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Part 2

Closing the fridge, I turned and looked out the window, getting lost in the slate gray evening sky and the way the snow flakes went sailing through the air in an almost perfect synchronicity, clogging up the streets and making it impossible to walk. I hated the snow. I hated this town, and I hated everything in it. There wasn't even one redeeming quality.

In this small town, in the middle of nowhere, I was caught somewhere between the arctic tundra and the picturesque place this was supposed to be. But, it wasn't pretty here; it was nearly barren, and one bad blizzard away from being abandoned.

I'd met everyone there was to meet. I knew almost everyone by name, and by face. I knew their wives, and I knew their husbands. And, who else did I have a chance with here, in this frozen hell of town? No self respecting person would live here out of their own free will. I was a fish in a shallow pond, or a bird without wings, or a bear without any money. I truly wondered how I'd ever meet some one new in this small town covered with more miles of ice than civilization.

I didn't have the money to move, and I didn't have the money for a new apartment anywhere else, and I didn't even have the money to live here. Sighing, I turned out of the small, dark, and crowded kitchen to walk into the slightly less dark, slightly less crowded living room. It wasn't even seven at night yet, but I stripped off my shirt and threw it on the couch before walking towards the bathroom, unbuttoning my pants as I did so.

The air was cold against my bare fur, but I was too sullen to even shiver as I pulled aside the shower curtain and stepped in. Turning it on, I winced as the sharp knives of cold water battered my already freezing body. Turning the knob more, I kept my eyes shut and shivered silently waiting for it to heat up, but it didn't come.

Growling angrily, my eyes snapped open and I turned the temperature control as hot as it would go. When nothing happened after several seconds, I roared again and flung my fist into the dirty tile. Collapsing against the back of the shower, I slid down the wall and pressed my palms into my eyes, feeling all the things I'd been repressing for the last few days surging forward. My hand throbbed so painfully that I was afraid to unfurl it.

I was so alone in this damn house, and in this town. I was used to hearing the television on in the other room, or hearing something else walking around the house, but now I could hear the pipes rattle, and the floor creak, and every single thought that I wished I didn't have.

I was a bear, I was supposed to be big, and burly, and strong. I wasn't supposed to let anyone know I hurt, or that I had problems, or that I had feelings. I knew Brian would show up some time tonight to apologize, but all I'd be able to do was clear my throat, and clench my jaw, and pretend I was fine. I'd have to act like the person I'd been with for four years was nothing more than a quaint memory.

Being gay, I had to try even harder to be manly, and fit into my stereotype. I had to work out my feelings with weights, and shoveling, and wearing tight shirts that showed off my muscles. I wasn't supposed to talk about how I felt or what I thought. I couldn't have feelings, or emotions, and I wasn't supposed to care about love, even though that's all I really thought about.

For the longest time in my life, I never really had anyone. I'd never met my father, and my family was in constant feud, and my mother was never home. All I had was Brian, and I'd grown to rely on him, and I'd become so dependent on him, that I had no idea what to do with myself now that I was alone again. He was the only one I was able to talk to, but now he was gone. I couldn't talk to anyone else, because no one ever took my feelings seriously. It was always a joke to them, because I looked manly, so I had to be manly.

Brian was going to knock on the door any minute now, and I wanted him to just leave me alone, but I also wanted him to stay and never leave. I didn't know what I'd do if he actually moved back to the south. I wanted him back so much that I hadn't even asked him for the keys, even though I yelled at him, and told him I hated him, and never wanted to see his stupid, but cute smile again.

The pipes rattled in the wall, and the hot water came out with full force. It burned, and made my skin prick with needles, but I still didn't have the energy to get up from the corner. My breathing calmed, and I stopped crying, but I still felt like an idiot.

I was better than this, I knew I was. I was never the best or the brightest, and I never got a perfect GPA in school, but I tried. I never gave up, because I wasn't afraid of working hard. Letting my face fall into my hands, I groaned. I'd only tried so hard in school because it was something to keep my mind occupied, and something to keep me from focusing on who I was, or what I was, or where I came from.

I wasn't anything that I was supposed to be. I wasn't strong, or smart, or anything. All I did was complain and get toppled over by the smallest set backs. Brian; he was quick, and smart, and efficient. When he broke up with me, he didn't even bat an eyelash before he had everything figured out, and he took his clothes to a hotel, leaving me to cry in a shower. Like an idiot.

