FSE

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I felt giddy as I sat next to Lani and watched television. Not restlessly giddy, but just the right amount of fervent excitement that builds in your system. Much like when riding a roller-coaster and you're scaling that enormous hill that - you know - you're so close to rising over. It was that tingling in your stomach and at the bottoms of your feet, that deep intoxicating breath you gasp as you look out over everything from so high up.

Lani laughed, her eyes glued to the TV. I smiled just because she was smiling, although I really hadn't stopped since my talk with Deacon.

"Spike is so badass. I want an awesome suit like that," she said dreamily.

Apparently Lani was a big Anime buff. I myself enjoyed it, and when she'd rifled through the DVDs above the TV earlier naming off things to watch until Deacon arrived, Cowboy Bebop came up. It was one of my favorites, and hers too apparently, because she hadn't stopped gawking at Spike as the lanky fox would roundhouse-kick enemies in the face. She really loved the violence, that girl.

I winced as Spike cracked a wolf over the head with a chair. I wondered where my wolf was.

I stupidly forgot to ask, but I assumed he went back to our dorms at school. Although, the thought of him driving back without me didn't sit well. He'd probably been sitting in his car for hours, unable to find me, waiting on me to call. If he did go back to school though, it'd be another hour before he got here. Watching TV had passed, maybe, fifteen minutes so far. I wanted Deacon there right then, though. I was so eager to see him that time seemed to have come to a crawl.

I glanced at the digital clock resting beneath the TV: 11:45 pm.

My legs began to tingle aggravatingly, like when you down a bunch of coffee and then immediately lay down. My body wanted to move.

When Lani had brought out the Anime Benji made his leave, going off into the kitchen. Since I was so eager to move around I figured I go see what he was doing.

I gazed back in the direction of the kitchen, my head lolling onto my shoulder. My nose wrinkled and ears shot backward; something didn't smell very well. I nonchalantly raised my arm and gave an investigatory whiff. Ugh. It was me. I shouldn't have been surprised. I mean, I did run all over the city earlier, so - sweat happens. I looked apprehensively to Lani as she smirked at the TV, finding something better to do after all.

"Hey," I said, prodding a finger into her bony shoulder.

Her eyes widened suddenly and she gave a shrill squeak, her ears falling back, "Ow?!"

I pulled my finger back, the fabric of her hoody yanking with it. "Oops," I smirked. I'd poked her with a claw by accident, "Sorry."

"S'okay," she said pitifully, "What?"

"Would it be okay if I took a shower? I...I kinda smell." I pinched my face sourly, hoping she didn't try to sniff too. Dogs do that, you know. It's a bit disconcerting - especially when they decide it makes up for a handshake.

Luckily she didn't. She was all to eager to take my word for it, "Yeah, sure. Hold on a sec..."

I got up while she stopped the DVD and stuck my head in the kitchen, reveling to myself when it didn't swim. Benji was behind the counter, swiftly chopping vegetables with a heavy knife clutched in his paw. His hand was a blur of black and white, the chopchopchopchopchop of the blade accented with satisfying crunches as it sliced through a red pepper.

He flashed a glance at me when I leaned over the bar, then focused on his task again to make sure he didn't lose a finger, "What's up?"

There was a pan on the burner sauteing steak and mushrooms, tomatoes boiling in a pot, and more chopped veggies sitting along the counter. The warm, homey aroma of it all caused my mouth to water, and I cringed as my stomach gave a growl that would have startled a lion. I'd completely forgotten how I'd been starving earlier, not having gotten any food because - well, you know. I was now deeply regretting that decision. Again.

"What are you making?" I asked, wiping a rogue drip of drool from my mouth before it hit the counter.

"Dinner," he said, his voice mellow as he turned to the burner with a pair of tongs. He plucked out a tomato then spun on his heel and dipped it into the sink; I hadn't noticed the ice-water in it. It steamed for a few seconds, bobbing about amongst the cubes of ice, then it was joined with another and another. Once Benji had emptied the pot on the stove, he turned back and prodded each of the tomatoes under the water a few times.

