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Deacon and I didn't really speak much as we made our way to this Italian place he was so keen for. In all honesty we wouldn't have been able to if we had wanted. The crowd was so thick on the sidewalk that we pretty much had to slice our own way through the mob of furs. It rendered interaction moot. At one point I lost sight of him, and unable to spot the giant of a wolf upon standing on my tip-toes, I let my nerves get the better of me. Already on the peek of emotional instability my eyes began to tear up as I told myself he had left; he had gotten wise to my feelings, and hating me for them, he had chosen to walk away and forget me.

I slumped beaten against a wall. My eyes fell to the ground. I stared at nothing but the hustling feet of passing furs, their shoes blurred and clouded by tears. My chest heaved with a pained sob.

"Colby!? Excuse me, mam...Colby!?"

His voice was like a Siren's call to me, and although I still couldn't see him, his familiar tenor rang out from further down the street and gave me much sought-after direction. I felt smothered and separated from the one thing on earth I truly needed to survive. I've never been a violent guy, but I couldn't take the shoulder-to-shoulder sidewalk traffic any longer. A few moments ago I'd convinced myself Deacon was gone, and now he was calling to me and I aimed to get there quick. I pushed and shoved, split pairs of furs apart, and by the time I got to him you could have counted me dead 100 times over if glares could have killed.

He'd pushed through the rabid throng of pedestrians and was standing atop a low brick wall. The structure rose to about my mid-thigh and provided seating for a handful of other furs. He looked frantic when he finally saw me, and I'm sure I did as well. His ears and tail were erect in agitation, and the green of his eyes seemed to blaze. His feet smacked noiselessly on the ground as he hopped from the wall; the noise of the crowd washed out much of everything else. Ambient music, the strumming of an acoustic guitar accompanied by a piping woodwind of some kind, provided an ironically calm background for the chaos going on around us.

I didn't want him to see how upset I'd become so I tried to keep my head down. No doubt the corners of my eyes were still moist.

I had to shout for him to hear me, "I got turned around! I thought you'd gone!"

I grimaced. My voice had trembled, and I knew he could read the dismay in it as easily as he could have if he had seen my face.

His ears stayed honed on me, eyes popping in bewilderment as he absorbed my words.

"Why would I do that!?" he shouted.

A shrug was all I could manage. My mind was more absorbed in pushing away the lies I had told myself than coming up with an innocent enough excuse. I shook my head in shame of myself. Deacon would never do something so hateful as abandon me.

His right hand gripped warmly onto my shoulder, his body motionless. I looked up in anticipation thinking he was about to lead me around again. He didn't though. My gaze latched onto his face, and he cocked his head to the side as I self-consciously wiped my eyes. He peered curiously at the spots of moisture I felt upon wiping my hand down the side of my cheek, then smiled quirkily as he motioned toward the left with a nod of his silver head. I followed his point.

A dashing Border Collie waiter stood behind a black podium riddled with stacks of menus. His prim black suit and flawlessly white dress shirt accentuated perfectly with his natural black and white fur patterns, and if glanced at quickly, it was difficult to tell where fur ended, cloth began and vice versa.

He smiled warmly at us on approach, and his tail wagged happily as he chimed, "Table for two?"

The question trilled pleasingly in my head. I suppose Deacon nodded to him because he began to peruse a small seating map hidden behind the menu stacks. His black-clawed finger slid from table to table as they were drawn.

I figured we'd be waiting for at least an hour or two since the crowd around us was here before we arrived. I peered anxiously around at the faces of the furs waiting to be seated. I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of them. I bet working here was anything but laid back.

Suddenly, and to my surprise, the Collie piped a cheerful "Aha!" then pulled two menus from his stack. He wrote something on the little map with a dry-erase marker, then smiled gleefully as he motioned for us to follow him.

