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Part 3

For a few moments after I woke up the next morning, I was dazed and confused because I couldn't see Brian in the dark room. The sky was still the same abiding gray, but it was a little brighter and it at least looked like the snow had stopped. The streets had been plowed about half way through the night, and the few hours that had passed since then allowed a good bit to pile atop the ice.

My first instinct as I slid out of the bed to look at the ice crystals clinging to the window panes was that my mind had played some cruel trick on me, and I'd only imagined him in the first place. Turning around on the spot, scratching my head dumbly, I looked around the room and still didn't see him, even though I hadn't expected to.

Grabbing clothes from the closet and getting dressed as I staggered through the living room, I got to the kitchen just as I was pulling the shirt over my head. Jumping back slightly, I stared at Brian, who was standing in front of me, beside the fridge, already dressed with his coat covered in snow.

"I already went and shoveled the car out," he said with a smile, and all I could bring myself to try to do was blink the exhaustion from my eyes. Having been pressed into the wall the whole night, I didn't exactly get the best night of sleep.

"Thanks," I yawned. He came closer to me and stood on his toes so he could kiss my cheek. Smiling back with falling eyelids, I tried to flex the kinks out of my back, "you didn't have to do it by yourself, though, you could have woke me up."

"It's alright," he effervesced, brushing his hand against mine as he passed back by into the living room, "coffee is in the pot and I put your breakfast on a plate in the microwave because I didn't want to wake you just yet."

"Thanks," I mumbled, walking over to the cupboard to grab a coffee cup so I could pour myself some.

He always did make coffee a lot better than I did; I'm pretty sure I was the only one out there who could manage to make it taste burnt. There were eggs and hash browns in the microwave that were still warm, so I took it with me to the couch, feeling a lot better than I had last night. The pile of unread newspapers didn't even irk me in the slightest.

"I wanted to try to make up for last night," he said after I had finished and brought the plate back into the kitchen to drop it into the sink.

I stood in front of the television with my hands buried in my back pocket as I smirked stupidly, actually feeling myself getting somewhat giddy, waiting for dinner tonight. I knew we couldn't afford it, but I had a good feeling that I'd manage to find somewhere that would hire me today.

"You didn't have to," I said, walking up to him as he stood in front of the couch. I hugged him tightly, ignoring the water that seeped into my shirt. His head only came up to the bottom of my muzzle, but it let me rest my head on his, which I knew he liked, "but thanks again."

I held him for a long time, or perhaps it only felt like a long time, because I had wondered if it could really be this easy. I wondered just what I'd done to make the things fall back together so quickly, and what I'd done to deserve someone so apologetic and understanding.

The clock told me we had to leave, so we pulled apart, albeit a little reluctantly. I grabbed my coat and the papers from the table and followed him down the stairs, watching the way the long fur atop his head ruffled as we descended. It made my heart beat just a little faster as my entire chest felt like it had caved in.

Our past and all our good memories caught up with me as we walked by Mrs. Webb's door and I couldn't help myself from smiling. When we'd first went to that coffee shop all those years ago, he'd been so honest, and open, and trusting, even though we were only just meeting the real person behind the mask of alcohol.

He'd said that he hoped that what we'd done the night before wouldn't change things. He'd said that he wanted to take me out to dinner, and the movies, and a few more dates before it ever happened again. He'd said that he wanted me to know that he cared about me for more than what I could give him, or what I had already given him.

He'd always been a charmer, and he'd always been charismatic, and even when we had our petty fights, there was just something beautiful about it. There was just something I always saw in his eyes when the fog cleared and we went back to the lovers we remembered. Even when he was angry, you could see that he still cared about you more than anyone else in the world.

The door on my side of the car slammed and I leaned back in the seat with a peaceful grin, drawing in a long breath as I turned to look at him, admiring the way his dark fur stuck out against the ice. Resting my hand on his thigh, he brought his attention to me and completely ignored his hand as it rest on the ignition. Reaching over and holding the back of his neck, I pulled him into a soft kiss before pulling away just enough to look into his eyes.

"Sorry, I couldn't wait," I said as he smiled back at me, his hand dropping away from the key.

"I guess there's always other things we could do after our date," he muttered in return as I kissed his forehead and let him get back to driving. I didn't want him to leave, but I didn't want him to be late for work either.

