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Ryan’s Pub, Deepwater, the night before _Ashley’s Fling _

( Content Warning : F-slur, Thoughts of Self-harm/suicide)

Night Ranger was playing softly through the bar. The place was all mahogany and warm golden lighting, a large seating area around a semi-circle bar in the center with a big, full length mirror wrapping around behind it. Cushioned chairs at the tables and benches in the corners, all combined to give it an old school feel. Fitting, since Ryan’s was an old school, Irish pub built by settlers around the turn of the century to give their fellows a taste of the old country, and all it’s rugged, earthy charms.

“What about him?” asked a stoat seated in an extra chair at one of the tables. They were dressed in a short skirt, a pink croptop and arm warmers, a pair of fishnet stockings and heavy, high heeled combat boots. Their white headfur styled in a swoop over the eyes with a little touch of purple dyed into just the tip. Mascara and blush had been applied, liberally, and their claws, both hand and paw, were well tended, smooth and painted with a glossy pink which matched their shirt and the pleats of their skirt.

Very few onlookers would ever guess that he was the oldest son of Connor Ryan, the owner-operator of the pub they were sitting in. There was a reason this place had become a bit of a hangout for what passed as Deepwater’s LGBT community: Connor loved all his children, including little Ashley, very much, and was very proud of them. Anyone who came into his bar and took umbridge with that was likely to get thrown out with a few bones out of order, if not by his hand, then by Ashley’s younger brother, Clifford, who was currently sitting on a stool at the end of the bar closest the door, where he could see most of the drinking area, with a hefty, old blackthorn walking stick resting by his right hand.

The question that Ashley had asked was directed to the two other Anima sitting with him; up first was a whitetail doe who had her short headfur tucked under a backwards baseball cap, a tanktop over a long sleeved tee and a pair of cargo pants, and wore nothing over her hooves. No make-up or painted nails or girly affectations to be found here. It was strangely as though they were both the opposites of the molds most would have tried to fit them into, and both looked utterly comfortable being so.

Second was a coyote, his dark gray fur neatly brushed and groomed, shading to creamy highlights over his throat and across his chest where it showed, down the front of the dark blue, cropped tanktop he wore. That creamy color carried on through the narrow band of exposed abdomen that showed the light shining off of a navel piercing. He had natural black highlights in the fur of his back, starting just behind his two large ears and running down, all the way to the tip of his bushy tail. He wore a pair of tight skinny jeans that showed of his strong calves and the swell of his hip, and nothing on his paws but for a toe-ring on the second toe of his right paw.

The focus of the question was a man, a husky Anima, sitting at the bar around twenty feet from them across the room, with his back to them, sipping what looked like a gin and tonic as he bobbed his head lightly to the music. He was broad shouldered, with black fur that, in spite of having been trimmed recently, looked warm and soft even from this distance. Even so, it did little to hide the muscular physique that said he went to the gym regularly. Ashley hadn’t taken his eyes off the man for several minutes, currently leaning back in his chair, balancing it on two legs while his paws were hooked under the table to prevent it falling backwards.

Mandy, the doe, glanced up from her laptop she’d been doing homework on, picking up her iced tea to sip as she looked at the man. She sniffed dismissively, as she typically did towards men anyway, and looked back down at her laptop. “Straight.”

“What? No way!” Ashley said, tipping forward slightly and turning to look at the deer, before looking back at the man. “What?!”

“I’m telling you, Ash, he’s straight. Don’t bother.” The deer pressed, and the stoat groaned.

“Uggggh! Why do you two have to be such buzzkills anyway!? I mean, it’s not like he’d know, anyway!” He said, gesturing to himself.

“Yeah, til you got to his house, or motel, or car, or where ever you manage to get to before he tries to cop a feel and gets a handful of more than he bargained.” Dylan, the coyote, spoke up from across the table, glancing up at his friend with a smirk.

“Oh, my God, you guys! What if he’s not straight, huh?! How can you even tell?”

Mandy looked up with a quirked eyebrow. “Ever heard of gaydar?”

“Pfft. That’s a myth and you know it.”

“Just because you somehow lack it, doesn’t mean it’s not real, Ash.”

The stoat stuck his tongue out at the deer, who looked like she was contemplating kicking his chair out from under him, and the coyote decided it was time to act, if only to prevent his friends from causing a mess, AND a scene.

“Okay, fine.” Dylan said, sighing and taking a drink of his beer. “I guess I get to settle this.” With that he got up, tail sweeping back and forth lightly in time with his hips as he walked over to the bar. Mandy looked up from her laptop and Ashley leaned back in his chair, watching the canine make his way up to the bar and slip onto the empty stool beside the husky with a small smile.

“He’s totally fucking gay.” Ashley said, watching as the husky turned with a surprised look to the coyote, who crossed his legs and leaned on the bar, saying something they couldn’t hear over the music and chatter. The husky blinked and leaned back slightly, hand on the barstool between his legs.

“Nope.” Mandy replied, watching as the husky said something and shook his head slightly, and Dylan held a hand up in a placating gesture, still smiling. He gestured back towards them, and the husky glanced their way. He looked back, eyes trailing over both of them, before he glanced back at Dylan and said something else.

“He’s drinking a Gin and Tonic! Straight guys do not drink Gin and Tonic!” Ash pointed out.

“Yes, they do, Ash. That is a stupid baseline of logic to try to guess someone’s sexuality.”

“Yeah, well… You’re stupid, Mans!” Ash retorted, huffing as he turned his head back towards where the coyote was chatting to the guy at the bar. “Ten bucks says I get laid before the night’s out!” he said, smirking. “Dylan’s the best damn wingman in the whole county!”

