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Saturday morning.

I've got two missed calls and a message with more subtext than the entire length of War and Peace.

My boyfriend is leaving for work. As he says goodbye, and that he loves me, I smile.

It's better than crying. Worse than telling him the truth.

I haven't slept. Of course I fucking haven't.

He leaves without looking back, it's just another day to him.

I pull out my phone and read the message again. The same three words illuminate my screen: talk to me.

It's Jack. Of course it fucking is, and I have no idea what to do about it.

Last night I fucked up and now I have to live through the consequences. It's only fair, I suppose.

What do I really want? Why do I want it? How do I get it?

I'm making this all sound far more grandiose than it is.

I'm sat down at my writing desk, clutching my tail in my lap.

Last night I cheated on my boyfriend. I haven't told him. I've been with him over three years and now I've gone and done this. Me. I never thought...

Last night I met Jack and...

Don't.

Why not? I'm already overwhelmed enough as it is. I should at least think out what I feel.

Last night I met the most incredible person I have ever met.

He's charming, intelligent, confident and exciting as if each moment with him was equivalent to skydiving off a jet with James Bond. He's impulsive and quick witted and hot; he's like one of those people you think only exist on dating profiles before dissolving as they come into contact with reality. Yet, somehow, he was real. I could see him and talk to him and touch him.

Oh fuck.

Somehow, for all of that, he's into me. Worst of all when I ran out on him, gave him a reason to hate me, when my guilt set in and I came running home, even then all he wanted to do was help me and open up to me.

I left him there, confused and disappointed, without any real explanation. What would he think if he knew the truth?

Why did I leave him? Why did I fucking stay so long?

None of this makes sense. I'm a worthless bastard, plain and simple.

It's too much for me.

I turn on my computer and stare at my in-progress novel manuscript. It's like a brick wall which I'm on the wrong side of and I'm uselessly beating at it with balled fists. Right now it doesn't want to get along with me or open its gate.

I open up a short story I've been working on instead, the sixth chapter of some ongoing series. I don't know why there are so many chapters when there are so few readers. Hell, I don't know why I bother writing any of these short stories at all. I'm shouting out into the world at some two digit number of people. It hardly seems worth the mounting hours of work, or the cut down social life, or the feeling of worthlessness that comes so readily with the realization that I'm nothing more than another drop in the endless ocean of media, and that I'll probably never be more.

When I feel like this I usually close my eyes and breathe deeply. I stop and remember the good things in life like experiencing great art, meeting great people, having an amazing boyfriend.

Doing that right now that would only make me feel more bitter.

Despite it all, I put my paws to the keyboard and I keep writing. Maybe it's because I want some kind of recognition, or maybe it's because what little reaction I do end up getting leaves me glowing. All I've ever wanted to do with my writing is to make other people feel something real, and every time I'm reminded that I've managed that, well, it makes the whole mess feel worthwhile for another few weeks. It makes me feel like the jumble of experiences and emotions and opinions that make up my being are actually worth something.

It's a vicious little cycle I've locked myself into. A sort of masochistic ritual where I'm endlessly striving for the mythical light at the end of the tunnel. I'm searching for affirmation, congratulations and gold stars.

All our childhood we're made to feel special, then a lot of us struggle with the realization that we are very much not.

Maybe today is not the best day to mull this existential crap over. Clearly I'm not in a good mood, and I don't have the best opinion of myself right now. I'm trying to keep calm and level. Writing helps me do that.

In my story the protagonist is dealing poorly with an elaborate love triangle, in the current scene he's letting all his frustrations and questions out to one of his close friends for the first time, hoping that once she hears him out she can help him.

It's a story about lust and love, friendship and trust, manipulation and sex. It's about a confused guy who isn't sure what to do when his love life gets messy and instead he worsens things by doing nothing at all. He's indecisive and scatterbrained and does his best to ignore the problems mounting up around him.

At least I'm writing what I know.

The thought makes me laugh, breaking the silence of the empty apartment, but hearing my voice only reminds me how alone I am. Suddenly I'm shivering.

I'm such a bastard.

My boyfriend deserves better. He's been loyal and loving for years and I repay him like this? I'm a worthless bastard.