"How am I supposed to focus on job hunting with that thought hanging over my head?" I chuckled as he pulled out of the driveway.

"I'm just trying to think of it as a reward," he said as the road faded away from my mind and we drove in a comfortable silence for a while. He'd probably drop me off at the café, and the hand in my pocket told me that he'd slipped me some money without telling me. I would have tried to give it back if I didn't already have the feeling that I'd be needing a lot of caffeine to get through the next few days.

As he stopped on the side of the main road and I was about to get out, I leaned over to kiss him, whispering into his ear about how I'd thank him for the great morning. He smirked at me deviously as I backed up onto the slush filled pavement and into the glow coming from the open curtains of the coffee shop.

Ordering a coffee, I looked around and saw that I had the option to sit anywhere I wanted, so I sat under the window, as far from the counter as possible. The tables were small and round, making it impossible to unfold my newspapers, and the overhead lights were dim and hung at odd intervals along the trellised ceiling, making it even harder to read.

I knew it was too early to call most places, so I just sat around, sipping my coffee idly, wondering what it'd be like to move away with Brian to somewhere sunny and warm. Maybe we could go to the east coast, somewhere with both mild winters and mild summers, so that we could get the best of both worlds.

The snow wasn't really that bad, if it came in short bursts for a few days at a time. We could move to a bigger city that actually could keep the streets plowed, and if we moved to an apartment complex, we'd never have to worry about shoveling again. If we were in a city, we could actually go to different restaurants when we wanted to eat out.

It was a great thought, and it was a thought that made me realize how I only missed home because Brian had been with me. Everything else about the south, or my old life, before Brian just seemed fuzzy and unimportant. Almost like I'd been planning my entire life for him to be in it, and, now that I was thinking about it, I realized that it was true.

My coffee cup had run dry about half an hour ago, but I still sipped from it occasionally as I thought about what our house would look like. Throwing the cup in the trash to my right absently, I looked at the article on the front page of the newest paper about juvenile diabetes.

Would Brian and I ever adopt kids? I knew we both wanted them, but would we ever be content enough with our income to do that? Right now, I wasn't even worried about if we'd still be together, because I knew we would. Our little break had fixed everything and made us realize just how much we wanted each other, and how much we needed each other.

My hands shook from an indistinguishable mixture of nerves, and cold, and happiness, and caffeine. I didn't know why my heart was getting so excited over our date tonight, since it wasn't like we'd never gone out on a date before, or we hadn't already been together for four years. It just felt new, and different, like we were renewing what it was we wanted to be for each other, like we were making sure the other knew just how important they were.

Looking at the time above the counter, I pulled out my phone, ignoring the curious and indignant looks of the fox behind the counter. I knew I'd need to cancel my phone soon, but it'd be better to wait until the end of the month because of the job hunting. That'd give me a few weeks; that should be enough time, right? It'd taken me about that long when I'd first moved here.

About half of the list didn't even answer, and I wrote their numbers on a separate list, so I could call them later. Most of the other half said they'd filled the spot, because I hadn't been thinking enough to look at the dates on the newspapers. Mrs. Webb had a tendency to keep piles of papers that stacked up to my chest until she managed to get us to offer to take them out to the garbage for her.

Some, however, did say they may call me back, but that was probably only because I was sure they heard my confidence slipping away. As I was nearing the end of the list I'd made last night, I could feel my stomach clenching rather uncomfortably under the anxiety that was setting in again. The breakfast Brian had made me faded away and I knew I'd need to eat sometime, but I needed to get some kind of good news first. Anything would be good right about now.

I called the bar, almost positive I wouldn't get the job, because I had no previous experience with mixing drinks. I called anyway, though, because I wanted to at least feel like I'd exhausted every possible option, even if it would only bruise my ego in the end. A man with a calm, and somewhat bored, voice picked up the phone on the second ring.

"Hello?" he grumbled, and I could picture someone in their early forties, perhaps a wolf, standing behind the counter as he wiped the top idly because he'd just opened and no one was even around yet. I'm sure it didn't quite work like that anymore, but it was a rather novel image.

"Hi, I was calling about the job listing you had in the paper," I said as strongly as I could, but it was hard as I realized how stupid I was even trying to get a job with something I had no experience.

