Modes of Expression

By

Untergang Des Alasters

(U.D.A.)

I

A Marriage Contract

“…we are unfinished creatures, but half made up, if one wiser, better, dearer than ourselves – such a friend ought to be – do not lend his aid to perfectionate our weak and faulty natures."

• Mary Shelly

“Come on, come on… Come on, come on… Come on, come on… It's super time…"

The ringtone set for Seth's alarm faded in and crooned, signaling Audrey II's dinner from the Little Shop of Horrors soundtrack. Seth sighed to himself, unready to face the day.

“Come on, come on… Come on, come on… Come on, come on… It's super time…" the refrain repeated with intensity.

Seth finally rolled over to silence the alarm and mustered some motivation. He had not been sleeping well for the past few weeks, the result of vivid dreams and increasingly dissatisfying work and home lives. It was not that he wanted for a decent job, in fact, everything was going his way for the past few weeks. He had gotten an increase in his salary and was up for a big promotion. The job itself, though, had become tedious over time: more akin to babysitting employees than anything creative or constructive. His home life, well….

After dressing and tying up his shoes, Seth wandered into the kitchen where is husband sat sipping coffee and swiping through an endless torrent of non-sense on Tik-Tok. Roughly two decades Seth's senior, Al's beard was hoary, more frost than black. Al had kind features and was barrel-chested, though crow's feet were tiptoeing their way into sides of his eyes and a paunch was developing on his belly. A real bear in all but the literal sense. Seth kissed him on top of the head before he darted around the kitchen to gather up his lunch for the day. Al burbled a 'good morning,' still entranced by his feed from the net. Seth's morning routines nearly done, he stopped to look at the sky out the window. Most mornings, it had a tendency to shimmer slightly and pull towards a purple hue.

“They're giving those fur-things more rights than we have!" Al spouted, eyes still glued to his phone.

“More gems from Tik-Tok?"

“It's real, baby! Right now, they're tryin' to pass another bill to give them our land! Just take it away from you without payin' or anything. Look, it's right here."

Al flashed the phone at Seth, bearing proud proof of his accusations: an unkempt man who was clearly recording from his basement and misinterpreting a bill that had already been passed a year ago.

“Al, do you really believe this crap? The breach was almost three years ago, and this man looks like he's off his meds. And those fur-things are people, the same people that they were before the breach, just…changed. You're lucky that you weren't hit by it."

Twisting the phone back to his face, Al grumbled, “They came through it, I showed you the video they just put online a week ago."

These conspiracy theories were cropping up across the net, no doubt a disinformation campaign. No, these fur-things, nicknamed Anthros, had been everyday people, just out shopping, working at their jobs, or relaxing with friends and family. The government muddled out a poor explanation about what had happened, but on three accounts they could not lie about the breach: that it was an experiment at a government facility, that roughly twelve percent of the global population was affected by its failure, and that the sky shimmered purple at dawn and dusk. Unfortunately, Al had been drawn in by these rants to the contrary, the worst ones advocating 'gelding' or 'hunting,' as though Anthros were no longer human and human terms did not apply.

Seth sighed inwardly, he did not feel like battling his husband over crackpot theories from the internet, not this morning. They had been fighting too much lately, sometimes getting into screaming matches. Other times circled physical violence on both sides, though the line was never crossed, not yet. “I'm going to be late. Take out something for dinner before you come in. And remember, you've got two store managers on your route who are Anthro. I don't want to get any more calls."

An indifferent wave and a mumble were all that met him in response.

As Seth went to the front door, he looked back at Al, who was caught up in another rant-video. An overbearing sense of emptiness tugged at his chest: he felt like the man he had married was slipping away, not that his own behavior had helped. Al had stuck by him through all of his missteps and all the time they were not able to be together. But during that time or sometime after, Seth came to believe that Al had cheated on him or was in its process. There was no direct evidence, just found notes that were written too lovingly and a few pictures that appeared too chummy. Still, given these small crumbs and his own insecurities, his mind gave pause to Al's every gesture and every word left unsaid.

He looked to the mirror in the foyer, seeing only blue, disappointed eyes and pale face staring back at him. Seth moved a brown bang back into place and murmured a goodbye as he shut the door behind him.

The workday had started out slowly until the report of an overturned truck came. Seth worked as the floor manager for a soda distribution company. He also doubled in the office for the station manager, handling issues with routes as interim assistant manager. Fortunately, there was no bottling involved, just shipping, receiving, and the odds and ends of paperwork and truck maintenance. On the other hand, an overturned truck was cause for a slew of whip-cracking and redistribution of product. Seth was just pleased that this was enough of a distraction to keep his workers from nipping at each other, particularly at the new hire, Jason.

Two workers had actually quit because Seth had hired him, a few of the rest had made grumbling disapprovals, but kept their thoughts to themselves. Or they did until a week ago, around the same time that video surfaced as 'proof' of an Anthro invasion. Now, they were making side-mouthed remarks. Jason had not approached Seth or upper management about the slurs, but Seth had overheard them. After a good tongue-lashing in his office and a few well-placed threats, they demurred, for now, at least. Since then, Jason seemed to go out of his way for Seth, though there was no real need: he was a stellar employee. Seth would admit that he was at a loss when first he hired him; there was a new nomenclature developing around Anthros, as well as new laws to prevent discrimination, labeling their condition as a disability. Seth had found himself wondering if his ears were as soft as they looked. Jason had been in retail before the breach but moved to construction and day-labor afterwards. Though he never explained the shift, Seth assumed the worst.

Anthro-Vulpes.

The breach had brought changes to nearly nine-hundred-thirty-million people, transforming their features, anthropomorphizing their forms to the likeness of animals. The transformation varied from person to person, there was no logic to which likeness any individual took. The only constancy that had been found up to now was that Anthros tended to maintain their hair and eye colors. Jason took on the likeness of a silver fox. He was young, in his twenties, and once boasted a six-foot figure. No one would have known this from his diminutive stature at five-feet-eight-inches, just one inch shorter than Seth. But he was a hard worker and seemed to work harder to compensate for what he perceived to be a handicap. Seth had appreciated his attitude and ethic and was thinking about promoting him to his position once he was secure as assistant manager.

“…can't fill the next order until he gets here."

Seth glanced up from the screen. He had been filling out the accident report for the overturned truck, trying to decide on how best to approach the citation for distracted driving. Jason stood waiting, fiddling with his clipboard.

“Who are you waiting on?" Seth squinted and rubbed his eyes, anticipating the answer.

“…Al." The word seemed to irk Jason to a degree.

“Ok. Here," Seth handed him another order. “Start on this one. No sense in waiting on him when there are other orders to start."

Jason gingerly took the sheet and sprinted off into the warehouse, bushy tail switching behind him. Seth sank back in his chair.

A problem at home and a problem at work.

He finished out the report, ending it as dryly as he could, then turned to the geolocation software for their logistics program. Al was heading down the highway, behind schedule in hitting his clients, which, too, had become a problem recently. Seth started to run Al's driving history when Mr. Owen, the station manager, stepped into the office.

“Hey, you got the report?"

“Just finished it. DOT says that the driver was distracted."

“Great… Listen, can you get Lou? I've been making him wait it out at the accident to think about it. But it's time to reel him in for a drug test. DOT or no, he still has to be tested!" Mr. Owen tried holding his temper, but glimpses were peeking through. His red face would have been all that anyone would need to see; no one would want to be in Lou's position right now. “I've got corporate up my ass with teleconferences."

“Sure. Everyone should be busy until I get back. Just keep an eye on Pauly, he's been slacking off lately." Seth stood, grabbing his cellphone and checking his keys before momentarily stealing a look at his screen. He set his jaw then headed out to the parking lot.

Lou was not that far away, maybe an hour or so from the home station. The truck had already been cleared from the highway, but soda bottles and other contents of the truck were strewn across the road and its easement. Thankfully, Lou had enough wits about him to not hit another vehicle and skid partially off the road. No property damage, no casualties. Seth surveyed the damage before trying to collect his driver, who sat on the side of the road with his head tucked in his arms and knees.

Shocked. Wonderful. No doubt he's realized what's coming from corporate.

“Hey. Hey! Your guy need this?"

Seth looked from Lou outwards to a collection of workers cleaning up the mess. He tilted his head slightly before realizing that nearly the entire crew consisted of Anthros. The largest one, an Anthro-Ursus, was waving his clawed hand in his direction, holding a wallet. Lou was unresponsive, leaving Seth to make his way to the crew and the brown bear.

“Must've been some accident. Took the wallet right out of his pocket." The bear grinned. “Weird things like that happen a lot when trucks flip like that."

“Thank you." Seth felt completely dwarfed. This Anthro had to be at least six-and-a-half to seven feet tall. He got the impression that the Ursus was trying to be overly friendly to offset his otherwise enervating form. “I'm sure that Lou will appreciate this. He doesn't seem all that together right now."

“He's been like that since we arrived. Talked to the cop and paramedics then sat down over there. You need a driver?" The bear winked.

“Surely." Seth suppressed an oncoming eye-roll. “Alright, well, thanks. If you find…"

The Anthro was staring at him searchingly. “Seth?"

“Y-yes?" Seth was somewhat unsettled.

“Seth! It's me! Mike! From senior algebra? You helped me pass my finals, remember?" Mike started to fumble for more to trigger Seth's memory.

Seth pulled back and stared at the bear. It took him a moment to look past his muzzle and ears to begin to see who this Ursus once was. But those green eyes triggered his memory. Mike, the captain on the weightlifting team back in high school. He was in the senior class and was in danger of failing his exams. Seth was a sophomore at the time but was in the advanced placement program, which ultimately paired the two of them for the sake of the school's sports program and Mike's finals.

Seth's face blanched then flushed. All the night fantasies about the skinny, little goth-boy and the weightlifting jock with a boxy, thick build came flooding back: the year-long crush, his attempts at a cold façade around Mike, and ducking away in embarrassment if he though Mike had noticed him. Cynicism had not fully taken hold at that point in his life, but he still kept his own council about who he was and how he felt in those days.

A small shock of embarrassment ran from Seth's neck down his back.

“You ok? I swear it's me. I'm not scaring you, right?" Confusion started to crawl across Mike's face.

“No, I'm fine! I just didn't recognize… sorry. What are you doing here? I thought you moved down south?"

