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It's eleven at night, well, a little past it to be more exact. He's gone to sleep already. He has to get up early you see. He's got work in the morning. It's the same routine every week.

I wished him goodnight, kissed him on the nose and told him I would be up a little longer. It's a Friday night, I'm not working tomorrow and I'm in no mood to go to sleep quite yet. Although I'm not quite sure what I am in the mood for.

I've been feeling like this for a little while. Disconnected. Sort of... ajar. Like nothing is quite in place. I can't figure it out. I have a stable job, a decent apartment, a caring boyfriend. Nothing should be wrong. And yet...

It's hard to explain. It's like... It's like...

Dammit, I'm a writer. I should be able to figure this out, explain it, or at the very least express it a little more eloquently.

It's like a niggling doubt in the back of my head. A tiny, quiet voice that won't stop telling me that something _isn't right. It just won't tell me exactly what that _something is.

I stare at the half written chapter of the novel I've been writing for the past god-knows-how-long, but I can't bring myself to set paw to keyboard and make any progress. It's a damn Friday night. I can't spend every Friday night like this for the rest of my life. People are always telling me I need to get out more.

I shut down the computer. I walk into our bedroom, opening the door slowly so as not disturb him. I look down at him, watch his chest rise and fall with every breath. There's no point in waking him. I'll be back long before he wakes up. I'm sure he'll be happy I went out somewhere anyway.

I leave him be, closing the door carefully. I shove on a coat and head out into the cold night. The chilled night breeze hits me harder than I anticipated. I needed fresh air more than I knew. I needed to breathe.

What's wrong with me?

It's like I've been in a wide courtyard and the walls have been closing in on me, ever so slowly, almost unnoticeably, every day for the past few months.

Maybe I should invite somebody to come out with me. But... they'll have plans, or they have work, or they're not in the area, or it's too last minute. No point really. It'll be fine. It'll help me to clear my head. Maybe it'll even give me a few ideas for the story.

I've never been much of a bar person, never really understood why you would want to go out and waste money on drinks and losing control, but at the same time it's a great place to go and be immersed in people, culture and sound. I hope it will do me some good. I head in the direction of the nearest one I know of.

Autumn. Fall. Whatever you call it. The cold almost makes me want to go and get back in bed. Not quite enough for me to actually turn and walk home though. No. I need to be out here tonight. Just out. Away.

It's like sinking in quicksand and not even trying to get out, just looking down at your disappearing feet and legs and thinking: oh.

Every weekday I go to work. Every evening I spend time with him: talking, watching TV, fucking. Every night I write.

I've been noticing my work's been getting less inspired lately. Less original. Less interesting.

Every weekend I have a quiet Friday in as he sleeps for work. Saturday night we go for a meal or get a takeaway. Sunday we meet friends or relatives.

I'm too young to get bored of life. Fuck's sake I'm not too many years past twenty. What's wrong with me?

Inertia.

The streets are fairly empty, but every now and then somebody walks by, or I walk by them. A group of canine teenagers over there, laughing too loudly and throwing around insults at one another. A leopard and a well endowed bunny lady over here going off towards the cinema together, arm in arm. A lone coyote in a short sleeved shirt and tight fitting jeans that show off his ass as he swaggers off in front of me, no doubt on his way to a nearby club.

There's a story in every single one of them. The thought cheers me up a little: imagining narratives for them all. The group of rowdy teens could be playing dare and going one dare too far, ending up in trouble as one of them gets seriously hurt. Maybe there could be a police investigation. High tensions. Drama.

The leopard and the bunny could be on a first date, it could be an awkward and cute little story about what happens there, failed flirtations and misunderstandings... but, of course, with a nice happy ending to make all the readers feel warm inside. Maybe not so much my style, but the ideas keep my mind buzzing. They distract me from those plaguing feelings. Makes me feel like I'm doing something right.

Then there's the coyote. He works the night away shaking his ass at other guys in the club, trying to tally up as many guy's mobile numbers as he can and then comparing his score at the end of the night to his friend, a wolf, who was trying the same thing in a club half way across town.

I can't help but laugh at the idea. If anybody was watching they might think I'm crazy. Some lonely otter, wrapped up in a coat, staring at the floor and laughing to himself. Fuck that. I'm feeling happy, I'm allowed to express that on the rare occasion it actually comes about these days.

As I come up to the bar my senses become overwhelmed with a mass of information. The sounds of loud chatter, inoffensive chart music, movement and drinking becomes all I can hear. When I walk inside the warmth hits me like a heatwave. The colours of my world become vibrant and alive. There are people all around: socializing, drinking, enjoying themselves. This was a good idea. Just being here is making me feel a little less tense.

