FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter 5.

07:07, Friday, the 5th of February, 2029.

-----

The patches beneath both of my eyes were sore and the fine fur matted with tears, the salt still stinging even hours after I’d finally managed to fall asleep.

I needed a shower, I realised; heat and water – something to revitalise me – but I found that it was difficult to rub conditioner into my fur without hands or an assistant.

And for obvious reasons, I didn’t exactly feel like asking the only other person in the estate for help.

Instead, I laid back, held a bottle between both forepaws, thanked my father for getting the plus edition of the Atak thumbs and squeezed, sending a limp spurt of green, flower-smelling slime atop my chest fluff.

It sat there, slowly sinking in my curls, weak and slow. A mess.

And me on my back.

Pathetic.

And worst of all – familiar.

I pushed past the intrusive thoughts, squeezed harder and slowly lathered myself up as best I could, reaching the spots I could with my limited range, whilst all the while one persisted, even through the haze.

I had a human.

A server whose one purpose was to, well, serve.

So why was I the one doing this?

Why was I the one being humiliated?

Still on my back, vulnerable, hind legs splayed from their own weight, I felt a dull, throbbing ache in an area quite private.

At first nothing.

And then it clicked.

It wasn't just because it had been my first time, though that might’ve played a part.

No, I realised, it was because I'd pushed myself to be with someone not my kind so quickly. There had been no careful, slow stretches or even something slick and gel-like to ease it beyond what my own body produced.

I hated it.

Hated that I'd hurt myself so intimately for someone who had thrown me aside.

Hated myself even more for dreaming of him after I'd cried myself to sleep, reliving the first and only time in my life I’d ever been so connected to another living being.

From the highest high to the lowest of lows, because how dare I show weakness, open up about myself and lower my status to that of another person? It was a lesson, I told myself.

Laid back, on the ground of the shower, water pouring down and washing away the grease and grime and fur conditioner, I let these thoughts infest me.

Petty, hurt, defensive thoughts.

They congealed into a barrier. A wall between me and him.

The water ran down my cheeks and past my eyes. I blinked them away.

#

I held it all tight to my chest as I entered the living room. I’d tracked his scent – sweaty, distantly tainted by oil and the egg he’d eaten the day before. His footsteps were ever loud and plodding.

Everything humans did was a sensory nightmare for someone with senses as strong as mine, and his were especially bad. He thumped about the place, not a trace of grace or guile in his movements.

“Your breakfast,” he said before I got a chance to speak down to him. I followed his gaze, finding hot food on the table. I hadn’t even noticed it – I’d been too focused on him. “With extra bacon.”

My nose twitched.

He smelt like nerves – a cooler, more distant kind of sweat I’d smelt on the maids that hadn’t been prepared to meet me. “This is not part of my diet,” I said coolly, feigning a lack of interest in the meal.

“I know,” he said, nodding low. “But I thought you’d like it.”

I had him.

Had… something.

“And why does that matter?”

The TV kept playing. Some documentary that didn't matter. Motors or the like.

Max straightened up, steeled his gaze, and adjusted his hair in a way that once might’ve had my heart fluttering. “Because I’d prefer it if you were happy.”

“Ohhh.” I drawled out, forcing my tail to stop its anxious little whips. “You want me to be happy. I get it. Yeah, that makes sense – that tracks with how you’ve acted so far. You’re so kind—"

“Charlotte-”

“And supportive. You’d never do anything cruel—"

“Please-”

“And dehumanising. You’d never call me an animal to my face.” My legs were shaking and a heat spread from my ribs down my forelimbs. “The morning after. Because that wouldn’t be very nice, would it?”

…

“...I’m sorry.”

I froze. The forced grin slid off my snout slow as ice as I pressed my maw so tightly shut it hurt. That fury faltered as I digested what he’d said. I hadn’t expected it – I’d expected excuses, comments about species and consent and introspection and something Max flavoured.

Not a sorry, with his face in his hands and his shoulders hunched like he was the one hurting.

Maybe he was.

I didn’t know what to do.

