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I don't know how long I stand there, staring into empty space, muzzle agape. All the emotion raging inside me just cannot seem to find release. I want to cry, to fall on my knees and let everything out; instead, I just stand there and stare. By the time I come to, his scent has grown faint, and any hopes I had of catching up with him are gone.

"All done in here?" I turn around to see an aged raccoon standing in the doorway with a mop in one paw and a bucket in the other.

"Yeah, I-" I manage to collect myself enough to respond, stopping only because the raccoon's scent is so familiar. "Terry?" I can hardly believe it. He looks nothing like Terry, but that scent is unmistakably his.

It takes him a few more seconds to recognize me. "James? Holy shit!"

We shake paws and wedge ourselves into the tiny desks.

Sitting there takes me back to my high school years. In fact, this room doesn't look like it's been renovated much since I took classes here.

I look over at Terry again; he didn't win the 'most likely to change after high school' superlative, but he should have. He used to be the alpha-male; perfectly groomed fur, muscular body, sharp hazel eyes. All the girls (and some guys) in school would absolutely worship him. If I didn't know any better, I would say that the overweight, silver-furred creature sitting next to me was only borrowing Terry's scent.

The raccoon finally speaks. "So, what are you doing back at Elton, eh?" His voice is gritty and low, a far cry from the smooth tenor of bygone days. All those cigarettes must have caught up with him.

"I just wanted to talk to my son's teacher about something." It's none of his business. Besides, if I couldn't even tell my own son, how could I tell a guy I played football with twenty-five years ago?

"Fresto? Yeah, he's a nice guy. Didn't you guys like go out in high school, or something?" I jerk back and miserably fail to hide a loud gasp; the comment takes me completely by surprise.

"I-" I actually have no idea what the hell I'm going to say.

"Dude, it's fine. Queers have a place in this world just like everyone else." Another surprise; Terry's always been a raging homophobe. I guess that just comes with being on the football team; even I was like that at one point in my life.

"So, is he single now?" The question comes out before I can stop myself. My heart starts beating faster. The classroom only increases my anxiety; the walls seem to close in around me. I feel just like I did all those years ago when one of my friends caught me staring at his legs... maybe it was even in this very classroom.

Terry shrugs, but doesn't show any further emotion. "I think so. I mean, I'm not exactly keeping up with his love life or anything." He watches me curiously for a time before his muzzle breaks into a grin. "You still like him, don't you?"

"I-" No point in denying it now. By some strange turn of events, the person I least expected to commiserate and understand has accepted me. I take another second before proceeding. "Yeah."

"Nothin' wrong with that, bro. Well... actually... aren't you married or something?" He tilts his muzzle slightly.

I tell him about Mark coming out, about Donnah's reaction and imprisonment. His eyes widen more and more as my story unwinds.

"And you guys were high school sweethearts?" I think about what he said, and my amazement grows to match his. I never really thought about it that way, but it's absolutely true; Donnah and I were high school sweethearts... and college sweethearts. She might have even loved me at some point.

Terry shakes his head. "Well, at least it's over now."

"Yeah." That realization should bring relief, but it doesn't. The word 'over' makes me think of Warren; has our relationship gone so far beyond repair that I was a fool for even trying to win him back?

Terry smiles again and elbows me playfully. "So, are you going after Fresto again or something?"

"Not anymore." I choke up but manage to maintain a neutral expression. I don't know why, but crying in front of a teammate is still a faux pas for me; I guess it's just habit.

"Why not?" If only he knew. Then again, why shouldn't he know? He's the only person I've been able to talk to about this.

"I didn't come here to talk about Mark's paper." The confession seems rather hollow; clearly Terry has already to figured that bit out. He nods, and I continue. "After Mark came out to me, I realized the magnitude of my mistake. I came to try and talk to Warren-" The lump in my throat discourages further speaking.

Terry sees this and picks up the conversation. "Didn't go well, huh?" I just shake my head, trying desperately hold back the memories. This only makes things worse; the overwhelming rush of emotions wins the battle over my logical mind and I break down.