“Well, you know how it is. The breach and all…. I started this cleaning crew and wrecker company up, made our base of operations up in Water Town. Easier to access both the interstates where they cross. What's it been? Fifteen, Sixteen years?" Mike actually looked genuinely happy to see him.

Still, red flags started to flash in the back of Seth's mind. Mike and he had not been close; their entire relationship was built on tutoring him through the exam. After Mike had passed it, they rarely spoke to each other, just nods in the hallways until Mike graduated. Their time together had to have been a total of three weeks at most. He did not like this, how easily Mike had recognized him and was trying to strike up a conversation. Past experience had beaten into him that easy chats were always too easy, that there was almost always an ulterior motive lurking in the background, waiting with a 'well, could you….'

“You know, I almost didn't recognize you. The last time I saw you, you had longer hair and black lipstick and, well, black everything!" Mike took a step forward, getting a better look at him. “But that look you give when you're trying not to roll your eyes was unforgettable!"

“Heh. Yeah. Well. We all have to grow up some time, right? Long hair and makeup don't pull jobs well." Seth remarked nervously, his discomfort growing at the thought of how transparent he could be. “Sorry, but I really should get going. The manager's waiting on our driver and…."

“Oh, I didn't mean to stop you. Hey, who do we call if we find anything else out here?"

Seth fished out a business card from his wallet and placed it in the center of Mike's huge palm. Mike held his palm up to his face, then plucked the card up with the claws of his thumb and forefinger before carefully shoving it into his shirt pocket.

“Looks like you've done well for yourself…" Mike seemed to fiddle with his ring finger as a beat passed between them.

In Mike's face, Seth could already see a question boiling to the surface, waiting to be asked, waiting to disappoint him. Seth's chest started to tighten as he held back coarse words to preempt whatever Mike was about to ask. One of Mike's workers, an Anthro-Leporidae, called over to them, something that needed Mike's attention. The rabbit-man waved for Mike to come over. Mike yelled that he was on his way and looked back to Seth.

“Sorry, I guess we both need to get back to work. I'll see you around if another one of your trucks flips!" Mike quipped, then turned back to his employees, making his way over to them.

Relief. Sweet relief.

With his chest loosening, Seth turned his head to where he last saw Lou, only to find him missing. A curse bordered his lips before he realized that Lou had already gotten in the car. He placed his hand on his forehead, feeling mentally exhausted. Dealing with people on a professional level was easy for him, but relationships on a personal level…had always been his downfall. Apart from assuming the worst in people, Seth had a tendency to keep everyone at arm's distance, emotionally at any rate. Even just this small probe from someone he had helped years ago, a person who had every motivation to show curiosity in an old classmate's life, was bordering on too much. For all he knew, Mike was just embarrassed about owning a cleaning crew or….

I'm over-analyzing this.

Seth picked up his head and squared his shoulders, heading back to the car. Lou sat like a whipped puppy and remained silent on the way back to the station. That was fine as far as Seth was concerned. His interaction with Mike had shown him that he was assuming too much with people. After all, what more could Mike have wanted than to talk and say hello? What had happened to Mike after the breach probably cost him some relationships, his job, or something obviously. He could have been looking for a sympathetic ear or to reconnect since he came back to Water Town. Life had not been easy for most Anthros. Some people could not deal with the change, others thought that those people had been replaced like something out of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Seth couldn't help but to draw parallels between how he acted with Mike and with Al lately. His mind drifted back to Al this morning; maybe he was pushing Al away, maybe Al was growing tired of the distance Seth was placing between them. Maybe they were fighting so much because Seth was still withholding a part of himself.

After some thought, Seth decided to cook a decent dinner and try to bring some romance back between them. It was Al's late night, he would be even later since he was behind in his deliveries, and it was Friday. Yes, that was the way to go: a nice dinner, some wine, and something cheesy streaming on the TV. Seth started planning his and Al's meal for the rest of the trip back to work, feeling a sense of renewed commitment to their relationship.

Work brought no more surprises for Seth. After a meeting with the manager, Lou had to be taken for a drug screen for liability purposes. Nothing could have saved Lou though; he was let go soon after returning from his screen. Meanwhile, Seth felt upbeat and managed to knock out his paperwork early, wrapping up the orders to be loaded in the morning for Monday's deliveries. A bottle of Moscato and some fresh steaks to brine for an hour before cooking were picked up at the store, the wine was stuck in the freezer for a quick chill when Seth returned home. Everything would be set for a good night with his husband, so he started preparations almost immediately. It was just as well: Al had forgotten to take out anything for dinner. Sometimes, Seth wondered if Al ever paid attention to anything in the kitchen, especially with his peanut allergy. But that was Al's style, wait until something went wrong and then address it as loudly as possible.

A buzz sounded from Seth's phone as it vibrated on the counter, interrupting his music stream for a moment.

Seth shifted his gaze to the offending device, trying to finish mincing a fresh onion for the salads. An unknown number flashed with a message across the screen before fading back to black.

Spammers are getting worse by the day.

He went to the sink for the bell peppers and paused. The sky was turning purple with its iridescence, signaling dusk. A look back at the phone gave him a chance to consider washing his hands. Seth leaned face forward against the sink, placing his hands on both sides instead.

“This is dumb," he muttered, whipping off his hands then reaching for the phone.

'_Loose fifteen pounds today!'_ the screen read happily.

Seth sighed, relieved yet again until another message flashed across the screen: 'Hey, this is Mike. We found your guy's phone and some other stuff that the crew was not sure what to do with. Call me, texting's hard with this small screen.'

_ Call me…_

Blankly staring at the screen, Seth thought for a moment. It would make sense that Mike had trouble with a touch screen, his hands were mitts compared to its intended design specs. Still, the grammar and spelling were not in line with what Seth remembered about Mike, and he had no trouble sending this text. Seth sat down the phone.

This can wait until Monday.

The phone started to buzz with Al's ringtone almost as soon as it hit the counter, a segment of Duran Duran's Planet Earth. Al had picked it out, seeming to insinuate that he was the planet Earth trying to get back in touch with Seth. Seth answered the phone with gusto, glad to hear from him.

“Hey babe, where are you at? On your way home?"

“Sorry, I won't be able to get home tonight. I got stuck in traffic at Homossasa. I got no hours left to get home. I'm gettin' a hotel."

“Well… do you have your company card?" Seth's face fell slightly, hating himself as he switched to work mode. “Don't forget to get a receipt this time. I don't want to call around again, trying to get someone to email me the damn thing."

“Alright, Alright. I'll take care of it."

“Everything alright? You sound like you're in a rush." Seth's interest was piqued. Not a 'babe' had crossed Al's lips. Unusual. Likewise, Al sounded like he was talking to a manager. Sometimes he did this when he was talking to a client and wanted Seth to handle it. Muffled talking faded in the background. “Who was that?"

“Oh, that was the TV. I already got a room. Just wanted to let you know. They get my other order pulled?"

Seth closed his eyes as be placed Al on speaker. This was the behavior that he had noticed from Al for the past eight months and it was becoming more frequent. Seth wondered why he was asking about his order: Al never worked weekends and he just said that he ran out of time on his logs, which would not reset until the next day.

“Y-yes, you were late getting the first." Seth squinted his eyes and tilted his head slightly. “You already got a room?"

“Yes, I just told you." Al huffed into the phone. “Look, I'm tired. Had a long day. I'll talk to you in the morning…"

“Ok. I lo…"

The phone clattered on some surface and Seth heard some shuffling.

Al had replaced the screen on his phone for the umpteenth time and it was already cracked; he was never that careful with it, always slapping it on the counter when he was done talking. This time though, it sounded like he did not tap hard enough to end the call, the screen's sensitivity already compromised. Seth held his breath, then tapped to mute his microphone. On top of feeling paranoid, he felt like a suspicious housewife in one of Al's cheesy Lifetime movies. Seth already felt regret from staying on the line this long. Only muffled noises reached him until he heard a voice in the background, a different quality from the noise on the television. Al's voice picked up some distance away from the phone. Not much was decipherable, just the words 'my boss.'

Seth should have hung up after that, but instead heard the sound of running water and the words '…cleaned up' in another voice. His fingers acted faster than he could think, hanging up the call before he could process what he had heard. He supported himself on the counter and took a deep breath before releasing it with a shiver. Lifting his head, he looked up to the ceiling light and covered his right eye. Everything buzzed when stress crept its way into his life suddenly.

What should you do when the world is buzzing, Seth?

The therapist's words bubbled up in his mind.

“I focus," Seth whispered, “I distract myself. I intellectualize."

He stood for a moment, stifling the impulse to dash everything off the island counter and onto the floor. The light switch caught his eye and he flicked it off, leaving him in the soft glow of the kitchen's electronics. Mechanically, he put up his prep work for dinner, taking his time to clean any debris that he left from the salads and seasoning the steaks. He sat down after he finished, staring at the junk drawer of the island. It had been around nine months since he had stared this intensely at that drawer, its contents beckoning him, almost calling to him, to open it and take the tool that he needed most. When the world spun and the lights buzzed, it always distracted him. It never failed him the way others would.

Always…never…

Seth stood, approaching the drawer hesitantly, steeling himself. As he opened it and gently placed his hand on the object, he made excuses to himself. If he would have used it the last time the buzzing gnashed his ears and stabbed the back of his eyes, he may have never gone to therapy. He would have never spent a month listening to the cooing of psychologists, patronizing him with psychobabble, telling him that he needed to process his emotions to deal with the anger and guilt. These feelings were natural but needed to be handled.

…Al wouldn't be… I wouldn't have…. Handled?

Handled. The word meant so much to him. So much that he jerked the hot glue gun from the drawer and ran to the nearest outlet on the kitchen counter. As power warmed the gun, Seth waited patiently, silently taking off his shirt and tossing it to the chair. Burns dotted his upper shoulders. He could not claim responsibility for most of them, but certainly a decent number. Past boyfriends had asked about them, but Seth was always able to fend off their questions, usually something about bad acne when he was a teen. Even Al, who had stuck around long enough to marry him, had accepted his lies without question, all the way until the sky broke and fell into Seth's lap. Al's behavior toward him was irrevocably changed from that day onwards, walking on eggshells, toing around sensitive topics, and then the fighting.