So I watched, instead.

“I’m sorry I said what I said,” he confessed. “There was no reason to. You asked me if I wanted to stop and if I knew who I was with, and I said yes.” He reached back up to fix his hair, but it fell apart. “I-I said yeah because I thought I could handle it. You were so beautiful, and I wanted to suck up how I knew I’d feel in the morning because I just- I-I fucking...” His face scrunched up, eyes squeezed shut. “I wanted you.”

My lip quivered.

“I’m something you’d have to suck up?” I pushed it down, pushed everything down.

It didn’t matter.

It didn’t.

It really didn’t.

My hips still hurt.

Max raised his face from his hands and looked up at me, eyes bright and focused. “Yes.” He sat up straighter, moved forward, and for one long moment, I thought he’d kneel before me. “Not you you, but everything else. You’re a person, but you’re not a human. Charlotte, I remember being a kid and actually owning a dog, and that’s hard to let go of in just a week. I-It just is. I’m sorry.”

I had to force myself to breathe.

Because I could understand that. It made sense.

“And you think it was easy for me to do the same?” I ground out. “You think it was easy to ‘suck up’ that my only options were effectively humans? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m something of a fucking rarity. It’s either a species that thinks I’m a pet or begging my father to let me visit someone I meet online. I don’t want…”

My eyes betrayed me, and I raised a paw to bat weakly at my suddenly wet cheek.

“You’re not a pet, Charlotte.”

Breathing grew hard once again.

It was too good.

I hated it.

I wanted to be angry; I wanted him to regret what he’d done, lay low beneath me and grovel. But no, he was remorseful and calm, and I despised him for it, because I could feel myself relaxing, letting go…

…I couldn’t accept that.

“ No. I’m not.” I moved forward with strength. “I am not a pet, Maxie. And more than that, do you remember what I told you?” He froze – he knew, I knew. I wet my lips. Chose my path. “That I’d tell my father? If you didn’t play nice?”

Scarcely did it work. His jaw tightened harshly, teeth grinding visibly. “I do, yeah. What’s that got to do with anything?” He sat up, posture shifting immediately, almost like he’d been anticipating it. “I-I said I’m sorry, and I mean it. What more—"

More.

More, I realised. I could have more.

More conflict, more apologies.

“I like you,” I admitted, cutting him off. “But I want… proof… that you’re sorry.”

A flush of surprise and then indignation, but he, with a low sigh, let it ebb. “Seriously?” He said. "You-" Another surge of annoyance that he pushed down. “What proof?”

“Do a handful of favours for me and we’re good.” I leant closer over to him, food ignored. “We can even have more late-night fun.”

I felt like I was about to vomit.

I knew what I wanted, but I couldn’t just ask.

It had to be forced. It had to be whatever this was.

There couldn’t be a moment where I was left open ever again.

Max snatched my breakfast from the table, spearing a sausage with a silver fork. “Fine. What do you want? Back rubs or something?”

I didn’t answer him straight away.

I let the silence sit between us, heavy and crushing, and watched the way it pressed in on him. His grip on the plate tightened just slightly, fingers curling against ceramic.

Good, I thought, swallowing.

Let him wait.

I tilted my head, slow and thoughtful, as though weighing something far more important than petty favours. My ears angled just slightly back, then forward again, controlled and measured.

“There is a place," I said at last, voice even, almost bored. “In town.”

He frowned.

Not irritated, not just yet. Confusion first. There was always confusion with him, like he needed a second longer than most to catch up to what was actually being said, even despite the business degrees he sometimes preened about.

“A place,” he repeated, brow raised.

“Yes.” I sat up straighter, claws brushing against the rug. “An ice cream parlour. Independent. Quiet. Father mentioned it once.”

A pause.

He blinked.

My heart skipped.

“…Ice cream.”

“Yes.”

"That's-" He stopped himself and exhaled sharply through his nose. “That’s what you want, seriously? Ice cream?”

“It is.”

He stared at me properly. Not glancing, not avoiding, but looking. Searching for something that wasn’t there.

A trick.