"But it's so late."

He shrugged, poking a tomato here, another there, "I work all day, going about like crazy, always on my feet, and carrying heavy trays. My lunch," he did the quotation sign with one hand and the tongs, clacking them together while curling his fingers, "Is anything but. Late or not, food is food. Dinner is dinner."

He leaned over close to inspect the bobbing fruit, then scooped one up. The skin had gotten wrinkly, and he cut a little line in it with his claw and started peeling it like an orange. I'd never seen that done before. It looked strange without its glossy red skin, all pale pink, veiny and irregular. Almost like flesh. A scar.

The inside of my left leg began to jerk, the skin pinching in one spot as if a needle was being driven into it. My finger roamed absentmindedly to that spot, feeling the difference in texture beneath my fur, a numb throb building there like it always did after walking for long periods of time.

"You know," Benji said, peeling his fourth tomato, "You never told me exactly what happened at the restaurant."

I scratched my leg one final time, "Oh yeah." I had completely forgotten.

So I told him of my secret love for Deacon, of how everything had seem to come to a head between us before going to the restaurant. I told him about my dad, his final words, and how Deacon had seemed to transform into him before my eyes after saying them. It was a brisk retelling, and I let him know about my reaffirmed feelings, which he nodded and smiled to.

"I'm sorry about your father. That's tragic." He plopped his skinned tomatoes into a food processor he'd yanked from a cabinet, "You miss him a lot, huh?"

If he only knew. But, he did - didn't he? He'd not only lost his dad, but his mother, too.

"Yeah," I said. Then, without thinking, "You must as well."

His finger paused over the puree button, eyes suddenly frigid; his glacier-blue one taking on a new level of icy.

Stupid.

"Benji, I..."

He smiled, even though his color had seemed to blanch, "Lani told you, huh? It's alright."

"But, oh God, I didn't..."

"Colby, it's okay. It was a long time ago."

It was? How long had he been on his own and taking care of his little sister? He looked around my age, but it wasn't my place to be so nosy, especially after busting the bubble that I knew more than I let on.

"Hey, Colby!" Lani called. It sounded like she was upstairs, her voice carrying down another hallway and into the kitchen, "What size clothes do you wear? I'll find some for you to change into."

Benji looked at me in puzzlement, one ear forward and the other turned toward Lani's voice. His temper had seemed to thaw.

"She said I could take a quick shower," I muttered, unsure if asking Lani was the best decision.

He pooched out his lips, ears standing forward and erect, looking me over analytically with his tail slapping against his side of the counter, "Lani, come handle the food for a bit please!" And then he smiled. It encompassed his entire muzzle, curling at the corners like only an evil, fashionista-mastermind's can, "I'll take care of it."

I was suddenly afraid.

I followed Benji upstairs after he told Lani what she should do in the kitchen, unsure of what he was going to "take care of", and wondering if I'd upset him with what I had said. I honestly wish I'd shut my mouth, being perfectly aware that - after what had happened - the subject of his mom and dad would be touchy. It still was with me.

I felt a sense of déjà vu as I climbed the steps behind him, his tail wagging - a little more sluggish than it had been, but still wagging. He went to the second room to the right of us and ushered me in. He told me I could sit on the bed, then disappeared into a walk-in closet. I peered around the room, hangers squeaking and clacking together in his wake.

His bedroom was much less ornate than the rest of the house, but no less elegant. Black walls, ivory trim, white carpet, white furniture. His mirror I fell in love with, telling myself I would get one when I had my own house. It - or they, I should say - filled the portion of the wall above his dresser, little honeycomb shaped glasses arranged into a whole. The further to the edge they got, the more they were separated, arranged all along the wall as though the mirror had been swept apart by a gust of wind.

I bounced on the bed, the snugness of it suddenly causing my weariness to bare down on me. I thought about laying down, the plush black comforter incredibly inviting, but Benji stepped back out and called me over to him.