"He didn't... want anything to do with me." I manage to say between sobs. Terry surprises me yet again by getting out of his chair and pulling me into a hug. This only makes me cry harder; the realization that this is all my fault works its way in there as well, tearing away my last bit of support. I just bury my muzzle in his shoulder and cry. There isn't another damn thing I can do; I am completely powerless.

I don't know why, but I keep expecting Terry to get annoyed or laugh, but he just kneels by my chair and holds me.

It takes me a while, but I finally manage to compose myself again. My tears are far from shed, but this was a pretty good start.

Terry walks over to the teacher's desk and grabs the tissue box. "Feelin' better?" he asks, handing me a pawful of tissues.

I dry my eyes and blow my nose. I didn't expect to feel better, but the crying has helped calm me down. "A bit. Thanks, Ter."

"No worries. Everyone needs a good cry." He pats my shoulder. "'S What the wife says."

"Smart wife." I chuckle.

"Yeah, she's somethin'." His tone is surprisingly affectionate for someone who used to get laid by a different girl every day. Although, as I found out on several occasions in the past hour or so, Terry's full of surprises. "She's the one who changed my opinion of gays."

"Really?" Anyone who can turn a die-hard homophobe into someone who lets you cry on their shoulder about problems with your ex-boyfriend certainly deserves a medal.

"Yeah. Her brother's gay." He sits back down in his chair and looks at the floor guiltily. "I didn't treat him too good when I found out. But she made me realize that he's no worse than anyone else out there."

I nod, wishing I'd realized that fact sooner. Even when my relationship with Warren was at an all-time high, I hated myself for being gay. I didn't deny my identity... but, God, did I wish it was possible to change it. After Warren left and I married Donnah, I thought I'd succeeded. I was wrong.

"So, what're you gonna do now?" Terry gives voice to a question that's been floating in my head all my life. Every time I answer it, it only serves to drag me in deeper.

I just shake my head. "I don't know."

"Why not try again?" And get rejected again? Thanks, Ter. I barely keep myself from saying that out loud. "I don't think he's gonna want anything to do with me."

"You'll never know till you find out. My dad used to say: Forget what you can't fix, and fix what you can't forget."

He gets up and walks over to the door. "And if you like him as much as I think you do, I doubt you're gonna forget him anytime soon."

He picks up his mop and stands by the door. I chuckle inwardly at how weird it is that I, a hotshot investment banker, someone who's used to dishing out advice, am getting schooled by an ex-jock janitor. Funnier still, is the fact that he's absolutely right.

"I'll go talk to him."

"That's the spirit!" He pulls a piece of paper out of his trouser pocket and scribbles something on it. "Here, this is my cell. Call me if you need anything." He hands me the paper, we shake paws and he leaves.

So, this is it, then. Somehow, I made the decision to try talking to Warren again. It still seems like a stupid idea, but something inside me pushes me forward, vehemently refusing to let me abandon it.

I walk out of the classroom, out of the school and head home.

The drive is a blur; all I can think about is seeing Warren again.

Mark's waiting for me when I get home.

"How's work?"

"Not bad." Why am I lying to him? What is it about this whole situation that keeps me from coming clean? Whatever the reason is, it overpowers me and keeps me lying.

I resolve to tell him everything as soon as I get things figured out.

Mark nods and heads to the counter. "What's for dinner tonight?" he asks, leafing through a stack of menus.

"I went to see Warren today." The words escape my muzzle on their own accord. Mark turns around, looking slightly bemused, but not at all surprised.

"How'd it go?"

For the second time that day, I consciously relive those minutes of anguish.

Tears form in Mark's eyes to match my own.

"I'm so sorry, Dad," he whispers.

"It's okay. I'm going to try again."

Mark looks stunned for a moment. "Again?"

"Yeah. I met an old friend today who made me realize that this is something that I need to do."

He calms down slightly and tries to look all too carefree.

I let him keep his secrets and continue. "I'm going to see him tonight."

