forgotten mug on the counter, marks where pictures used to hang. It might have been the real mayor’s house once, but now it belongs to the echo of someone who left in a hurry and didn’t look back.
And yet—there’s something here. A quiet patience beneath the decay. The kind of silence that doesn’t suffocate but waits. You run your hand along the banister, feeling splinters catch on your skin, and for the first time in a long while, the pain feels like yours. Plus, the floor itself is sturdy enough, creaky and stubborn under your unexpected weight.
Mr. Nook clears his throat. “So… do you want to continue with the purchase?”
You look around again: the broken glass, the peeling paint, the dwindling sunlight sneaking through the roof are all proof that, no matter how damaged a place is, the light still finds its way in. A part of you is amused at how the house seemed like a perfect mirror to your current emotional state.
“Yes,” you say, surprising yourself with the certainty in your voice. “I’ll take it.”
Mr. Nook nods and starts writing things down, but you barely hear him. All you can think is that this ruin, this mess, will be yours.
Not his.
Not anyone’s but yours.
Mr. Nook insists on walking you back around to the front, like a proud host seeing off a very important guest. The title mayor still doesn’t feel real on your shoulders, but you let him talk, his words rolling over you in a practiced, friendly rhythm.
“Alright mayor—let’s talk numbers. As for repairs, having a pre-existing frame is good in the sense it cuts down on construction and preparation time. With your purchase, including the cost of the land, materials, building costs, et cetera…” Mr. Nook trails off, scratching his chin in thought. “…well, the calculation is complicated so I can’t come up with it just now. I’ll tell you the total later. Anyway, I’m sure you’re very busy since you just moved here…Once you’ve taken care of other things, stop by my store again to get the bill, hm?”
You nod, understanding that those types of numbers would most likely be back at his office. However, you don’t think that you could sleep in this house given the state that it’s in. Mr. Nook must sense your hesitation, suddenly come to a realization.
“…Ah, but I suppose you still need a place to rest your head, right? Luckily I presumed you may have gone with this “used” option and had something set up ahead of time.”
True to his word, he’s already had someone set up a tent in the patch of overgrown grass beside the porch; the canvas a clean, bright yellow against the forested background. Certainly you would have noticed it were it not for your sleep deprived state of being.
“It’ll be just for tonight,” he says, ears perked and tail giving an easy swish. “My crew will have the place fixed up by morning.”
You give him a look that says sure, and I’m really the mayor, and he laughs, delighted rather than offended.
“They’re hard workers,” he adds. “Quicker than most crews in the city, you’ll see.”
You eye the tent again, imagining hammers at dawn, ladders scraping, shouted directions right outside your thin fabric walls. He must read the hesitation on your face because he lifts his hands in a soothing gesture.
“Don’t worry, we’ll keep it quiet. You won’t be woken up. We’re used to working around people.”
Used to working around people.
The phrase lands strangely, stirring up memories of tiptoeing around one person in particular, bending yourself into shapes that hurt just to keep the peace. You swallow and look back at the house, at its broken windows and peeling trim, the way it waits without judgment. This time, they’re working around you.
Mr. Nook clears his throat, businesslike again. “Well, I’ll be returning to my shop so let’s part ways here. You need to head back to town hall, hm? Stop by the office in the morning, and I’ll have the keys ready. Just need to crunch the numbers and such, yes, yes.”
You nod, because that’s what you do, but it feels different now—less like surrender and more like acceptance of a deal you actually chose to make. A tent for one night. A house by tomorrow. A life that, piece by splintered piece, might start belonging to you.
When did you start getting so sentimental?
As Tom heads down the path, you stand between the tent and the wreck of the house, the twilight settling in around you. For once, the in‑between doesn’t feel like a trap; it feels like a bridge. You make your way back to town hall, already imagining the moment in the morning when someone presses keys into your hand and no one else’s.