I walk up to the counter, half on autopilot, looking around the room and examining each person one by one, wondering what they'd be like and what interesting things they have gotten up to in their lives and how and why exactly they're here. When the equine bartender asks me what I'd like to drink it takes me a moment to realize that he's even talking to me.

He glares down at me with glazed over eyes and a bored, expectant expression covering his face while he waits for my answer.

"I, uh..." I take a moment to collect myself and really think about the question. "Just some water, with ice, please."

The bartender sort of grunts, sort of snorts and prepares the drink for me, I feel a little embarrassed but I don't change my order. I don't really want to get drunk and I could do without spending money that I don't need to.

Once it's done I sit down with the drink on a small, empty table near the corner of the room, taking sips of the water and carrying on with my people watching.

From behind me, right in the corner of the room I hear a few voices talking, I turn my head to see them. There's a group of four sitting there, all a little younger than me (I would guess they're all in their early twenties). There's a lanky, glasses wearing zebra; a dark furred feline, twiddling a pen between his fingers; a short fox, sitting with a laptop in front of her; and a wolf staring at the feline, pointing down at the table. In front of him, and in fact in front of all of them besides the fox with a laptop, is a notebook.

Their words gain clarity and meaning as I begin to comprehend what I'm seeing.

"I feel like if I made him do that then it would be so out of character." The wolf admits, glumly, before attending to a tall glass of orange colored liquid beside his paper.

"You shouldn't make your characters do anything, you should let them do what they want to do. You're just there to record it." The fox says, looking up from her screen and exaggeratedly wagging a disapproving finger at the wolf.

"Do you have any idea how pretentious you sound right now?" The wolf asks. The group laugh together. "I know what you're saying though. You're right, as usual." His gaze turns back down to his notebook and he begins scribbling something into it.

There are a couple of seats free at their table. My stomach churns. This isn't like me. I stand up. I've always been the introverted type. It's rare for me to start a conversation with an acquaintance let alone walk up to a bunch of strangers and start asking them questions. Yet... tonight I need to do something different. Routine hasn't helped me lose this gnawing feeling. I walk close to the group; the zebra seems to notice me and turns away from his friends to watch my approach.

"Hi, uh, are you all writers?" I ask, not quite sure who to look at so my gaze sort of ends up centred right in the middle of the group.

"Did the pens and paper give it away?" The Zebra asks, smiling warmly. "Yeah we're writers. Well, future writers. I suppose it depends on how you look at it."

"If you write and you truly care about your writing then you're a writer." The fox says in a tone that suggests she's said it a hundred times before. "You don't have to be published Zachary."

The zebra turns to her and shakes his head exhaustedly. "That's why I said it depends on how you look at it."

"Is this some kind of writing group you do then?" I ask, attempting to restrain my voice and posture from appearing too obviously enthusiastic. Maybe joining a group like this could help me out. It could make me happier. It could help make everything feel a little less stale. It's been so long since I really _met _new people.

"Yeah, if you can call it that." The wolf responds. He laughs to himself for a moment before continuing. "We do write, but there's also a lot of bullshitting that goes on too."

"Some of us do more writing than others," the fox chimes in. The wolf elbows her lightly. She glares back at him with a look that screams: not now honey, we have company. Or maybe I'm reading too far into things. Then again having an active imagination is useful in this line of business.

"Sounds fun." I say. "I only asked because I'd been looking to join something like this, I've been having a bit of writer's block recently and thought it might help." It's part lie, but the basic sentiment is true. I would like to be part of this.

The black furred feline, who hasn't yet spoken, runs his eyes over me and smiles a smile that knocks all thought from my head. His emerald eyes and relaxed features give him an air of self-control and contentment that can't help but be infectious. It's like he's entirely in his element. His movements are controlled and steady; he looks relaxed and happy in himself and where he is and what he's doing. I can see in him the exact feeling I've been searching for. This sort of ultimate acceptance of yourself, your life and the world around you. An ultimate ease to your being. He's got it completely. It makes my heart stop for just a moment, and then he speaks.

"If you like the sound of it then come and join in," he looks around the table at his friends before his eyes land back on me, he seems to study my features for a while longer before continuing. "It might be nice to have somebody else who actually knows the difference between a verb and an adverb around here."

The wolf lets out an indignant tut and the fox laughs, the zebra - Zachary - smiles and pats at a chair between him and the feline. I pull it out and take a seat, feeling a rush of a feeling that I haven't felt in quite while, its so foreign to me that it takes me a moment to realise exactly what it is: belonging.