Mandy didn’t even look at him. “You’re on.” She said.

Less than five seconds later, the husky’s eyes went wide as saucers, his brows shot through the roof and he did a double take back towards their table, before looking at Dylan incredulously. “That’s a guy?!” They both heard him exclaim, clear as day. Dylan laughed and nodded, and the guy, looking very uncomfortable, turned away, shaking his head and bent down over his glass. Dylan got up, saying something in passing to the husky and then turned, heading back to their table with a smirk and a shake of his head.

“Are you kidding me?!” Ashley exclaimed, falling backwards in his seat, only his legs under the table still preventing the chair from falling over backwards as he let his arms, head and tail all simply flop limply. “Who doesn’t wanna fuck a femboy?! We’re the best of both woo-hoo-hoorlds!”

At the stoat’s petulant whine, Mandy grinned, the first since the conversation began. “Too bad, so sad, now pay up, buttercup.”

“You’re evil.” Ashley said, glaring at the deer, even as he tilted his chair forward and reached back for his phone. “And you,” he said, sitting back up to glare equally at the coyote. “You’re just baffling! You’re a coyote, for fuck’s sake! You’re supposed to be a whimsical desert trickster! What’s with the whole ‘no hitting on straights’ thing, anyway?! That’s not very ‘trickster’ of you!” He looked down as he sent Mandy ten bucks on PayPaw, then reached for his drink to wash down this sour defeat.

“That is a hurtful, speciest stereotype, Ash.” Dylan said as the stoat took a big drink of their Daiquiri, before gagging, spitting the drink all over the table. “Oh, bt-dubs, there’s salt in your drink.” Dylan said, smirking, and he and Mandy fist bumped.

“Oh, come, ooonnnnn! You guys suck!” Ashley said, groaning and laying his head on the table. “I need diiiiiick!”

“And with that statement setting the tone for the rest of the night, I’m outta here. Have fun, you two.” Mandy said, getting up. “You got a ride home, Dee?”

Dylan nodded. “Thanks, Mandy, I’m good.”

After the doe had walked off, Dylan signaled to Erin, Ash’s little sister, at the bar, and ordered the stoat another Daiquiri, before resting his chin on his hand, looking at the stoat across from him. “Hon, if you need it that bad, why not just call someone you know? You and I both know you have plenty of boys in your contacts that would drop everything for a taste.”

“Pfft. Their all boring, I’ve had them before!” Ash said, huffing, and shifting his head to look up at Dylan. “What about you, huh?” He said, stretching his leg out and running one booted paw against the side of the canine’s leg. “Would you be up for some fun?”

“Mmm… Normally, Ash, you know I wouldn’t say no, but right now? It’s Finals week, before we go on summer break, and it is kicking my tail as hard as it is Mandy’s.”

“Yuck. Why do you bother with college, anyway?”

“Well, Ash, not all of us are lucky enough to have a Dad as set up as yours is, ya know? You get to work here one day, and I’m sure you’ll love it, but for me, for now, I kinda need the degree.”

“Why? So you can go psychoanalyze the customers at Mickey D’s or Wally-World while serving them burgers or showing them where the charcoal grills are?”

“Didn’t your Dad make you work at Walmart for a year?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. And he only did that so I’d know how good I have it.”

“Exactly. You have it lucky, Ash. Really, REALLY lucky. And, yeah, maybe I won’t get a job right off where I can actually use my degree, but at least I’ll have it, in case I get the opportunity.”

Ash groaned out and was saying something about not understanding why Dylan had gone for a degree in psychology anyway, as the coyote took a sip of their beer and glanced across at the bar idly, just seeing if anyone else they knew might’ve shown up. The husky was gone, probably bolted in a panic not long after realizing he’d been eye-fucking a guy without knowing it. Poor guy, he was in for some hard questions of himself over the next few weeks, most likely. Oh, well, if he decided he was curious, he could always come back and-

Dylan stopped, turning as his big, amber eyes caught on a face at the bar, a hand having just caught the attention of Erin. As the stoat girl walked over, Dylan got a good look at the guy: A tiger Anima, wearing a light hoodie over a t-shirt with a band logo on the front, Nirvana, he was pretty sure. This information came to him distantly, as though through a fog, as the sound in the room dimmed and all he could hear was the blood pumping through his head.

“Hello? Earth to Dylan, you in there?” Ashley asked, and Dylan jumped slightly, looking at him, then glancing back at the bar. It wasn’t a bad dream. The tiger was still there, nodding and giving a tight lipped smile to Erin as she set a glass in front of him and poured him a whiskey. As she walked off, the tiger glanced around, only briefly, but Dylan would swear to God he watched him look right at them, before blinking and glancing down at his whiskey, staring into the glass, like he didn’t recognize him.

“Bull. Shit.” Dylan said, pressing his lips together and sitting up straighter, before he turned, seeing Ashley looking at him like he’d lost a screw or two. “Look over at the bar. See that tiger?”

Ashley turned, looking around, and quickly spotted the feline in question. He lifted an eyebrow, leaning on his arm. “Oh, he’s hot~! You think he’s gay?”

“No, Ash. He most certainly is not.” Dylan said, curling his snout. “That is Michael Tsang.”

Ash turned around and looked at the Coyote, eyes wide. “THAT is the guy who bullied you and Mandy in High School?!” He asked, looking back, before whining. “Maaaan, why didn’t I get a hot bully when I was in School?”