"Do you know where he lives?" I don't... but my PI does.

I pick up the phone and dial his number.

Wheeler picks up just as the answering machine kicks on. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's James. James Heeley."

"Oh, hi James. I was actually just leaving-"

"Listen. Can you give me Warren's address please?"

"I-" He sighs. "Alright, hold on."

I hear rustling at on the other end of the line and the sound of a keyboard.

Finally, Wheeler comes back. "77 Fourth Avenue, Apartment 22B."

"Thanks."

"Yep." He hangs up.

Well, that's that. I give the phone to Mark, "Order some pizza," and jog up to my room.

I power on the computer and search for the address. It's a bit of a drive, but the directions are simple enough. I print them and head back downstairs.

Mark's sitting on the couch, watching TV. I make my way over and embrace him. "Wish me luck, son."

"It'll be okay, Dad." I have a hard time believing it, but I don't voice my thoughts.

With a great deal of reluctance, I part the embrace and head to the garage.

As I drive through the city, I begin to notice things. I see a tiger and fox, probably Mark's age, walking down the street and holding paws. There's no fear in their eyes, no looking around their shoulders; they're happy. Maybe this really is a different age.

The houses get progressively shabbier and the characters on the street get more and more sketchy. I count down the avenues until I finally get to number four. The houses are numbered, but the numbers are so small, and it's so dark that it takes me while to spot the right one.

After several laps around the block, I finally find a parking spot, and since I haven't parallel parked in a while, it takes me almost fifteen minutes to pull my car into the tiny space.

Warren's apartment is on the twenty-second floor of one of those red-stone high-rise buildings from the 1920s - the ones that were built in a rush during the immigration boom and promptly forgotten. The lobby is pretty fancy, but clearly just a facade. One of the elevators is out of order, and judging from the age of the 'out of order' sign, it's been that way for nearly as long as the building itself has been around. The other elevator works, but smells like wet fur and piss. The ride takes forever, but at long last, the arrow on the floor indicator hits twenty-two and the elevator comes to a stop. I see a flash of russet fur through the slowly-opening doors.

Warren must have seen me too because he's gone by the time the doors finally open. I run out into the hallway in time to see the door to the stairwell slam shut.

I have no clue what I'm doing, but run after him anyway.

This isn't at all how I'd hoped things would go. I imagined talking to him through a closed door, begging him to give me another chance, crying and... maybe... he would let me in... both into his apartment and his heart.

Instead, I'm running down a flight of stairs like some sort of stalker, trying to chase down a fox who wants absolutely nothing to do with me. What's worse is that I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to do once I catch up.

Twenty-two floors later, he's still running. I'm not in the best of physical shape, so I end up falling behind even more. I run out into the street and see a red tail disappearing into one of the side-alleys. My legs feel like lead weights at this point, my heart is beating faster than it has in years; I try to keep running, but end up slowing down to walking pace instead.

Loud yells reach me before I reach the alley "Hey, get the hell away from me!" It's Warren.

Somehow, I find the strength to break into a run again. The alley is dark, but my eyes adjust quickly. I see Warren lying senseless on the ground with a dark shape looting his body. Whoever it is, is dressed in tatters that seem to be permanently infused with the smell of rotting food.

Before my mind has a chance to figure out what to do, my body lunges at the creature and tackles him to the ground. He scrambles to get free, clawing at my muzzle and scoring several gashes before I finally let go. I lay panting on the ground as he scrambles away into the night.

My attention quickly turns to Warren. There's an ugly lump protruding from the back of his head, and he's still unconscious. Forgetting my own wounds, I get up and walk over to him. Unsure of what else to do, I pick him up and carry him back to his apartment. Fortunately, he's pretty light, so the journey back isn't nearly as arduous as it would have been if he was carrying me. I unlock the door to his apartment with a key I found in his paw and kick it open.

The apartment is small, but very neat and well-maintained. The living room blends into a kitchenette, and there's a door on the other side of the room which, I can only assume, leads to the bedroom.

