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Chapter 5 - Hard To Say I'm Sorry

(Content Warning: F-slur, Homophobia, Bullying, Abuse, Attempted Suicide)

Dylan pulled his beat up old Nissan into the small parking space out in front of Woodland Hills, putting it in park and killing the engine. It was just after noon, and he was really wishing he’d gotten up earlier, but he’d found it difficult to pull himself from under the blankets, initially. He was parked next to a large, black SUV that he assumed belonged to the guard, an old, though still surprisingly fit looking rottweiler. He was watching the coyote, currently, a small frown on his face, and Dylan knew he’d need to likely let the man know why he was here. He rolled his window down and smiled as the guard made his way over.

“Hello, sir. I’m just here to pick somebody up. They asked me to wait out here.” He said, frowning slightly at the last, and the guard matched his expression.

“That so? Who would it be y’all’re waitin’ on?” He asked, tucking his hands into his belt, and Dylan cleared his throat, shifting in his seat, feeling uncomfortable. The guy had the attitude of a cop.

“Um, M-Michael Tsang?” Dylan said, hesitantly, and watched as the guard’s frown was replaced by a surprised expression, followed by a small smile.

“Mikey? You’re one o’ the friends he was out with last night, yeah?”

Dylan blinked, his turn to be surprised as he nodded. “Oh, um, yes sir. How’d you know that?”

“Well, he got dropped off here by the gate, right at the end of my shift last night! Boy’d clearly had a few too many, and went on through the gate after saying hello. Y’all ain’t the one who dropped him off, though. Different car.” He said, and Dylan nodded.

“Yeah, that was a friend of mine, Mandy. I’d had a few drinks, too, so she was driving us all. But, I promised Mike I’d come pick him up so he could get his car. You know him? Like, personally? I didn’t think… No offense, I just didn’t think you’d know anyone who lived here by name.” He said, fidgeting slightly.

“Oh, I don’t know all of ‘em, but Mikey’s family happen to be me and my wife’s neighbors! Have been for nearly ten years!” He said, and Dylan felt himself go slightly pale, his eyes widening. The bigger, older canine leaned forward, hand on the roof of the coyote’s car. “So. Why’d he want you waitin’ out here, then?”

“Um….” Dylan said, clearing his throat, glancing around, not sure what to say. He saw the rottweiler shift his weight, glancing over his sunglasses with dark, brown eyes, which flicked around, looking inside the car. He was old, but he was not stupid, that was for sure. Dylan saw the minute he spotted the pride flag sticker in the back windshield. The man stopped, staring at It for a second, before he took a breath and then let it out in a sigh, closing his eyes and shaking his head a bit.

“Well. Y’all sure ain’t the sort I’d’ve ever figured Mikey to be hanging around with.” He said, voice cool, and Dylan clenched his teeth, hands clenched nervously in his lap as he sat straight up in his seat. The rottweiler looked at him a minute, before huffing out a sigh again. “… And you sure ain’t the sorta fella he’d want knockin’ on his parents’ door.” he said, nodding. “I guess that explains that.”

The dog made to turn away, and Dylan felt the need to say something, to explain. “Michael’s not gay!” He said, causing the man to stop and glance back at him. “I mean… He’s not. We’re just friends, we were just hanging out, that’s all. But… I don’t know, I guess he doesn’t think his father would approve.” He said, frowning as the guard stared at him from behind his sunglasses, face inscrutable. Dylan felt a flush crawling up his face as his nerves followed it… before the dog snorted and gave a smile, shaking his head. He pulled his sunglasses off, turning back to lean on the car again.

“Son, I don’t care what y’all was doin’! Ain’t none of my business!” He said, shrugging, and Dylan let out a shaking sigh, clearing his throat.

“Oh, thank God. I-That is… Sorry! I’m just not really used to people… um, from your generation, that is….”

“Old people. You can say it, I don’t mind. And… I know what you mean, sonny. Shit, I ain’t gonna lie, there was a time I’d’ve been judging you from sunup to sundown for what you do, but now? I’m too damn old to care. Too old, and seen too much shit that makes a couple of guys buggerin’ each other seem like the least concerning thing in the world.” The old man said, stretching his back and nodding, smirking slightly. Dylan flushed at his wording, letting out a startled laugh.

“Oh! Heh! I, uh… Jeeze, okay.” He looked at the man for a moment, taking a breath. “You… used to be a cop?” He asked.

The man nodded. “Forty years on the force, Dulsee P.D.”

“Forty!? I mean, um… Wow.” Dylan said, blinking. “When did you start?”

“Nineteen-seventy-seven!” The old man said, smiling, standing up straight with pride. “First fella from my side of town to make it on the force!” He said, nodding.

“Holy crap! You meant it when you said you’d seen some shit, I guess.” Dylan said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Mm-hm. Been there through riots, gang wars, all kinda shit. Just my luck, I had to sign on after the hippies had fucked off to disco techs and shit. So, no. I don’t care what you and Mikey get up to. Though… y’all mean what ya said? About bein’ his friend?” Dylan looked up, seeing a small frown on the man’s face, and he hesitantly nodded.

“Y-yes, sir. I mean… I want to be his friend. I think he needs one, right now.” He said, and the guard nodded his head.