This is my fault. If I had done this, then Al…. I would've been able to keep myself together.

His palm steadily hovered over the gun's tip, feeling its burning heat. It was perfect. Seth grasped its handle and aimed its metal tip at the back of his left shoulder. He had made sure to remove the glue that had been stuck on its end; no sense in making a mess. First, he lightly tapped the nozzle against his skin. A short sizzle sounded as his hand instinctively jerked it away. Seth winced, then pressed it more firmly, clenching his jaw but allowing no other emotion to express itself. A slow count to ten passed in his mind, his hand trying to shake with each passing number. He removed it and a sigh escaped his lips, not of pleasure, but relief. He was showing himself love this time, not her. The nozzle took its aim again and would have landed if a buzz from Seth's phone had not granted its reprieve.

A second buzz sounded from the island counter. Seth looked from the glue gun and back to the phone on the counter. He almost lovingly sat the object down before turning his attention back to the sound's source. A low glow faded, a small light dimming in a world of darkness. A gentle tap revealed that Mike had sent two more texts:

'Hjey, that weasnt myt tesxtr styupid bnny Qwe dontr hve asnythging'

Then: 'qwe cvouldf srtil traslkj uif you wntr'

There was what Seth had expected from Mike: poor grammar and fingers too big to work the softkeys on his phone. Seth fingered the new burn on his back, it was already welting up as a blister. He pinched its skin and tore it off, taking a paper towel to dab it and mulling over the almost indecipherable texts. He pulled his hand away from the wound and as he looked at it, old feelings of worthlessness peaked out from the used and bloody paper towel. But as he stared, something changed within him. Seth was able to focus on what he had heard from Al's phone with a sense of renewed clarity. If Al had any dignity and respect for their marriage, he would have been honest with him. He would have said that Seth was too much work, too fragile; that he did not meet his needs; that he found someone else; that their marriage was dying. The two of them could have worked on it together, but Al would rather hide away with a homewrecker, bringing whatever into his and Seth's relationship.

Heh, honesty. If I had been honest, maybe I would not be here. But at least I never cheated or tried. Embarrassment or no, I would never.

Marriage, to Seth, was a contract, a bond. Outlined within it was every possibility for love predicated on commitment. Even an open relationship would have been acceptable to a degree if there were transparency about it. But Al broke that bond. Now, regardless of what they had built together, their relationship was sullied and the trust was gone_._ To Seth, this amounted to a violation of the highest order: Betrayal.

The word loomed overhead as something with a greater meaning, and the feeling it conveyed was worse than when his sister passed. With her, there would be no reconciliation, no resolution to what she had done to him. He was a coward then, but now, all he saw in Al was his sister: someone to whom he felt relatively close, whom he trusted and who then had violated him emotionally and physically.

Enough…

He took a breath and searched the ceiling for answers. Putting the paper towel back to his fresh wound and messaging his right eye as it throbbed, he coolly considered the faces appearing in the ceiling's stucco, pareidolia playing tricks with his eyes. Seth came to a decision.

After putting his tool of focus away into its cradle, Seth picked up the phone to text Mike back, then thought better of it. He would call. The line rang only twice before Mike's gruff voice answered.

“Hey, Mike. Having trouble texting?"

---

II

His Burning Focus

“Alone. Yes, that's the key word, the most awful word in the English tongue. Murder doesn't hold a candle to it and hell is only a poor synonym…"

• Stephen King

For the first time in months, Seth actually felt like he was a part of a real conversation. No babble about conspiracies, no barbs or complaints about minute details that would otherwise not matter. Mike had started out the conversation with how surprised he was that Seth had called, that he had half expected to be ignored. As it turned out, his employee, Jake, the rabbit Anthro from earlier that day, was emailing some clients for him on their way back to Water Town and had sent the first text.

“Bastard's always pulling pranks on me." Mike had forced a laugh. “He's got two lucky rabbit's feet, but they won't save him forever!"

Seth thought the excuse was a little hokey, but let it pass without comment. Their conversation was affable, again too easy. Mike's voice was mostly the same as he had remembered, though he had a barely noticeable growl in his deep voice. They talked about each other's work, as men often do when they are feeling out each other, then moved to prior classmates and reminisced about all the stupid little rumors that circulated back then. A genuine conversation, though the distance between them via phone helped significantly. If Seth felt uncomfortable, he could just say something came up and end the conversation. But the want never arose, not until they started talking on a personal level.

“So, uh… when you gave me your card, I noticed…." Mike started, fumbling for his words, then cleared his throat. “You're married…?"

Seth looked down at the ring on his left hand. He and Al had picked them out for their wedding ceremony: a tri-colored band made of three intertwining rings. Al had gone with a more traditional men's band. Sitting in a little room that he had made into a home office, Seth had dimmed the lights before he reclined on the loveseat to talk with Mike. His eyes started to burn as the ring twinkled on his finger and he held back hurt feelings. This conversation with Mike was meant to distract him for a moment, though he had already decided to divorce Al. Seeing that a reminder was needed, the burn on his left shoulder hummed to life with pain under its bandage and his shirt. Seth was still uncomfortable with letting his sexuality be known, but left it as an open secret that he only discussed if it were brought to the foreground.

“Yes," Seth sighed. “I am. We've been together for about a year-and-a-half but got married around a year ago."

“Oh…well, that's great to hear! What's his name? Anyone I know?" Mike forced a chuckle, then quickly added, “Just kidding aro…"

“Al."

Seth could hear Mike adjust himself, sounding like he was shifting his weight or sitting position, then heard what he thought was a swallow.

“Sorry… I didn't catch what you…"

“His name is Al, my husband."

A moment passed over their connection, an audible silence. Though it was just a second or two, Seth could feel the room closing in on him. What would it matter if Mike rejected him? They had not seen each other in years and were virtually strangers; their lives would not be impacted one way or another under usual circumstances. Still, the reconnection of old relationships, no matter how transient they were, will give their actors pause to consider the history between them and a moment to decide which paths they should take, if taken together or not. Who they would be with or without each other, whether for the better or worse, is always decided in these moments, no matter how small the change or insidious their consequences.

“Seth…I… I'm happy for you." Mike's tone shifted downward, some of its jovial nature lost. Seth heard a deep breath, then, “I wish I had known that before."

“I see…" Seth started his segue to end their conversation. “Well, it was nice talking with you aga…"

“No! That's not what I meant! I…."

“It's alright, Mike. I've got to…"

“I loved you!"

Seth's left hand reached up to hush his mouth, as though the words had spilled from his own lips. That phrase echoed like a dubious dream, unsure if warranted the concern of a nightmare or the chill of a scene that ended too soon. Catching his eyes and stinging them with the start of some tears, the wedding band twinkled once again as he pulled his hand away.

“Mike, I…"

“Look, I was dumb in high school." Mike raced onward. “I had always been looking at you. When I was doing bad in math, I asked for you 'cause I knew you were good at it. I…I wanted to ask you out when you came over but chickened out! And seeing you earlier today, I was about to chicken out again. I knew who you were as soon as you got out of your car. The wallet was an excuse, but Jake knew about it and sent that text to get me to talk to you. You're… you didn't act scared around me…."

There was desperation in Mike's voice, Seth could tell. He felt its intensity boarding on an anger ready for rejection, a fear of its possibility, and a frustration that he might be misunderstood. In Mike Seth heard himself and realized he wanted to give him what he did not have: comfort.

“I'm not afraid of you, Mike. You were always a nice guy, a little angry sometimes, but you never gave me a reason to be scared of you. Even now, why would I be scared of you?"

Mike's voice reflected some relief tempered with hesitancy. “It hasn't been easy since the breach. A lot of people started being afraid of me because of how I look. After I lost my job at the recycling plant, I couldn't find anything for a while. I had to move a lot for that and other reasons. I let my temper get a hold of me a couple of times…being this big made people scared."

“Well," Seth wiped his eyes, “I'm not. I know what it's like to have people stare or treat you like you're a walking disaster."

“…Seth… Could we see each other some time? I'd… like to see you in person."

Lowering his gaze to his left palm, Seth imaged the glue gun resting in his hand, heated, and waiting to make a new burn on his right shoulder to match the left.

“I'm married, Mike. We…"

“Does he make you happy?" Something in Mikes voice implied that he knew about today. Not the specifics, but that he had felt Seth's anguish, or heard the weakness in his voice when he said the word 'married' or 'husband'. His words were slow and sincerely asked.

Seth searched for the word, some affirmation that yes, he was happy, but the word failed to find him. He wanted to tell him that he was leaving Al, that Al was a sack of cheating garbage. But those words failed him as well. The words simply refused to come. Mike quickly interrupted his search.

“Sorry. I mean, we could just catch up some more over some drinks or something. At a bar. I know one in town that's Anthro friendly. We could meet there?" Mike's voice asked searchingly. “It's late now, but maybe tomorrow?"

“I…" Seth started to repeat the refrain that he was married.

…I'm alone in my marriage. I'm alone.

The thought had occurred to Seth countless times recently, but for the first time, it hurt. Alone in his marriage: that chain of words left him empty for a moment. There was a light tug in his chest as he felt something let go and fade away into nothingness. He had let go of himself and resolved to go with it, soon.

“You there?" Mike's question shocked Seth back to the present.

“…Yeah. Sure, we can catch up over some drinks some more. I'd like that."

“Great! What time? I've got some stuff to handle with the guys tomorrow but can meet tomorrow night. How does six or seven sound?"

They agreed on seven o'clock. The two of them talked for a short while longer, neither really wanting to end the conversation. When Seth finally hung up, he glanced at the time on his phone. 10:12 PM, it read. Their conversation had lasted for almost three hours. Seth sat up, then stood in disappointment: he had more of a report with Mike in the span of three hours than with his own husband. In Seth's mind another decision was concluded, a decision to eat lunch with his husband when he came home tomorrow. He made some final preparations in the kitchen before he went to bed, feeling hungry, but possessing no appetite and focusing on the day ahead.

Al came stomping into the house a little after ten o'clock the next morning. He complained about the laws and regulations regarding time logs for drivers, remarking that Seth would need to fix his return log. Putting away some miscellaneous items he had just purchased from the supermarket, Seth was at the counter expecting his arrival. He went to greet him with a hug, embracing him as Al made a path directly to the shower in the bedroom.