He bowed his head, watching me critically, "How comfortable are you with dressy clothes?"

"Err..." I mumbled.

Dressy? I didn't like the term "dressy." It made me think of how my mother used to force me into embarrassing little suits when I was younger, strangling me with a bow-tie, and combing my hair over to one side.

He sensed my dismay and grunted a laugh, "Hold on."

"Why, uh...why dressy?" I asked, picturing a pin-stripe monstrosity. On the other hand, why was he wanting to dress me up in the first place?

He sighed when I asked, the sound muffled from within the closet. I peeked inside so I could hear him talk, my eyes and ears flicking here and there as he rifled through clothes.

"Why not dressy? Look," he said, "I know you've known and cared for Deacon for a while now. You know one another fairly well. However," He parted some closely packed shirts with a grunt, glancing from me to the rack, "Tonight is different. You're going to be seeing one another in a completely new way, and making a whole new first-impression."

He plucked a shirt from its hanger, and draped a pair of pants he had chosen over his arm. He grinned eagerly as he stepped toward me, "So, we're going to make it one the both of you will never forget." He spun me around and nudged me out, "That's why dressy. Or - how 'bought, casual classiness?"

Casual classiness: Much better. It had a nice ring to it.

Something was irking me, though.

"Benji?"

He was rifling through some drawers, and spoke over his shoulder, "Yeah?"

"Why...why are you doing all of this for me? Err..." no, that wasn't right, "For us, I mean?"

He stood motionless.

I could see his reaction from the reflection in the honeycomb mirrors, his eyes drooping to his paws still stuck in the drawer. His charisma seemed to turn to weariness. He looked so tired. He wasn't frowning, but his lips were a thinly pressed line along his muzzle, his tail between his legs, nose twitching as if smelling something that you can't quite recall. He pulled something out of the drawer, a piece of paper or plastic, lighting up faintly as he smiled at it. Then his eyes squinted, and the thin line spread to a gentle smile.

He tucked the thing in his hand back into the drawer, pulled out some black socks, then turned back to me. His cheer seemed to return, although a weight seemed to hold it back completely, "Lani told you about Jessie?"

I nodded.

He smirked, tossing the socks into my lap, "You just remind me of him, that's all. And...if I can keep something like what happened to us from happening to you two? Well, I...I will."

Oh.

He said you remind me of him with a glint of longing in his eyes, and I breathed a heavy, quivering breath. I knew that look, of having something yet not having it at the same time. That look of want - of loss.

He still loved Jessie.

He'd lost his mother, his father, and, in a sense, the guy who held his heart.

I couldn't hold it back anymore. It was overdue now anyway.

His eyes popped in shock as I stood and wrapped my arms around him, his chest huffing quick breaths of surprise. He just stood there for a moment, wrapping his head around what had just happened, completely overwhelmed with his arms spread out to the sides.

So far I had caused myself pain - which I had deserved but overcome. I had caused Deacon pain - which would shortly be mended. But I, unknowingly, had also caused Benji pain - which wasn't fair, and which he didn't deserve. He'd lost so much, and I had been blindly rubbing it in his face since I arrived.

Tears coursed down my face as I buried it in his soft chest-fur, "I'm sorry. I'm horrible. I'm so, so sorry."

"Oh, sweetheart," he whimpered.

His arms fell and wrapped daintily around me, his chest bobbing in either chuckles or snivels. He was a bit taller than I was, and rested his head on mine as it was pressed against him. I just kept saying I'm sorry over and over, as though multiplying it again and again would do the same for my sincerity.

He squeezed me tight, then stepped back and looked me in the eyes.

He had been crying, but he was smiling too. His expression was warm, forgiving, and brotherly. I imagined he comforted Lani with the same look. I was an only child, but, - with everything he had done, Benji now felt like my protective older sibling.

"Stop crying, now," he muttered. "There's no time for it, you hear?"