“… I’m inclined to agree with ya, young man.” He said. “I don’t know what’s goin’ on with him, right now, but… ‘tween you an’ me, he ain’t always had the best home life, I figure. And last night was the happiest I seen him in a long while, certainly since he came home this time.” He said, nodding and giving a smile. “S’why I said, I don’t care what y’all are doin’. As long as he’s got a smile on his face and no one’s getting’ hurt, it’s fine by me. That boy deserves a bit of happiness in his life.”

Dylan smiled, letting out a soft sound, before clearing his throat and holding out his hand. “My name’s Dylan Starr, sir. It’s very nice to meet you.” He said, holding his breath as the rottweiler looked at his hand, then back up at him, before smiling and taking it in his. His grip was way too tight, but it seemed almost automatic, not deliberate, and the grin on the man’s face seemed genuine, far more so than his teeth, that was for sure.

“Terrance Robinson, but most folks call me Terry. Pleased to meet you, too. Say what they will about y’all, but I ain’t never met one of ya that was rude, that’s for sure!” He said, letting Dylan go. The coyote felt sure his hand was going to fall off from how hard it had been squeezed, but he was smiling. Some might’ve taken offense at the old man’s phrasing, but… Dylan had seen real homophobia before. This wasn’t it. This was just an old man from a different era that was a lot more direct in how he spoke than most people from Dylan’s generation were comfortable with.

He reached over to pull his phone out of his bag, turning it on and sighing, glancing up at the old man. “I’ve texted him twice.” He said. “Letting him know I was on the way, and then that I was here.” He said, twisting his mouth. “He’s not responding. You think he’s okay?”

The old dog sniffed and chuckled. “Shit. If I know anything about a hangover like he’s liable to have, he’s still in bed passed out.” He said.

“We had water there, he shouldn’t be that hungover.”

“Ha! I doubt he touched it, ‘cept when he was told to!” Terry said, shaking his head. “You should call him.”

“With a hangover?” Dylan asked, blinking up at the old man, who grinned and winked at him. “Oh, God, you’re evil.” He said, a small grin on his face as well.

“He’s gotta wake up eventually. The hangover is just God’s way of remindin’ his dumb ass not to drink so much!” Terry said, laughing as he turned and walked back to his booth.

Dylan looked back at the phone, the smile slowly fading as he looked at the texts he’d sent, scrolling up slightly and looking at the ones from last night.

Good night, Dill Pickle.

He took a breath, letting it out as he blinked a few times, his mind drifting….

* * * * *

“Holy crap, he’s hot!”

“Omg, I know! He’s a Freshie?! there’s no way! My bf is a Junior and he’s not built like that!”

Dylan, trying to get through the crowd to his locker, sighed and rolled his eyes. The gang of Junior girls, around half a dozen or so in total, were crowded around on his side of the hall, chattering back and forth. Sarah Farnie was the one who’d spoken up initially. A human in her Junior year with bleached blonde hair and pale skin, she thought she was the hottest thing in school, and all the boy’s boosted that up by falling all over themselves trying to impress her. For Dylan it was a painful process. It had only been a week since he’d started high school, he barely knew anyone here and he wanted desperately to not draw any undue attention to himself. So, the logical part of his brain kept telling him that he needed to at least act like he was interested in the girls around school. It had only been a few months since he first came out to his Mom, and then the rest of his family, and he was so not ready to go through that again, let alone what he figured would happen to him if everyone at school figured out he was gay.

So it was that he tried to put on a smile as he came up behind Farnie and her friends, who were in fact crowded around in front of his locker. Some part of him told him he should just forget about putting his books away, take them with him, maybe just carry them for the rest of the day, actually. But, he cleared his throat, steeled himself and spoke up. “E-Excuse me, Sarah? Can I get to my locker?”

The girl turned, looking at him, and sniffed. “Oh, it’s you.” She said, rolling her eyes and looking away, before suddenly turning back, a look in her eyes. “Oh! You!” She said, reaching out and grabbing him by the shoulder. “Hey, you’re a Freshie, right?”

“Uhh….” He stammered, looking around, unsure how to respond to that.

“Hello?! Are you a Freshman or not?!” She said, shaking his shoulder, and he jumped slightly.

“O-oh! Uh, yeah!” He said, looking around, ears folded back and tail tucked as he wondered what he’d just walked into.

“Great!” She said, grinning, and pulling him over to the front of her little group. “So, do you know who that is?” She asked, pushing his muzzle to turn his head forward, and he looked across the hall. The boy standing there, putting his bag away in his locker looked like he must be sixteen, at least. Broad shouldered, trim in the waist and with his tight jeans showing off the sculpted muscle in his legs. He was a tiger, wearing a distressed denim jacket over a graphic tee, which Dylan saw as he turned around, blue eyes flashing as he glanced around the hall, before noticing the group of girls eyeing him up and giving them a smirk. Dylan felt his face heat up, as he bit his lip.

“Well?! Who is he?! I don’t have all day, Freshie!”

“Why are you asking me?” Dylan said, a little panicked. “He looks like he’s in your year!” He said.

“Ugh! You mean you don’t know him?! He’s in your year, stupid!” Sarah said, pushing him away. “God, you’re just worthless!”

“My Mom says his name is Michael Tsang.” Shyla Jacobs, a sheep girl, spoke up from the side.