The shampoo made my fur feel even worse, but all I wanted to do was get out of the water, so I just ignored the conditioner. I didn't have to look good for anyone anymore. I had no job, no boyfriend, and no friends. I complained about everything, but what was I supposed to do? Everything was so hard to deal with, especially now that it was being piled on all at once.

I wanted to be more like Brian, and I wished I was more suited to being alone. I wished I was just able to get over this, but as I opened the closet door in my room, I realized just how pathetic I was. Searching through the mixture of clothes that hung limply in the rising heat, I looked for something of mine that was comfortable, but didn't make me look like a bum.

Giving in, I walked over to my dresser and grabbed a pair of sweat pants and an oversized shirt. I eyed the TV as I passed through the living room, looking for the newspaper so I could hopefully start to look for a job and start to put this all behind me. At least that would allow me to ignore the giant countdown in my mind's eye, the one that marked Brian's inevitable arrival.

He always needed to be the one in the right, and he needed to be able to say he tried everything to make it work. It was all so he could look back and feel like he never had regrets. I'd never really been one for regrets, and when it came down to it, the only thing I regretted was holding my words because I was afraid to hurt someone, even if the words were true. It bothered me about as much as it bothered Brian to admit he might be wrong.

I walked downstairs and knocked on Mrs. Webb's door, even though it was against my better instincts. I couldn't find the newspapers, meaning Brian had probably thrown them out, even though I was the one that bought them and read them. Thankfully, the old fox was too interested in her show to ask me why I was home so early. She directed me to a stack about as tall as my forearm and I cautiously carried them up the narrow stairwell, dropping them onto the corner of the battered coffee table. Throwing myself on the couch in front of them, I thumbed through and tried to find anything, regardless of how demeaning it was. As long as it meant I wasn't reliant on Brian or my mother, it'd be worth it in the end.

I'd managed to write down several numbers before there was that long awaited knock on the door. It removed me from my trance and echoed loudly for a second as I just stared at an advertisement looking for a bartender. I had half a mind to just ignore him until he went away or came in. Writing down the number and description, I told myself it wouldn't be too bad, because I could possibly use some money to take classes and actually learn what I was doing.

Like I figured, the door lock clicked and creaked open, but all I could manage was a quick glance up at him. He clenched his hands in the pockets of his jacket, pushing it into himself as he half shrugged, a slight smile crossing his muzzle. I gave back the best smile I could before looking back through the newspapers without word. I didn't really want to play into his manipulation game and forget that I was mad at him.

"Kurt?" he said and I just answered distractedly as I leaned further forward into the newspapers, trying to lose myself in it's words instead of Brian's. I flipped the page and ran my finger down it as he just fidgeted around, hoping I'd answer, but I didn't, "are you alright? You don't look too good."

"I'm fine. I got dumped and fired in the same month. I'd be outside walking it off it it wasn't so cold," I mumbled, closing the newspaper and folding it. Placing it into another stack, I pushed myself further back into the couch and looked at him, watching the way my words stung.

"I know," he said softly, the hurt I'd caused was evident, but I still didn't want to believe him. I wanted him back, but I didn't want to admit I'd even lost him, because that would require admitting that we'd changed. I didn't want that, I just wanted to go back to being happy, "I just wanted to say I'm sorry about everything that happened. I know it's partly my fault and I just came to... ask if you wanted me to take you to town on my way to work tomorrow, so you can look for another job."

"Yea," I muttered, inwardly wondering just how long this would last. Wondering just how long would he'd be willing to take some of the blame before he just began piling it all back on me, "yea, that'd great."

By the way he was looking at me, I knew the next thing that would escape his lips, and I wasn't sure if I'd be able to stand strong. He pushed his hands closer together in his pockets as he rocked on his toes, looking at me with deep eyes. My eyes dropped back to the papers and my stomach churned painfully because I could already hear his voice in my head, and I already know I'd never be able to turn him down.

"It'd probably be easier if I stayed the night," he said and I pulled another newspaper onto the table with a thump, unfolding it to the middle pages, "only if it wouldn't make you uncomfortable. I'd sleep on the couch. It'd just be easier since the snow is supposed to get worse and it's easier to shovel out with two people instead of one."

I just nodded and looked at the black words printed across the white pages, not really understanding anything I was looking at. I wasn't even able to properly read more than one sentence at a time, because I kept reading the same line over and over again. It just bothered me that he tried to make it sound like he wasn't as lonely as I was, or he didn't want it as badly as I did. But, I guess that's where we were alike; we don't like to admit when we're hurt. He likes to try to talk things out, but I try to avoid it. Sometimes I wished that everything in life was as black and white as these boring pages.

