FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

All in all, I think our history project went pretty well. It was kind of rocky in the middle where we'd had to suture together our individual parts, without having had a good time to practice beforehand, but - Harley definitely knew his stuff. He was actually more confident and straightforward standing up there in front of the lecture hall than myself, and I'd stayed up about three hours past my self-appointed bedtime going over our slides, rereading my points and reminders to myself (this was college: of courses there was a no notecards allowed clause at the bottom of the rubric). Still, though, no room to complain: the professor handed us our graded report as we were making our way out of the room, and both of our tails wagged to see the bright red 83 scrawled into a box at the bottom. That was damn good enough.

I don't know what it was, but even with exams coming up in a few weeks, even with the schoolwork remaining as heavy and hard as ever, things seemed to be getting... what's the word? I had fewer mornings where I wanted to go back to sleep even before I'd gotten out of bed, fewer afternoons where I turned in early for lack of being able to focus on anything, more nights curled up nice and warm under my blankets with that warm feeling in my chest after a good-night conversation with Harley.

"So he wasn't lying when he told me he likes you." "I think it's a little more than that."

And he seemed to be doing a lot better, too, which was what really mattered. As the weeks passed, there were still times where I'd get a short or slightly-panicked text from him, and we'd sit up in bed together yet apart just talking, usually me spewing some random thing to shift his mind to another track. It was actually on one such night where I found out we were both fans of the same fantasy book series when we were pups... needless to say, I did not get enough sleep that night. But that didn't matter.

Near the end of the semester, he finally got his license - as life had been quite a bit too hectic the past three years to allow him much time to practice - and his dad surprised him with a car, used of course and around a decade old, but good nonetheless. I was there when he gave it to him, and once more could I see the glow, the light continuing to flow back into his eyes. He was happier than he'd been that first day in history class, when he'd leaned over towards me and introduced himself.

That was the first time I'd heard his voice, and it hadn't yet lost the smooth musical timbre that made my heartbeat pick up every time it touched my ears. I don't think it ever would.

Zoey started to come over more often, too, especially once finals week had finished and we were just off for break. This past year our schedules had kept us mostly separated save for our single shared Friday class, but eventually we'd grown accustomed to it and thought nothing of it. Now that it was all done, though, and now that I had a boyfriend she _really_liked...

She always asked if Harley was spending the night, and sometimes I told her, sometimes I didn't. Sometimes she showed up; sometimes she didn't. Many years ago had been the time when she'd become comfortable with undressing in front of me, and I guess now that I was with Harley, that same comfort extended to him as well. He didn't seem to mind. It wasn't hard to figure out what it was she wanted; that was something he and I could talk about later. After all, we hadn't tired of each other's company quite yet.

And the days rolled on and on. Harley got a job at a tea shop in the mall, and also tutored high school kids in geography and world history in his spare time; I got an internship at the local branch of the library, to which he drove me every Tuesday and Thursday morning. He used to squeeze my paw whenever he could in the car, just as a consequence of nervousness with being a new driver, but quickly got over that.

Every Tuesday and Thursday morning, he'd give me a big grin, would thump his tail against the seat, and then would lean in for his goodbye kiss... and every time, I felt like it went on for quarter-second longer. It got to the point where my coworkers asked me "hey, who's that cute coyote I see you with? Is he your boyfriend? God damn, you're lucky..."

I knew I was. But then there was William.

For weeks he'd bother me, with the same little questioning prod. He'd say something to me, I'd respond with "What?", and then he'd try to (subconsciously or otherwise) steer the conversation back to us, as in me and him, and us, as in me and Harley. And it really started to wear me down. I think he knew what kind of person I was, how deeply and suddenly guilt could hit me and take over... and I more than certainly was guilty. I had _cheated_on him, and now led a happy relationship with the person with whom I cheated, while William remained to my knowledge still single. As if he were waiting.

As if he were convinced of something that I don't think was true. He hadn't had a relationship before me, and so far hadn't had one after. It was a constant but distant ache in my chest and weight on my shoulders, the thought and knowledge that - someone is unhappy, because of me. I did this. And I enjoyed doing it. Some nights it almost did get the best of me, and I'd squeeze my pillow tight and find myself right on the edge of apologizing and begging his forgiveness, of letting him know... what? Not how I _really_felt. He knew that. Letting him know what he wanted to hear, maybe, and what I'd like to imagine I felt, just to lighten that weight a little bit. Sometimes Harley had already fallen asleep on those nights, and sometimes he was still up.

That coyote was my anchor to what was really in my heart, though. I'd given the key to that lock to him.

Eventually I think William finally did get it, though, that I was taken, I was with Harley, and we weren't looking for a third party to join us. It actually took me saying that, outright telling him I wasn't interested, before he finally stopped, and I think it was a combination of both that as well as the time that had passed. I didn't hear from him for another two weeks, and was about to send him a text to be sure he hadn't done anything stupid - until one came in from him, obscuring my screen right as I was about to hit send. Turns out he'd left a phone charger at my house, and didn't realize it until then. Several months after.