I wiped my eyes, "I'll never be able to repay you for this. I don't understand."

"Colby," he chuckled, taking the socks from my hand and dabbing his own eyes, "I don't want anything in return."

"But...but why?"

I expected a witty retort, but he just gazed at me, "Because, I...I just don't. I'm old, hon. Old and tired..."

"You're not old," I gawked.

"I'm 31 - over the hill. Don't deny an old dog his sentiment."

I rolled my eyes, smiling.

He continued, "I lost what I had, Colby. I made the mistake of keeping a secret for to long, and it cost me almost everything. You - you can learn from my mistakes, and hopefully keep what you have in here," he placed his hand over my heart, "for a long, long time. You've been hurt, just like me, but you have someone that can take that pain away. I'm just doing what my heart is telling me to do..."

He gasped as I wrapped my arms around him again, "Thank you."

"You better not start to cry again," he chuckled, patting my back, "I'll start again if you do, and I don't need stress-lines on my beautiful mug. I'm so old - I'd never get'em off."

"Okay, granny. I'm good now," I sniffed.

He barked a laugh, "Good - here, then. I'll leave these here for you. They suit you well so you can keep them." He lay the clothes in his arms down on the bed.

I watched him wide-eyed, "What? I can't take your clothes! I feel guilty enough alrea..."

His gaze became glacial again, "I don't care! I'm giving them to you."

"But..."

"But nothing! Besides, I bought them for Jessie a long time ago and he never got to wear them. Consider it me cleaning out both my literal closet as well as my emotional closet. They don't fit me anyway. For you, they should be perfect. Got it?"

I nodded swiftly in agreement.

"Good. Come on, I'll show you the bathroom."

He hustled me down the hall, showed me how to work the shower, where the shampoo and soap were, and handed me a towel.

"Does your fur frizz easily?" he asked.

I rubbed the fur along my arm, "Eh, kind of?"

He reached under the cabinet and handed me a bottle of something. The label said Silky in wispy cursive, "That'll help. You don't have to use a lot, it lathers like crazy. You won't even have to brush you fur out when you blow-dry."

"Mmkay."

"Have fun," he said with a wink, then closed the door.

I pulled open the door to the shower and started the water, yanking off my shorts and tee-shirt while it got warm. I kicked my discarded clothes to the side, then stood before the mirror covering the wall above the sink. The hiss of the cascading water caused my ears to drum.

I looked very worn out, but livelier then when I'd seen myself in the window of the restaurant. My eyes seemed heavy, shoulders droopy. I turned to the side and ran my paw down my stomach, the concaveness of it making me wish I'd snatched something to eat from the kitchen. The creamy tan-fur of my belly tickled as I scratched it, which resulted in the sensation breaking out all over. It often happens when I take my clothes off, my fur finally being free to move and not pressed flat against my body. I scratched and scratched, a thin layer of steam fogging over the mirror as I reached down my left inner-thigh and carefully soothed the skin around the scar from my bullet-wound.

The pale circle of flesh wasn't covered by any fur, but since it was on the inside of my thigh and pretty high up, no one had ever seen it. It was about the size of a silver-dollar, and it prickled as if annoyed that I'd touched it. I winced, straightening back up, and turned my leg out so that I could see it in the mirror. Yep, just the same as it had always been. A gross imperfection that branded the memory of my father's death into my very skin. I wrinkled my nose at it, the steam creeping up the bottom of the mirror and hiding it from sight.

I yanked off my briefs, hung my towel over the shower door, then stuck my hand into the jet of water to make sure it wasn't to hot. Once I was satisfied it wouldn't scald me, I skittered in.

Utter. Bliss.

The hot water seeped through my fur in seconds and drowned all of my body's tensions in soothing, caressing warmth. I slumped as my muscles seemed to say ahhhhh, just letting the heat seep deeper into myself, feeling the stream of water course over me unbroken. I closed my eyes and raised my face directly into the water, my eyes quivering as the warmth stretched to them, too. I'd forgotten about the cut on my head, which began to sting, so I noted to be careful and not scrub off the scab.