"That advert is from a month and a half ago," he muttered into the phone, sounding neither annoyed or happy. His whole inflection was rather flat and I couldn't decide if it'd just be better to hang up or not.

"I suppose that means the spot is filled?" I asked, repressing a sigh as I was prepared to write 'bar' into the 'spot filled' column of my chart. Leaning onto the table, I made sure I was looking at a recent paper before I began to peruse it.

"Nope," he said and my ears perked as I turned to look at the fox behind the counter who was twirling his foot in the air as he read a book, "probably wasn't an interesting enough disaster on the front page, so no one bought the paper. You got experience, I presume?"

"Well, I'll be honest, I've never been a bartender or anything, but I drink enough, and I'm a fast learner," I stammered, closing my eyes and letting my head fall into my palm with a muffled smack.

Excellent idea, telling the person I hoped would hire me how much I drank, right after telling him I had no experience. As he continued to pause, I knew I was doomed, so I slid my hand from my eyes and just returned to reading the paper like nothing had happened.

"What kind of experience do you have?" he asked finally and I sat back in my chair, wishing I had another cup of coffee.

"I was assistant manager at a novelty store then a server at the restaurant down city," I said, my heart beating a little faster, and my hands were getting warmer even though I hadn't ordered another drink. I knew I had a good feeling about today for a reason.

"How were your tips, at the restaurant?" he asked quickly and I furrowed my eyebrows.

"Pretty good," I admitted, "I worked more hours than anyone else there and wouldn't be surprised if I made the most tips."

"Alright," he mumbled softly and I tried to lean forward but I was already on the edge of my seat, "good. This is a bit unorthodox, I'll admit, but how would you feel about being barback for a bit while I teach you the ropes?"

He maintained his deadpan tone, so I tried to contain my excitement so he wouldn't change his mind. But, without realizing it, I had ended up biting into my knuckle painfully, and there was already an impression in my skin by the time I stopped.

"That sounds better than you can even imagine," I said, holding the phone between my shoulder and ear as I folded the papers, resisting the urge to aimlessly fling them towards the garbage. Tearing off the number to the bar and putting it in my coat, I tossed the rest into the can.

"Coo'," he mumbled, "can you make it in tomorrow morning, 'fore we open? Teach you the basics. Tomorrow's Wednesday, right? Slow day, so we'll have a lot of time."

"When do you want me there?" I blurted and I heard him let out a dry grunt, which I supposed was his form of a chuckle.

"Eight, nine, somewhere around there," he explained, humming for a second as I walked up to the counter, mouthing my order and my thanks to the fox, even if the fact that I was on the phone frustrated him, "this is good. This is very good. I'm tired of getting up early and staying up late everyday since the last bartender left. What's your name, anyway?"

"Kurt," I answered, and the fox looked at me inquisitively before he rolled his eyes when he saw I wasn't talking to him, "Kurt Booth."

"Derrick Sharp," he said and I stole the pen from the counter to write his name on the scrap that I had put in my pocket, "Kurt. I like that name. Kurt, don't let this town fool you. It's going to get a lot busier than you'd think, especially on Fridays. We may be a small town, but, being small, getting drunk is really the only thing to do. You got that? You may even lose a few pounds in the first week."

"Excellent," I smirked as I paid the fox and placed the two paper cups by the table near the door, "it'll give me an excuse not to go to the gym."

"Hah. That's funny. Humor is good. Gotta charm people for your tips," he rambled under his breath, "I'd ask you if you need directions getting here, but this town's so small you miss it if you blink. Anyway, I'll see you in the morning, Kurt. Make sure you either have a lot of coffee or a lot of booze before work. Hah."

The phone call ended and I looked at my phone victoriously for a good long minute, feeling an icy stare run down my back. Dropping my phone into my pocket, I grabbed the coffees and started towards the store where Brian worked. It was only a quarter of a mile away, so the coffee would still be hot and I could surprise him.

He was standing behind the long counter, beside the cash register, with his head in his hand as he twiddled a pencil and stared at a notepad distractedly. When he scratched his ear and dropped the pencil, he looked up to see me in front of him, holding on the cup with a wide grin on my face, but he didn't look all too happy.

"Hi," he mumbled shortly, folding the corner of the page before letting it flip shut. He let it drop onto the counter between us with an exaggerated sigh, so I handed him the cup, hoping it'd help cheer him up, or at least perk him up.