“How the fuck would your Mom know that, Shyla?!” Sarah asked, before another girl Dylan didn’t know spoke up.

“Her Mom’s, like, on the PTA or some shit. She’s always keeping track of who all is new to the school.”

Shyla continued. “She says his Dad is a doctor, and that he’s trying out for the football team this year!” She said, bouncing up and down on her hooves. “Total. Fucking. Hottie!”

“I saw him first!” Sarah said, glaring at the sheep, who crossed her arms and stuck out her tongue.

Dylan tuned them out, as he looked at the tiger boy, seeing the feline roll his eyes, his smile dying slightly as the girls turned to arguing with each other. As he glanced away their eyes met, and Dylan felt a momentary shot of adrenaline. He really was hot….

…Dylan was in a rush, trying to change out of his PE uniform as quickly as he could so he could leave. The coach had kept him late, as he had, as usual, fallen well behind the rest of the class. He always did alright, out on the field when running, but when it came time for dodgeball, he always hesitated too long, or panicked. Having him and his friends on the other team didn’t help, today, as they took every opportunity to target him, and they put every ounce of energy into their throws they could. He knew he was going to have bruises, by the time he got home. But none of that mattered to Ms. Hennessy, the gym coach, who only saw a student lagging when he shouldn’t be. She believed that tough love was what was called for in such situations, and making him stay late, doing push ups, was the kind of love required, more often than not.

So now, he was late getting out, and the locker room was empty, a fact which made Dylan extra uncomfortable, as he quickly pulled off his shirt and stuffed it in his bag, before reaching for his shorts.

“Lookie, lookie, boys! It’s a Dill Pickle.”

Adrenaline flooded his veins like ice water as he heard that voice, and that fucking nickname. He spun around, back slamming into the locker next to his as he instinctively tried to jump back. He saw Michael, Clyde and Jared all standing behind him, the tiger sneering at him, a look of part dsgust part pleasure. He couldn’t believe he’d found the tiger attractive, once. It hadn’t even been a full year, since the first time he’d seen him, and already the only thought in his mind whenever they crossed paths was that he needed to run, to get away.

“Aww, did we scare you, Dill Pickle?” Michael teased, walking forward while his cronies spread out to either side. Dylan pressed himself into the locker, as though hoping he could sink through it, his slim chest rising and falling as he struggled to breathe past the lump of fear in his throat.

“P-Please, Michael-”

“Puh! Puh! Puh!” Michael mocked him. “Please what, queer?! God, look at it, boys!” He said, sneering. “So fucking scared, I bet it’s about to piss itself!”

Dylan turned his head away as Michael stepped in close, looming over him, even though they were the same age. Why is he so big?! This is so unfair! I need out! Dylan began panicking as Michael hocked up a wad of saliva and spat it onto the coyote’s paws.

“Fuck, you stink! Do all faggots stink like that, or is it just cuz you’re a fucking scavenging little dirt dog, too?” Michael laughed, cruelly, as Dylan felt his face flush. Speciesm was a new low for Michael, but not one that really surprised the coyote, at this point.

He was used to his sexuality being targeted, by now. He had been caught kissing one of the boys in his history class a few months before. The boy, Ty Jones, had been pulled out of school and Dylan hadn’t seen him since. He’d heard he and his family were moving away. And as for Dylan, his life had gotten as bad as he thought it would, at school, if everyone found out. It wasn’t just Michael, either. This was a small town, with conservative values and a religious population. A lot of students at the very least would glare at him, or mutter things under their breath when they saw him passing by in the halls. Some would even spit at him, if they thought they could get away with it, or else swear at him that he was going to hell, or mutter slurs just loud enough for him to hear.

The only good thing to come of it was him meeting Amanda White. The quiet, goth fawn was in his class, but had always been so painfully shy that he’d barely been aware of her, until the day after he was outed, she had come over and asked to sit with him. Now, they hung out almost every day.

Dylan’s dissociative episode was interrupted by the sudden, loud noise of Michael’s fist hitting the locker, as the tiger roared into his face. “Answer me, you little faggot!” He snarled, and Dylan jumped, instinct taking over as he attempted to duck under the bigger boy’s arm and run for the door.

Michael had the natural reflexes of a great cat, which had been further developed already through training and practice to an athlete’s level. He spun around, grabbing Dylan by the scruff of the neck, digging his fingers in, hard enough to bruise. “Where do you think you’re going, sissy?!” He laughed, as Dylan turned, yelping.

“Ow! Please! Just let me go!” Dylan begged, before, with a desperate snarl, lashing out. He slapped Michael across the face, and felt one of his claws, not filed as well as the others, maybe, dig in and tear. Blood sprinkled the floor, as Michael jerked his head back.

“Gah! Fuck!” He snarled, rage in his face before he took a swing, his fist connecting solidly with the left side of Dylan’s face in a hard, heavy hook. Dylan remembered his vision going black for a moment, the world spinning as he had staggered and fallen to one knee. He’d barely felt it, as a wad of spit hit the side of his head. “You don’t EVER fucking touch me again, you little sissy bitch!” The tiger had snarled, stepping back away from the coyote. “Fuck! Come on, you idiots! I think I need to see the nurse. Hopefully it’s not fucking infected!”