“You miss me that much?" Al tried to pull back to look at him, but Seth maintained his grip for a moment longer.

“Well, I thought that you'd be home last night. I'd gotten some steaks in the fridge and some salad. I wish you'd manage your time a little better, I was hoping to surprise you."

Al looked at him as Seth let go, something passing behind his eyes that would have not revealed itself before last night. “Huh, well go ahead an' make it, babe. I'm starvin'! Hadn't had lunch yet. Lemme get some fresh clothes on and a shower."

“You didn't take one last night?" Seth said, turning to the refrigerator, retrieving the steaks, salad, and new dressing he wanted to try.

“Uh, yeah!" Al started as he went to the bathroom. Seth could hear his usual banging and stomping pause briefly, a half second, then resume with aggravated tone. “But I'm wearin' the same clothes, you want me to smell like sweat all day?"

Hearing the shower turn on, Seth started the steaks and set the salads and dressing on the island counter with some forks. Al liked his meat rare, browned just enough on both sides to say that some cooking was done. Shortly before everything was ready, Al returned to the kitchen and sat at the island. They always took their meals there, rarely using the table.

“Did you get any wine?"

Seth looked up from the stove. The wine was still in the freezer, forgotten. Looking back down to the steaks, he anticipated the barbed remark ready to shoot from Al's mouth. “It's in the freezer."

Seth heard Al open the freezer and exhale loudly. “Fucked that up. Can't even get a decent glass of wine with the steaks, great surprise. How much longer till it's ready? Don't over-cook it!"

“Almost," replied Seth.

Al grumbled as he whipped out his phone, Seth hearing the chirp of a text coming through. “What the hell is this?"

“What?" Seth glanced over his shoulder. Al wiggled the new bottle of dressing at him. “Oh, just something new I wanted to try. Honey ginger dressing. If you don't want it, there's some olive dressing in the fridge."

“Always tryin' something new, tryin' to ruin a good dinner." Al commented under his breath, but Seth heard him open the cap and slather his salad with it. “Looks like puke."

Al's steak was ready and as Seth moved it off the stove and onto a plate, he heard Al loudly stabbing the salad and shoving it into his mouth. Seth sat the plate aside and focused his attention to his own steak, ignoring for the first few moments Al's coughing. Clattering, a fork banged its way to the floor, hitting the counter as if fell. Al's chair screeched across the ground before it smacked downward. Turning his attention to the island, Seth saw Al clutching his throat and pointing first at it then to the drawer where his EpiPens were kept. His face was already swelling from an allergic reaction and his throat was closing, starting to suffocate him.

A quick step over to the drawer where the pens were kept and Seth pulled one out, holing it out to hand it to him. Al fell to the floor, succumbing to the anaphylaxis, barely wheezing as he got on his back. The EpiPen clattered to the floor beside him. It was obvious that Al would not be able to administer the lifesaving epinephrine himself. Pleading eyes looked to Seth as he coolly reached for and grabbed the EpiPen, kneeling beside his husband. Taking it out of its case, he stabbed Al's left thigh, knowing it would not work: it was a year past its expiration date and heated just enough to breakdown most of the remaining compounds. A few desperate gasps sounded from Al as Seth got up and went to Al's phone.

He knew Al's habits thoroughly, everything from how he never paid attention to what he put into his mouth, despite his allergy, to what he would likely use as a password for his phone. He did not have the courage or the opportunity to look at Al's phone before now but wanted to be sure. Six, nine, Six, nine, his favorite number. Pulling up his messenger app, the most recent conversation revealed a nice dick-pick and suggestive emojis paired with the message:

'good seeing you last night LMK if you cum back tis way and showrtime'

Insurmountable. Previous messages echoed the first along with a handful of other conversations. Laying down the phone, Seth shifted his attention back to his husband, who had lost consciousness, sprawling on the floor. His chest and abdomen convulsed, signaling that his airway was fully blocked. Suffocated by love, not malice. Until now, Seth had distanced himself from what he had done, willing a dissociative state to start then end. Silent tears started to stream down Seth's face as he readied himself for the call to emergency services, allowing himself to feel weight of his actions. During the few rings as the connection was made to the dispatcher, Seth cried.

I loved you. Our marriage was dying, but I still loved you, believed you loved me, let you betray me. But I would never betray you like that. I would never cheat like that. I loved you and you had to be handled.

The paramedics arrived almost 15 minutes after the call. Seth and Al's home was out in the country off a dirt road, some distance away from EMS providers and fire rescue. During that time, Seth performed CPR on Al's body, following the instructions from the dispatcher. By then, however, it was too late. Al was gone. Seth let his steak burn and left the mess on the counter and floor, sobbing to the paramedics and the policeman that he didn't know what triggered Al's allergy, that he was eating and started to pull at his throat. The usual questions were asked, and Seth gave all honest answers. Filling out his report, the policeman indicated that neither one of them had checked the honey ginger dressing, which contained a lethal amount of peanut oil, and that in the panic, Seth did not check the expiration date of the EpiPen. If he had just grabbed the one next to it, his husband would have lived.

Naturally, there would need to be verification from the coroner, but as far as the authorities were concerned, everything fell in line with an accident. Unfortunate circumstances contributed to Al's death while a loving husband tried to make a surprise lunch. Past hospitalizations and a further investigation would confirm from Al's next of kin how careless he was with his eating habits. If a detective came out to wrap up the paperwork, the only note of interest in Al's file would be that a friend had taken out Seth to comfort him after the accident. Nothing out of the ordinary but a gay, grieving spouse. And who would want to get involved with that? With strained resources, there were too many other cases related to conspiracies and Anthros that needed attention.

Mike called Seth around five o'clock to confirm they were still going to meet. In all truth, Seth was beside himself. Even if it was by his hand why Al was gone, he still missed him and even looked for him on the couch, where he had fallen asleep countless times to the news channel's drone. But if there were two things that Seth had learned from his sister, they were these: no transgression should go unpunished and to punish was to love. By extension, in Seth's world, he loved Al to death and loved him enough to let him go to it. How else could he have loved Al and still sent him away? He still regretted it, his mind focusing on the good memories and filtering out the fighting and cheating. The mess from earlier that day still inhabited the kitchen like a shrine and Seth couldn't bring himself to touch it. What was the point? Soon, none of this would matter. Curled in a ball on the couch in the media room, he answered Mike's call.

“I'm sorry, Mike." Seth sniffled and shivered. “I… he's dead, Mike! Fucker couldn't read a damn bottle for peanut allergies! I couldn't…"

“Whoa, whoa! What's going on? What happened?"

Starting with a studder, then coughing from a sore throat, Seth told Mike what he had told the police, sparing him the fore-planning and how he took his time to perform the actions. It was a narrative that he felt to be true, and was, besides its omissions. Quiet concern threaded through Mike's voice during the conversation but boomed when Seth said he wanted to be alone.

“You don't need to be alone right now, Seth!" Mike almost shouted the words. “Look, if you don't want to go out, let me come over or take you somewhere you're not alone!"

There was no one else, Seth had done well isolating himself socially after meeting Al. His immediate family was gone, and he was not close with more distant relatives. He looked around the couch, feeling the emptiness of both it and the room. No, he wanted to leave for a while and Mike was being persistent, still trying to keep his attention. They still barely knew each other. Seth wondered why Mike confessed his love to him, why Mike hung onto that memory through a decade-and-a-half. Yesterday's red flag half-heartedly waved in the back of his mind again, but Seth finally caved and gave Mike his home address.

“Ok. I'll be right over. You sure you want to still go the bar?"

“Yes… I just need to get away from the house for a while. I need a drink."

Seth had managed to shower by the time Mike arrived. He threw on some clothes, but still looked disheveled wearing something comfortable and having lightly brushed his hair. On his way to the front door, he stopped at Al's bedside stand and considered the contents of its drawer. He opened it, rummaging for a moment, then stuck his finding in his pocket. When he met Mike at the door, Seth was somewhat surprised and irked by Mike's appearance: well-groomed fur, a nice button-up tee, cologne. Was Mike expecting a date right after his husband passed? Was he just making himself presentable for the public? These and other questions flashed through Seth's mind; he did not like playing guess work with people's motivations. A little voice cleared its throat in the back of his mind.

Is this a trap?

“Are you alright, Seth?" Mike stood patiently for a moment, waiting for Seth to respond. “If you want to stay home tonight, I understand. But let me stay with you. You don't need to be alone here."

His gaze wondered past Seth and through the doorway, no doubt seeing the mess in the kitchen from that afternoon. Embarrassment moved Seth to action, forcing him to step outside and quickly lock the door. When he turned back to Mike, he saw worry crossing his face as his muzzle and eyes wrinkled noticeably.

“No, let's get something to drink. I need…some change in scenery."

Mike stared for a moment then nodded slowly before escorting him to his pickup truck. There was a brief pause as Seth placed his hand on the passenger door and thought about taking his own vehicle. If his visit with Mike went south, at least he would be able to leave at his own accord. But the thoughts of the traffic on a Saturday and a designated driver urged him into the truck's cab. In the end, he had decided that it would not really matter as he climbed inside. He noticed Mike was watching him as he clicked the seatbelt into place. The truck would have had plenty of room for an average person but seemed to be a perfect fit for Mike's frame. His face, though, echoed the concerns he had voiced earlier.

“I'm not looking for sympathy tonight, Mike. This is a lot to unload on anyone, no less someone you just got back in touch with." Seth studied him for a moment. A puffed out his chest and straightened back insisted that Mike would not be going anywhere. His silence made Seth look away from him.

“Just don't let me go past three or four drinks of the hard stuff. Otherwise, you'll be picking me up off the floor."

“Ok." A small grin poked through Mike's stern and worried look. “I get it. I'll be your driver tonight. No worries."

The truck roared as Mike cranked its diesel engine. Seth tried to keep up some conversation on the way, but he was distracted, his mind sliding back to his pocket. Thankfully, Mike kept the conversation superficial, lightly touching on common subjects and talking about his work. Some of the things that he and his staff had found after an accident made Seth wonder if the stories were a little embellished. Body parts still moving? Cocaine? He waved the thought away. Mike was trying to distract him. He claimed to keep a small picture collection at home, though his grin suggested differently.