We tagged quickly along through the two mahogany doors of the restaurant. They were propped open, and the hunger-inducing aromas wafted out of the building and - more then likely - pulled in famished folks from the street. I blinked as a rush of warm, eye-drooping heat washed over me upon entering, the Collie pausing at the corner of a heavily latent bar where wines and alcohols glistened from a multitude of lighted shelves like bottles of liquid gemstones. Furs sat atop backed bar-stools, and sipped from peculiarly shaped glasses all along it.

A streak of worry that we were sitting at the bar hit me. I didn't drink that often, but I knew Deacon liked to have a sip every now and again. It was always a fear of mine that I'd get hammered and spill my guts to someone one day, and that fear became a nightmare when I imagined it would be Deacon. Besides, and to make matters worse, the way the both of us were feeling gave us every inclination to toss a few back. To my relief the Collie beckoned us again, then strode down an aisle toward the back of the restaurant.

The place was jam-packed, but the mood throughout each table was one of calm, sensible, and pleasant conversation. No children cried, and there was no obnoxious laughter. Only the clank of silverware against plates and the occasional tink of striking glasses rose above the mild hum of chatter as we walked. Deacon nudged me softly as the Collie made a sharp left out of the aisle, turned back and trilled "Watch your step!" He then started up a set of richly lit and decorated stairs with us in tow, his tail wagging the entire time.

The table was indeed for two and only two. Perfectly square and maybe two-feet across with a richly colored glass mosaic inlaid into the surface, it was suitable enough for a pair wishing for a little privacy. It sat next to a full window that overlooked the lantern lit street below where the trees along the side of the road were covered in twinkling nets of Christmas lights - which, as bright as they were, nearly made the low-lights in the restaurant unneeded.

I sighed seeing that there were no other furs on this floor. Whether it was from relief of being alone or unsettlement from it I wasn't sure. Either way, the Collie strode forward, and with a single fluid motion, swept the menus onto the table and pulled both chairs out for us to sit. Admiring the skill and composure our waiter had in his job, I sat gently with Deacon doing the same.

He took our drink orders - myself getting a water and Deacon opting for a Coke, deftly flipped open the menus and directed us to the house-specials, then piped "I shall return" and flitted down the stairs.

With our charismatic Collie gone fetching we were alone. Silence ensued. The two of us glanced through the menu while, at the same time, probably more hungry to know what the other was thinking. I had found what I wanted to order, not forgetting how starved I was, but found myself laboriously scrolling through the rows of dishes again and again as though a secret message lay hidden within the choices of side items. I was doing my best to avoid talking with Deacon, and that realization made me want to bash my head into the table before me.

I loved him for God's sake didn't I? The guy sitting across from me was the Connor Temple to my Abby Maitland, the Arnold to my Helga; since I met him my world had revolved around him, but here I was behaving like a selfish, sulking fool. I was mortified about what he'd meant earlier by saying he needed to talk, how terrified he himself had been. I didn't know what he had planned, and although it shook him to the core, that didn't mean the encroaching news had to be bad. I think I was more worried about how both his news and mine would affect our relationship. I mean of I course I was! It's not everyday that you reveal to your best-friend how you've been lying to him since the day you met, and how you love him and wish to spend the rest of your life with him!

I forcefully ripped my eyes from the menu and looked at him. He could have been doing the same thing I had been, but he was still looking intently through the menu, his face horizontal to the table. His huge, sculpted body looked uncomfortably squashed into his chair, and to me it looked like he was purposefully trying to make himself smaller. He had his arms plastered flat against his sides, and his hands disappeared beneath the table where they were probably clutched in his lap. His shoulders were wider than the table, and no matter how much he tried to squeeze himself together, it seemed as though his muscles and limbs were ready to spring back out like a tightly packed spring. As stuffed with frustration as he seemed to be, though, he appeared calm emotionally.

I shifted to look at myself in the reflection of the window.

Wow. Looks could be deceiving. I appeared calm as well, but on the inside I was a churning sea of dread and anxiousness. My hazel eyes twinkled with the lights from outside reflected in them, and tan-tipped ears were relaxed with my hair still smooth around them. I couldn't help but notice the frown I sported though, and the tautness of my cheek muscles. It had been there a while.