“Ash, could you please stop calling him hot? I mean… Okay, he is, but he was an actual asshole. Have I told you about how he’d flirt with Mandy all the time, after she came out? Said he ‘had the cure for what ailed her’.” The coyote shuddered slightly, shooting a glare at the tiger again. “What the fuck is he doing here?”

Ash had flinched at that revelation, turning to look at the tiger again. “That’s a good question, really. If he was that big of a homophobe… Pretty much everyone in town knows that our place is a hangout for the Community, whether they like it or not. So would he, right?”

“Mm. Maybe not. From what I remember, he left town, went to college at Dulsee State.” Dylan said, shaking his head.

“Ohhh. You think he’s seen us?” Ash asked, glancing back at the coyote, who’s frown deepened.

“Oh, I fucking know he did! He looked right at me, then started staring into that whiskey glass like it held the secrets of the universe.” He sat for a second, tail swiping back and forth, before he grabbed his beer and downed a drink, setting it down a little hard and stood up.

“Hey, whoa there, Dee!” Ash said, sitting up straight. “What are you doing?!”

“I’m gonna go talk to him.” Dylan said, straightening his top.

“Uh, are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why not? This is your family’s bar, your brother’s right over there. He tries to start anything and he’ll wind up outside before he can blink.”

“Well, yeah, except isn’t this kinda you starting the shit, Dee?” Ashley asked, which did make the coyote pause. “Come on, let’s just… go upstairs to my family’s place. We’ll sit and play Black Ops or something for a while and give him time to leave or start shit with someone else and get thrown out. What do you say?”

Dylan almost looked like he was considering it, before he shook himself, his tail lifting, ears perking and back straightening up. All classic canine signals of control and dominance. “No! We spent four years of our lives running and hiding from that asshole, I’m not doing it here, in my favorite bar! If he thinks I will, he’s got another thing coming.”

With that, the coyote took off, and Ash knew he was powerless to stop him. “Fuck!” He cursed under his breath, pulling out his phone and shooting a quick message into his family’s group chat, warning Cliff to keep an eye on things and Erin to be ready to dial 911 if needed, and then opened his phone’s camera. If any shit started, he would record it. If Dylan started it, he would accidentally “forget” to hit the button.

* * * * *

What are you doing, Dylan? This is stupid! Why the hell would you ever think in a million years this was a good idea?! Just turn around, grab Ash, go upstairs and play COD until you pass out! You don’t need to talk to this asshole! Dylan clenched his jaw and ignored the voice in his head, the tingles running down his spine and the cold, hollow spot forming in his stomach. He would be damned if he let Michael Fucking Tsang push him around like he was fifteen again, even if it was indirectly. Lord knew, he’d gone out of his way enough back in school to avoid the bastard, and he wasn’t going to do so, anymore!

As he got closer, he saw that Michael was still staring into his glass, moving it around in circles and watching the amber liquid inside slosh about. He frowned, huffing out a breath as he came to a halt seven or eight feet back from him, just out of arm’s reach. The tiger sat, wearing his Dulsee State team hoodie, staring into his glass, looking for all the world like just another drunk sitting at a bar. Except that his ear had twitched as Dylan stepped up, and now his tail had puffed up and started twitching back and forth, both signs of stress. Dylan crossed his arms and quirked an eyebrow. “I know you saw me, Michael.” He said.

The tiger’s ears flicked back, before his shoulders hunched slightly and he tilted his head a bit. “Fuck.” He said, under his breath, but not so quietly that Dylan’s sharp ears weren’t able to pick it up. The tiger turned slowly and looked at him. “What do you want, Dill Pickle?” He asked, and Dylan felt his hackles stand on end.

“Don’t you fucking call me that, Michael Tsang! We’re not fifteen anymore! What are you doing in my favorite bar!?” He demanded, voice heavy with a growl, even as his tail tucked slightly between his legs, an instinctive fear response. Back in high school, if he’d ever spoken that way to Michael, he’d have found himself bent over the other man’s fist, puking his guts up before he could so much as blink. Now, though….

“Of fucking course, it’s your favorite bar.” Michael said, reaching up and rubbing his face, before looking back, his blue eyes glaring. He was fairly traditionally colored, for a South China Tiger, bright orange fur marked with black stripes, shading to cream across his throat and face, as well as the under side of his tail and his forearms. “I’m trying to have a drink, Dill Pickle, is that against the law, suddenly? It’s a free country, right? Isn’t that what you people are always bitching about wanting, a free country?!” He snapped, voice dropping into a growl of his own.

Dylan felt both a drop of fear fall down his chest, even as a fire burned up from inside. “Oh! ‘You people’, huh? Good to see you haven't changed a fucking bit! Guess I should be thankful it wasn’t a slur!” He said, taking a step forward, head held high still as he locked eyes with the tiger, knowing this was risky, but expecting his friends to have his back if, or more likely, when Michael decided to do something stupid.

Except… Michael blinked, looking confused for a minute, before he frowned, his eyes shifting back and forth for a second, then grimaced, and turned away, sinking back onto his stool. “Shit. Yeah, no… That was uncalled for.”

Did… Did Michael Tsang just… back down? From me? That was certainly not something Dylan would have ever believed, not for one minute, if he hadn’t just watched it happen right in front of him. He looked at Michael again, closer, seeing his eyes, bloodshot and baggy, his fur, while neatly trimmed, was a bit mussed, looking like he’d gone a day longer than normal without a shower, and his hoodie was dirty, like it’d been thrown on in a hurry. As he watched, the tiger reached up, rubbing the back of his neck, his other hand holding the glass of whiskey as he tapped it on the bar, raking the bottom along the countertop and cleared his throat.