"Lousy day?" I asked, hoping the fox had made us the right coffees. I knew Brian wouldn't drink it unless it had extra sugar. But, he didn't even take a sip, he just placed it on the counter beside the pencil and got lost in his hands again.

"I didn't have to do inventory last year," he grumbled. I placed my coffee on the counter, figuring it was probably a bad idea for me to be drinking more, anyway, "but, I do this year, and it's nothing like the department stores back home. I thought it was still arduous with the scanner, but I was sorely mistaken. Yay, me."

"Well, I have a surprise," I grinned and he looked up to me with tired eyes, like he was hoping I'd went back to return the twin sized mattress and instead bought a queen, "I was going to wait until tonight to tell you, but, well, I'm not. You're not going to believe it, Brian."

"There's a blizzard, so I can close down, go home and sleep the rest of the day away?" he mumbled, and I frowned. I knew he probably didn't mean to forget about our date or he probably didn't mean for it to come out the way it did, but I felt my chest deflate a little.

"I got a job," I blurted, shamelessly leaning over the counter to kiss his forehead. He didn't react at all. He just decided to blink slowly and look down over the paper again, trying to fight the way his eyelids were being dragged down. He looked like he wanted to just curl up and take a nap on the counter.

"Already?" he asked without any enthusiasm. I had to fight the urge to just walk out now before my ego was crushed into powder and allowed to blow away in the cold breeze.

I knew this part of Brian, the part where he got tired, and cranky, and all he wanted to do was demean me, or argue with me. I didn't want to shatter my hopes of a happy night, or erase my memories of the good morning we'd had, but I always got caught up with that obsessive need to show him where he was wrong.

"Yea," I said, burying my hands in my pockets and he looked up at me with a bored indifference. I knew he was tired, but I was, too, and the least he could do was try to be happy for me. I wanted to pour my coffee on top of his head to see if he would at least wake up enough to care, "I wasn't going to call, but I did. I mean, it's not the job that was listed in the paper, at least not yet, but it's a job."

"As?" he asked, pulling a pack of cigarettes from above him and I watched him curiously as he packed it. He hadn't smoked in a long while and I didn't know if he was just starting again now, or if he'd been doing it for longer, but I hadn't seen any cigarettes on him for years.

"A bartender," I said as he walked around from behind the counter and towards the door, grabbing a dollar lighter on his way out. I followed him without thinking as the store door shut with a weak chime.

"A bartender?" he mumbled, the cigarette perched in his lips as he clicked the lighter. I was rather frustrated by the fact that he had decided not to tell me he'd started smoking again, but the tone he was talking to me with bothered me more. Not only was he bored, but he was being condescending.

"Yes," I replied, leaning against the wall in order to avoid the smoke. Instead, a cold breeze slipped up my back and I crossed my arms in an attempt to stop the shivering. The way he savored every drag made my teeth clench, only because he was enjoying it more than the coffee I'd gotten him. I was being jealous and spiteful, but it hurt regardless, "I'm going to be a barback for a while until I learn the tricks, but eventually I'll be promoted. Something wrong?"

"No. Nothing," he mumbled, looking at the ashes that clung to the end of his cigarette as he flicked it. He had his free hand buried into his armpit, trying to keep himself warm because he'd forgotten to grab his coat. I couldn't help but notice how all the personal space had been restored between us, "I'm happy for you."

"You don't sound happy," I muttered, ending my statement with a deep exhalation of breath. This is always how it started; one of us hurt the other's pride, and we could never just let it go.

"I'm just tired," he breathed. At first, there was always an excuse, then I'd push him until he was angry, and he'd say something that really got under my skin. Eventually we'd just end up arguing. And, even though I knew this, there was something about the fighting that felt right, especially when I was the one who proved him wrong. We always needed to fight to prove who was the most stubborn, but when one of us won, all we did was ensure more arguing.

"I'm tired, too, but I'm at least trying to be sympathetic. You're just completely dismissing me," I grunted, falling right back into the same pattern. I saw him shiver in the cold and the chivalrous voice in my head told me to offer him my jacket, to just end the discussion, but I ignored it because I enjoyed watching him in the cold too much. It was almost like I could make him feel just how cold I'd felt the night before.