Even worse, like the protagonist in my short stories, I'm not making a decision. I haven't told him yet. I haven't told Jack either. They'll realize what the real me looks like and leave me behind. It's what I deserve, so I suppose I should let it happen. At least it would save me from worrying about which of the two I really want to be with.

Here I am isolated, ruminating in my own mind in my own home as if that will do anything to solve any of it.

No. I'm not going to be like this.

I turn off the computer and stand up, taking a deep breath and pulling out my phone, once again reading the text.

I'm not going to let indecision crush me. I'm going to get up and take control of my life. I'm going to call Jack and ask if we can meet. I'm going to tell him everything, and when my boyfriend is back from work this evening I'll tell him everything too.

Enough bullshit. Life must go on. I may well have made life a lot harder for myself, but I can at least hope I've learned a lesson out of all this.

With just a little bit of luck I'll end today with decisions made and truths told. Even if everything else has shattered around me, that's the only way I can handle this and still respect myself.

(You could never tell him. You could cut Jack out of your life. Pretend it never happened.)

I could. I could...

But I can't get that feline out of my mind, let alone cut him out. It's not going to work.

I bring up his number and call, squashing the phone against my face as if it were my only source of oxygen.

One ring.

Two.

Three.

He isn't going to pick up.

Four. Fuck, he isn't going to pick up.

Five. My heart is racing inexplicably.

Come on. Come on.

Six.

Se-

"Hi."

His voice melts me.

"Jack..."

Suddenly I don't know what to say. Words always seem to fail me when they matter most.

"I'm glad you called." His voice is quiet, yet unwavering. He know what he wants and how he feels. Again I'm drawn into him. He's like a magnet to me.

Those urges return: the lust, the want, the need to be with him. All it took was a few words and I'm right back there.

"I need to talk to you." I say. My voice, in comparison, is short spoken, quick, nervous.

"You do." He states. It's not said forcefully, or even sarcastically. He's sincere and level. Why does he have to be so perfect? "Today, right?"

"Yeah, if that's okay with you."

"Of course it is, Tyler. Where were you thinking?"

"How about, uh, you know that little cafe on the end of the road. The same road of the barwe met in."

"I think I know the one. Family run little thing?"

"Yeah, that's right."

There's a moment of dead air and all I can hear is my heart beating faster than I'm comfortable with. Today is going to change my life forever, and whatever happens I won't be making it any easier. At least not right away.

"So, do you want to meet in the afternoon, or now, or what?" He asks finally and I feel a fool all over again for not specifying.

"Whenever's best for you," I offer weakly.

"How about in an hour?"

An hour is soon. I look at the clock on my phone, It's barely past nine now. Hell, today is going to be tough for me however I handle it, I may as well get it started early.

"That sounds perfect, I'll see you then."

"See you then," he says, sounding far away all of a sudden, but not so much in space as in thought. "Just don't run off on me this time."

The words carve a bloody hole in my chest. He says them with a genuine sense of hope and warmth too, which only makes them all the more brutal.

"I won't," I choke out.

"Good," he says. "See you soon."

"See you soon."

The line goes flat.

The silence sounds like a fire alarm. I'm unsure of myself again. Do I really want to keep dousing my life in this oil when I'm about to light a match? Then again, maybe I need a little more burning.

Oh god, I wish I could wake up and have this whole thing have been some protracted nightmare.

I go to make myself a drink and catch myself with shaking paws. I stop and head to the bedroom. I don't know whether it's the nerves or the lack of sleep. Either way I need to rest or I'm going to be a complete wreck all day and I really can't afford that.

I don't have much time to nap, but thirty minutes is better than nothing. I set an alarm on my phone, lie down and close my eyes. My head is still spinning with thoughts and fears about my immediate future so I force myself to slow my breathing and calm down. I do my very best to empty my mind.

No thoughts. Nothing but rest.

That's all I want.

*

My alarm's going off. In fact, it's been going off for a while. The hazy memories of semi-consciously lying here with the incessant noise blaring out beside me flood my mind. Fuck. How long has it been?