Michael glanced aside at him again. “Do you mind, Dill Pickle? Can I please just get drunk in peace?”

“You know I always fucking hated that nickname.” Dylan said, frowning.

“Yeah, no shit.” Michael said, mouth twisting.

“Which is why you’re saying it, now. You’re trying to get me to leave.” Dylan said, uncrossing his arms and putting one hand on his hip.

“Uh… Yeah. No shit.” Michael repeated, turning to look at him again. “Look, if it’ll make you feel better, Dylan, I’ll leave once I finish my drink. I never would’ve come in here in the first place if I’d known you were gonna be here.” He said, frowning down into his glass again and scratching the side of his head.

Dylan watched as the tiger turned back to his drink without waiting for an answer. This was… not how he’d expected this to go. To be fair, he wasn’t sure what he’d expected exactly, when he came over here, but not this. An argument, a fight, certainly rude behavior and an unhealthy dose of slurs being thrown around. He idly remembered something his mother had told him, a long time ago; “Everyone deserves kindness, Dyllie. And everyone deserves a second chance. How can we expect anyone to do better without them?”

He sighed, looking at the empty stool next to where Michael was sitting. Okay, then, I guess. He thought to himself as he slipped onto the stool, looking up and spying Erin and signaling he’d like a beer. Michael glanced at him from the side of his eye and sighed.

“Really?” He asked, pressing his lips together.

“Free country.” Dylan said, lifting an eyebrow as Erin came over, setting his beer down in front of him and quirking an eyebrow in a silent question. Dylan could see, in the mirror behind the stoat, that her brother Cliff had taken a seat at a table where he could intervene quickly, and Ashley was sitting with him, phone in hand. “Thanks, Erin.” He said.

“… Your voice got deeper.” Michael said, suddenly, and Dylan glanced at him, blinking.

“Y-Yeah. Year after graduation.” He said, frowning. He took a sip of his beer, and the tiger took a drink of his whiskey, grimacing slightly as he sat the glass down, the tiniest hint of a frown on his face as he did.

“Makes you sound less….” He started, before pausing, looking down at his hands and shaking his head.

“Gay?” Dylan asked, nose twitching as he fought not to show any fang.

Michael sighed. “Yeah.” He grimaced and looked away. “Look, Dylan, I… That shit I did in High School….” He said, reaching up and scratching his head. He was doing things like that a lot, fidgeting and touching himself. Soothing gestures, meant to combat stress, anxiety, anger…. He continued. “That stuff wasn’t… It wasn’t really me.” He still refused to make eye contact at all, voice low, ears down. Shame? Guilt?

A sudden thought occurred to Dylan as he sat there, thinking about Ashley talking about how, everyone in town knew the Pub’s reputation. A little smile quirked one corner of his mouth as he reached out, touching the tiger on the arm gently. “Michael? Were you, like, in the closet or something the whole time?”

The violence of the response surprised the coyote, as the tiger flinched back as though he’d been burned, pinning his ears back and hissing. “Fuck no! And don’t fucking touch me!”

Dylan held his hands up, for just a moment feeling himself back in the hall at S. Tolliver High School, fifteen years old, pinned against the front of his own locker in tears, while Michael held him by the shirt, snarling in his face just like that. “Fuck, Michael!” He yelped, shaking his head as he came out of the memory, feeling his tail puffed up and his hackles raised, every atom in him felt like it was shaking, while his stomach was doing loops.

Michael clenched his jaw shut, turning away, shoulders tense, and Dylan saw that Cliff was standing, stick in hand, while it looked like Ashley had started filming, perhaps. Dylan frowned. “What the hell, Michael?! It was just a question!”

“Fuck off, Dill Pickle!” The cat said, wheeling on him again, and this time saw Cliff as the stoat stepped forward. “Oh, what?! You wanna fucking go?!” He snarled, spreading his arms, eyes wide.

“Michael, sit down!” Dylan said. “Don’t even think about it!”

“What, you think I’m scared of this asshole?!” Michael said, turning a glare on the stoat.

“That ‘asshole’ is Clifford Ryan, Michael.” Dylan said. Angry as the tiger was, that made his brow twitch, his eyes flick over to look at Cliff again. “Yeah, you know that name, right? You were always the sports nut, after all, always hanging out in the gym.”

“The captain of the wrestling team, before we entered sophomore. Yeah, I know him, so what?”

“Well, now he’s got a black belt in Brazilian Judo and Muay Thai. He could twist you into a pretzel before you knew what happened, on the way out the door.” Dylan said, and saw Cliff’s jaw twitch.

“It’s Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, Dylan. And Muay Thai doesn’t have belts.” He said, voice smooth as honey and with just as little concern about the situation he was currently in.

“See?” Dylan said. “Look, Michael, I didn’t mean any offense! It was just a question, okay? Just sit down and finish your drink. I don’t want any trouble.”

Michael turned to look at him again. “Sure as shit seemed like you did when you first came over here.” He said, though a lot of the energy had left already. He looked at Cliff again, still standing there, hands loose by his side, feet angled and knees bent. He looked like he knew what he was doing, and that was all it took. Michael shook his head, turning and sitting down. “Can’t you just let me finish my drink in peace so I can leave?”

Dylan took a breath and let it out. “Okay, look… You’re not wrong, I was a bit… confrontational, when I came over here. I just, I dunno… Seeing you again brought up a lot of feelings and memories, that I really didn’t want to think about again.”