"Unfortunately I forget my notebook and pen." I say, comfort steadily seeping in to my tone and movements.

"It's fine," the feline says, bright eyed. "Tonight was more of a social thing anyway. Most of the time we meet somewhere a little more quiet and chilled. Coffee shops, one of our houses or whatever. It's just once a month we come to the bar and talk shit, maybe have a drink or two." He points a finger over to the wolf's orange drink. "Or have an orange juice, whatever floats your boat." Suddenly I'm very aware of the glass of water I've been clutching this whole time and I stare down at in embarrassment. "Water's fine too." He adds, evidently following my gaze and reading my thoughts.

"See, not everybody needs to drink to have fun," the wolf chimes in, nodding at me.

"I must seem like the biggest douche right now. I must just be that kind of pretentious artist type who comes to the bar, orders water and proceeds to interrupt a group of people's night out." I place my glass down on the table.

"Oh, we're all pretentious artist types here, don't worry." Zachary says in his best imitation of an overly posh accent. I chuckle and he grins.

"Honestly I didn't mean to interrupt your social night though, I really should get going."

"No, no, no. It's fine. Stay." The feline says, leaning back in his chair and taking a drink of his yellowish lager. "We wanted to grow this group thing anyway. We're just shit at advertising. You seem like a nice guy, if you want to sit around and chat about writing, or anything really, then feel free to stay around." He leans forward and cups his paw around my ear, bringing his mouth close towards it. When he starts speaking it's in a loud mock whisper that the rest of the table are very clearly meant to hear, but the proximity of his mouth and the smoothness of his voice make me almost miss the words myself. "Between you and me this present company is getting a little stale."

"Well I wouldn't want to disappoint you then. I suppose I can stick around for a while."

"Great," the feline says with a delightfully enthusiastic purr. "Since you're here you can start by telling us your name."

"Tyler." I say, nodding and taking another gulp of water. "What about yours?" I wave a paw across the table to indicate that I'm asking all of them.

"That's Zachary," the feline says pointing towards the happy looking zebra. "That's Mary with the laptop, the annoying wolf is Luke and my name is Jack. You better remember them quick, there will be a test next week." I laugh and assure that him I'll try, Jack grins and his eyes continue to wander over my body as he speaks. "So what brings a lone, suave otter writer out to a bar on a Friday night." He motions towards my water. "It certainly wasn't the drinks."

"Honestly? Well..." I take another sip of water. "I wanted to clear my head. My writing wasn't going anywhere tonight so I went out for a little walk. I thought coming to somewhere full of people might do good for my inspiration, so I ended up in here." It's all true, although it may not be _all _of the truth.

"And have you found anything..." He pauses, looks me straight in the eyes and leans forward, his head resting on one of his paws propped up by an elbow on the table. He draws out his last word in a breathy tone: "Inspiring?" He winks at me and smiles a mischievous smile.

I could swear that my heart stops for a full five seconds. I get this kind of cold feeling spreading across my face and neck and an uneasy sense of dread fills me. That gnawing sense of inertia and displacement returns, a little different now. My stomach churns.

"He looks like he's seen a ghost," Luke remarks, referring to me but pointing the comment firmly at Jack. "Sorry Tyler, he can be a little forward, don't mind him. He isn't the type to chase after a straight guy."

"Hell, my gaydar really must be off." Jack says with a small, unusually insecure laugh. He leans back in his chair. "Sorry about that."

"Take it as a compliment." Mary says. "It means he thinks you're hot. He's never flirted with me like that. Between you and me I think it might be the tits."

My head is swimming with contradictory thoughts and emotions.

Inertia.

I have to stop thinking and over thinking every little thing. Stop being that awkward, quiet, scared guy in the corner. Just talk. Just act. Do it.

"No, sorry. I didn't mean to come across like that. Your gaydar is acting fine." Jack's smile returns suddenly, he straightens up in his chair. "I just, uh..." have a boyfriend. "It's just that I, uh..." am in a closed relationship of over three years with the sweetest man I have ever met. "I guess what I'm trying to say..." is that this can't work and never can no matter how sexy, funny and charming you are. "My gaydar's the one that's busted, I really didn't expect that."

Fuck.

Jack beams a wide grin my way. It's full of happiness, warmth and excitement.

Oh fuck.

I smile back. That churning sensation turns into fluttering.

What the fuck am I doing?

"Good to know I haven't entirely lost my sixth sense." He says. His eyes examine and admire me with renewed interest. "I'm sorry if it was unwelcome though, either way. You're just so damn cute."