I caught Deacon peeping at me from his reflection, but I pretended not to notice. I spotted a ruffle of wind-tangled fur in my mane and unsheathed my claws to comb it out.

"You have retractable claws? Oh, whoops..."

I had jumped as he spoke, and stuck myself in the side of the head. A hiss seeped from between my clenched teeth as I yanked my paw from my flesh. I hadn't done that to myself since I was a cub so the pain was seethingly unfamiliar. The wounds rarely bled, but God they stung like a bitch.

I forced a snicker, and tried to be more careful as I raked out the knot, "Y...yeah. Haven't you ever...ah, ah..." Some of my fur got tangled around my fingers and tugged sharply. Deacon bounced in soft laughter as I worked it out. I'm sure the expressions on my face were anything but flattering, "Haven't you ever seen them? I comb my hair like this all the time."

"No. I've never gotten a good look at your hands, surprisingly..." he smirked, closing his menu.

It felt better to be talking now. We were both more relaxed. I was relieved that everything wasn't so uncomfortable that we couldn't enjoy each others company, although we were skirting around the true mysterious issue. I was still frightened, but whatever would happen later would happen. I couldn't change the unknown. I had to accept that. I could, however, take this moment for what it was: A peaceful, somewhat romantic dinner with the man of my dreams.

"Here, look," I said, holding my right hand out over the table toward him. He looked at it iffily for a moment, then pulled his own hand out from his lap and held mine with his palm facing up.

His grasp was alluringly warm. I wondered if it was always that way.

His paw all but swallowed mine. The black pads were like little cushions for mine to recline on. They fit together almost perfectly, something I think we both noticed because, almost simultaneously, we pressed them firmly together. I stared at our two hands fit snugly against one another, and felt my cheeks begin to tingle with heat as blood rushed into them. I'm sure my face was probably redder than any other time in my life. It was a simple form of contact to witness, but the intimacy exuded by that one shared motion was like a kiss on the cheek to me. Whether or not it affected Deacon I wasn't sure, but his eyes lit up and squinted sweetly, a calm smile flowing onto his face.

Collie then returned. He smiled jubilantly as he gazed at my hand in Deacon's. Dumbfounded by the appearance of another fur during that moment, I was shocked when neither of us tried to pull away. We sat there linked together until the waiter slipped our drinks onto the table and asked if we had decided. Deacon slipped his paw from mine only to hand the menus back.

My hand felt cold there alone so I pulled it back and took a sip of my water. Deacon ordered Lamb and Orzo while Collie scribbled it down on a small notepad. I had chosen Tortellini in Brodo which he likewise scribbled down, hungrily grunting "Good choice" as he did.

"Tortellini in Brodo, did you know, is a traditional Christmas entree in central and Northern Italy. Fitting, no? With the holidays just around the corner?" he chimed, his voice as spirited as his demeanor.

I supposed it was, although I hadn't picked the dish for that reason; I'd had no idea. It just sounded good.

Again, he glided away and left us silently observing one another.

"Can I ask you something?" I tried.

Deacon rested his elbows on the table and meshed his hands together beneath his chin. "Depends," he shrugged.

I was silent for a spell as I tried to read his face, but it had quite suddenly gone placid. "Okaaaaay," I finally sighed.

I figured he wouldn't allow me to maneuver my way around to figuring anything out. Still, I could try.

I went with the blunt approach, "What's going on?"

"Dinner," he shot back coolly, sporting a cocky smile.

"After dinner..."

The smile was gone, as was the cockiness, "You'll find out."

His words came out sweet, but the statement was riddled with intrigue.

I really didn't like being purposefully left in the dark, but I had accepted it this time given the circumstances. That didn't stop me from getting frustrated, though. I knew it would get worse the more I kept badgering, but hell...I wanted to know if I should be scared or not. He could at least give me that much.