A catch.

Something secret.

There wasn’t one.

“Jesus, you’re serious,” he said after a moment, slower this time.

“I am not in the habit of joking about these things.”

His jaw set tight.

Teeth pressing together, the faint shift in his posture as something like resistance rose up in him. His shoulders squared, spine straightening just a fraction too much, like he was bracing himself for something more. Something worse.

I watched it happen.

Watched the moment he considered pushing back-

But didn’t.

"...Fine," he said, voice calmer now. “Later. When it’s quieter.” And then he glanced away, somewhere distant. “I like ice cream…”

Something in my chest surged so suddenly it almost made me falter.

My tail flicked before I could stop it, a tight, betraying wag that I corrected too late. My claws pressed lightly into the pads of my paws as I forced myself still.

“Good,” I said, lifting my chin just slightly. “That will suffice.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue.

Instead, he pushed the plate towards me, a little more forcefully this time. “Eat, princess.”

The bacon was still warm, salty and fatty, richer than anything I should have been eating. My ears twitched despite myself, a small, involuntary reaction that I masked with a careful tweak of my posture.

Dignified, like the lady I was.

Across from me, he sat back, one hand coming up to rub at his temple. Watching without staring. Thinking again, then taking out his phone.

Always thinking.

Let him, I thought.

Because as I ate, the feeling didn’t fade.

That rush from before softened into something steadier, warmer, coiling low in my gut and refusing to leave. He’d agreed. Pressed and cornered, yes – but he hadn’t fought it. Not really. A moment of resistance, and then-

…

My tongue brushed lightly over my teeth as I swallowed.

If that was all it took…

My thoughts shifted.

To heat. To pressure. To the memory of his hands.

Tongue-

The grip on my hips as he thrust up into me, spilling, teeth against my throat.

A flush spread fast and hard beneath my fur, heat climbing up my neck. My tail rose on mating reflex before I forced it back down.

I took another bite just to have something to do, chewing too quickly this time, less controlled. My tail tightened against a hindleg, curling in close.

…

…If I asked-

No.

I swallowed.

Then, quieter.

Maybe.

The thought lingered.

Slippery.

Dangerously tempting.

He’d agreed to ice cream. To something small, yes, but still… He’d folded, eventually.

So what if-

“What’s that look?”

I froze.

Slowly, I lifted my gaze, heart thudding.

Max was staring at me now, openly. One brow raised, mouth pulled slightly to the side, like he wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or amused.

“You look…” He hesitated, searching. “…off.”

“I do not,” I said immediately.

“You do,” he replied, leaning forward slightly. “You were just sitting there. Smiling. Not normal smiling either, just, like-” He gestured vaguely toward his own face. “Creepy, like.”

My grip tightened on the fork, the metal of my prosthetic whirring.

“...I was eating.”

“You were not just eating.”

“I assure you, I was.”

He huffed lightly, unconvinced. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever that was, please don’t do it in public later.”

My whiskers twitched.

“I was not aware I required your guidance on how to present myself.”

“You do when you look like that,” he muttered, the corners of his mouth lifting in a weak grin.

I turned my head away from him in one smooth motion. My nose lifted slightly, body straightening further as I placed the fork down for a moment.

“If you find my expressions unsettling,” I said coolly, “perhaps you should refrain from staring at me so intently.”

“Pretty fucking hard not to when you’re making faces like-"

“I was not making faces.”

“You definitely were.”

“I was not.”

“Were.”

He exhaled again, sharper this time, but didn’t push further.

I continued eating, slower. The heat lingered anyway.

If he’d agreed to this…

What else might he agree to if I asked it the right way?

“Charlotte, the face again.”

The lady I was, I didn’t react. Truly, I was refined.

But even I could fall victim to boredom, especially when there was something to look forward to. Max as well, based on him leaving to retrieve his laptop and the sounds of video games echoing through tinny speakers that followed.

Quiet music. Retro sound effects. Max swearing under his breath every ten minutes or so, muttering about a million-dollar debt.

“What are you playing?” I asked.