Dylan had stayed on his knees in the locker room, his eye swelling shut rapidly. Mandy came in a moment later, rushing over to him. She’d seen Michael and his goons leaving and had feared the worst. She had walked him to the nurse’s office. Not the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. They’d called his Mom, and he’d been taken home, where he had told his Dad what had happened.

The rage in the old coyote’s face at the story… it had made Dylan feel genuine concern, even then, about what might happen if Ray Starr had ever gotten his hands on Michael Tsang.

* * * * *

Dylan blinked, breathing a little heavily as he came out of the memory, the phantom pain of his eye swelling shut fading the slowest. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady himself, before looking again at his phone.

Good night, Dill Pickle.

The same fucking name. That same name Michael had used to taunt and humiliate him with, but it was… different. It was just text, here, but he’d also used it when they were talking last night, when Mandy dropped Dylan and Ash off at the Pub. He’d said it so casually, like it was second nature to call Dylan that. And maybe it was. He was drunk. Not thinking clearly. He didn’t mean it. And it was true, the way he’d said it hadn’t been mean, or dismissive, or taunting. He hadn’t said it even the same way he had that night they’d met again in Ryan’s, like he was trying to piss the canine off. There hadn’t been any intent behind it, at all, it had seemed. It was like it was just a name.

Dylan wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Maybe he should have a talk with Michael about it. Thinking about it, he pressed Michael’s name in his phone, opening the options menu and, taking another breath, hit the Call button.

He put the phone to his ear, listening to the dial tone ringing. It rang several times, enough that he was starting to get impatient, when the call was suddenly answered.” “Ufugh… Dhylan.” The voice on the other end was thick, deep with sleep and what sounded like quite a bad hangover. “Don’… Don’ do ‘at.”

Dylan smirked. He couldn’t help himself. It was mean, and he knew it, but he couldn’t help it. “Good morning, Sleepyhead.” He said, loudly. He heard a pained grunt on the other end of the call. “Or, should I say, good afternoon, by this point.” He said, looking at the clock on his dashboard and seeing it was already pushing twelve-forty.

There was silence on the other end, and he heard the sound of Michael’s breathing, deep and slightly labored, shift as he moved the phone, doubtlessly looking at the time on it. “… Shit. Mm-kay. Shoulda text me.” He said, more clearly again as he brought the phone back into place.

“I did. Twice. You didn’t answer. So, your friend Terry out here told me I should call you.” Dylan said, loud enough that Terry looked up and smirked, waving his hand.

“… Fuck. Uh, Terry doesn’t… I mean….” Michael, stammered, suddenly sounding like he was trying to wake up a lot faster.

“Relax, Michael. He’s… actually pretty cool, for an old guy.” Dylan said, smiling. “I don’t think he’ll tell your Dad anything.” He heard the tiger blow out a breath, before groaning.

“Ohhhh. Fuck my life.” He grumbled. “Alright. Gimme like…Ugh, fuck. I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“We had water there, Michael.” Dylan said, rolling his eyes.

“I know, I know. Urgh. Fuck, gimme like a half hour, kay?” He said, the sound of creaking bed springs signaling that he was up and on the move.

“Sure thing, Mikey.” Dylan said, using the nickname Terry had used for him, without really thinking about it. “See you in a minute.” He said, but Michael had already hung up.

Around half an hour later, Dylan was sitting in the front seat of his car, swiping through his feed on TukTuk, the radio on 204.4, The Falcon, Dulsee’s only classic rock station. Or, so the station’s tagline read. It was currently playing U2, ‘(Still Haven’t Found) What I’m Looking For’, and Dylan was idly bobbing his paw up and down where it hung on the window, when he heard Terry call out a greeting, and sat up, turning to look towards the gate. Michael had changed into a pair of skinny jeans and a graphic tee, but still had on that old M65 jacket from the night before. He also had on a pair of sunglasses, and was walking in a manner that said he was trying very, very hard to seem like he wasn’t in any sort of pain, currently. He nodded, smiling tightly to Terry, and walked around the front of Dylan’s car, pausing to look at it a moment, before coming around and opening the passenger door. Dylan pulled his paw back into the car, raising his chair back up as Michael climbed in and sat down, only to glare angrily at the radio.

“What?” Dylan asked, fighting not to grin. “Don’t like Bono?”

“Don’t like sound.” He said, frowning, and Dylan snorted.

“Okay, okay.” Dylan said, turning the radio off as he leaned over and started the car up fully. “Gonna be a quiet trip, without it.”

“Good.” Michael said, grumbling, before glancing over as Dylan waved at Terry, who waved back. The coyote put his car in reverse and backed out into the street before turning them towards town. “…Can we get breakfast, first, please? I need coffee.” He said, reaching up to rub his forehead.

Dylan smiled, nodding. “Of course. I was wanting to talk with you about something, anyway.” He said, smile dying a bit.

He wasn’t sure, because of the sunglasses, but he got the sense that Michael glanced at him. “… How come you aren’t more hungover?” He asked, stiffly, and Dylan hummed.

“… I drank the water.” He said, glancing sideways at the tiger, before looking back at the road.

Michael’s only reply was to groan and turn to look out the window, and action he soon regretted, and turned to look at his paws instead.

“Please, don’t puke in my car, it smells bad enough as is.” Dylan said.