"You are not trying to be sympathetic," he contested after he breathed out a plume of smoke that was even whiter than the noon sky, "you completely ignored the shitty day I was having and when right on to telling me about how good your day was, even though I was the one who took the time to make it good in the first place."

"I said thank you at least four times. What else do you want me to do?"

"To actually act like you care," he intoned in return and my back slouched as I stared at him, completely unsure of how I was supposed to come back against something like that. I had a feeling that he was talking about the bed, because I knew he couldn't have changed enough to take that in stride and not be wounded by it.

"I brought you a coffee, didn't I?" I threw back and he flicked the cigarette into the mound of snow on the side of the road as he just stood there sternly, "why are we fighting again? We were having such a good day."

"Because if you work at a bar, you're just going to fall into the same routine and come home at four in the morning every night," he spat, and I rolled my eyes. I knew it was all going to come down to this, and I knew I shouldn't have believed him or fell for a single thing he said the night before.

"Brian, last night you said you were fine with it."

"Well, I lied. Maybe I was so happy last night because I thought I'd actually get to see you, but now it's just going to go right back to being broken," he growled and I could see his fingers twitch like he wanted to reach for another cigarette, but stopped himself because he knew he couldn't smoke and fling accusations at the same time.

"A job is a job. You should just be happy I'm not blaming this all on you. What is it that you want me to do, Brian?"

"I want you to admit that you're trying to get rid of me, but you can't, because you can't afford to live alone!"

We stood there in silence for a few long minutes as he gave in and lit that second cigarette. The streets were empty and everything was still cold, especially the glacial wall between myself and him as I tried to calm down enough to speak civilly. But, it was harder than I'd hoped, because I knew there was no way to really prove to him how much I wanted him to stay in spite of how much it looked like I wanted the opposite.

"Brian, I'm not - "

"Then why'd you get a bed you knew I wouldn't fit in?" he interrupted and I sank back against the wall. I knew it'd be pointless to try to talk to him while he was like this. My best bet was to try and get him drunk, but I knew it'd be impossible to get him within a mile of a bar, or any alcoholic beverage, "and, besides, if you start working at a bar, all you end up doing is getting drunk and flirting with people."

"What?" I blundered, pushing myself away from the wall, trying to look into his eyes, but he kept looking away. He looked more at the sodden pile of ashes than he did at me, his boyfriend and partner for four years. He didn't even have the decency to look at me while he threw such an unproven accusation, "I have never cheated on you, why would you even think that?"

"Look at how we met," he started and I just stared at him, too shocked to even move, "drunk and in a bar. You slept with me, and we both knew that you had no intentions of ever talking to me again. If I hadn't taken you out first, this whole relationship never would have happened. I saw you in that bar before; you always left with someone different, every single time you went."

"Brian, that was over four years ago," I asserted, my brain too foggy and torpid to quickly think of reasons why he was wrong. I knew now how important it was that I defend myself, but I couldn't think of anything to say, "I - I was stupid. We both were. You've seen how much we've changed."

"You only changed because we stopped going to bars, or to clubs, or even out to dinner. You'll just go right back to doing it if you start going again. Especially now that you're trying to get rid of me."

"Brian, it's a bar in a small town. You can't honestly expect it to stay open all night like they did back in the south. It'll hardly ever be busy. And, do you honestly think that gay guys will be filing in by the handful?" I said, knowing that I was lying to him, but he'd admitted he was lying to me, so what was the difference?

"I have to go," he grumbled, flicking the half smoked cigarette into the street. I'd only seen him take about two drags in the first place. He looked at a group of three foxes coming, but we both knew that they probably weren't walking towards the store, and he was only looking for an excuse to get away, "there's a customer coming."

"Yea," I said, folding my arms while looking at the foxes, who seemed to be a mother and father with their little daughter. They were coming closer and I didn't want to argue in front of them, but I had so much left I wanted to say, "wouldn't want you to get fired so you'd have to slum it as a bartender, too."

"Not now, Kurt," he returned as he started towards the stairs, "I'll talk about it later. I don't want to lose me job, because I actually like mine."

"No, you don't."

"I'll talk to you later," he concluded as the door chimed shut behind him, and I just let my head collapse back against the wall. So much for having a good day. With my hands folded across my stomach, all I could do was close my eyes and wish the world would stop spinning.