“Hacking game. Deepfake-" He paused, clicking at something. “Uh. Deadeye Deepfake. Pretty good. Friend recommended it.” His eyes flicked over to me, the tablet in my grasp, then back. "You're doing your… dog Instagram?”

“Possibly.”

I was.

> Chewing that human bone Char-Char? (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

To which I sent only a winky face.

> Lucky guy T_T

A nodding poodle GIF.

> You keeping him or just playing?

Show his face properly next time; don’t be stingy.

My thumb hovered over the screen, scrolling just a fraction slower now.

> Nah look at the shoulders in pic 3 – he knows what he’s doing

That one where he’s carrying your stuff??? Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.

*Need that next rut. (⸝⸝> ω <⸝⸝) *

A pause.

Then, quieter, buried a little deeper:

> Does he treat you right?

I didn’t answer that one.

Instead.

> If you don’t want him I’ll take him off your paws.

> Char-Char hoarding again smh.

A small huff left my nose before I could stop it.

To them both, I replied with a simple

;)

And turned my phone off, mood boosted enough to last.

…

For a time, at least.

The room settled back into its earlier rhythm soon after. I let it fill the space without comment, stretching out along the sofa with a careful sort of laze, as though I had nothing at all occupying my thoughts.

I watched him instead of the TV.

Not openly. Just in pieces… the shift of his posture when he leant forward; the way his fingers moved faster when he grew frustrated.

He was comfortable again.

It felt too good to see. Too natural.

I broke it.

“We’re going,” I said.

He didn’t look up. “Yeah, in a bit. It’s still early.”

"No," I rose, smoothing down the front of my jumper with deliberate care, gathering my strength for a push. “Now.”

That got his attention.

His expression sharpened just slightly as if he were weighing the effort of arguing in real time.

“…Right. Right," he said finally, pushing himself up with a faint groan. “Give me a minute, at least.”

I didn’t need to respond, I told myself.

The time it took him to gather himself was short.

Keys, jacket, and a quick check of his phone whilst I followed at my own pace. The estate felt different when leaving. Quieter, somehow.

The front door opened with a dull click.

Cold air pressed in immediately, sharp and clean compared to the insulated warmth inside. It carried scents – damp earth, distant exhaust, and something faintly metallic.

I loved it.

The outside world.

Max didn’t notice my sudden elation.

He was already moving ahead, keys jingling lightly in his hand as he led the way down the short stretch toward the drive, past the sporty and sleek cars. Gravel shifted underfoot. The sky sat low and grey, clouded but bright enough to flatten everything beneath it.

His own car came into view.

I stopped.

“…That is yours.”

It wasn’t a question.

A small, battered thing sat crookedly near the edge of the drive, paint dulled and uneven, one panel a shade off from the rest like a broken tooth. There was a faint line of rust creeping along the door, just visible beneath the rest of the grime.

Max glanced back, proud. “Oh yeah.”

Silence.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not. Used to be my dad's, then my brother's, and now she's mine.” He smacked the top, and I was stunned the entire thing didn’t collapse. “She’s a beauty, aye?”

I stared at it for a moment, then stepped closer, circling just enough to take in the full extent of it. The smell reached me before I even touched it – stale, faintly sour, layered with something oily and old.

“It’s… horrible.”

“Just get in,” he said, already unlocking it.

I hesitated.

Then, with reluctance, I pulled the door open. The scent intensified immediately, wrapping around me in a way that made my ears flatten before I could stop them. Fabric seats worn thin. Dust in the seams.

I climbed in anyway, shut the door behind me with more care than it probably deserved.

“This is a sensory nightmare,” I said flatly, pretending I wasn’t inhaling every minute's fragrance, cataloguing it for later, unpleasant as they were for me.

Max snorted as he slid into the driver’s seat. “You’ll survive, princess.”

“I may not.”

“You will~” The little coo he did almost made me laugh.

The engine turned over with a rough, uneven sound before catching properly, a low rumble settling beneath us. The whole car seemed to vibrate with it.

I adjusted my posture, pulling slightly away from the seat as if distance alone might help.