Michael grunted and muttered something under his breath, before looking away.

“What was that?” Dylan asked, glancing at him.

“… Nothing.” Michael said, his tone making it clear he didn’t want to say anything more. Dylan clenched his teeth, not liking the evasion, or the implication that it was likely something he wouldn’t have liked.

“Michael, you know… if you want to be different, you can be, but you have to want it, first.” He said.

“Ugh, can we not until I’ve had coffee, please?” The tiger asked, leaning his face in his hands.

Dylan opened his mouth, before pressing it shut again. He remained silent all the way to Mom’s Diner. Mom’s was a family run place on Tolliver Avenue, not far from the Tolliver House itself, run by an older bear anima, named Anna Svetlova, ‘Mom’, and staffed by her four cubs. Upon entering, customers came through the front door and found themselves facing the front counter, the kitchen behind it, in a sort of central island surrounded on almost all sides by tables and booths. Dylan and Michael walked inside in the middle of the lunch rush, looking around to find a place to sit. Michael grunted, and Dylan turned, seeing him heading for a table a few down from the front door, and so he followed. They slipped into the seats across from each other, both shifting around and letting their tails out through the backs of the seats. They sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the country music playing over the radio and the conversations echoing back and forth across the diner.

A moment later, one of the bears, named Tasha, came over, setting down the menus with a smile. “Hey, Dylan!” She said, smiling, and he nodded.

“Tasha, how are you?”

“Oh, busy busy, as usual. What can I get you two to drink?”

“Coffee. Please.” Michael said, smiling as best he could up at the woman. She took one look at him and snorted.

“Absolutely! I’ll make sure it’s good and strong, too.” She said, giving him a wink, before looking at Dylan.

“Root beer, please.” He said, and she nodded making a note of it, then took her leave. This left the two of them sitting once more in silence across from each other. Dylan’s paw tapped on the floor nervously, while he watched Michael idly rolling one of the sets of silverware, wrapped in a napkin, around in his hands. The coyote finally spoke up. “You’re kind of a bitch when you’re hungover, aren’t you?”

The tiger stopped, looking up at him from behind his sunglasses. His snout curled for a moment, before he sighed, shaking his head. “It’s not that, Dylan.” He said, softly, looking around, before sighing again. “… My Dad knows about Kelly. That she left me.”

Dylan sat for a moment, silent, until Michael finally looked back up at him. At which, the ‘yote lifted his eyebrows. “… Okay. And? Was he… not supposed to?”

The tiger sat for a moment, staring at him, before he looked back down at his hands. “Shit. I mean… Shit.” He cursed, tossing the silverware back down onto the table, then flinching at the noise it made.

“Sorry? I feel like I’m missing something, here.” Dylan said, frowning.

Michael sat for a moment looking uncomfortable, before opening his mouth as though to speak, only to shut it and smile as Tasha returned, carrying a cup of hot coffee and a large glass of root beer. “Refills are free, hon.” She said, smiling at Michael, who nodded thankfully, taking a sip of the hot coffee and blowing out a breath, his smile looking a bit less forced already.

“What can I get you boys to eat?” The bear asked, and Dylan ordered a cheeseburger and fries. After looking at the menu a moment, Michael ordered hashbrowns, eggs and bacon with a side of toast, the bear writing it all down on her notepad.

Tasha headed off again, and Dylan looked back at Michael as he peeled open his straw from its paper wrapper. Michael took another sip of his coffee, sighing as he sat the cup down, before looking at the coyote and humming softly. “… Kelly was… she….” He rubbed the side of his muzzle with a hand, groaning softly. “Ugh, how do I put this?”

Dylan took a sip of his soda, setting the glass aside. “I, uh… I wouldn’t know, Michael. Like… What, did he have some stake in you two getting together?”

The tiger snorted. “Yeah, you could say that.” He grumbled, shaking his head. He sat there, looking thoughtful for a moment more, before sighing and looking up at the canine. “Kelly was my Dad’s idea.” He said. This left Dylan more confused, and he made this clear through his expression, and Michael took a breath, looking at him. “Didn’t you ever think it was kinda odd, how her and her family just suddenly moved here when we were in Sophomore year, and then we got together real quick afterwards?” He asked.

“Not… really? It seemed like a pretty obvious pairing, honestly.” Dylan said, shrugging, and Michael sat back in his chair, lips thin.

“Gee, thanks.” He said, rolling his eyes. “No, Dylan. Her Dad and my Dad…arranged it.” He said. Dylan stared at him, a frown forming on his face, to which the tiger nodded.

“… What?” Dylan said, shaking his head. “No, people don’t do stuff like that anymore.” Michael quirked an eyebrow at him, and the coyote sat up a little straighter in his seat, shaking his head again. “Not here, in this country!” Michael just shrugged, licking his teeth, and Dylan stared at him. “… Your saying your parents arranged for you two to be together… like… like an arranged marriage?”

“Pretty much, yeah. South China Tigers are pretty rare, globally, let alone here in the states.” He said, nodding. “… Had to ‘make sure the bloodline stayed pure’.” He said, mouth twisting in what Dylan recognized as disgust.

“… That’s medieval!” Dylan said, flabbergasted, and Michael nodded.

“I know.” He said.

“It’s wrong!”