"Just...just do me a favor," he whispered, his hands smoothing down his cheek-fur as he stroked the sides of his face.

"What?"

"Don't worry." It was less a wish and more of a plea.

A lump rose in my throat as tears began to well-up out of nowhere, "Should I worry?"

He gazed at me pitifully, and his head began to twitch left and right, "Colby, th..."

"Please, Deacon..." I whined.

I'd always considered myself to be a strong person. Nothing ever really phased me anymore. I didn't allow anything to do so for the most part. I focused more on trying to keep myself happy than letting the world's hardships beat me into a depressed pulp. I'd dealt with that already.

The last time I cried, and I mean really cried, was when my father was killed. That day fourteen years ago was the single worst day of my entire life. I can still see the headline from the newspaper as though it was laid out before me: "Father shot and killed by alleged kidnapper - saves 8 year-old son after suspect threatens to shoot child. Father receives multiple bullet-wounds to back, and dies at the scene. Child receives bullet-wound to leg, but is in stable condition. Suspect was shot and killed by police."

That article is branded into my memory just as much as the agonizing pain from the bullet that tore through my leg, the grunts of my dad as one round after another was emptied into his back. Like the report had said he died at the scene - but the thing about the newspaper is that they often skimp on details to save space in their columns. No one knew that my father held me while he died, or that he forced himself to stay alive to be sure I got help. No one knew that, as he choked on his own blood, he told me everything was going to be alright. No one knew that as he clutched me in his arms, I felt his heart beat for the last time.

Before he died, before the paramedics tore me from his protective embrace, he told me one thing: "Son, don't worry." Those words haunt me to this day and I can't hear them without seeing my father's broken smile, his eyes clenched in agony, blood falling like red tears from his face.

When Deacon said those very words all I could see was my father staring back at me from across the table. The resemblance was so uncanny that I gasped. I covered my mouth as a shuddering snivel racked my entire body. How had I never noticed before? The same eyes and face. The same build. The same selfless nature, caring heart, and need to make others happy.

Deacon was my father made over.

My heart twisted so dreadfully that I couldn't stop myself from shrieking. Hot, fat tears rolled down my face, and soaked the fur around my eyes, puddling onto the colored glass of the tabletop. It was over. I was in the clutches of my emotions now and there was nothing I could do to stop.

Through my sobs I somehow managed to glimpse Deacon. His eyes were so big and filled with alarm that you could see the reflection of the room around him in his sclera. He thought he'd caused my sudden anguish; it was written all over his face. Well, he had - but he had no idea that those words caused me such terrible grief. It wasn't his fault. I couldn't tell him that through my sobbing, however. Nor could I tell him that, after seeing my father so clearly in who he was, I was afraid I'd never be able to look at him the same way again.

The thought of Deacon changing in my eyes pushed me over the edge.

With my eyes blurry and burning from tears I pushed myself up, and I darted for the stairs as quickly as I could. I simply couldn't bare being there after what I had seen, and it tortured me even more to leave him overwhelmed and perplexed.

I shot down the steps without looking back. If I did what I would see would kill me: Deacon staring after me, and his eyes alone begging "Why?"

I hit the main floor, and nearly collided with Collie as I headed for the front and the way out. He cocked his head quizzically to the side as I shuffled by in a half-restrained lope. His tail ceased its wagging for the first time that night.

I didn't make eye contact with a single fur as I made my way out. I knew they were watching, and wondering why I had the gall to disturb their nice evenings. I wiped my eyes and exited. The warmth of the restaurant faded behind me as the cold chill of the night outside smothered it. The courtyard outside was still crowded, and without hesitating I dove into the mass of furs, not really knowing in which direction I was headed but not caring either.

I heard Deacon yelling for me again as I broke through the crowd and darted down the street. The agony in his call caused more tears to pour from my eyes, and he continued howling my name out even when his voice started to break. Eventually the sound of his shouts faded. I wept alone on someones front steps, and wondered what the hell I had done.