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_ (Alright, it's been FOREVER since I last posted something, and I'm sorry for disappearing on you. This story is dedicated to Sun, the greatest friend in existence who is always there for me and who inspires me every day. I owe him everything <3. This story will be a bit different for me because I'm going to try some new things, so please leave feedback. Enjoy!)_

Prologue

"The greatest thing you'll ever learn, is to love and be loved in return."

~Moulin Rouge~

It was on a bright and undoubtedly beautiful afternoon that Ben dramatically swept a large assortment of bills off of his desk and suddenly decided that his entire career was in the gutter. He had to do so over the noise of papers, pens and paperweights cluttering to the ground, whilst scratching at the red tank top that was probably a size too small.

Ben Blews was kind-hearted young lion about 5' 8", with a lean build and a near-permanent smile plastered to his face. Many people commented on his eyes, which were a stunning emerald green. Now Ben grew up like most, getting his fair share of lectures from the folks but not getting caught for every other school rule he broke. He'd had a good life all up until he was nineteen, happily graduated and ready to get out into the world. After that things started going downhill.

His parents had spent hours lecturing him, attempting him to persuade not to go into music, because there were millions of musicians just like him who ended up playing a banjo on a street corner for food money. Ben appreciated the sentiment, he really did, but at that time he'd told them that music was his calling. (Besides, who the hell actually wants to inherit the family owned body shop?) Someday they were going to see huge posters with Ben Blews' name on them and remember that they tried to stop him from pursuing his dream. Basically he gave his parents the entire speech that any son or daughter gives their parents after rejecting their parents' choice of career for them, the one that could have been made concise in one linguistically-unapproved phrase and two words but instead drag into weeks of screaming and slamming doors.

His sexuality was another issue altogether, and he didn't appreciate them trying to put it with the 'career choice issue'.

He went to college for a year, but was forced to drop out because of financial problems. His parents stopped calling him after a while, after he'd plunged into a financial abyss. He really didn't miss the phone calls, though. Now, at the age of 21, he still didn't need them.

"Cyrus!" he cried aloud, both paws on the doorframe that his body was up against, ignoring the scent of flowers that drifted from his roommate's room.

If there had been anyone that Ben had trusted and confided in all this awful adult life, it had been Cyrus. Cyrus wasn't perfect, and had an annoying habit of making everything about him, but at least he was there for Ben. Said confidante, trusted friend and flat mate made a noise that sounded like a miniature earthquake and a moan put together. "Hnnn?" came the muffled voice from beneath an array of flower-patterned quilts and covers. A small black paw emerged from the pile, shoving it back and revealing the slender panther's disheveled, weary form. He was still wearing the red and black t-shirt that he'd went out in the night before.

Ben raised an eyebrow when Cyrus sat up in bed and looked at him with deep blue eyes. Cyrus may or may not have looked adorable in his sleep-induced bleariness if it were not for the look of annoyance on his face. "What is it, Ben?" the panther grumbled, yawning into his paw. "I know its afternoon already, but I don't have rehearsal-"

Cyrus was the most brilliant playwright Ben knew. Heck, he was the only playwright Ben knew, but he was still brilliant. Back in college, it had been how they'd met- Cyrus coming right up to him and asking him some random story-related question, and somehow a question turned into conversation and, suddenly, roommate. And then, Cyrus Rhodes was somewhat hippie-ish, with his love of flowers and illegal substances. Probably born into the wrong generation. The basic facts about him came down to the fact that he was one year older than Ben, twenty two years wise, that he wrote, and wrote some more, and if you ever even went so far as to put a sharp surface capable of incision anywhere within five feet of his plants in his room he would slowly and cheerfully eviscerate you.

The lion sucked in a breath, ignoring the scary sight of his friend half awake and annoyed, and spurred out the words: "My career is broken, Cy. Nothing's gone right. Nothing." At this his raised his paws to the heavens, staring up in vast exasperation. "Nothing!!!!"

"...Okay," was all his black-furred roommate answered with as he rolled out of bed, covers and all, and proceeded to check himself in the dresser mirror, completely ignoring Ben's demonstration. "Well," Cyrus muttered with a touch of breathlessness and cloudy sleepiness, "if you ever listened to me tell you about the production, there's a position for a musician open," he said, searching through his vast assortment of cosmetic supplies.