The way the place is set up, the way it's decorated reminds me of Warren's old room. I almost get lost in the memories again, but the weight in my paws reminds me of my task.

I lay Warren down on the couch gently and wait by his side for him to come around.

He opens his eyes slowly and looks over at me; realizing the situation, he looks away quickly. Cautiously, I approach him to further examine the injury.

"Do you have a first aid kit?" It's been ages since I worked as an EMT, but most of those skills seem to have stayed with me all this time.

Warren nods mutely and points to one of the kitchen cabinets.

The first aid kit isn't very extensive, but I manage to scrounge up some medical bandages and dressing.

He resists at first, but ends up letting me treat and bind his head.

I try not to look him in the eyes, knowing that he would only avoid my gaze if I did.

I feel extremely awkward doing this, but I'm sure he feels worse. We maintain total silence while I finish my work.

Once the final bit of bandage is tied and secured, I stand up.

He looks up at me, sighs, but still says nothing.

All of my plans to talk to him and beg for a second chance crumble to dust.

It's easy to make elaborate plans on paper... it's executing them that's difficult. I didn't have much of a plan to begin with, so now I'm left with nothing.

"I'm sorry I showed up here, Warren. I shouldn't have invaded your privacy like this." I turn around and walk out of the apartment. I want to say more, but the lump in my throat prevents me; perhaps it's all for the best.

He calls to me just as I'm about to shut the door. "Wait."

My heart flutters momentarily, but I decide not to get my hopes up.

I turn around and stand in the doorway. His eyes pierce mine, and we stare at each other again.

His gaze wavers after a few moments. "Thanks."

"It was my fault you got hurt in the first place." What a great double entendre. It hits me that this situation is awfully familiar. We are at the edge of goodbye again; except this time, it's me that's about to walk away. The logical thing would be to just let it happen; but I'm not a logical person.

"I'm sorry, Warren. For everything." The lump in my throat feels like it's about to suffocate me, but I power through it. "You didn't deserve to be treated like that. I am a coward for doing what I did, and I'm sorry. I've regretted my decision for twenty-five years." I'm choking up after every word now, but I have to say my piece. "I don't deserve a fox like you. I know that now... I just hope you find someone you can be happy with and forgive me for all those years I took away from you."

Those three words; I always hesitated to use them in the past, but I know that I mean them now more than ever. "I love you, Warren! I would ask you for another chance, but even I don't feel like I deserve it." It took me twenty-five years to figure out how I felt, but now I know.

He stands up slowly and walks over to me. We're about the same height, so he looks me straight in the eyes. This time, his gaze doesn't waver.

"After we broke up," his voice is just as shaky as mine, but he hides it better, "I never dated again. I just never wanted to be hurt this way. But you won't leave me alone unless I give you another chance, will you?" A hint of a smile plays on his muzzle as he says this.

"Not a chance." I smile back.

He slowly draws closer and pulls me into a kiss.

I've never forgotten what my first kiss felt like. This... well, it puts the other one to shame. I feel a warmth that I haven't felt in so many years spread through my body. The familiar tingling sensation starts in my chest and spreads, like a tidal wave, through my entire being. More tears fall, but they are tears of joy. I put my arms around him and hold on, promising to never let go again. All the time and distance that ever separated us melts away. For those few sweet moments, we are completely free. For the first time since he walked out of my life, I don't wish to be anywhere else. In fact, I have wished to be here so many times that this whole thing almost feels like a dream; almost. I ignore the stirring in my sheath completely. Sex is something I could have gotten anytime I wanted. What I've been missing all these years is something much more important and difficult to describe. The warmth, the energy, the entire act of loving and being loved; I almost lost it forever.

We break up the kiss and look each other in the eyes again. The look of sadness, the look that kept me up at night, is gone. In its place is one of affection and love. I keep my eyes on him for fear that this loving gaze will vanish the moment I look away.

He smiles; a warm, affectionate smile.

"You have no idea how much I've missed you," I whisper, smiling back.

We part our embrace, but our paws stay linked... in the face of an uncertain future... together.