A thirty-minute drive brought them to the edge of Water Town. Their aim was the downtown area where the bars were clustered, but traffic started to congest the streets and slowed their progress. The residents of the surrounding county loved to make an outing on the weekends, even in this small town. The bar itself was located in a relatively deserted portion, where the buildings had not been gentrified and screamed 'seedy' as they passed them. Seth did not know what to expect, but after some reflection, was not surprised. The bar was Anthro-owned and operated, aptly named Antlers for its owner, an Anthro-Cervidae. They parked around the back to get to its entrance, which was situated in a back alley between two buildings. Given the location and lack of lighting in the parking lot, it was easy to guess that the owner would have had trouble funding a bar for Anthro clientele. The only deer stuck in a headlight would be the bankers.

But the local community of Anthros were supportive of this business. The bar was not packed but had a decent crowd and there was small cover at the door. Seth fumbled for his wallet, but Mike whipped out a ten to cover them both, telling Seth not to worry about it or the drinks tonight. The offer caught Seth off guard, but the music from inside and a nudge from Mike sent him inward. A guest DJ was in the corner, playing something in the trance genre while other patrons sat, talked, danced, or drank. Seth recognized the song: Blue Light by In Strict Confidence.

'In blue light, we try to forget that we're shadows,

'Blue light inhaling our darkness.

'In blue light, we're searching and hiding and kissing again,

'In blue enlightened rooms.'

Anthros of all types were here with a few of the un-afflicted dotted around the room, just enough to indicate that anyone would be welcome. A surge of panic started to creep up Seth's throat, urging him to leave, that this was a bad idea. It almost took a hold of him when Mike's large, rough, and clawed hand lightly touched his arm. Mike was close, so close that Seth could feel his body heat against his back. The light touch was guiding him to the bar as Mike took a protective position behind him.

“It's alright, Seth. I'm right here." Mike whispered. “Just sit down and I'll get us a drink. What do you want?"

“Long Island." Seth could only manage a mumble as he took a seat on a barstool.

Mike took the one next to him and asked for the drinks. As his drink was being mixed, Seth took stock of the bartender, who was apparently the owner of Antlers, an imposing stag with a bull's nose ring. Hunters probably did double takes looking at his rack, the only other kind of rack that would cause them gawk around here. The atmosphere was relaxed, and Seth tried to calm himself, checking his pocket and waiting for the right opportunity. The drinks came promptly, Mike getting himself a Miller.

“These don't do much for me anymore. Have to drink ten of these to feel a buzz." He winked before he took a long draw.

Seth would admit to anyone that he was a lightweight where alcohol was concerned. Even one or two glasses of wine would send him to bed early for a good night's sleep. He took a sip of his drink, then gulped down half of the glass, feeling its burn and with it the hope to erase today. Mike eyed him for a moment over his beer, taking a sip then setting it on the bar counter.

“I'm sorry, Seth. I don't think I had a chance to tell you that yet."

“It's fine." Seth sniffed from the burn of another swig. “Thank you for bringing me here. You didn't have to do any of this."

“I wanted to." Mike clacked on his beer with the tips of his claws. “You seemed like you needed a friend, even when we were talking last night. I remember you always putting on a strong look back in high school, no matter what anyone said, trying to show everyone that you either did not want or need them. Seeing you like this is…"

“Pathetic."

“Refreshing." He reached out to collect the empty glass from Seth's hands. “Want another?"

One nod came, then another. The bartender was at the opposite end of the bar, flirting with a murine woman, her ears saggy and twitching with each complement. Mike went over to get his attention. As he did so, Seth glanced over the room quickly, then took out a pill bottle from his pocket and twisted it open before swallowing an Ambien dry. Just as quickly, the bottle was tucked out of sight back into his pocket. Eight were left. Al had had worse trouble sleeping than Seth and had sought out some sleep aids. Before now, Seth had prided himself on his independence from these aids, despite how poorly he slept. He had snuck one on a few occasions to test them, but still did not make a habit of it; he did not like how they made him feel the next day. Now, however, that pride was set aside. Ten milligrams a piece; one now, another later, and the rest when he got home. Finally, a good night's sleep would find him and keep him. Tonight, Mike would give him a decent, real conversation, and then he could sleep with only one further consequence.

Mike returned with the second Long Island and their conversation was affable. Again, he guided the conversation away from pitfalls and managed to draw out a laugh or two from Seth. Why not let out a laugh and enjoy Mike's effort?

Guests entered and left unremarkably, with the exception of a few complaints about a drunk homeless man in the alley. But newcomers brushed him off after they got settled. The DJ continued his playlist of trance, starting up a song by The Birthday Massacre, softly speaking about deep, black crushes and pale blue love. Sipping on his third drink, Seth felt the pill and liquor tugging at him to pull him under. Something was off, he thought he was pacing himself fairly well. Each drink and pill had been planned out, but again, he was a lightweight. Still, he might have underestimated how they would interact.

I need to get home while I still have the sense to know what I'm doing.

Looking at Mike, Seth wanted to stroke his fur but was still just barely able to contain the impulse. It looked soft and welcoming, the vague feeling of his body heat tempting him. He decided that he was too drunk and told Mike that he was ready to go home. Mike took out his phone and nodded.

“Only a little after nine o'clock. You weren't kidding when you said you're a lightweight. Let me close out the tab and take a wiz. I'll be right back."

As Mike walked off, Seth, as quickly and carefully as he could, took another pill from the bottle, sipping some of his drink this time. With the pills put away and his glass sat down, their area of the bar caught his attention. He did not recall Mike taking any of his beer bottles to the bartender or the bartender pre-bussing anywhere near where they sat. Mike only had one beer. It nagged at Seth, but he could not figure out why. A thought came to the foreground then floated away, then another:

He's my designated driver. Maybe he's saving his money, I shouldn't've let him pay…

These thoughts did not satisfy the faint voice whining in his mind's ear. However, before Seth could begin to collect his thoughts, Mike returned, offering to help him off the stool. With a wave of his arm, Seth attempted to rise on his own accord and managed to keep his balance as his vision blurred and the room tried to swim around him. He focused on the exit and made his way to it, tuning out Mike's questions. Yes, he was drunk and yes, he had popped two Ambien, the second just now working its way into his system, but this was something else. These feelings of looseness in his muscles and numbness were not planned.

Seth felt a hand on his right side when he stopped at the door, then Mike's side on his other.

“Come on, Seth. Let me help you to the truck." Mike pulled him closer to support him.

As they exited the bar and went out into the alley, he felt Mike's grip tighten and felt the points of his claws starting to poke through his shirt. The world started to spin and he felt that some revelation was just out of reach, shadowed on the edge of his perception. Something familiar and foreign, something known and yet alien. A muddled thought surfaced:

Is Mike angry? I should've waited till I got home. Why is his grip so tight? I don't…

Seth's mind was clouded now and all he knew was that the plan had gone off its railing. It was too fast and he could hear some incoherent babble somewhere around him. The parking lot was darker now, only a few rays of light leaked from the bar's alley to light their way. Nearing the truck, Seth stopped and gently pushed away from Mike, woozy and confused. Mike let him stand for a moment, then touched his shoulder, about to say something.

“If yer gonna be a cocksucker, you can at least suck yer own kind's dick!" Slurred a voice. “Fuckin' furs and fags!"

The resident homeless man, drunk and dirty, wheezed as he stepped out from the driver's side of Mikes truck, approaching them in a staggered walk. Seth felt Mike's hand tense, then relax as it was pulled away from his shoulder and his view partially blocked by Mike's back.

“Bad enough you freaks comin' round here, but fuckin' people?! People-people?!"

The words were met with silence. Seth felt another bout of dizziness, stepping forward to catch himself, but tripped into a gambol, unable to stop himself from falling on the vagrant. A shove, a punch to the cheek, and Seth was on the ground. He lifted himself, couchant, to stare at the ground. The world buzzed, but a scuffling faded in and out with his hearing: ripping sounds, a yelp cut short, cracking and gurgling, then silence returned with a heavy breathing. Seth used another car to pull up himself. Mike's figure stood sideways between him and a prone figure on the ground by the truck.

“Mike?" Seth mumbled and managed his way to him, stumbling, then falling on Mike's chest. It was exposed, the button-up shirt ripped open. The fur on his hands was matted by something and a liquid dripped from his mouth.

At first, Seth started to push away, but as his strength failed him, he rested his head against him, feeling his soft pelt and warmth as his breathing slowed. Somehow, Mike's cologne and sent relaxed him, bearing with each breath a feeling of security and safety. There was only this moment, all others forgotten. As Mike hesitantly put his arms around Seth, something wet from his hands soaked through Seth's clothes. With that, however, the moment passed as a warm stickiness spread across his shirt. Dreamily, Seth looked up at Mike to see a stunned expression.

“…You've done this before…" Seth muttered. A picture, though blurry and missing pieces, started to form distantly in his mind. “…you've done this before…."

The stunned expression melted away into a cold, calculating stare. One arm tightened around Seth's waist while a hand was placed on the back of his neck. Claws threatened to dig into his skin and light pressure readied to snap it. But Seth was not afraid, his mind too addled with drugs and alcohol; though this was not his plan, the end was still the same. There was comfort in knowing that he was not alone, that even with the threat of death, he felt safe and loved. With eyes half closed, he did not look away from Mike's, which were fixed to his, thinking and searching. Either way, his consciousness bobbed in sleep's ocean, the second Ambien and alcohol running its course.

“Could I… I could…." he uttered in Mike's embrace.

Clutching his neck, Mike slowly pulled him in and kissed him deeply. No warning. But surprise registered on Mike face when Seth kissed him back, blood's iron tempering his taste. Seth saw Mike's brow wrinkle in mild confusion, then relax into a grin.

“You're drunk, Seth. You don't know what you're talking about." Mike's grin twisted into a grimace made grizzly with his features as he licked something off Seth's neck and cheek. “Let's get you home, you look like you're about to pass out."

Seth sensed no effort from Mike as he was picked up, carried over to the passenger side of the truck, and gingerly placed into its seat. Mike reclined the seat fully as Seth curled on his side to look at him, his focus finally blurring one last time before he was pulled away from waking life. The sides of cool talons and soaked fur touched his face, gently caressing him. As his hearing faded with his consciousness, Seth heard Mike speak softly, worried, but coolly:

“I'm sorry… If I knew you felt that way… I wouldn't've drugged you."