While they had their concrete similarities, the main distinction between the roommates was that Cyrus was the employed one, who had secured himself a play to attend the rehearsal for every weekday. It would be his debut into the theatrical world as a playwright. Cyrus had written an array of singularly awesome romance novels under a penname just to get by, but he'd always told Ben how being a playwright had been his one true desire. Cyrus was like the half-hearted Nicholas Sparks of his own generation, and yet he'd seen a calling in writing plays that had never been there in novels, it seemed.

The lion paused. He thought about it: Background musician, tinkering at a guitar for money and going generally unnoticed. "...That's not the job I want, Cy. To just play while everybody's eyes are on the people up on stage? Just play in the background, mostly ignored? Does that sound like fun to you?"

The panther scoffed, his entire frame moving with him he closed one eye and trailed a cotton pad over it. "Does it sound fun to you that I have to write the entire storyline and nobody ever sees me on stage? It's not like inspiration comes easily either," Cyrus retorted. "Writer's block has had me out of commission for a week, Ben. A whole WEEK. But I'm still here and I'm still hired. You should at least try for the job, if your career's as shattered as you make it out to be." He sounded a little more awake this time, running a paw across his forehead.

Ben weakly offered, "I could always be a...house guy or something. I'll cook you dinner and stuff..? I- I'll clean the toilet," he said with a strange resolution, even as he shuddered at the thought.

"House wife, you mean?" He turned to look at Ben, smirking in dry amusement. "Ben, as much as I love you, I can't pay the bills for both of us, darling. Playwrights work for the love of the job, not the loads of money one may or may not get." In a silent gesture, he pointed to the cracks in the wall behind his dresser, and still behind the long shelf of plants he kept.

Even for people sharing a tiny apartment, they still couldn't afford a much better one. Their home was pretty much the standard crappy fifteenth-floor city apartment, with low running water pressure and paper-thin walls. Still, it was home, and Cyrus' balcony had a magnificent view of the bay outside. It wasn't exactly inconveniently located, either, being located directly across from a supermarket and a few minutes from the beach.

The musician's face fell as Cyrus pushed past him through the doorway, making his way to the bathroom. "Cyrus! Help me!" he exclaimed urgently.

"Join the play production!" Cyrus yelled back, slamming the door on his face.

Ben heaved a tired sigh and leaned against said door. Even if he really did need the money for both of them, he was reluctant to think about it. "What were you out doing last night anyway? I don't even remember when you got back," he queried, not willing to push the employment topic any further for a while.

It wasn't as if it was uncommon that Cyrus would spend the night out for an obscenely long time and come back home at some ungodly hour, but most of the time his reasons were completely different. Though, quite a notable percentage of them were at least remotely connected to some boyfriend he had that Ben never met.

"Date went well. I got back at six this morning. Jason took me back in his car." The affection in his voice was undeniable, even when muffled through the creaky door. "He's the sweetest ever, you know."

"Date went really well," Ben grumbled, standing up and heading off to make coffee, his sweet, sweet coffee. He hadn't met the guy, but if there was one thing that he could be spared of it was the gory details of Cyrus' 'adventures' (said flat mate had used those words specifically, to Ben's dismay) with his boyfriend at many different locations.

Out of sheer tradition, they ate dinner together in the kitchen. They had covered the dining table in the living room with so many sheets of Ben's written music and Cyrus' notes that it was long past saving, or risking eating anything heavier than a snack on, so they'd wordlessly settled for the textured, granite kitchen counter since last year. Still, the apartment was a charming one, despite the distinct property of being extremely cramped, and whatever space provided was often filled with paper: bills, music, notes, etc.

Ben tore into his sandwich, tasting about six different herbs probably in the order that Cyrus had applied them, and a distinct lack of meat. He cast his roommate a dubious look that had become something of a tradition between them. Mouth now empty, Ben laughed, "I still don't know how you survive when I've never seen you eat one piece of meat since I met you!"

Wiping his face with a paper napkin, Cyrus gave him the evil eye. "Swallow before you talk or you might get choked," he admonished. "...And I work out."

"I don't see you doing that either."

"Sex is a very good form of exercise, Ben."

Ben sputtered. "Too much information," he whimpered, slipping off the chair he was on to go turn on the fluorescent light. The warm sunlight that had drifted in from the kitchen window and originally painted the walls a brilliant shade of red and orange was gone now, replaced by sad tinges of purple. Ben blinked as the initially blinding fluorescent light flickered on, and then he settled back into the chair and remorsefully began to dig back into a sandwich he was too hungry to deny himself of.