He unzipped his jacket slowly, pronouncing his anguish and mine as I just continued to look blankly at the pages. As he just stood there, looking at me, waiting for me to offer him a seat, I wondered what life would be like if we'd never ended, and I wondered what it'd be like if it was really as shallow as these countless pages.

Still feeling more numb than anything the winter cold could do to me, I folded the paper, making sure it was perfectly neat before I put it back on the unread pile. Licking the roof of my mouth nervously, I pushed over on the couch, resting my head in my hands as my legs held up my arms. The hardwood floor was tarnished and destroyed from the years of winter seeping in; it was yet another thing I couldn't afford to fix.

He sat beside me with his legs crossed and what seemed to be a mile of personal space. We both had things that we wanted to do, ranging from holding each other, to hitting each other across the face, but all the unspoken words kept us still, as if finally gaining the courage to speak them would ease the tension. But, neither of us were strong enough because we'd grown so dependent on our unspoken agreements that, when faced with an actual problem, it was like we forgot how to speak and we just went right to arguing.

The words that ran through my head never quite seemed to give the feelings that I meant. When I wanted to tell him that I wanted him back, all I heard was my voice telling him to leave. And, when I wanted him to leave, the words always seemed to say just how much I wished he'd stay and put this behind us. I just wished there was an easy answer.

"Do you want to talk about... anything?" he asked as the silence had become so painful that I had to fight with myself to stay on the couch beside him. All I wanted to do was curl up on my bed and go to sleep, and I wasn't sure if I wanted him with me or not.

"Will talking make things to go back to normal?" I returned, the weight on my back pressing me further into my hands. I didn't want to fall back into this cycle with him; where we fought, then made up, were happy for a few weeks, then fought again, but it was all I really had going for me right now. I wasn't quite sure at what point the arguing became the defining point of our relationship, but I did know that the apologizing always made me know that some part of him still cared.

"It might," he said quietly. I looked over to him through the thick air and saw that he was trying to smile, using some of that happiness I'd been fumbling for in his eyes. I could feel it, but it seemed to get lost somewhere deep inside of me, so I just looked back at the floor. The couch springs groaned mournfully as he sank into it.

"Would you even let it go back to normal if we talked about it?" I mumbled, my palms now pressing my ears against my skull as I kept sinking down even further. I knew asking him to leave would just start another fight and I was so exhausted I'd end up being an easy target. I wouldn't even have the energy to raise my voice.

"I -" he started, and I was drawn to the sincere softness of his voice. Looking over to him, I watched him run his palm along the side of his muzzle as he leaned closer to me, "I'd try."

"Why did we even start fighting?" I asked, finally gaining enough strength to sit back on the couch and fold my arms across my chest.

To think I loved him so much that I knew everything about him was what always set me up for disaster. I always thought he would be the same, and I always thought he'd never change, so I always thought that I'd get the same reaction. I always thought I knew who he was, or what he wanted, or what would hurt him, or help him, but I was still genuinely surprised every time he did something that didn't sound like him. And to admit that he could try to change was something I wasn't used to.

I knew how hard it was to fight the urge to argue because it was always so much easier to be angry than it was to be pensive. It was so much easier to see their faults than your own. And because I knew him as well as I knew myself, I had to resist the urge to use my anger to hurt him because I knew I could do it without hurting myself.

"Because our lives changed and we weren't quite ready for it," he said, looking over my scribbled handwriting on the loose sheet of paper, "I think we both tried to ignore the fact that we were unhappy with the decision for so long that we forget to get used to it. I mean, back home I was a district manager and you were an assistant manager, but here, I'm a store clerk and you were a waiter. After two years, we finally blew up."

"You're right," I sighed, letting my hands fall into my lap as he looked at me with an indecipherable stare that was lost between love and despair, "and it's not your fault I got fired. I should've just let it go and walked away."

"I should've waited until you were out of work," he mumbled, sitting against the back cushion, his arms about a foot from mine, "or I should've just not started arguing. I just had a bad day and I ended up taking it out on you."

As we sat there with our shallow apologies, I knew that we really weren't as sorry as we wanted to be. I knew I was still mad at him, and I knew he was still mad at me, but we just wanted it to all be forgotten, because we wanted to feel good about something. We wanted each other back so we could have each other to use when we were lost, and alone, and afraid.

I really didn't know what to do, because we were stuck in that awkward moment after an apology where you're still angry, but you had come down just enough to want to hug them. I didn't know what he wanted me to do, because I knew that I still just wanted to be left alone to get some sort of bearing on where this was going to go.