But Seth could not hear anything else as sleep's embrace took him under for the night.

---

III

Their Insidious Consequence

“…They trespass, authors unto themselves in all both what they judge, and what they choose; for so I form'd them free…they themselves ordain'd their fall."

• John Milton

Fuzzy warmth. That was the first sensation Seth registered as he crawled back to consciousness. Everything from last night blurred and swirled, flashes of memories and scenes out of sequence toying with his thoughts. Refusing to open his eyes, he clutched the warmth's source, feeling how soft it was.

He opened his eyes, realizing there was a breathing outside his own. In reaction to his clutch, a hand lifted and rested on his side to pull him closer to the warmth.

Mike.

He started to lift himself, but Mike's hand kept him in the bed.

“It's alright. It's just me." Mike spoke softly. “Don't worry, we didn't do anything. You… looked like you had some trouble breathing, so I stayed with you after I brought you back to your house. I hope you don't mind. I was worried."

As he became more aware of what Mike said and of himself, Seth realized he was in his underwear and that Mike was not wearing a shirt. The same fur could be felt against his legs. As though anticipating his questions, Mike pulled him a little closer.

“Glad you have a washer and dryer. You owe me a new shirt by the way." Mike laughed half-heartedly, then continued in a pressing tone. “I found the bottle in your pocket, Seth. Made you throw up in the parking lot…. How many Ambien did you take at the bar?"

The question made Seth flinch, feeling its backhand against his aching face. Words suppressed, he played possum.

“I can only think of two reasons why you would have them with you… You're lucky, they have a short lifetime, but they're potent. Had to look them up to make sure you'd be okay if you did take those."

It sounded like Mike was giving him a guilt trip, but he let Seth sit up to hold his head. Seth's memory still failed him, dehydration and a hangover from last night taking their course. He remembered going to the bar, the bartender, talking with Mike, something about beer. After that thought, everything was blurry or blank. Seth had never been blackout drunk before last night. Never. Though, Ambien did have strange side effects. Drawing his legs up to his chest, he felt Mike sit up beside him then place his rough hand against his back, the tips of his claws lightly touching his skin. He wished they would cut into him.

“I think I got to take just one, maybe two. Mike, I… I didn't mean to…" Seth struggled to explain, looking at Mike as he stared back at him. But Mike's expression shifted subtly when he exhaled. Annoyance? Relief? A mixture?

“Well, maybe you'll collect your thoughts after something to eat. It'll help soak up the liquor and whatever's left in your system." Mike turned to get out of the bed, scratching himself as he stood. “I'll make something. I, uh, took a tour of your kitchen last night."

With that, Mike walked out of the room in his boxer-briefs without so much as a second glance. Seth could not keep himself from noticing that he had to cut a hole in his underwear for his tail. Sitting on the bed, the reality hit that Mike brought him home, undressed him, presumably cleaned him up, and got in bed with him for the night. And toured his kitchen? All in the same day that Seth's husband passed. These actions struck Seth, red flags flying everywhere and alarms tugging at him for his attention. All things considered, Mike was behaving boldly. Everything, from their first conversation to waking up with him in the bed, flew at Seth's face. Still, Mike seemed genuinely concerned. Nothing made sense as a picture blurred in and out of focus.

Buzzing sounded in Seth's head.

He got up and dressed himself. In the bathroom, he could tell that Mike had used the shower among other items. Not that the bathroom was messy, far from it; it was put up well, just misplaced. The closet had been checked for clothes, probably from Mike looking for something else to wear and finding that the shirts were too small.

His shirt. Something about his shirt.

A blank reply is all that his memory gave him. Disappointed in himself and finding no feedback from last night's memories, he finally wondered into the kitchen and froze. Everything was clean. Mike had cleaned the mess and the burnt steak on the stove. After a moment, Seth forced himself to move mechanically through the bizarre and dreamlike scene, willing himself to sit on one of the barstools.

How late did he stay up last night?

“I didn't see any bacon, so I figured some omelets would be good. Gotta have a protein to start the day!" Mike chirped. He was using the cast iron skillet and was about to grab it barehanded.

“You might want to use a mitt for that." The automatic warning mumbled out from his lips as he sat at the island. He hated using cast iron, but Al had insisted on it for whatever reason.

“Don't worry, I've done this before. Got a towel right here."

…Done this before?

Click, snap. Something connected. The homeless man's face stared at Seth in Mike's back-fur as he flipped the omelets. A yelp cut short, a crack and gurgling, the smell of Mike's cologne. The picture he had assembled last night zoomed into sharp focus. Mike had drugged him at the bar and killed the homeless man, easily done as though he had experience in each action. As quickly as Seth had felt the effects of the pills and their intensity, it was the only explanation that made sense. Being out of the bar scene for a year-and-a-half, being so focused on his plan, and being so trusting that it was just an outing to comfort him, he had forgotten the number one rule: watch who is handling the drinks.

“Remember anything from last night yet?" Mike paused for a moment to grab the towel again, catching what he had said. Now he was testing to see if whatever drugs he had given Seth last night had impaired his memory. Seth did not respond quickly enough, his hangover working its magic. The dream was over; Mike already knew that he remembered. “Well, you were right. I've done that a few times before. Our friend from last night."

“Why didn't you…" Seth stopped short. He dashed away any plausible deniability about last night.

Mike slid the omelet off the skillet and cut it in half for the two of them. “You want something to drink? I'll get you some milk."

With breakfast gathered, Mike sat beside Seth and watched him eye the food.

“I'm not a poisoner, Seth." A smirk crossed his lips before taking the first bite of his meal. “You saw what I did last night, that's how I prefer to do it with some. Others… I meant what I said to you the other night. I loved you and last night, I realized I still do. I realized I didn't want to hurt you."

“Moving around…" muttered Seth. Mike touched his own nose between bites, flashing his fangs to Seth.

“A company like mine gives me plenty of opportunity to move around and find people. I'd some hiccups in the beginning, but gettin' into the groove of things. When I found you Friday, well, Al should be glad he went yesterday. Hadn't really made up my mind about anything until we talked on the phone. I usually deal with random people. But you. I have a soft spot for you. I would have gotten him outta the way, one way or another." Mike reached over and put a talon under Seth's chin. “Go ahead and eat, Seth. I'm not going to hurt you. Yeah, I know: 'is he just saying that?' But, I'll admit, that kiss last night… just a little bit of blood, tasting you, a fresh kill…. If I didn't have feelings for you, you'd be in rough shape. I mean it. I… I want to talk to you. So, eat."

Mike returned to his food, but stopped to make sure Seth ate. Picking up the fork, Seth looked over his breakfast, then took off a piece and ate it.

“Quit lookin' at your food like you'll find a finger," Mike chuckled. “I don't eat them. That hobo didn't look that the clean anyway."

Chewing another piece of egg, Seth had no doubt that Mike was serious, despite anything that his tone implied. It was morbid, but Seth felt flattered. As dark as it seemed, no one had given him that kind of attention and shown that kind of dedication. Murdering a vagrant and drugging him were not exactly a box of chocolates and long stem roses. Still, remembering Mike holding him and the kiss, Seth could not deny their reality and intensity, thinking he was going to die at the hands of this bear, this man, who protected him. But like their phone conversation, Seth saw himself mirrored in Mike.

Are we really that different?

In asking himself that question, Seth could not look past one key trait. He hated himself. He never felt good enough or able to rise to everyone's expectations. Al had shown him that he could not be himself and still be loved by another. Why else would he have cheated? Seth simply was not enough. He cost too much effort for anyone's love. The words floated up in his sister's voice, scratchy from years of heavy smoking:

I always got to handle shit for you, you worthless little shit.

Seth unconsciously reached for his shoulder, but stopped himself, feeling Mike's gaze as they ate. A few minutes passed, Mike had cleaned his plate and Seth had eaten all that he wanted. Now they were looking directly at each other, waiting. Mike broke the still in their conversation as he reached for Seth knee.

“Were you trying to kill yourself with those pills?"

The question hung in the air to stare at Seth as he glanced downwards at Mike's hand, escaping its glare. Still collecting his thoughts, he summoned the courage look into Mike's eyes.

“Were you helping me with yours?"

Mike's face fell at the jab. The veil had been fully lifted, there was no turning back from what he had revealed.

“No, it was never my intention to kill you. Maybe drug you to relax for a little fun, but not that. Seeing you stumbling like that and confused… I couldn't. Then the hobo and the pills in your pocket. That was the first time in a while I started to panic. You don't remember me getting you to puke?"

“Where's the body, Mike?" Seth felt a shiver climb down his back.

It felt wrong, but what Mike said struck him as sweet. He was struggling with this and the man from the parking lot. Was the hobo any different from Al? He wanted Mike to hold him like he did last night, but wanted to perry that thought with the question. Mike appeared to have killed several people, not just the one from last night. A part of Seth was rising up and floating away as he thought about how to handle last night's events, how to handle himself. As these thoughts lifted to fly away, he felt dissociated from himself. He did not like how right everything felt. Was he a monster? Was Mike? Seth was scrambling to grasp the string of a runaway balloon's attempt to escape him, but what it actually was, he could not say. He only knew that he did not like how it made him feel without it, that without it, he was someone else, that he was a void.

“Well, I didn't really have time to do anything with him. I was worried about you and didn't want to leave you alone last night." Mike sighed, bringing Seth back from his thoughts.

“The truck…"

“Want to see him? You're pretty far out here, Seth. If you're curious, a peak wouldn't hurt."

Seth searched Mike's face for some hint of humor, that he was joking or teasing him. But his cold eyes and smirk gave all the indication of a serious intention. He wanted Seth to see what he had done for him. Hints of glee dappled his expression and mien. In his thoughts, Seth reached higher for the escaping balloon, just missing the tail of the string as he fumbled for it. He wanted to see and know. He wanted this curiosity to stop.

"Seth, I think you're in a lot of pain. Al was important to you, but you sounded miserable about being with him. He died, and you felt so bad that you tried to kill yourself, or were going to after we met. I think this meant that you wanted to see me like I wanted to see you." He paused, then, “What are those marks on your back? There's a fresh one…did Al do that to you?"