Michael picked up his glass, nodding and looking away as he took a drink. “Yeah. Same here.” He said, softly.

Dylan held a hand up in both thanks and appeasement to Cliff, who backed off and set back down with a nod, then looked at Michael. “Michael, has… Has something happened?” He asked, and the tiger glanced at him, pressing his lips together.

“Why do you care?” He asked, chuffing lightly.

“Because you seem like you’re in pretty bad shape, Michael. You’re home from college a week early, when I’ve never seen you even around town before, not even during summer. Not in the three years since we graduated. Not only that, but you’re showing all the signs of being under a lot of stress right now, you’re trying to avoid talking and, of course, you’re looking at that booze like it’s got all your answers.” Dylan replied, sitting back down on the stool next to the tiger, who had turned, looking at him as he spoke, an incredulous expression on his face.

“Oh, what, are you some kinda shrink now, or something?” He asked, and Dylan lifted his chin.

“Well, I am majoring in Psychology.”

“Of fucking course you are.” Michael said, turning away, no real heat or energy in it. “Why do you care? After everything I put you through in school, I’d’ve thought you’d avoid me at all costs.”

“I’m not going to avoid you, because that’s the same as admitting you still have power over me, and you don’t. I’m an adult, now, and you can’t bully me anymore.”

“Right.” Michael nodded, taking another drink of his whiskey and sighing.

Dylan did similar, sipping his beer and just sitting there, in tense, awkward silence, next to the man who’d made his life hell for four years, and who now looked like he was going through some kind of hell of his own, even as he desperately tried not to show it.

Michael took another drink, and sat his glass down more gently than he needed to, looking away and scratching his neck again. “You remember Kelly Hu?” He asked, suddenly, and Dylan blinked, looking over.

“Yeah. You were dating her, right?” He said, thinking back. Another South China Tiger who’s family had moved in from out of state. A stuck up bitch, from everything Dylan remembered about her, who thought she was God’s gift to the world and that anything she wanted, she should have. It had seemed like the most natural thing in the world that she would wind up dating Michael Tsang. After all, he was the football team’s star quarterback, and she was the captain of the cheer squad. It was like a match made in a cheesy 80s Rom-Com, if nothing else.

Michael took another drink of his whiskey, grimacing again, and nodded. “Yep. Past tense is appropriate.” He said, and Dylan leaned back on his stool.

“She broke up with you.” He said, a statement, not a question, but Michael nodded anyway.

“Yep. Said I wasn’t there for her, when she needed me. That I was just ‘too busy’ with the football team to make time for her.” He snorted out a bitter laugh, eyes distant as he stared at nothing, picking up his glass. “Which is hilarious, considering-” He seemed to catch himself, pausing for a second and flinching.

“Considering what?” Dylan asked, frowning, but Michael had tipped his glass back, draining it and setting it down.

“Oop, shit, look at that. Finished my drink. Time for me to leave.” He said, getting up and pulling out his wallet.

Dylan bit his lip, and reached out a hand, seeing Michael freeze up, eyes going wide. He held his hand up, withdrawing it slightly. “Sorry! Not touching! I just… Michael, I want to say… I’m sorry. I’m sorry I came over here and was… kind of a dick to you, when you were just trying to….” He drifted off as Michael looked at him, an odd look on his face as he pulled out a 20 and threw it on the bar. “Look, my point is… I’ve been through breakups, before. They suck, really bad, and I know it. But, you really shouldn’t be alone, trying to drown yourself in booze, ya know?”

Michael’s ears snaked back and his lips pursed. “Oh. I see.” He said, voice angry. “Hitting on me already, huh? Didn’t take you long, did it?” He said, shaking his head, turning to leave.

“No! No, Michael, I wasn’t-” He had turned and was already walking away through the crowd. “Fuck!” Dylan cursed, standing up quickly, glancing at Cliff, who was getting up as well, before following the tiger as quickly as he could. He caught up with him at the front door, reaching out and grabbing his arm as he tried to walk off.

Michael pulled away sharply, spinning to face the coyote. “I said don’t fucking touch me!” He snapped, growling.

“Then stop and listen to me!” Dylan snapped back at him, a growl in his own voice, and Michael stepped back, breathing heavily, before crossing his arms over his chest and sighing.

“Fine, Dill Pickle! Talk!” He said, and Dylan had to take a breath to keep from kicking him.

“… I was not flirting! I was genuinely just trying to help! Being alone isn’t helpful when you’re feeling like this, you need to… to get your mind off of it.” Dylan said, watching the tiger’s posture starting to relax a little bit, though he stayed guarded, closed off, his arms still crossed. “So, what I was trying to do… Look, me and some friends go down to a karaoke bar, every Friday night. We were planing to make it a late one, this coming Friday, to celebrate Finals being over and Summer break.” He paused, wondering if this was a good idea, but took a breath and pressed on. “You can come, if you’d like.”

Michael stared at him for a minute, as though he were trying to spot a trap or lie or some other dishonesty. “… A karaoke bar?” He asked, frowning.

“Yeah. Amplify, they put it in the old McClaren theater building, a few years ago.” Dylan said, hearing movement behind him. He glanced back and saw Cliff, casually standing in the doorway, leaning on the frame, watching them. He looked back. “No pressure. I just… I know what it feels like, like I said. It sucks, and it makes you feel like you’re all alone. No reason to make that feel worse by making it true.”

“… Who else is going? Your friends?” He asked, voice cool, now.