“I know.” Michael insisted. “I’ve always known that…. Well, I guess that’s not true. At one time I thought, that was just how it worked.” He said, frowning down at his hands. “Dad had always made it clear to me that he would pick my… He would pick the right girl for me.” He reached up and rubbed his temples, sighing. “I think it wasn’t until senior year I started having doubts about it. Then the last couple years that I started really understanding just how jacked up it was. Going to college… it opened my eyes to a lot of stuff. Stuff I’d always just… gone along with, that I was now realizing was absolutely insane. You know….” He paused, looking up at Dylan, who seemed a bit green around the gills. He sighed, reaching up and rubbing his neck, shaking his head. “… You know he genuinely believes that you all are mentally diseased.” He said, only glancing back up at Dylan after he said it.

Dylan sat there, blinking. He put his elbows up on the table and reached up, rubbing either side of his muzzle, shock making his response slow in coming. Slow enough that Tasha came around with their food, setting large porcelain plates down in front of them, covered in food. Dylan thanked her automatically, looking down at the burger he’d ordered as she left, and honestly felt for a moment like he had no appetite. He glanced up at Michael and took a breath. “Well… I suppose that does explain some shit.” He said, shaking his head.

“Yeah.” Michael said, taking a breath as he chewed a piece of bacon. Dylan picked up the ketchup bottle from the table, shaking it down and squirting some onto his plate, just to keep his hands busy as his brain began turning over.

“Was… Was Kelly the only thing that he did that with, Michael? Pushed you to do against your will?” He asked, hesitantly, and watched as Michael took a sharp breath, turning to look away, as though not wanting to meet his eyes. That alone was an answer, but the tiger did actually respond, slowly at first.

“… No. No, he, uh… He’s basically made it pretty clear that… I’m not to do anything unless it’s part of his plan.” He said, not meeting the coyote’s eyes. “… Even the football, was all his idea. He wanted me to be a doctor, like him, but… I wasn’t smart enough for that. He realized that by the time I was ten. So, sports it was.” He said, bitterness creeping into his voice.

“Jesus, Michael.” Dylan said, sitting there and staring at him.

“… You should eat that, before it gets cold, Dill P-… Dylan.” He said, catching himself and looking away.

Dylan blinked, frowning. There it was again, caught this time. But, given everything he’d just learned, he didn’t feel like he had the right to say anything about it. He looked down, taking the bun off the burger. Mom’s put pickles, tomatoes and onion on the side of the plate, there for you to use if you wanted, and he put all but the pickles on, before picking up the burger and taking a bite of it. He tried to focus on the food, and not the revelation that the man sitting across from him had basically lived his life in a prison cell, a chain around his neck put there by the man he called ‘Dad’.

He put the burger down and swallowed the bite, looking up at Michael again. “… What did you want to do?” he asked.

Michael blinked, looking down at his plate, before shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s stupid.” He said.

Dylan frowned, reaching over to take his hand, but stopped himself, instead just laying his hand down on the table near the tiger’s. He watched as the man stiffened up, before relaxing slowly. “… Tell me. I want to know.” He said, softly.

Michael chewed a bite of eggs, frowning, before looking up at him. He washed the eggs down with a drink of coffee, looking away for a moment, nostrils flaring slightly, before he sighed and looked back at his food, not meeting Dylan’s eyes. “… I wanted to start a band. Play music.” He said, before giving a snort, as though practiced a million times, to blow it off with a laugh, even though there was no humor in it. “Just my luck, I get the one Asian parent who doesn’t think music is a smart career move.”

Dylan put his head in his hand, massaging his forehead, before looking at the man across from him. “God, Michael… I’m so sorry.” He said, shaking his head at the sheer insanity of it.

Michael took a breath, letting it out in another humorless laugh. “Why? Not like it’s your fault. Besides, it must make you feel better, knowing the asshole who made your life hell had to deal with this shit.”

“Michael, no!” Dylan said, drawing the tiger’s eyes to his. “No! I would never wish this on anyone! Yeah, you were an asshole but… if anything, this explains why. I can’t even begin to imagine how awful it must’ve been, not being able to do what you wanted. Feeling like you had all that pressure to succeed on you all the time.”

“… You never had any of that, huh?” Michael asked, and Dylan caught a hint of something bitter in his voice. The coyote looked at him and sighed sadly, shaking his head.

“… No. My parents… Well, my Mom has always been supportive of me, of who I was and what I wanted to do with my life.” He said. Michael frowned.

“What about… about your Dad?” He asked, glancing up at him.

Dylan pressed his lips together, frowning. He thought about it for a minute, taking a bite of his burger as he searched for what to say, before swallowing it down and sighing. “… He tried.” He said. “He did. But… My Dad was an alcoholic, Michael. He, uh… He was a bad alcoholic, and an angry one.” He said, sighing. “He’d be… fine, when he was sober. Sad, maybe. Depressed. But when he drank he got mad. And, it got worse as I got older. I used to blame myself for it, I thought… maybe it was me coming out of the closet that caused it. Part of me still does, I think. Either way, he used to… go after my Mom, sometimes. He’d hit her, bruise her up sometimes. She’d make up excuses; ‘I ran into a doorframe’, ‘I tripped’, all the classic ones.” He said, sighing. “Thing was, he was always so sorry, once he sobered up, but it didn’t change anything. My Mom wound up taking me and moving out. Didn’t divorce him, just moved out. He got worse after that, and a couple years later, he called us. He’d been diagnosed with cirrhosis of the liver. He’d been told it was terminal, that if he didn’t get a transplant within the year, he’d be gone.” He looked down at his hands, feeling his throat closing up as his eyes teared up. “I only got to see him a few times after that. The last time… They had put him under, he was on life support. He… We had to take him off of it. He never woke up.” He went silent, lost in thought as his memory lingered on that day, of him and his mom weeping by the side of the hospital bed. It had been only a couple of weeks before graduation….