Still, though, I think that was as much of a resolution from that whole thing as I was going to get... and honestly, it was as much of one that I wanted. There's no real easy way to end a relationship, and in many cases, no contact is the best thing that could happen. From the start I could tell that when William and I broke up (and I could also tell we were_going to), we wouldn't be one of those pairs who would remain good friends afterwards; I already had a relationship and friend like that, and I felt lucky enough for just having _her. Harley could tell that William was something I'd tired of talking about, and as such, he backed off.

Harley seemed to carry this... this powerful energy with him, I guess. It was hard to put into words. Whether it was just coincidence or not, right after I met him, things in my life started to change. My grades went up; there was that internship; there was Harley himself getting a job, and a car... and then about a month before the next semester started, I'd done the same, coming along from my position at the library. I figured that he still drove me in every Tuesday morning so he could make it to his therapy appointments, but one time when I bid him good luck, he gave me this adorable confused look, tilted his head...

...and told me that he'd cancelled those appointments a few weeks before. Then, a sheepish grin, accompanied by didn't I tell you? Gosh, I must have forgot... he, his therapist, and his father had all agreed that he'd come far enough along for it not to be necessary anymore. It had taken him a while, and those dark thoughts and bad memories still lingered in the back of his mind, but he could leave them shelved and forgotten. Don't expect to heal him, Zoey had said to me, that one day underneath the big oak tree. I'd put no effort into doing so, apart from when he needed someone to calm him down and someone to hold him... and it looked like that was all he needed. So I guess it was-

"So he wasn't lying when he told me he likes you." "I think it's a lot more than that."

-it was both of us and more that got him out of that pit. It would be irresponsible to put all the credit to one or the other, or even to just the two of us. Of course there still were nights when his eyes darkened, when his heartbeat inexplicably picked up and he clung tight to me. Shouldering a burden is a lot easier when the weight is shared, and sometimes all it took was me bumping my nose against his, looking him in the eye, and smiling. And I'd get a sweet smile in return, the light of warm stars spreading out across the night. Every time he stayed the night, he still wore those dark blue otter-print pajama bottoms, even though they came down to about two inches above his ankles.

...Well. Not every night.

The final weekend before our next semester started, we climbed into his car and started driving off somewhere, to a side of town I don't think I've ever been to before. I asked him a few times what was going on, where we were going, but he'd always just rub my leg and say, somewhat quietly, you'll see. We stopped in front of a cozy little house with two large trees in front, short-cut lawn just starting to disappear beneath the leaves falling with autumn's advent. The air tasted of grass and soil and cool rain, from the previous Thursday evening. The coyote put on a strong face, but I could feel his nervousness in his pulse when he intertwined his fingers with mine.

It was a lot, ponderous doorbell, that tune that you sometimes hear churches in old movies ring out at the turn of the hour... and then, an otter opened the door and leaned against the threshold, amber eyes catching and holding the light of the sun that filtered through the branches above. He appraised me for a moment, then turned his gaze to Harley... and sucked in a small gasp.

I'm looking for Mrs. Cordova, Harley said, still wearing that gentle smile. The otter looked confused for a moment, then silently - stepped forward and drew him into a hug. I could hear his voice then, hardly more than a whisper: Mom passed away about a year ago. Harley's paw tightened on mine. She left something for you, though. If you'd... come in, here, I'm sure Dad would like to talk to you...

They were a nice family. Quiet and solemn, but nice; Ethan and Gerard Cordova, brother and father. We sat in their living room and talked about ourselves, about each other, about life, all the while a pair of sunfire eyes in a picture frame watched us from atop the fireplace. Harley's gaze remained on that picture and the one beside it during pauses in the conversation, one with the muzzle of an older she-otter.

She talked about you a lot, the father said. Kept us all updated on what was going on in your life and how you were doing. There were a lot of bad feelings at the start there, but... we were all hurt, you know? All deeply wounded. There was nothing we could really do. She always said that we loved you like a son, and - by God, she was perfectly willing and able to give you all of that love herself if we weren't willing to. I think we both owe you an apology.

No, Harley had said, smiling sadly. I'm the only one that needs to apologize.

The father brought to him a little folded sheet of paper when it was time for us to leave, something with Harley's name scrawled across the front in a hand I didn't recognize. She found this when we were cleaning up Natalie's room, Gerard said. Wanted to give it to you at the right time, but that time never came. The coyote looked at it once we'd made our way back into the car; his mouth tightened, his ears lowered, and then he put it away. I wouldn't see it for another few months.

That little paper turned up again on my birthday, on my nightstand one morning when Harley had spent the night. He was sitting at my computer playing another game, and my paw brushed against the corner of the fold when I reached over to turn on the lamp. Lightly taped across the front, covering his own name, was a torn strip of paper that instead bore my name, in the coyote's handwriting. I sat up, felt the wrinkled paper in my paws, slid it open-

I will always love you.

~