Dylan took a breath. “There’s Ashley, the guy I was sitting with in there-”

“That was a guy?!” He asked, startled, and Dylan couldn’t help but smile a little.

“Yes. I’ll be sure to tell him he got another one.”

“Jesus. Okay, who else?”

“Um, there’s a guy named Tal, and Troy, he’s a human, and, um….” He stopped, grimacing slightly and took a breath, clearing his throat. “And, uh… M-Mandy.” He said.

Michael’s face twitched, and he looked away. “Mandy. Right. Shit.”

“Yeah. Look, I’ll talk to her. I don’t… I can’t guarantee she’ll be… happy about it. But, honestly, Mandy’s not happy about much, so… Look, I’m trying to help. I know it isn’t perfect, but it just doesn’t feel right, leaving you by yourself.” He said, rubbing his neck.

Michael stared at him for a long moment, looking away again, kicking one paw on the pavement. “… They put a karaoke bar in the old theater?” He asked, looking over at Dylan, who looked back.

“Oh, y-yeah. Like I said, it was a few years ago, right after graduation, I think.” He said, feeling memories of that day trying to resurface, but squashed them down. “You can’t miss it, now, there’s this big neon karaoke machine with Japanese letters and stuff where the old matinee was.”

“Shit. I remember going in that place, Freshman year. Fucking Andy Kriner dared me to do it, I nearly broke my damn leg.” Michael said, shaking his head.

“Shit. Yeah, Mandy dared me to do it, too. I cut myself on a piece of re-bar.” Dylan said, snorting out a laugh. “Had to get stitches and a fucking tetanus booster shot. That was really stupid.”

Michael nodded slowly. “I guess we both did… Some stupid shit, in High School.” he said, and Dylan took a breath, nodding.

“Yeah. I want to say, Michael… I’ve still not forgiven you, for the shit you did to me. But… Everyone deserves kindness. And everyone deserves a second chance. We can’t expect people to become better, if we don’t give them that.” He said, letting out a nervous breath.

Michael stared at him a minute, before looking away and pulling out his car keys. Dylan felt his heart actually drop a little, which surprised him. He hadn’t realized, but he had actually really wanted Michael to come along to Amplify. A chance to help him, not just to get over Kelly leaving, but maybe even to help him become a better person, and he’d just lost it. He looked away, ears and tail drooping a bit as he reached across his torso, holding his own arm. A soothing gesture, for easing stress, anxiety, sadness, anger-

“What time?”

“W-What?” Dylan asked, snapped back to the present to find Michael looking at him, his eyebrows up.

“What time are y’all going to the karaoke bar?” He asked, and Dylan felt his heart jump a bit.

“O-Oh! You… You’ll come?” He asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

Michael pressed his lips together, before shrugging. “No promises.” He said. “But… I’ll see if I have the time.”

Dylan nodded. “Okay! That’s fine, like I said! No pressure! Uh, we’ll be there at eight o’clock, give or take. Um, if you show up late, we always get a booth, so we’re not out in the crowd. Mandy doesn’t like crowds. Uh, so just ask at the bar for me and they’ll point you to our booth. Okay?”

Michael nodded. “Sure thing.” He said, turning to go, before he stopped and looked back, an unreadable expression on his face. It almost seemed like he might be going to say something, before he sniffed and nodded. “G’night, Dylan.” He said, and turned and walked off towards a dark blue Dodge Charger parked a little ways up the lot.

“Good night.” Dylan said, waving slightly, before lowering his arm and just standing there, watching him walk away.

A moment later, paws padded across the concrete, as Cliff stepped up beside him, clearing his throat. “Was that the smartest move, Dee?” He asked, giving the canine a side eye.

Dylan blew out a breath, feeling his adrenaline fade almost immediately, leaving him a little woozy feeling. “I don’t know, Cliff. I guess we’ll see.” He said, turning to go back inside and maybe ask Ashley if he was still up for going upstairs and playing COD, and maybe getting some food while they were at it.

* * * * *

The Silver Oaks Bridge had first been built back in the 1890s, providing a safer, more convenient way to get horses and wagons across the Whitewater River than trying to ford it. The first bridge was a simple wooden affair, built not too far above the river’s surface, which led to it frequently washing out during the rainy season, when the river would rise out of its banks. So, in the 1920s, with the rise of the Automobile apparent, the local planning committee of what was then the town of Whitewater decided to upgrade the bridge. By 1930 the old wooden bridge had been replaced by a modern trestle bridge of steel construction, wide enough to allow two lanes of automobile traffic to pass across, and due to having been built up nearly sixty feet above the river surface at its highest point, the bridge wouldn’t wash out, even under the hardest of rains.

That same decade, a plan was set in motion to fix some growing concerns with the local population. As the town was rapidly growing in the aftermath of the Dust Bowl, with people coming in from all over looking for work and a place to live, it was worried that the town's water supply wouldn't be sufficient for the growing population. Likewise, the Town Council were starting to consider the future of electrical power, and how to provide it to all of their citizens, rather than just a lucky few. So, the committee got in touch with the federal government and the Corps of Engineers got to work on constructing a new hydroelectric dam, which would not only serve to provide electricity to more of the surrounding area, but would flood the valley, creating a lake that citizens could use as a reservoir for good, clean water.

And, after decades of delays, layoffs and setbacks, this work was finally completed in the mid ‘60s, the lake was formed, named “Deepwater” lake, and the town of Whitewater officially changed it’s name to Deepwater. However, along with completing the dam, the enterprising town planning committee had made another stroke of genius: By this point, the old Silver Oaks Bridge was showing its age, its design outdated and considered a safety risk and, rather than trying to spend the necessary money to bring it up to code, they instead decided to simply divert Linn Lane to cross the top of the Silver Oaks Dam, instead. The old bridge was officially decommissioned in 1971, but it was decided by the Town Council that, rather than tearing it down and scrapping it, they would leave it standing as an “Historical Landmark”.