I really did need to scrub. Now that my fur had gotten completely waterlogged I was a lot heavier, and I didn't like the feeling of it at all. Normally I take baths, not having to worry about the added weight because I'm submerged, but once the fuzz begins to ware you down the bliss is forgotten.

As I squinted to find the Silky bottle I'd sat on one of the shower shelves, I knocked off a can of mousse. I squealed and jerked my feet out of the way, it banging against the tile floor of the shower. I flicked my ears, the metallic clang very unpleasant, and heard something else. Sounded like...did someone open the door? Didn't Benji lock it? I stood in the curtain of water trying to pick up any faint sounds, but to no success. Shrugging, I popped the top off of the Silky and squeezed some into my paw.

The stuff did lather like crazy. I used a little more than I should have, and the floor of the shower was beginning to look like one of those washing machine commercials - you know, where they use to much detergent and flood the washroom in suds? I myself didn't look much better. Instead of a cougar-wolf, I bet I resembled more of a freshly primped French poodle; pompom tail and all. That or a cotton-ball. It took more time to wash the stuff off then it did to put it on.

Once free of soap, I squeezed as much water out of my fur as I could, then plucked the towel from the door and started patting myself dry. Once I could walk without dripping water and soaking the floor, I stepped out and grabbed the hair-dryer. I looked unflatteringly smooth as I stared at myself in the mirror, my fur flat and hugging my body like spandex. If only Deacon could see me now, I thought. Sexy. Surprisingly, the Silky did a much better job than I had thought it would. By the time I'd finished with the blow-dryer, both my hair and fur were sleek and feathery soft, much like Benji's which I had been admiring. And I guess the heat of the dryer activated some type of scents in the stuff, because I now smelled like I'd been dipped in a vat of caramel. Not that I complained; it was nice. I was still very hungry, though.

So, refreshed, light, and pleasantly fragrant, I slipped my underwear back on, grabbed my dirty clothes, and padded toward Benji's room.

It's an odd and dreamy sensation when all of your tensions and worries seem to have been washed away. I felt like I was floating down the hall more so than walking, my tail wagging - which it had hardly ever done ever. I always thought that I had more cougar in me than wolf, which used to cause me to pout when I was a kid. I love my mother, but I always wanted to be like daddy. I wanted my tail to wag all of the time like his did when he was home, but the only "wagging" it did, for the most part, was a metronomic twitch left and right whenever I got aggravated. That was a feline characteristic, not the bubbly canine one that I wanted. Funny, now, that it turns out I can wag. I guessed I was more like daddy than I thought.

I paused at the door before turning the knob and entering. As I closed it behind me my dirty shirt fell from my arms, and I stooped over to pick it up, then, with my eyes still on the floor, I turned to walk to the bed and...

"Oomph!"

I thought I'd walked into a wall, but before my mind could catch up to what was going on, Deacon was there.

The world around us seemed to quite. He wrapped his arms around me. I was lifted off of the floor. I felt his warmth. I felt him breathing. His heart and my heart beating the same rhythm. His emerald eyes glistening.

He pressed his lips to mine, and the tensions I thought I had ridden myself of seemed to melt away in a flash of heat as blazing as the sun. My star had returned, and I was once again revolving around him.

His breath was my breath, lips gliding over mine as though he knew them inside and out. A free hand slid alluringly down the small of my back, tracing a pleasurable line and prickling my skin. My fingers were twined in his thick mane, his strong arms holding me steadfast against his body and showing no sign of letting me go. That was perfectly fine; I didn't want him to let go.

I felt a tear, only one, slip from my eyes. They tickled my cheeks, running down my face before getting soaked into my fur.

It was happening. I couldn't believe it. I was his, he was mine. His kiss was all that I had needed to be sure he cared for me, and now it was hard for me to tell if we were two separate beings. There was no wall between us, no fear, no emotional weight keeping us anchored to ourselves. We were together - for the first time since I had met him, since I had loved him.