“Dylan…?” Michael asked, softly, and the coyote looked up, coming out of his memories to see the tiger holding his sunglasses in his hands, not looking at him as he sat there, lips pressed together. “… Mandy said something, last night… I just… She said it wasn’t her place to talk about it, but… Did you… did you really lock yourself up in your room, after… after….” He faltered, clearly unable to keep going as he fidgeted uncomfortably.

For Dylan, though, his mind went straight back to that day, the stink of skunk spray in his nose, the laughter, the shame and fury and loneliness. And from there it went to where his mind had been in that moment, lingering on another memory, from a few months prior.

The last time he’d actually gotten to speak to his father….

* * * * *

Ray had been sitting in a chair in his front room. He was swollen around the middle, looking like he’d gained forty pounds since the last time Dylan had seen him, but it was all fluid, built up from his failing liver overflowing into his system. He had to go every few weeks to a doctor, to get it all drained. His legs had been swollen as well, from all the excess fluid, and his hands shook sometimes. Dylan hated seeing him like that. It wasn’t the father he knew. The strong, independent man who loved nature and camping, who’d tried his best to teach his son to be self-sufficient.

“Dylan.” The old man had said, and the boy, not quite eighteen yet, at the time, had looked up at him, from where he sat nearby, cross-legged on the floor.

“Yeah, Dad?” He’d asked, leaning forward. “What is it?”

“… I got somethin’ needs sayin’, son, and I need you to listen to me.” He’d said, voice doing it’s best to be firm, stern, strong, even as the hand he pointed at his son shook visibly.

“Yes, sir.” Dylan had said, nodding his head.

“… I ain’t gonna be around, forever, to take care of you.” Ray had said, and Dylan felt a spike of fear jolt through his heart.

“Don’t say stuff like that, Dad! You’ll be-”

“Dylan!” Ray had snapped, and Dylan sat bolt upright, ears perked, paying attention.

“Sorry, sir.” He had said, clenching his jaw.

His father had taken a steadying breath, sighing it out. “… When I’m gone… I need to know you’ll be okay.” He said, hesitating a moment, before giving a wry smile. “Try and… try and find a man that’ll be good to you, who can protect you.” He said, a little stiffly. “You’re a gentle soul, son. Always have been, for better or worse.” He’d said, and Dylan had felt shame at the time. If only he’d known how his father had felt about that, then. But, Ray wasn’t done speaking. “But, even if you do, find a man like that… Always remember, son, no man, no matter how strong, is invulnerable. And, there may come a time when your man can’t protect you… or himself, maybe. When it falls to you to be the protector.” He took a breath, shaking slightly, and shut his eyes, before continuing. “If that happens, if that day comes… you remember this: You’re a coyote. You don’t play fair, and you sure as shit don’t fight fair. Even if you’re the girl, you ain’t no prissy princess.” Dylan had clenched his jaw at that, frowning at the near derogatory phrasing, but kept his focus on his father, listening. “You’re a goddamned bitch! And I expect you to fight like one. You go for the throat, and you don’t let go until they stop kicking, or they run off squealing like a pig. You hear me, boy?”

Dylan had sat there, thinking about what his father said, and nodded. “Yes, sir.” he said, but his father leaned forward.

“Stop that shit, Dyl.” He said, looking the boy in the eyes. “You’re a man, now. You don’t ‘sir’ me, I ain’t your drill sergeant. I’m your Daddy. I bounced you on my knee, played tag in the yard and taught you how to sing.” he said, a smile on his face at that, as he remembered those times they’d had together. “Do you understand what I’m saying to you, son?”

Dylan took a breath, frowning, thinking back to the failed hunt he’d been on, and looked down. “Yes, but… What if I can’t do it, Dad? What if I can’t hurt someone like that?” He asked, hesitantly.

Ray nodded slowly. “There’s a lotta ways to hurt a person, Dyl. It ain’t always about tooth and claw. Find your own way to do it. Go for the throat, or the heart, but you put them in their place and show them who’s in charge. You’ll figure it out, boy. You’re a Starr.”

* * * * *

And not even two weeks after his Dad had died, he’d been slapped in the face in the worst way possible. He hadn’t seen it coming, hadn’t done anything to stop it, and then Michael had been there, laughing, his friends snickering alongside him… and Dylan hadn’t done anything. He’d been too afraid. Too afraid to confront the bully his father had threatened to put in the hospital. Too afraid, and too weak to stand up for himself. What would he do, if that time came when he had to protect someone he loved? Roll over and let them get hurt?

He had broken down and ran, like the coward he was.