Quiet was the only answer he could provide at the moment; Seth wanted to answer yes, that Al, the cheating bastard, had done it, if not directly, then with his actions. And though he hated it, Mike spoke the truth: he wanted to see Mike, maybe more than he realized at the time. Seth wanted to meet it with his truth about Al. But a whisper in the back of his mind hushed such nonsense, and that particular truth was buried; Mike did not need to know about that. Instead, he decided to tell the truth, not wanting to meet Mike's eyes.

“I did that…after I found out about Al cheating on me."

Silence, heavy breathing. It was the worst secret in the world to Seth. Worse than any perversion or act of depravity, worse than a Ursus who enjoyed murder: that his husband had thought so little of him. Somehow, that fact was worse than any other secret in the world, where careless deception and false pretenses degrade the foundation of a relationship at the center of one's world and its parties fall inward, consumed by its aftermath. He heard Mike start and stop a few times, hearing hesitance and uncertainty about his approach. Seth finally looked up to see Mike's eyes analyzing him, squinting to understand.

“So…he cheated on you and you hurt yourself? How many ti…"

“They weren't all about him, okay?! And I didn't do them all."

“… It's okay. I remember the rumors in high school. I never thought they were true, but… you shouldn't do that to yourself." Mike stood and put his hands on both of Seth's shoulders. “Hey, look at me. I don't want you doing that to yourself anymore! How about I help you with this?"

A quizzical look crossed Seth's face. “Help me? Mike, you 'helped' me last night and there's a dead man in your truck. What are you…"

Drawn up to his full height, Mike looked down at him with a devious smile. “Let me check on my pants in the dryer. I think you seeing him will help!"

Mike bumped Seth's head with his cold nose then dashed to the laundry room.

Stunned, Seth watched after him. He realized what Mike had implied as the stomps from huge feet sounded throughout the house. Seth glanced around, wondering where his phone was. There was no landline in the house: it was too much trouble to get it installed, especially with cellular technology at everyone's fingertips. It would make sense if Mike took it and hid it after everything else he had done. Cool panic started to rise until he spotted it on the table. But looking at it, Seth suddenly felt no urge to reach for it. He argued with himself, debating that if he called anyone, he would be implicated in the murder; that the police would find out about Al; or that Mike would kill him and take off before the police arrived. Ultimately, though, none of these arguments won over this one question: why should he call?

Outside of the usual moral answers, he could find none. Likewise, he did not feel afraid of Mike, he felt understood. But at that thought, his sister's words screeched at him. He wanted to be loved. He wanted to love. Another question surfaced in his mind: How could he love or be loved?

Seth heard the dryer door slam and Mike call from the laundry room.

Once again, the balloon floated in front of Seth, not drifting away into the sky, but waiting for him to grab it: all he had to do was reach out. But rather than reach for it, he simply gestured it away. Seth finally realized that it would continuously tempt him, floating and allowing him to fondle its string before lifting higher into the air, forever beyond reach. Seth stood with one last glance at the phone before heading to the bedroom to find his flipflops.

The truck's bed was almost too tall for Seth to see inside, he had to stand on his toes to peak over its edge. Standing beside him, Mike had lifted the tarp coving the man's body while he wrapped his other arm around Seth's back. The hobo's face was frozen, relaxed after shock transitioned into death from the gaping hole torn in his neck. Other lacerations drew lines down his chest, abdomen, and presumably his back, though Seth could not see them. Mike proudly gazed at his work before looking back to gauge Seth's reaction.

“Not bad for a rush job if I say so myself. Fucker deserved it." Mike said, giving the body one last glance before letting down the tarp.

Seth was surprised at how little he felt: there was nothing he saw wrong. The hobo was a vagrant, drunkard, and bigot. No one would miss him, especially the patrons at the bar. Did he even have any family? If he did, Seth reasoned that those ties were severed long ago for him to be in the position he was. Mr. Hobo was merely a waste of space and resources.

Am I that cold?

Mike pressed his chest against Seth's back, sandwiching him against the truck.

“I didn't like seeing him hit you like that. If you're angry at someone, you shouldn't turn it inwards…" Mike nuzzled the crook of Seth's neck. “Even after seeing this, you're still not afraid."

His warmth and pressure against his back made Seth feel weak. Seductively, last night replayed in his head. Seth turned to escape his grasp and Mike let him go.

“Let me teach you, Seth. You're the first person I've felt I could tell about this. The first to make me feel this way. I could help you make it feel alright about Al. You might not be able to have closure with him, but… how about you think about it while I take care of this?"

“Aren't you afraid that I'll call the police?" Seth gave him a sideways glance. “How do I know that you won't 'take care' of me if you get bored of me?"

Approaching cautiously, Mike ran his fingers from Seth's shoulders down his back. Again, Seth wanted those talons to dig into his back.

“You would've already tried calling them. You had plenty of opportunities to. I won't lie to you, if I thought that you were going to betray me, I wouldn't hesitate to rip out your throat like I did his. But that'd be the only reason why. You're too loyal to betray anyone like that, and I can feel something between us already. That's just who you are…. You should only show love to the ones you love."

His clawed hand segued onto Seth's hip and brought him close as he wrapped his other arm around him. The morning had been overcast, dark. Seth glanced upwards, expecting to see the balloon somewhere above, but there was nothing. It was far gone. There was no stress and no buzzing sounding in his skull. He bent his head downward into the crook of Mike's arm, his fur rich with comfort, warmth, and his scent. He knew what he wanted. He wanted to love Mike, he wanted to give Mike what he wanted. He wanted the world and wanted it to never be taken away from him. As with Al, he wanted Mike to be his world.

“…What did you have in mind then, Mike?"

Seth could almost feel Mike's grim smile on his neck as gruff words slithered into his ear.

---

IV

Forever Beyond Reach

“We are never enough to ourselves because we can never be enough to another. Any one of us walks into a room and reminds its occupant that we are not the one they most want to see. We are never the one. We are never enough."

• Gregory Maguire

When Seth had called work about Al, Mr. Owen was at a loss for words and fumbled out a condolence or two before asking how long Seth would be gone. The entire week seemed appropriate; Seth figured that would be enough time for the two of them. Mike had already disposed of Mr. Hobo through an undisclosed means, which was fine with Seth: he was not ready or willing to know how. But tonight was the night for them. Tonight was Mike's version of date night. Their first date night.

It was Tuesday evening. Mike had used Monday to do some last minute 'planning' for their special time together. Seth found it a little strange how Mike used fishing euphemisms for their date, but supposed it was no stranger than terms such as 'hunting' when humans referred to Anthros. He had also wanted Seth to plan date once they were done fishing, but to keep it a surprise.

“I want to see what you come up with. I want to see you for you!" Mike had said excitedly, then laced with inuendo, “I already got plans for you when we're done."

They had not seen each other since Sunday, leaving Seth time to think about it. When Mike picked him up, he could only wonder about their destination. Mike said it was a special place he had picked out just for Seth, one that he thought he would enjoy. The backroads were pitch black as he and Mike weaved through them on their way to it.

“It's alright to be a little scared for your first time, but I'm here. No need to worry. If you get in trouble, I'll be right here." Mike assured and prattled, ecstatic about their first time together. Seth had to admit to himself that he was as excited as Mike, though also admitted that he was mostly excited about being with Mike, about sharing this with him. He wanted to enjoy tonight as long as he could.

Their destination was a bar far from Water Town, known in its area as an out-of-the-way gloryhole for 'straight' men. Mike instructed Seth to go inside. The point was to find someone drunk and horny enough to follow Seth like a lost puppy. Mike caressed Seth as they parked; he began to feel reservations and doubts about how attractive Mike thought he was.

“Mike, this…what if I don't find anyone?"

“Are you kidding me? You look hot! And these wanna-be breeders will be dry humping you as soon as you walk through the door."

Seth blushed. “Thanks."

“Don't get fresh, though. Remember, I got plans for you." Mike was practically winking in his voice. But it was enough to encourage Seth to leave the truck and enter the bar.

This particular hole in the wall was called Duchene's, looking like a remodeled driftwood shed one might find in someone's backyard. Country music played from a stereo mounted in a corner above the counter. The bar was fairly empty, just a few bar flies, some men at the pool tables playing billiards, and a few who were obviously trolling. There were a few takers almost immediately as Seth sat at the counter, but he parried them, still having reservations. Seth had been on the verge of leaving and deciding that maybe this was not who he was.

“You married, too?"

The voice had surprised Seth. A pleasant baritone, though familiar, sounded from behind him when he ordered another water from the barkeeper. Introducing himself as Keith, Mr. Baritone grinned when he turned to meet him. Seth only now realized that he had never taken the ring off his left hand; he had forgotten about it being there when he left with Mike.

“I… Yes." Seth looked down at the offending piece of jewelry. “You know, Keith, you're the first person to actually ask a question instead of a come-on."

“Well, don't be so sure." Keith returned. “Not feeling fulfilled with the wife? Me neither. Gotta scratch that itch only a guy can get, right?"

Keith chuckled at his own joke. There was something about this man that rubbed Seth the wrong way, something about his voice that irritated him. His phrasing, tone, or choice of words? No, it was the sound paired with the insinuation of infidelity with his wife. Men like him would rather hide who they are, be homosexual in the shadows, than have their straight privilege taken away. The implication of entitlement needled Seth almost as much as his voice. The bearded man with a dadbod actually thought he was making a connection to another married man with the same once in a blue moon itch.

“You know, we can help each other out. Maybe be friends, get to know each other. Then the missus wouldn't be the wiser about us foolin' around!"

“Right?" Seth was starting to get bored, but realized that this man was the one. “Could always do with some male bonding."

“Good gravy! Someone who gets it! I've been with some gay guys before, but they just don't understand what it's like. The only ones who want to be discrete are some of the married ones, and even then, they're complete whores! Ha! Us straight guys gotta take care of each other's needs."

They struck a conversation easily enough. A fake name and a minimal backstory were drawn around Keith's assumption, and as Seth learned his backstory, he grew to hate him. And his voice was excruciating. Keith talked about taking Seth under his wing, the two of them taking their wives out on some double dates and keeping close to 'help' each other out from time to time. Keith was already drunk when their conversation had started. Seth watched him down a few more scotches as he sipped lightly on his water, telling Keith that it was gin. How drunk and horny he was, and he weaved into conversation non-stop. In every part of their conversation, Seth heard promises of a side commitment paired with marital betrayal of his spouse: Seth would be the homewrecker to Keith's Al.