We were together. Truly together.

Even when he pulled back from me, I was still swimming in him. I was dizzy from it.

His smile had overtaken his face, wet patches in his fur surrounding his eyes. They were squinted so sweetly like he did, ears fluttering like the wings of a butterfly lit atop a rose. I smiled instantly. I smiled so big that my cheeks pinched in pain, but all I felt was him. All I saw was him.

He leaned his head down, and I pressed my forehead against his. His muzzle tightened as he smiled again, "I couldn't wait. I needed you to know. I needed to know."

I squeezed him tightly, "Glad we're on the same page now."

We laughed.

He tightened his embrace, looking me over, "Does...I mean, please - tell me the truth. Does this feel as right to you as it does to me?"

Oh, God, did it feel right. I thought I'd felt whole before, but now I was complete. All of the troubles that had been vexing me about our relationship were forgotten. This was how it was supposed to be. I knew it, and - for the life of me - he knew it too.

I nuzzled him, "Like it was meant to be."

He sighed, his breath filling me up again, "I'm so fucking happy right now."

"Me too, Deac."

His chest expanded, "You smell really good, bo."

I pulled back and stared.

He shrugged, grinning, "What? You do!"

"You go from 'I'm so fucking happy right now' to 'You smell really _good'..._W. T. F."

He chuckled as I ruffled his hair playfully, grinning harshly at him, "Shut up, haha."

"Did Benji let you come up here?"

He nodded, "I was desperate. I had to tell you."

"Haha, you didn't tell me anything."

"I think this speaks for itself," and he kissed me again.

All of those same feelings washed over me again, greatly surpassing any shower I could ever take.

I pulled back, "Yeah. Yeah, you're right."

He bounced where he stood, me grunting as his arms squeezed with each hop, "God, I feel so...so...FANTASTIC! You do not know how long I've dreamt of this..."

I didn't, but if he was like me, then he'd been holding it in for a good while.

"God," he continued, still bouncing, "there's so much I have to tell you."

As much as I wanted to listen, as well as tell him some things, I was still almost naked and clutched to him a few feet off of the ground.

I giggled at his blushing energy, "Can I get dressed first? I think Benji's making dinner for all of us, so we can talk then. If that's alright..."

"No, of course!"

He reluctantly lowered me to the floor, "Sorry. I'm just excited."

I hugged him again, my arms circling around his solid middle, then stood on my tiptoes and placed a soft peck on his lips. I'd never thought he could blush, but I ran my paw down his cheek and felt the heat there.

"I can see that. I am, too. And I have stuff to tell you too, remember?"

"Sure do. Although I'm hoping most of it was taken care of here?"

He was just as bad as I was.

"Don't worry," I said without so much as a flinch, "It was, but there's still things you don't know."

"Okay," he sighed, "I'll be waiting."

"Not for long," and I kissed him again.

I was amazed. In most cases when I'd heard people talking about their first-kisses with the furs they loved, they'd said none could compare to that first joining of their lips. I had to disagree. Each one brought a different level of pleasant sensations for me, a new new first-kiss. From Deacon's expression I could tell it was the same for him.

He leaned in close once our lips parted, "Is it...no, it isn't."

"What?"

He laughed, holding my face, "I was just going to ask if it was to soon to say...to say I love you?"

Of course not. I'd loved him for two years.

"No," I said, eyes quivering, "because I do love you. I have for a while."

He relaxed, seemingly unfazed by that truth, "Me, too. And...I love you, bo."

He kissed my forehead, ran his hands down my arms, then walked toward the door. He stopped before leaving, turning and smiling, bobbing his eyebrows as he looked over me standing there in my undies. "Rooawr," he growled.

He barked in laughter as I threw my shirt at him, it draped across his face as he slammed the door and took off down the hall.

I was in love with a child, and that was just fine. You know why? Because he loved me, too.

He loved me, too.