"I can move back in for the time being, if you want, to make things a little easier with money. I can try to pay for the apartment until you get back on your feet."

It was bittersweet to hear him say what he'd said, the way he said it. He missed me, and he wanted me back, but he was just as afraid of the results as I was. He was soft, and hopeful, but I had a feeling that all the memories he had running through his head right now were the ones of times back home, back when everything just seemed to work. I knew, because they were the only memories I could seem to think of.

He had been right, everything changed when we moved here, and it wasn't for the better. If only we were strong enough, and sure enough of ourselves, to start all over from the beginning again.

"What would that do, Brian?" I wondered aloud, but he remained silent and twiddled his thumbs as I desperately searched to the answer I knew we both needed, "all that would do is build up my hopes, and once again make me too dependent on you, just so you could move back home."

"I don't have to move," he mumbled to himself, rubbing his neck shyly as he tried to look anywhere but at me. I also knew how hard it was for him to admit that he'd only said something out of spite, "I don't want to move. I actually kind of, sort of almost like it here."

"You're only saying that because I'm here. I don't want to think that you want me back if you're just lying about it to make me feel better, or to make yourself feel better."

"I might be saying it because you're here, but you've always made me think things I'm not used to thinking," he stated strongly as our eyes locked for the first time of the night, "ugh, I don't know. I've just been thinking about it a lot lately, and sitting alone in a hotel room really isn't me, and I know that you don't like it either. What does being apart really solve? We still argue sometimes, but we'll always argue about something because we're both stubborn, and thickheaded, and in love... I hope. It's just that when I see you, and we do this, and just talk, we always end up fine in the end."

"I take it that you want me back because I don't have to split my time between you and my job anymore?" I grumbled, doing everything I could not to fall back into the trap, but I could feel my resolve slipping as I watched his hand shift, like he was trying to stop himself from reaching for mine. I folded them in my lap and bit the inside of my lip.

"No - well, maybe a little," he said with a faint smile, but it faded away the moment he saw I didn't find the same humor in it, "I just didn't know you were working so hard for me. I thought, well, that you were doing it because you were trying to pull away from me. I thought that because you resented our new life, you were starting to resent me."

"Brian," I sighed, rolling my eyes, giving into my urge to pull him closer. He rested his head on my shoulder as I hugged him with one arm and he held me around the waist, "if I was pushing you away, I would have told you. You know how much I care about you. I shouldn't have to still tell you how much I love you, you should just trust me enough that, if there were a problem, I'd tell you."

"I know you shouldn't have to say you love me, but that doesn't mean I can't like it when you do," he said with a smirk and a kiss on my cheek, "I love the way you say it. It's so shy, and cute, even when you look like a hobo."

"Thanks, I think," I chuckled softly, feeling the way I had just a few moments ago; completely unsure if this would last, or if this was just because we both felt vulnerable and sorry for ourselves.

"No problem," he whispered to my chest as his hand snuck under my shirt, maybe looking for warmth, maybe looking for something else, something he could use to prove to himself that we still felt the same about each other, despite the things that had happened.

I knew what he wanted from me, but I wasn't quite ready, and I knew what kind of answers he wanted, but I wasn't even sure that I knew them myself. I knew he wanted me to tell him we'd be together forever, but, as of right now, I didn't even know if that conclusion would be the truth because I wasn't sure I completely trusted what we were once again.

"What are we going to do?" I asked, knowing it's wasn't a question either of us wanted to answer, or even knew how to answer.

"I guess that's up to you," he said, holding me a little tighter, hoping it'd pull me closer to the answer we both knew I'd probably end up saying.

"Brian, we can't depend on each other so much. What's going to happen if we end up fighting again? What if it's in front of your work next time? We need some kind of plan that we can try to stick to."

"I know," he agreed, pulling his hand from my shirt and pretending to scratch his nose, "we can cancel our phones, and the cable, and put that money away, just in case. We can put away the money we don't use a week, too, I guess. We'll feel poorer than usual at first, but that's nothing new, right? Maybe I can start dressing like a hobo, too."

"Looking like a hobo takes commitment, and you like your fur looking shiny too much to just stop showering," I said with a good laugh as I ran my hand up and down his side. It was the moments like these that I loved the most, but they were also the moments I always seemed to forget when I was glaring at him, shouting as loud as I could.

"Yea, I guess you're right. Let's just take baby steps."