“It smells like you,” I added.

“That’s because it is me.”

“How unfortunate,” I lied.

He huffed, shifting into gear without responding further. Gravel crunched beneath the tyres as the car rolled forward, slow at first, then smoother as we reached the road beyond the estate, the gate resolved with a flick of the human's card.

The change was immediate.

The wide, empty stretch near the estate gave way to country roads, lined with hedges and the low stone walls of other homes.

The fields on each side were quiet and relaxing.

A prison.

But then, in the distance.

A town. One I’d been to fewer times than I had claws on my paws.

Small. Quiet and old, just like everything in the area.

Max drove without speaking, one hand resting loosely on the wheel, the other tapping absently against his leg in time with music only he could hear.

I watched through the windows, my body lounging on the back seats, old bits and grits sticking to my expensive clothing before I batted them away.

I’d never admit it; I was too myself, but that quiet drive, even with us how we were… I’d remember it.

We didn’t speak even once, but the wheezing of his atrocious vehicle and the quiet hum of rubber on pavement – it was everything to me.

It was real.

But all things passed, and in time those rolling fields and distant farms turned to shops, to smaller homes and to people, and we were at last in the town proper. People, I found, so many people – enough to make my chest seize up.

#

We pulled into a spot quicker than expected, and I wondered if it was where Max had gone the day prior when he’d left me in the morning, and that sudden reminder steeled me.

He got to enjoy a day out whilst I had to limp to bed, hips aching, crying in my room like the idiot I was.

I stared at the back of his head as he put the car into park and found myself angry.

“So this is where you went?” I asked, unable to keep the bitterness out. “Did you have fun without me?”

“Not really, no.” Slowly, he reached into the inside of his coat, pulling free a small paperback novel with a bent spine and yellowed pages. “But I did get you this…” He passed it over. I stared at it, at the gaudy cover and the suddenly chipper expression.

“What is it?” I asked, that roiling bile freezing for a moment, stalled by how little I’d seen it coming.

“A book,” he said simply. “About this kid who’s secretly royal and magic, and it’s so god damn cheesy, but I thought, like…” He stopped himself. “That you might like it.” And wet his lips. “Or hate it, and that’d be fun.”

“Fun?” I echoed.

“Yeah.” He nodded, extending his arm in offering. “I’d sit and watch you tear it apart… or you’d go gaga over the main guy.” That sly grin, the slight arch of a dark, slim brow – it reminded me of why he’d been my first and why, at least then, I’d been so vulnerable.

“Admittedly tempting," I said, eyes scanning the glossy cover, the overdone musculature and the near-childish attempt at a grim feel. At odds with the old man in his silly robes and the silly baby dragon off to the side.

And then my gaze fell to the hand holding it.

To the short, clean nails and subtly pleasing muscle of the forearm.

“Keep a hold of it for me, Maxie. Reading and walking is hard for someone lacking hands.” I wet my chops and looked away, climbing free from the musty car before he could help me.

Max joined me, closer than I expected, slamming the car door shut and locking it with a rust-tinged key. He lingered there for half a second too long, silvery grey eyes flicking over me as though checking I wouldn’t bolt, or snap, or make a scene before we’d even begun.

I lifted my head higher in response, nose tilted just so, posture focused into something that might have passed for regal.

“Try to keep up,” I said, already turning, already moving.

He snorted softly behind me, the sound following a step later as his shoes met stone. “You’re the one with little legs.”

“I have twice as many as you, Maxie. Try to remember that.”

#

It wasn’t far.

Father had described it once in that vague, disinterested way of his, like everything outside the estate existed only in passing, but I remembered enough. I was gen 2. I knew where to go.

A turn past a florist that smelt overwhelmingly of cut stems and sugar water, a narrow street that dipped slightly, lined with older buildings that leant just enough to make the space feel tighter than it was.

Unique and present. Not just posts online or a second-hand description.

Reality.

But the people.

They noticed me.

Of course they noticed, because that was reality also.