And so, the old bridge still sat, a weathered, rusted, aged monument to a bygone era, now mainly used as a hangout by teens looking for a bit of danger under the full moon. Tonight, however, the bridge was all but abandoned, with only a single car, a midnight blue Dodge Charger, pulled off into the dirt clearing near the bridgehead.

Michael remembered bringing Kelly here to hang out, Junior year. They’d been seventeen, and he thought this was what true love was, that they were going to get married after high school and live the rest of their lives happily together. He had tried to make a pass at her, sitting in the front seat of the old BMW his dad bought him, but back then Kelly hadn’t let him do more than a little kissing and some light touching. Anything more would have to wait until they were married, she said.

Four years later, and far from getting married, their relationship had rapidly degraded, until two weeks ago, when she had told him, via text of all things, that she was breaking up with him. She had explained it all as though it were the most obvious thing in the world:

K: ur just like not ever there for me okay?

M: What do you mean? I make time for you whenever I can, babe! Why are you doing this?!?!

K: Your just too busy with all your football shit, okay??? I need more than youve got, Michael, and thats all I can say, okay??? I need to find someone who can actually BE THERE ffs!

M: Please Kelly, don’t do this!!! You know what my Dad will do to me if he finds out! I thought we were going to get married!?

K: Why would I want to marry a himbo like you whos never there for me??? OMG I knew you’d make a big deal outta this

That was basically it. He had tried to message her more, to beg and plead, only to be told she’d blocked his number. They had never moved in together, with Kelly insisting she needed her personal space, and he had given her that. He’d given her everything she ever wanted. Anything she had asked for, no matter how much it cost, no matter how hard it was, or how humiliating he found it. He’d given her six years of his life, and all he had to show for it now was this!

With a frustrated grunt, Michael’s arm passed through a motion that was second nature after nearly eight years of training, coaching, practice and competition, snapping forward with a pivot of his hips to launch a rock the size of an apple, really a chunk of concrete from the old road, through the night sky. He watched it twist and flip through the air, sailing between the rusted, oxidized old beams of the trestle bridge he stood on and disappearing into the darkness beyond. The sound of it hitting the river was lost to the rushing of the water, far below.

Breathing heavily, he reached up, dashing moisture from his face before it could fall and growled, bending down to pick up another rock from the ground.

The worst part was, word had spread fast around campus that they’d broken up, leaving Michael tense and worried that any day he’d get a call from his father about it. But it never came. And in fact, no one said anything. Not one single person bothered to ask about it, about what had happened or if he was okay. The only person who said anything at all was their fucking Running Back, Dwight.

They’d all been in the locker room after practice, and Michael had already been in a shit mood. He was in a bad mood because he’d been broken up with, because no one seemed to care and now because this had all left him so out of sorts, he'd spent all of practice fumbling the ball and tripping over other players, like he was a still a Freshman tryout. After getting a hell of a lecture from the coach, he’d been putting his kit away in his locker, just wanting to get out of there and back to his dorm room so he could try and get some rest, when Dwight had approached him.

The bull had still not been dressed, wearing only a towel around his waist, as he came up and leaned on the lockers nearby. “So, uh, hey, Mike, I was wanting to ask ya something.” He’d said, rubbing his neck.

Michael had glanced aside at him, grumbling internally. “Yeah? What is it, Dwight?”

“Hey, so… like, I wanted to ask you cuz I figured you’d know best about this, but… so, what do you think my chances would be of getting with Kelly, now she’s single?” The bull had asked, grinning hopefully as he looked at the tiger.

Now, on the bridge, Michael’s vision went red and he roared, much as he had then, a primal sound of rage, and his arm once again shot out, hard enough he felt something pull in his shoulder and didn’t even care. The rock shot out through the darkness, quickly disappearing from view. He felt his fingers ache, and, growling in frustration, held his hand up, looking at his swollen, bruised knuckles. Turns out, punching a bull in the face hurts both parties quite a bit, and it takes more than a few days for that to heal.

And then, there was tonight. Imagine, of all the shit luck, of all the bars in Deepwater, he had to go into the one where he’d run into Dylan fucking Starr, of all people, the little faggot!

He grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut and snarling, putting his head in his hands. “Shut up!” He growled, before hitting himself in the forehead with the heel of his palm. “Shut the fuck up!” He stepped backwards, before turning and punching the air out of pure frustration, stamping his paw on the ground. He stood, shaking, and looked at a big rock that was sitting there, alone and out of place. A river rock, it looked like, probably brought up here by some kid wanting to make a big splash, but it got abandoned on the bridge.

He thought about kicking it. Thought about trying to punt the damn thing like it was a football. He thought about the risk of broken toes and damaged tendons. Then, with a snarl, he bent down, grabbed it up and just threw it, as hard as he could, not even trying to get it off the bridge. Just burning energy, frustration and anger. He stood panting, before bending down and snatching up another, smaller rock in his hand, standing up and cocking his arm back, preparing to throw it, before he came to a stop. He stared out at the lights of the Silver Oaks Dam, a few hundred yards away, feeling like all the energy just drained out through the pads of his paws, leaving him feeling weak, tired and listless. He took a shaking breath, feeling moisture on his face, in the fur of his cheeks again.

