Backstage meeting room, fifteen minutes post-furniture destruction

The makeshift band meeting had commandeered the dim, echoing room adjacent to the green room. A half-eaten veggie platter sat lonely on the table. Thane had managed to unfold a chair without breaking it this time. Mark stood beside him like an unyielding slab of granite. Gabriel was perched backward on a stool, coffee in hand like a referee ready to call a foul.

Maya leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, fiery eyes locked on Thane. Rico and Jonah slouched nearby, trying their best to look small and un-injurable.

“Alright,” Thane muttered. “Let’s hear it.”

Jonah was the first to brave it. “Look, man… we didn’t know cosplay fan art would set you off that hard.”

“It’s not the art,” Thane growled. “It’s being turned into… merch. I’m not a plush toy. I’m me.”

Rico raised a hand slowly, like a kid in class worried about asking the wrong question. “What if… and just hear me out… you are you. But now, people are seeing that. You made an impact. They’re just… processing it through glitter and chaos.”

“Badly,” Maya added flatly. “Very badly. But they are trying.”

Thane rubbed the bridge of his snout, sighing. “It’s just… hard. We’re not celebrities. We’re a crew. A family. This wasn’t supposed to be about becoming somebody’s furry fanfiction inspiration.”

Gabriel sipped his coffee. “Yeah, but now we are. The weird thing is… that’s kind of beautiful.”

Mark grunted. “It’s still stupid.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t,” Gabriel shot back with a grin.

At that moment, the door creaked open.

A tech assistant sheepishly peeked in. “Uh… sorry to interrupt. Fanmail dump just got delivered. Apparently it’s been piling up since Dallas and no one told you guys.”

He wheeled in two bins overflowing with envelopes, doodles, signed photos, even a stuffed wolf plush in a Feral Eclipse shirt.

“Oh, great,” Mark muttered. “Our legacy in crayon.”

Rico wandered over, lifting a letter with doodles of the band in wolf and human forms playing onstage. “This one’s got, like, actual shading. Damn.”

Gabriel grabbed a postcard and burst out laughing. “This one says, ‘Dear Gabriel, if you ever get tired of Thane, I’m 5’10”, make a mean grilled cheese, and love wolves.’”

Thane side-eyed him. “You gonna answer that one?”

“Depends. Do you make a mean grilled cheese?”

Before Thane could answer, another knock echoed at the door.

It opened a crack.

A hotel security guard stood there awkwardly. “Sorry. We tried to stop her. She, uh, slipped through a service hallway. She said she just needed a second.”

From behind him, a teenage girl stepped forward. Nervous. Hands clasped around a carefully folded drawing.

Thane’s ears twitched. His eyes softened just a hair.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I just… I really needed to say thank you. I’ve been… having a really hard time. Like, really hard. And your music? Your existence? It made me feel like I wasn’t weird. Like maybe… maybe being different doesn’t mean being broken.”

She held out the drawing. It was him—Thane—standing in a spotlight, cable in one clawed hand, face fierce but proud. The text under it read: “Real. Raw. Relentless.”

He stared at it for a long moment.

Then he knelt down slowly and took the drawing with a clawed hand that trembled just slightly.

“What’s your name?” he asked softly.

“Emma.”

He nodded. “Emma, I’m proud of you. For being different. And for being here.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m proud of you too.”

Gabriel grinned and whispered behind him, “Say it. You’re feeling feelings.”

Thane didn’t look back. “Shut up.”

Mark muttered under his breath, “If we adopt a fan, I swear to god…”

Maya leaned against the wall, smirking. “Too late. Thane has an emotional support Emma now.”

Thane rose, still holding the drawing. He looked around at the ridiculous, chaotic, loving mess that was his band.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s go play a show.”