"Sounds like a solid enough plan," I concurred, resting my lips atop his head, distractedly watching the way his finger was twirling around on my stomach, tracing the creases of it, "but what are we doing to do about us?"

"Maybe after I get out of work and you're done job hunting, we could go out for dinner somewhere?"

"We could do that," I said, but I looked at the thermostat that I'd turned on when I got home, and I knew we didn't have the money for it. If it made things at least a little bit normal, I figured I could try to work it out later.

"Then it's a date," he smirked, pulling himself up and patting me on the leg, "but, right now, I think I'm going to go take a shower. Care to join me?"

"I already took one," I said blithely while he stood and looked at me with a frown and a slouched back, "and isn't that something you do after your first date?"

"I suppose so," he grumbled and I smiled slightly, feeling my eyelids being dragged down, "can I at least sleep on the bed, or do you want me to sleep on the couch?"

"You can sleep in the bed if you can fit," I muttered, looking at my hands as he cocked his head. Looking back into his eyes, I rubbed my neck and decided to continue before he thought I was calling him overweight, "I bought a newer, smaller one."

"Oh," he breathed listlessly, trying to mask the feelings behind his voice. Looking back, it didn't really help what I'd just said about not trying to push him away, but I had been feeling lonely and sorry for myself, so I did it without thinking.

I could tell him that we could return the mattress and we'd get a bigger one, but that would mean I'd taken him back completely. And if I just kept it, he'd think I was just trying to finish off the relationship. Who knew a stupid mattress could cause such a problem?

"I didn't do it because -" I started, but I stopped to try to find the right words. There was no way I could make this right on my own, so all I could do was hope that he had felt the same way I did and he'd understand.

"It's alright, I understand," he said, looking at the floor and I was sure that I'd already managed to mess it up, or send us careening in the wrong direction, but he looked back at me and didn't look upset, rather, he was embarrassed, "it felt like it was going to stay the same forever. I had actually been looking into driving home to see if it felt any... different."

"I don't think anywhere would really be the same without you," I mumbled to our feet and he chuckled as he ran his hand through the fur on top of my head.

"Putting it on a little strong for someone who hasn't even gone on their first date," he joked and I smiled, better able to fight the downward tug of my lips.

I knew it was probably just the lousy day talking, or the fact that I hadn't eaten dinner, but I had a nauseous feeling in my stomach that Brian was taking this all too well, and was being too forgiving, or too uncharacteristic, almost like this was all a charade.

"Maybe a little," I agreed and he turned to walk away, swinging his hips a lot more than he normally did, trying to get me to join him. I still stuck by what I'd said, even if he joked about it. I just hoped he knew I was being serious. Nowhere would really be the same without him.

"I'm going to go take that shower now, but I'll leave the door unlocked, in case you change your mind."

He disappeared and I was pulled back into the newspaper like it was a magnet. Even though we'd calmed our nerves and stopped the fighting just enough to bring back our banter, I couldn't help but feel that this wasn't anything more than a bandage. Somewhere, deep inside of me, I knew that as long as we stayed here, and as long as we stayed in the cold, we'd stay cold-hearted, no matter how thick or thin our relationship was.

But, I really had no idea on how to get out of here, at least, not yet. Perhaps I'd just have to put up with the seemingly endless winter and the distance between us for a few more months, while we saved some money, and maybe, just maybe, at the end of it all, there'd still be enough of us left to save.

With a long sigh, I just folded the papers and tossed it right back into the unread pile. My mind was too fragmented to do anything tonight, and hopefully a night of sleep would help everything settle into place. Maybe I'd find some of the confidence that Brian had taken with him when he left, because even though I heard the shower turn off, and saw him walk into the bedroom, I knew he wasn't really, fully here just yet.

Turning off the thermostat, I turned off the light and disappeared into the bedroom, squeezing against the wall as he buried his head in my chest and ran his fingers through the fur under my shirt pensively. Reaching down to pull the covers over us, I looked out the window at the snow that had indeed picked up, and pulled him in closer to my chest.

Before too long, I heard his snoring drift through the room, and a little after, I felt him begin to drool on my chest like he always did when he was exhausted. It didn't bother me, because all it really did was remind me that I had him back, even if for some unknown reason it felt wrong. All I knew was that I shouldn't have been complaining because now I had my independence, and I had my distance, even though I had him.

Money was tight and I had no job, but things had always been difficult, so if we could get through this, we could get through anything. And, eventually, one day, I'd just wake up and everything would feel right again. If I was lucky, I may even be back home when that happened.