He reached up, angrily wiping it away, and walked over to the rail at the side of the bridge. It was set into a raised concrete shelf, about a foot high, but even so the steel rail still only came up to his waist. He put one hand on it and leaned out, looking down over it.

The water was black in the darkness of the night, only the occasional bit of white foam showing itself, as it rushed by a rock or fallen tree branch dozens of feet below. He slowly extended his arm, leaning forward, craning to reach out as far as he could, the rock held so tightly in his hand he could feel it biting into his palm pads, sharp points digging in, threatening to cut or tear, to draw blood.

No one gives a shit about you.

His hand shook from the intensity of his grip on the rock, from how hard he clung to it, as though his life depended on holding on. He clung to the rock, as he stared down at the raging waters below his paws.

If his Dad found out what had happened….

_He’ll kill you. He’ll throw you out into the street to die in a gutter! You'll end up alone, with no home, no family, no money and no friends! No one will help. No one cares. No one. Gives. A shit. _

“Why would they?” He asked, softly, letting out a long, ragged breath, the air rattling past his shaking lips, and relaxed his hand, letting his grip fall slack.

The stone fell, spinning and twisting through the air. He lost sight of it, in the darkness, but he kept staring, down at those churning rapids below him, until he saw the briefest splash of white, there and gone before he knew it, like a star born and dead in an instant.

He had heard that, if you didn’t know how to land it, falling into water from this height was like hitting concrete. Plus, with all the rocks and debris, and the rapids. Even if the fall didn't... Anyone falling in would probably drown, before they got their senses back about them.

He lowered his arm, putting his hand on the railing. He took a shaking breath, and raised his other hand, to join the first on the old, rough steel.

No one cares.

He put a paw up on the railing, and leaned his weight on it, feeling it creak under him.

Why would anyone care about you? All you’ve ever done was make other people miserable. Even your own girlfriend couldn’t stand you.

He stepped up, his other paw coming to rest on the railing as well. It creaked again, a rattling pop sounding from one of the rivets strainging to support his two-hundred pounds of extra weight. He leaned forward, his upper body tipping out over the edge, as he stared down at the water below him, black and rushing by, without a care in the world. Just like all of the people in his life.

A failure, that’s what he was. To his father, to his girlfriend, to himself. It was only a matter of time before his Dad found out. He couldn’t keep it from him forever, and then that would be it. His life was over. And not one single person would care....

A pair of soft amber eyes, filled with both caution and worry, looked at him. “Everyone deserves kindness. And everyone deserves a second chance. I just want to help.”

He blinked, remembering the look on Dylan’s face while he’d stood there, outside the bar. Remembering how, in spite of everything between them, all that Michael had done in the past, the coyote had looked at him and asked him if something was wrong. If he was okay. He’d invited him to come with him and his friends.

_Probably to a gay bar. _ That voice again, that sounded like him, but wasn't.

“No.” Michael said. “Karaoke.” Dylan had said it was a karaoke bar. Michael thought back, to High School, to Freshman year. He was fourteen, and would come home from school, tired and sore from practice, and the only thing he wanted to do was lock himself in his room, turn on his favorite playlist and sing along. Anything to tune out his father’s incessant ranting, nagging or pushing. Music was something that had kept him going, his secret pleasure that he never let anyone in school know about, not even Kelly.

The railing creaked again.

Michael blinked, coming back to himself and where he was, and looked down. A sickening sense of vertigo washed over him as he saw the water, so far below him, rushing past with a soft rumble that he could almost feel vibrating the rusty metal he was standing on. With a startled grunt, he pushed himself backwards off the railing. Air rushed past his head, giving him just a second to think, before he landed hard on his back, pain shooting through it as he hit a busted piece of concrete, letting him know he'd be bruised in the morning. Fortunately, he remembered to keep his chin tucked, to keep his head from cracking on the road.

He lay there, heart thudding in his chest as he stared up at the stars through the old steel girders of the bridge above him, breathing hard. He reached up, pressing his hands to his face, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, and groaned loudly, a sound of pent up frustration and stress and more. “Ugggh! What the fuck are you doing, Michael?! Why’d you say you’d go?”

Technically, I didn’t. I said I’d think about it. He argued with himself, internally.

“Why? You know what'll happen if your Dad catches you with that little fff-” He cut himself off, head twisting, before he sat up with an angry snarl. “Fuck!”

Dill Pickle was right. You haven’t changed a bit since High School.

He sat there, looking at his hands, and shook his head. “No. I have.” He said to himself, almost insistently, even as he felt drained. “I wouldn’t have stopped myself from saying that shit, back then.” He took a breath and blew out, vigorously. “Just… just get the fuck up, Michael. Get up, and get in your car.”

He slowly forced himself back up to his paws, groaning at the pain in his back. Slowly, limping slightly, he made his way over to his Dodge, kicking one of the empty bottles he'd dropped on the ground when he got out. He reached into his pocket, digging his keys out as he reached it. “Get in your car. Go home. Lie to your Dad some more.” He said, taking a shaky breath as he felt like ice ran down his spine, a tingle of fear at the prospect of what would happen if, or more likely when that lie was revealed.

He opened the door and got in, falling into the seat. He took another shaky breath, putting his key in the ignition and starting the car. He sat there, squeezing the wheel in his hands until his knuckles showed white through his fur, and looked himself in the eyes in the mirror. Bloodshot, buzzed and tired.

“Lie to your Dad. Get some fucking sleep! And get cleaned up, 'cause… 'cause, I guess, you're going out next Friday.”