At first it was the stares some online friends had mentioned: glances that lingered a second too long, an unsubtle double-take, and the sly movement of someone nudging the person beside them.

My ears twitched despite my best efforts, picking up the uneven rhythm of it all. Heartbeats, footsteps slowing, breaths catching. The scent of curiosity, sharp and bright and tinged with fear.

The undercurrent of something else, something worse – unease, maybe, or that same old confusion that always came with me.

Was I a pet?

A person?

Something wrong?

…I kept walking, ignoring the twisting in my stomach.

Head high. Back straight. Steps measured and even, manicured claws clicking lightly against the stone in a steady rhythm that I forced.

I would not look at them, I told myself.

I would not acknowledge it.

Because if I did, if I gave them even an inch, it would turn into something else. Questions. Comments. That awful tone people got when they thought they were being kind. Like the maids Father had hired before Max came.

Max stayed just behind and to my side.

Not touching me, not guiding me, not doing anything that would make it worse, but… present in a way that changed how we were seen.

I caught it. The way people’s gazes flicked from me to him and back again, trying to fit it all together.

“The hell’s their problem?” he muttered, low enough that it didn’t carry, but I heard it anyway. Maybe they did. It didn't matter.

“It’s nothing,” I said, just as quietly.

“They’re staring.”

“They do. It’s worse in some places – I know a borzoi who says it makes school a nightmare.”

“Does it bother you?”

No.

Yes.

“...Should it?”

He didn’t answer.

A group of teenagers went quiet as we approached, conversation cutting off mid-sentence, only to resume in quiet tones once we’d passed. Someone laughed too sharply, too suddenly, and then stopped just as quickly when Max turned to glare.

My tail froze, bent stiff between my legs, before I forced it back into place.

Forward.

“There,” I said after a moment, nodding toward a narrow frontage tucked between two older shops. The sign above it was small and subtle, painted in soft, fading colours.

He followed my gaze, squinting slightly. “That’s it?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.”

Not impressed.

Which was good.

It wasn’t meant to be anything grand or excessive or loud, I thought slyly. It was quiet. Tucked away and easy to miss if you didn’t know where to look.

It was private, most of all.

My pace slowed just slightly as we approached, not enough to be obvious, but enough that I could take in the details. The door. The handle. The faint shift in scent. Cold air brushing past, carrying with it sugar and cream and something more precious.

Chocolate.

My ears dipped, then lifted again.

“After you,” Max said, stepping past me, hand already reaching, pulling it open without comment.

For a moment, just a moment, the stares outside fell away.

I stepped inside.

The space was small and cramped, with a handful of tables scattered about the place, a counter along the far wall with glass displays beneath it, and colours layered in soft rows.

And people again.

Fewer.

But people still.

The shift was immediate.

Heads turned and inside there was nowhere for it to go.

I paused just past the door, letting Max move around me, letting him take the lead for half a second as I adjusted.

A woman behind the counter baulked.

A couple near the window stopped mid-conversation.

Someone further back leaned slightly, trying to see past the person in front of them.

I breathed in.

Slow.

Easy.

Max hesitated only briefly before moving toward a table off to the side, one with a bench rather than chairs. I followed, jumping up with a small, controlled motion, settling onto the bench with a careful adjustment.

He sat across from me, already reaching for a menu, eyes scanning it quickly before flicking up again, just for a second, checking.

I let the silence sit for a moment, watching the way he leaned back slightly, one ankle hooking over the other, menu held a little too close to his face.

Awkward.

…Cute, even.

“It’s almost like a date,” I said, voice light and teasing, as though the thought had only just occurred to me and didn't terrify me to my core.

His eyes flicked up. “…Like one,” he said after a second, noncommittal tone carefully neutral. “Sure.” Not quite denying, not quite agreeing.

My tail flicked once against the bench.

Interesting.

He turned a page, brows furrowing. “These prices are insane,” he muttered. “I’m too used to, like… nothing. This is actually tripping me out." A small, humourless huff. “Living in a car does that. You don’t really get used to places that sell one thing for this much.”