"Oh, it wasn't unwelcome." I feel like I'm sitting inside my mind unable to do anything while somebody else makes decisions for me, speaks for me, works to destroy the comfortable life I've worked so hard to set up, works to destroy my relationship. To break the inertia I've been propelled along these past few months. (Years?) Fuck. I can't think like that. "To answer your question - have I found anything inspiring? - I'm starting to think that I have."

His eyes light up even brighter than they usually are, his ears perk up and he hides his overjoyed expression behind a gulp of alcohol.

"Get a room." Luke says, although his smirk and exaggerated tone betray his joviality.

"Ah, ignore him." Zachary chimes in. "You two would make the cutest couple." Out of the corner of my eyes I see him mouth an over-the-top good for you at Jack.

"Couple? Zachary they literally just met five minutes ago, don't scare the nice otter away." Mary says, she turns to me. "Honestly though Tyler if you haven't got sick of our third rate excuse for humor by now then I'm sure you'll fit in like a charm."

"Hey," The zebra speaks up again. "And if you and Jack hit it off, then maybe he will finally write a story that isn't about being sexually repressed for once."

"Oh darling, well maybe if you put out a little more often then that problem would already have been dealt with." Jack says to Zachary in a hyper camp tone.

Zachary ignores Jack, turns to me and says: "Don't listen to him, he's delusional. I would never put out for a scrawny feline like him." He loudly whispers the next part, miming as if the whole table couldn't hear him. "Truth is I'm not even gay. Don't tell him though it might implode his self-constructed head canon."

Jack ignores Zachary, then does the exact same thing, turning to me and saying: "That zebra is crazy. He seems to read all my stories as if they were personal love letters to him. When you're as deranged as he is you can twist words into any meanings you want. I mean, he's not even hot."

I can't help but be entertained by the whole thing. I've never really spent time with people like this. Happy people, comfortable people, interesting, confident people. It's a liberating feeling. Like somebody passed me a key to a lock I've been trying to pick my whole life. I got a free pass to happiness and enlightenment. I wish I had known these people my whole life. Warm, passionate, fun.

"I see we're doing even less writing this month than usual." Mary says, shaking her head in disappointment, but the sparkle in her eye tells me she's enjoying this more than she lets on.

"I'm sorry that I've been such a destructive influence."

"No, it's not your fault. I just hope you don't think we're this ridiculous all the time. I want you to know this writing group isn't some front for a bunch of loud, flirty boozers. Most weeks we write, read over each other's work, get help on anything troubling us. All that good stuff." Her voice is warm, her expression is bright and cheerful. Where have these people been all my life? "The boys are just showing off for the newcomer."

"This seems like a great little thing you have going on here, I'd love to be part of it. I honestly think this has helped me a lot already. I know we haven't talked about writing since I came over, but just knowing that you people exist is a real help."

"We'll get you over that writer's block in no time," Jack says, beaming at me. The wolf, Luke, holds up a paw and opens his muzzle, then closes it and scowls. Jack looks over to him and shakes his head. "Go ahead I can tell you had something to say."

"No, no, it's fine. I was just going to make a stupid innuendo." He dips down a little and his ears flatten against his head. "Mary's right though, we should make a good first impression." He laughs to himself then looks up to me. "Hey we should add you on FurBook so that we can update you with venues and such for our meet-ups."

"Oh, yeah, um..." And now my heart's pounding. "FurBook..." Tyler Wright, in a relationship with... since... "Problem is," I don't want you to know I'm a liar. "I never use it."

"Ah, one of those people. Don't worry I have friends like you. You'll all have to join the rest of us over here in the present century some day though, ha!"

I try and laugh to keep the vibe friendly, but it comes out as more of a cough. I take a drink of water. I need to keep control of myself.

What am I doing?

"Why don't I just give you my phone number?"

"That'll do fine."

I pull out my mobile and read off my number for Luke to take down, Jack also takes his mobile out and after a glance my way I nod at him and he takes the number down too.

"Well," Jack says, putting his mobile away. "Now that introductions have been dealt with, we can get back to the writing part."

"Sounds great," I say, and I mean it.

"But only after I buy you a real drink." He points towards my half empty glass of water.

"You know, if I were the suspicious type I might think you were trying to get me drunk."

"And what if I was?" He says in a smooth, controlled tone. Warm, yet whisperlike. Confidence without arrogance. Power without greed. It's all there in his voice along with a layer of sexual drive just bubbling below the surface, ready to rush out and envelop me at a moment's notice. In his restrained, yet expressive smile. In his relaxed, sultry eyes. In the way he stands and offers a paw out to help me up with a sense of grace and ease. In all of that is everything I've ever wanted.

"I'd say you better get me that drink quick."

What the fuck am I doing?