“Dylan?” Michael’s voice brought him back to the present, and the coyote looked up, sniffling, tears in his eyes. “Ah, shit. I…. Fuck. You don’t have to answer that, I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Michael said, shaking his head as he looked down at his plate.

“… Yes.” Dylan said, and the tiger looked back up at him. “Yes, yeah. Yeah, I did. I, uh… That was hard.” he said, feeling his bottom lip quivering as he looked away. “… If Mandy hadn’t broken into my room, I….” He paused, frowning. He had been standing on a chair with a bed sheet tied around his neck, when she came in. He thanked whatever God might be listening every day that she’d convinced his Mom to stay downstairs before coming up. She still didn’t know that he’d come that close. “… I might not be here, now. Let’s leave it at that.” He said, looking down at his plate.

They sat in silence for a long minute, picking at their plates, before Michael spoke up again. “… Dylan, I just want to say… I… I didn’t know, about your Dad.” He said, and Dylan looked up at him. The tiger was staring into his plate, lips pressed thin. “I didn’t know he’d… That he’d passed away, when I was… when we… when I was planning to do that shit. I didn’t find out until a week later.” He sat there a minute, before sighing. “I know, that doesn’t fix it, or make it any better.” He said, shaking his head. “And I don’t expect forgiveness, for anything I did, least of all that. But… If it means anything, I am… I’m really glad that… that you are here, now.” He said, looking up at Dylan, nervous and awkward. Dylan sat, looking at him for a moment, and the tiger shifted in his seat, taking a breath. “What I’m trying to say… What I’ve been trying to say, for a while, and it… It’s like the words just keep getting stuck halfway up my throat….” He shut his eyes, taking another breath, holding his own arms in his hands. “… I apologize. For everything. For everything I did, for everything I said.” He pressed his lips together, clenching his eyes shut, looking as though he half expected to get slapped in the face, or worse.

Dylan sat there for a moment more, thinking about everything this man had done to him. Thinking about how he’d felt, every day walking into school, terrified of the moment when, not if, Michael would show up. He took a breath and let it out. “Michael…?” The tiger looked up at him, slowly, opening his eyes. There was a fear in them, Dylan could see it. “… Can I touch you?” He asked, reaching out his hand gently, hovering it in the air, a few inches away from the other man’s arm. Michael looked at him a moment, chewing his lip, before giving a sharp, nervous nod of his head. Dylan slowly lowered his hand, until it gently came to rest on the tiger’s arm. He felt him tense under his touch, but he didn’t jump, didn’t pull away. “… I don’t forgive you.” He said, and he saw pain flicker through the feline’s eyes for a moment, before they glanced down, a sad acceptance written across his features. “… But,” Dylan continued, making the tiger blink and look back up at him, confused and wary. “I do accept your apology.” He said, smiling softly. “The fact you did that alone tells me you are truly serious about this. About wanting to make a difference in your life, and wanting to make a positive change. I don’t forgive you, yet, because… you did some really bad things to me, and to Mandy, and I’m sure to other people, when we were in school together. But, you are trying to make it better, to make it up to me, to us. So, if you keep working at it, you might just earn that forgiveness.”

Michael stared at him a moment, before sniffing sharply, and looking away quickly, hand coming up to wipe at his eyes. It wasn’t fast enough, though, for Dylan to not see the tear starting to run down his cheek. The coyote gave his arm a gentle squeeze, before he pulled his hand back, resting it on the table. Michael continued to look away, clearing his throat as he struggled to get control of himself. Dylan didn’t comment on it, didn’t poke or prod. He let Michael have his moment to gather himself in peace, let him hold on to his pride. After a moment, the feline looked across at him, and nodded. “Thank you. Thank you, Dylan.” He said, voice barely shaking.

Dylan smiled, warmly, and the two finished their brunch in silence, this time of a companionable nature, rather than tense. Afterwards, they paid, and walked back out, getting in Dylan’s car and he drove the way down to Amplify, pulling into the lot next door and parking next to Michael’s Charger. As the tiger was going to get out, Dylan looked across at him. “Hey, uh….” Michael stopped, looking up at him, an almost expectant look on his face. “… We’re all going back to Amplify, next Friday, same time. Like I said, it’s a weekly thing. If you want to…?”

Michael stared at him a moment, before a smile worked its way across his face, and up to his eyes. They shone slightly, the first real, genuine smile Dylan thought he’d seen on the tiger’s face, so far. Michael took a breath, nodding rapidly. “Yes. Yeah! Yeah, I-I’d love to. Thank you, Dill-, er, I-”

Dylan took a breath, holding up a hand. “… It’s okay, Michael.” He said, smiling. “I know you don’t mean it. Not like you used to.” He said. “I’m not saying I’m okay with you calling me that, suddenly, but… I’m not going to bite your head off or anything, if you slip up occasionally.” He said, and the tiger sighed out in relief, smiling.

“Okay. Okay, Dylan. Um… Thanks for bringing me out to get my car and… And for talking. It felt… Nice, to talk, about all of that.” He said, nodding. “And… Thank you for helping me. I’m not sure I deserve it, but… thank you, anyway.” He said, before turning and getting out of the ‘yote’s little Nissan. He walked across in front of it, looking over and waving good bye to the canine, who waved back, a content smile on his face, as he watched the tiger get into his own car.

Maybe he was cut out for this therapy stuff, after all.