I watched him. Surprised he’d admit it and curious as to why.

The way his fingers tapped once against the page. The way his shoulders held just a fraction tighter than before.

Why?

“And now you’re here,” I reminded him.

“Yeah.”

Another page.

“You know what you want?” he asked, finally, lowering the menu just enough to look at me properly.

“Chocolate sundae,” I said, nodding once.

He paused as he stood, chair scraping. Looked back.

"You serious?”

“Yes.”

He arched a narrow brow.

“Charlotte, dogs-"

“I am not a dog,” I said sharply, before he could finish.

He stared at me. Then huffed, something halfway between a laugh and a breath forced out too quickly. “R-Right. Yeah. Sorry.” His head tilted slightly. “Gen two, right?” And raised a finger to tap the sides of his sharp cheekbones. “Red eyes.”

He remembered.

“Yes. I was injected with a concentrated dose, not randomly infected by a passing mutt,” I said, quieter. “Directly into the spine.” A small pause, my breath hitching as I realised just how loud I’d gotten out of nowhere.

Something shifted in his expression.

Not quite pity, but something in that vein.

"...Right," he said again, softer, like he didn’t quite know what to do with that and so chose to do nothing at all. “Chocolate sundae it is, then!”

He left before I could say anything else.

Good.

I didn’t want to sit in whatever… that… might’ve become.

I adjusted on the bench, paws tucking in more neatly beneath me as I tried to figure out why I’d so suddenly told him that.

Max returned a few minutes later, two spoons in one hand, a glass dish in the other piled high with something definitely not on my pre-planned diet.

Chocolate, dark and rich, layered with cream and something glossy that caught the light just enough to make my mouth water.

He set it down between us carefully.

“There,” he said, sitting back down with a small exhale. “Your incredibly expensive, probably bad decision that I will never, ever tell Jack about.”

“It smells excellent,” I replied, already leaning forward slightly.

He snorted. “Yeah, well. So did that mix you made the other night apparently, and we both know how that ended.”

“That was different,” I grumbled, the skin beneath my fur flushing hot even as my lips pulled into a grin.

“Was it?” He picked up one of the spoons, tapping it lightly against the edge of the glass. “Rum, whisky, vodka. No plan. No thought. Just vibes~” A small, crooked grin as he mimicked my voice as best he could. “You nearly threw up on the floor.”

“I did not,” I said stiffly.

“You absolutely did.”

“I nearly did,” I corrected after a pause.

“Yeah,” he said, amused. “Sure.”

I ignored him, lowering my head to take a careful first bite. The cold hit immediately, sharp against my tongue, followed by the deep, heavy sweetness of chocolate, richer than anything I’d had in… longer than I could remember.

Takeaway milkshakes weren’t quite as tasty.

My eyes closed, just for a second.

It was-

Good.

Across from me, Max watched as he took his own bite, though he was far less cautious about it.

Tension and bitterness faded.

We weren’t bantering, not really. Just… eating. Small comments here and there, observations about customers that didn’t go anywhere, the quiet scrape of spoons against glass, the occasional glance that lingered a second longer than necessary before drifting away again.

It was… familiar.

Uncomfortably so.

Like those nights.

The ones I had told myself didn’t matter.

The ones that had.

Max leaned back slightly after a few minutes, spoon still in hand, eyeing the half-finished sundae like he was weighing whether it had been worth the cost after all.

“…So,” he said eventually.

I felt the question before he even finished.

“This is the favour?” he asked, gesturing vaguely between us, the table, and the melting edges of chocolate and cream. “Because this feels a lot like just… hanging out.”

I froze up.

Just slightly.

Not enough for anyone else to notice.

He kept going, because of course he did.

“Like before," he added, tone lighter now, like he thought he’d found something amusing. “You know. Late-night drinks, dares, bad decisions. You're trying to invent the worst cocktail known to man. Before the incident.”

My grip tightened just a fraction against the bench, claws scraping.

It would have been easy to agree, to brush it off.

To pretend I’d been joking when I’d suggested favours.

Easy.

Safe.