"So have you thought about it?" Cyrus inquired as he finished his sandwich and brushed crumbs cleanly onto the paper napkin he'd eaten over.

"'About what?"

The panther looked at him in disbelief, looking a cross between perplexed, surprised and offended. "Joining the play production," he said as he slid off his chair and threw the folded-up paper napkin into the garbage bin. Cyrus was a small fellow, and when he stood in the narrow, cramped spaces of the kitchen between the cookery counter, fridge and counters, he had a certain distinct air about himself. The lion blinked before it registered. "Oh yeah.. yeah. I thought I might as well join. I don't have any options."

Cyrus rolled his eyes, turning to open the refrigerator and pull out a carton of apple juice. "Great. I'll wake you up at nine tomorrow and we'll be out the door by an hour and a half later, all right?" he said, taking a long direct swig from the carton before heading off into his room, not waiting for Ben to reply. "I'm going to go wrestle my muse and try to squeeze out another five pages of script."

Another distinct difference between the two of them was that when Ben wrote music, he wrote music and if you left him alone for 2 hours you could come back and he'd have one song for every season. Leave Cyrus alone for 2 hours and you'd probably find him in a sobbing mess because he'd been unable to produce a satisfactory hundred words of script for the play. Ben wrote, wrote and wrote his tail off but in the end, it wasn't as if he had anybody other than Cyrus who would even give him half an ear to listen. Cyrus, however, had been having more trouble than usual lately.

It wasn't an inspiration problem, he said. No. To quote, it was just a while yet until he could find his muse- and when he would, the miracles would be sprung unto paper. Until then.. well. Ben gave a rueful smile at the door hanger that had been occupying Cyrus' door for the last month: an amateur paper cut-out that read "do not disturb".

_ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ _

A sleep-deprived Ben groaned into a cup of exceptionally amazing coffee, watching as the blurry form of Cyrus navigated around the darkness of the kitchen in a morning. "I don't get how you can be up this early," he mumbled, as if nine in the morning was really early by most living creatures' standards.

Cyrus just made an amused snort, shuffling about the kitchen in his red apron with a frying pan and spatula in his paws, casting a tired smile at Ben. "I get sleep-deprived and tired, like everyone does to keep their jobs on that little place we call Planet Earth," he said as he skillfully flipped over the omelet frying on the stove, before glancing back at his roommate. "Remember that we need to go at around ten-thirty."

Ben groaned loudly, flopping face-first upon the questionably clean kitchen counter. "Why are you so cheery at nine in the cold rainy season morning?"

"Because it's a work day and I have a crew of creative individuals waiting for me at the theater," Cyrus responded with less vigor than he probably should have.

He wasn't intensely jealous of Cyrus, per se, but Ben did have his moments wherein he wondered why the hippie, writers-blocked roommate of his was the taken, employed one. He smiled ruefully to himself and took a sip of the heaven-sent coffee, cursing every moment he even spent envying his own roommate. "Save me some omelet, I'm gonna go freshen up," he said, finishing the rest of the coffee with an abrupt swallow and setting it in the sink.

Leaving Cyrus to finish cooking, he wandered into the bathroom to start up a shower.

It was made apparent the moment he got out that it was going to be an obstinately gloomy day. The sun had finally peered out from behind the thick curtain of grey clouds, casting an oppressed, colorless sheen of light over the bay. The occasional rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance, and lighting flashes illuminated the world with a blink of white every so often. The sight of the city in the morning was a depressing one this morning, especially with the wintery air it boasted.

Ben looked away from the wide window view at the kitchen, instead eyeing his own uneaten scrap of omelet set on the kitchen counter. Evidently Cyrus had left it there for him, as his roommate had disappeared from the place- presumably to his own room to get dressed and ready for the day ahead. Still dripping with shower water, Cyrus didn't even bother getting dressed, instead approaching the omelet. His stomach grumbled with need for good cooking, even if it did mean going about in only a towel in the frigid winter morning air.

"As much as I know you love going about half-naked dripping with water, I recommend you get dressed before you catch something," the panther remarked half-sarcastically, catching Ben by surprise as he appeared just behind him, a tow of his patterned pajamas and Ben's own clothing in his arms as he headed for the washing machine. "We've got a day ahead."

(Sorry that its super short, but this is just to get the story started. The next chapter will introduce the other characters and will definitely be longer.)