Disgusting. Is this what Al was looking for when he cheated?

The thought gave Seth pause. Why was he thinking about Al with this guy? He brushed it off; it did not matter. What mattered was that he was ready to reel in this drunkard, he just had to bring him to the net. Seth recommended that they go somewhere more private, maybe out to his truck. Keith's hands were sticky with sweat and busy trying to grab at anything they could reach as they exited the bar. Entering the parking lot, they drew closer to the truck. Every drunken reach for his body made Seth feel sick.

Grab. Touch. Fondle. Keith's desperate attempts at physical contact were clumsy.

The truck was parked well away from everyone and when they arrived, Seth managed to maneuver Keith to the back tailgate.

“Why don't you just relax?" Seth suggested with a light push.

Keith plopped on the back bumper of the tailgate, smiling in anticipation of what should come next. A suggestive stroke and slow kneel. Mr. Baritone was so ready, so drunk, and so trusting. He never saw Mike's big arm as it wrapped around his neck. While Keith kicked and huffed, Seth stepped back. Mike's grimace loomed over Keith and stared at Seth with pride and lust, his arm constricting Keith's neck and finally putting him to sleep.

As Seth looked out the window, a muffled groan came from the backseat. They were well on their way back to his house, almost home. Mike had wrapped the man in a fresh tarp after duct-taping his extremities and mouth, leaving only his nose exposed to breathe. A shivered sniffle and exhale emanated as Keith regained consciousness. Feeling Mike's hand touch his, Seth opened his palm to hold it. Mike was all smiles, eyes wide with excitement, pleased with how their outing had gone so far.

“You did great back there. I knew that bar would be perfect for us. Look at him!" Mike reached with his hand to pat the quivering mass of a man on his side, then returned it to Seth's. “How'd you pick him out?"

Forcing a half smile, Seth looked at Mike. “Just someone random with an annoying voice."

They soon rounded the dirt road that led to Seth's house.

“Pull around to the back shed. I set up everything in there." Seth pointed to the back of the house as they arrived.

“Oh-ho! I like it already!" Mike whistled, driving around and parking in the shed's front.

As, they stepped out of the truck, Mike came behind Seth and put his hands on his shoulders, massaging them gently. After a moment, he moved his hands around his waist.

“I like how you think. A little fixing up and this would be a great kill room." Seth felt something drip onto his neck. Was Mike drooling? Closing his eyes, Seth leaned his head back to touch Mike's chin.

Is he drooling over me, or what we're about to do? Is this love, or is it the hunt? Does it matter? No, why should it?

Running his hands through Mike's arm-fur, then turning to move them up his neck and face, Seth reached up and pecked him on the mouth. Letting him go, Seth turned and went into the shed, letting Mike handle Mr. Fun-Bag. He could hear Mike fussing with him paired with a couple of loud thuds. Keith was struggling. Mike cursed at Keith in the background, though his voice indicated that he enjoyed his struggle. Taking a breath and letting out a shiver, Seth shrugged it off as he looked over his preparations. Finally bringing Keith inside, Mike laid him on the floor with a grunt before looking around.

A grin widened on Mike's face as he looked at the tools scattered throughout the shed. He clapped and rubbed his hands together.

“Where're we startin'?!"

“In there." Seth motioned to a large, metal water trough in the center of the floor. It had been equipped with straps and a spigot connected to a hose that led outside.

Mike strutted to Seth and put his arms around him. “You're sexy when you plan ahead. This to hold the blood?"

“Not exactly." Seth hugged him tightly, burying his face in his chest. “Would you put him in there? We can use the straps to hold him down."

Looking up to Mike, Seth could see him raise an eyebrow questioningly then give a side-eyed glance to the trough. His grin fell with the realization that he was looking at a less bloody evening. But he looked back to Seth and nuzzled him before setting Keith into the trough. During his preparations, Seth had brought his portable speaker for ambiance. He had to lull himself into that dark place he found in music, where heavy, slow beats pulsed through his body and melancholy words depressed his mind and body like a drug. He wanted to take his time for this. For love. He wanted to savor every last moment, because he knew that everything would be over too soon. One hand moved over tools that lay on the counter, finding the one he needed, but laid it back down. He was in love, wanted to be loved, and wanted to love. Picking up his phone, he opened his playlist and found the song he felt best fit. For tonight, he chose Forever by Trevor Something. The singer sighed through his lyrics and droning beat as the song looped:

'Just swallow this pill and forget what's real.

'The time will stand still and dreams are fulfilled.

'The angels will pray and God looks away.

'Your body decays, you wish you could stay.

'Take my hand and we could do this together.

'Don't be afraid, this will make everything better.

'I want this feeling forever.'

Seth swayed as the music crooned, soon feeling Mike's hands move across his body and muzzle gently pressing on his neck, tongue escaping his lips for a taste.

“You know, I started to have doubts about how this was going down, but I think I'm starting to like what you're doing here." Mikes soft words wound into Seth's ear. “Me, I like to just stick it in. But you, you're dangerous, aren't you? You like to take your time, don't you?"

“As long as I can." Seth demurred.

Mike removed Seth's shirt as he turned to meet him. The two of them swayed in each other's arms as the beat continued, Seth resting his head on Mike's chest and feeling his claws lightly run up and down his back. Keith was out of sight until they lazily danced over to the trough's rim. He was unwrapped, wide eyed, and naked in the trough, strapped down, taped, and gagged. Snot and tears dripped down his cheeks as he stared at the imposing Ursus. A tinge of pity echoed in the back of Seth's mind. As Seth reached for the spigot's valve, Mike caressed and nuzzled him, though Seth could sense that his eyes were on Keith as he did so. As he turned the valve, Keith's eyes tared past him to Mike. Even with Seth turning the valve, picking him out, and orchestrating tonight's events, he was unseen. Lazily, he though about how most people could never see the danger standing right before them. But it often lurks in the blind spots of our mind's eye and strikes out from those dark corners. Water trickled down onto Keith's head in a slow pour. As they pulled away, a sobbing could be heard from the tough's bottom.

“I love you, Seth. We're gonna be great together." Mike cooed in his ear.

“I love you, too, Mike." Seth turned to him and clutched him, breathing in the scent from his chest-fur, then grabbed something on the counter behind them. He wrapped his arms around Mike's neck, eyes watering, face still buried. “Mike?"

“Yeah?"

“I want you to leave your mark on me."

“Wh-What? What do you…."

“You're claws, Mike. They'll be the last ones I'll ever need. Just one hand, just on my shoulder. You told me not to hurt myself, but I want you to. Now. Please, Mike, do this for me. Make your love real for me. Show me how much you do…." Seth looked up to him.

Mike eyed him for a moment when Seth reached, kissing him deeply. When Seth pulled away, Mike's expression changed from quizzical to ravenous.

“Anything you want, Seth."

With one arm, Mike clutched him tightly, and with the other, he perched his claws on Seth's right shoulder. He pushed in his talons slowly, finally penetrating Seth's skin, but not too deeply. He made a slow pull downward towards the center of his back. Seth clenched his teeth, holding his face against Mike's shoulder. Love. He found love; he was sure. The slow pull continued, Mike licking him all the while. When his claws were finally removed, Seth kissed him again, tears filling up his eyes. Though the pain was sharp, he did not want it to end. Did not want this moment to end. But he loved him and would keep him with him forever.

“Say it again." Seth quivered. “Tell me you love me."

“I love you, Seth." Mike whispered, then rasped as the box cutter blade entered his throat and cut down his carotid artery.

Out of instinct, he threw Seth back and grabbed his neck, unable to stop the bleeding and stumbling to the ground. Supporting himself with his other arm, Mike tried to stay up, but was losing consciousness. His gaze met Seth's as he stood over him, covered in his blood and still clutching the blade. Mike tried to rasp out words, but only wheezed. Tears streamed down Seth's face as he went over to him, Mike collapsing. With life leaving his eyes, Seth sat, positioning Mike's head on his lap to hold him and cry as his brain died. He had read that the human mind took fifteen minutes to completely die and that the last sense to leave was the sense of touch. Seth wanted Mike to know that he was there until the end. He hugged Mike's lifeless body and placed him on his back when he was sure he was gone, removing his hand from his throat.

Bubbling sounded from the trough. The water had covered Keith's face and was nearing the top of its container. Seth shut the spigot's valve and looked into the water. Keith was struggling, but he was no matter. The man, like the hobo, was a waste of space, only worse: he masqueraded as a committed husband while cheating on his wife behind her back. What was worse, he wanted to have a 'friend' to parade in front of her. No, Seth was doing her a favor. He cleaned himself in the water before taking a cup and filling it from the trough's contents, Keith's face turning blue, on the verge of popping.

Washing my hands. Heh. Old habits die hard, don't they?

Seth walked over to a cabinet, opened it, and pulled out the bottle of pills that Mike had left in his garbage on Sunday. Al's name was stained with some unknown liquid, but the rest of pills were there. Paired with some Percocet Seth had found, the remaining Ambien would pull him under as he had originally intended.

One. Two. Three. The remainder. The Percocet. Gulps of bloody water in between.

Medicine was gone; no one was there to save him again. He went to Mike and laid down beside him, taking one of his arms and wrapping it around him as he cuddled up to his side. His fur was sticky with blood, but his body was still warm. Seth found a dry patch to snuggle against, breathing in his scent and cologne.

Seth knew theirs was a love that was not meant to last. None ever are. Mike loved the hunt more than him, he saw that. There was only one logical outcome to their relationship, however he looked at it. But in this moment, as sleep again tugged at him and as his breathing slowed, he knew it would last, frozen in time. They would decay together, Mike's fur would remain, and he would be here. Never mind that they might be found eventually, all that mattered was that they were together. He would have Mike with him; he would not feel alone anymore. Seth knew that love had many forms, that it was expressed in infinite ways. But this was how he had known and expressed his. All he had ever known. And here, curled beside Mike, his love would be memorialized in one of many modes of expression. He would remember that we always hurt and are hurt by the ones we love the most, even when that love appears just beyond reach.

Seth closed his eyes, sleep taking him at last to join his void with its, Mike's, and Al's.