I hesitated long enough for something uncomfortable to settle in my chest.

Because he was right.

It wasn't-

It wasn’t a favour.

Not really.

It was…

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said suddenly.

I woke back up, just slightly, eyes lifting to him as he leaned forward a fraction, spoon abandoned against the glass.

“I-I know how that sounded,” he went on, quieter now, less sure of himself than he had been a moment ago. “Like I was… brushing it off. I wasn’t.”

If he hadn’t said anything, if he’d just left me to think, then maybe…

“Then what were you doing?” I asked, my tone wavering.

He froze up.

His gaze dropped to the table, to the slow melt of the sundae between us, like he might find the words somewhere in it if he looked long enough.

“I’m trying,” he said after a moment. “I am. I just-" A breath, sharp through his nose. “I keep fucking it up.”

“That’s not my problem,” I replied, automatically.

He nodded anyway, like he’d expected it. “Yeah. I know.” His fingers tapped once against the table, then stilled. “I just… I don’t want you thinking I don't-" He stopped, jaw tightening briefly. Started again. “Fuck. I really do like you, Charlotte.”

Something in my chest hurt.

I said nothing. Not because I wanted to be sly or intimidating, or anything like that, but because I physically could not.

So he kept going.

“I think you’re…” Another pause, shorter this time, like he was forcing himself through it. “You’re beautiful. And you’re funny when you’re not trying to be. And you're-" He huffed softly. “Smarter than me, probably. Definitely more put together.”

My tail gave a small, traitorous flick against the bench, desperate to wag at the praise.

"But-" he added. “But you’re still…” His hand lifted, gesturing vaguely, helplessly. “This. Physically. Y-You’re still a poodle, Charlotte.”

My stomach rolled. The word crushed me.

I felt it press in on me from the outside, from the inside, from everywhere all at once.

Still a poodle.

Just a poodle.

Always.

“T-That doesn’t just go away because I want it to,” he said, more firmly now. “It doesn’t switch off. L-Like I told you earlier, I grew up seeing dogs one way. It's hard."

My jaw tightened. He'd said this barely an hour ago and it didn't feel great reheated.

“After we…” He trailed off, then pushed himself to finish anyway. Quiet, so nobody could hear. “After we slept together, it hit me all at once. What I’d done. What it meant. And I panicked.” A short, humourless laugh. “Badly.”

I remembered.

Animal.

“I said things I shouldn’t have,” he went on. “Things I don’t actually believe. Not about you.” His gaze flicked up, sharp now, intent. “You have to understand that. They were just words.”

Do I?

The question rose up, quiet and dangerous.

Do I have to understand that?

I could.

I did.

I could see it. The way his mind worked, the way it caught and snagged on things it had been taught for years, the way it pulled away even when the rest of him didn’t want it to.

I could understand it.

I didn’t want to.

Because understanding made it harder to hate him.

And I needed that.

Didn’t I?

Slowly, masking, eyes closing, I exhaled.

“You are asking for a great deal,” I said, my voice cool again, measured.

“I know.”

“You hurt me,” I continued, not raising my voice, not needing to, even if I wanted to scream. “In a way that is not easily dismissed with a few well-placed apologies and compliments.”

“I know," he said again, softer, and that gentleness stung me.

“And yet you expect me to simply… understand.” My head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing just enough. “To excuse it.”

“I’m not asking you to excuse it,” he said quickly. “I’m asking you to know it wasn't…" He stopped, searching. “It wasn’t because I think you’re less. Not really.”

I straightened.

“I see,” I said.

He watched me carefully, like he was trying to gauge whether he’d made it worse or better. Probably both.

“You will need to do better,” I added after a moment. “Ice cream is the start.”

He kept his eyes on the table.

Then, quietly:

“Yeah.”

He didn’t argue.

Didn’t try to defend himself further.

Just… accepted it. A fact of life.

Across from him, I lowered my head again, taking another bite of the melting sundae, though the sweetness sat differently now. Thicker. Harder to enjoy. Bitter, almost.

Bitter, but-

Ice-cream still.