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The next weekend, David called Arden. To Arden, that week had seemed as interminable as the previous ten months, but the worry and fear disappeared like a puff of magic smoke the minute he heard the fennec's voice.

"Hey Arden." The fox sounded tired, but there was a tentative hope in his tone. "So, um, look, I'm really-"

"David. I'm sorry to interrupt, but can we not do this on the phone? I have a lot I want to say, and I really can't do this this way. Can I come over?"

"Oh. Sure. Yeah."

In the movies, conversations like they had that afternoon were always portrayed in montages, with touching music, and hazy cross-dissolves to show time passing. There were transparent images of laughing, and crying, and hugging, and yes, sometimes yelling and finger pointing all floating together. But at last, it would end with a deeper understanding, a swell of cinematic chords, lessons learned, and life would go on, better for the experience.

In reality, conversations like they had that afternoon were long, drawn out, difficult, and extremely uncomfortable; at least Arden thought so. They had to talk about death. They had to talk about honesty. They had to talk about integrity and friendship. And through it all, Arden lied.

Not on purpose, not really. Not actively. He simply didn't contradict David when he made certain assumptions. He simply couldn't. A lie of omission. A life of fear had precluded being honest with anyone, and in this case, had been part of the reason there had been misunderstandings in the first place, or at least that's what Arden told himself. So he didn't get anything so facile as a Howlywood montage as he reconnected with his dying friend. But even so, he was determined to make up for it with constancy and unshakable support.

"David. I'm kinda mad at you," the wolf said simply.

The fox's ears drooped, and his tail stopped wagging, something it had been doing since Arden had arrived. "I know."

"No. I don't think you do. I have no idea what Tim told you, but I want to be very clear here. I'm not mad at you for not telling me you're sick. I'm not mad at you for not calling me back when you were tired. I'm mad at you because you thought so little of me that you would think I would reject you because of your illness. And that I wouldn't be smart enough to figure it out in the first place! I mean, god, David. What the hell kind of crap wolf do you think I am?" Arden's voice broke. "How could you think that of me?"

"I know. It's just...I knew you had a problem with me being gay at first, and I thought that you would have a bigger problem if you knew I had FIDS. I mean gay friends abandoned me when they found out. So I thought since you're straight, you certainly wouldn't want to have anything to do with me. People get really weird around terminal illness, you know?" The fennec's voice was low; as low as his energy, as low as his self-esteem.

Arden's fur was pricking him again unbearably, but he pressed on. His friend needed him; his problems were more important.

"Well, listen to me, bud. I don't care that you're sick."

The fennec's large ears fairly popped off the top of his head they flew up so fast.

"NO! NO! I didn't mean it that way! God no! I mean you're not your illness - not to me. The fact that you're sick is terrible, and I feel awful for you, but I don't see you as your illness first, not even a close second. Your illness is something you have, not something you are. You are my friend, you are important to me, and I will never reject you because you have FIDS or anything else. And frankly, I think anyone who does was not your friend in the first place."

The fox's tail started to twitch a bit, and then started a slow wag, almost imperceptible at first, then growing more pronounced, as his large ears started to rise to their usual pride of place. "Really?" he asked hopefully.

"Definitely. If there is anything, anything you need from me, I will try and do it, David. I'm in this for the long haul, and the rest of the world be damned. I hope you can believe that."

"I'm sorry," said the little vulpine softly. "And. Thank you. It means a lot. Really."

On impulse, Arden opened his arms and carefully embraced the emaciated vulpine before him. Astonishingly, he felt like he were made of chicken bones and wiry fur, and Arden had a hard time discerning if this were real, or if he were simply imagining the fragile, wraithlike specter in his arms.

From here on out, the wolf promised himself, he would be the perfect, altruistic friend, and support David no matter what, come what may. It frightened and exhilarated him in equal measure, but he knew one thing: he was going to be better than all those fair-weather 'friends' who abandoned him because he was a good wolf, and because David needed it. He was going to prove to him that there were some people on this dust ball of a planet who had integrity, and who would remain constant, no matter what; who would give, expecting nothing in return; who would love unconditionally. He would restore David's faith in furkind. The fox would not leave this earth, whenever that would be, thinking no one but his head-case boyfriend would stand by his side.

Arden could have no idea how that resolve would be tested, nor how far he would go in his quest. And there was no way for him to know, that when all was said and done, that this friendship, and his promise, would literally change his life forever.