I rush to my feet and stop the alarm, checking my phone. It's ten. I'm going to be late, but if I rush out right now it won't be too bad. It will take me about twenty minutes to get there and I reckon twenty minutes late has to be forgivable. I shove on a coat and check my reflection. I look a mess. I take the nearest brush to my fur and do my best to make myself at least moderately presentable.

My mind is so slow I'm acting before I can think. I'm still so tired, even with the extra rest I feel like a wreck. I'm such an idiot.

It can't be more than a couple minutes before I'm leaving the house. It occurs to me that I need to tell him I'm going to be late or he might think I chickened out and won't turn up at all. I even have to fuck up something as simple as a meeting time, don't I?

Deep breath.

I need to pause this self loathing for a moment. I need a clear mind. I need to focus.

Jack answers on the second ring this time.

"Where are you?" He asks before I can even get a word in.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't sleep at all last night and I-"

"Are you on your way now?" He cuts me off.

"Yes I'll be less than twenty minutes."

He sighs audibly. At this point I'm walking as fast as I reasonably can without looking like a total fool.

"Okay. I'll see you soon then."

"See you soon." I say. He ends the call. I'm such an idiot.

The rest of my walk passes by in a blur of time keeping and self enforced efficiency. I've fucked up again and I want to do every little thing I can to make up for it, even if its as simple as using my limited mental energy to get to Jack as soon as I can. I've done enough damage, it's time to try repairs.

There's a sinking feeling in my stomach when I spot him sat there. He's at a table inside, staring disinterestedly at his phone, tapping at the screen lazily.

He spots me as I come inside, his muzzle points up to me as he lifts his gaze and his pocket finds his phone with a swift movement of his paw. Silently he beckons me over with a tilt of his head.

There's already a drink waiting for me. Another latte, just like the one I asked for last night.

"Don't worry, it's not cold, I only ordered it a couple of minutes ago." He says as I sit down. So thoughtful and polite even after I've left him hanging, twice now. "So..."

Seeing him again isn't making this any easier. God, He's so gorgeous. It's not only that, it's everything about him. Last night I thought I might love him. Right now I don't feel any different. It's only been one damn day, but I can't help it.

I'm certainly not a love at first sight kind of guy, but then again it wasn't first sight that did it. What triggered it was being around him and seeing the way he acts and carries himself at every moment. That's what draws me in. Even over such a limited time his presence just feels so right to me, as if being with him were like having a portable paradise. He's so damn perfect.

I never thought I would use that word to describe a person and mean it.

"Thanks for the drink," I say, uselessly. "I really appreciate it." I take a sip and let the liquid work its magic, hoping it will help keep me alert.

"It's only fair, you covered our drinks last night." There's a small smile on his face that wrinkles his muzzle, causing his whiskers to point skyward. There's a moment where I detect fondness and then a more neutral, serious look returns. "You left in quite a rush at the end there."

"I did." I say, not entirely sure how to put everything on my mind into words. My stomach is fluttering. Oh god, this is really happening. "I need to tell you something Jack." He stays quiet and tilts his ears forward subtly in response. It's now or never. "I have a boyfriend."

At first I wonder if whether I actually said it out loud as he sits there entirely still, but after a few seconds pass he leans back against his seat and looks out the window, his muzzle pressed tightly shut. I'm at as much a loss for words as he is. In the tranquil café on this Saturday morning, with politely soft conversation going on all around us, you could look at the two of us and think nothing of the scene. Here, where I'm sitting, I'm on the precipice.

Despite everything, all I want is for him to forgive me. I can figure the rest out later. Until he says something though, I don't know if he will. I haven't known him long enough to have a good gauge as to how he'll react to a situation as strange as this one.

Waiting for him to speak makes the fluttering in my stomach turn into a full blown hurricane. I can't rip my gaze away from him; I don't want to miss a detail.

When he finally says something it doesn't make me feel any better.

"I'm guessing from the dramatic way you've brought this up, you haven't only been with him for a couple of weeks." He isn't looking at me as he speaks. It's not really a question and the subtext is clear.

"Years." I say, simply, the word escaping my lips without any sugar coating. I got myself into this position, so I don't deserve anything more than what I get for admitting the truth. "And we've been living together this past year too."

There's more silence, I spot his slim tail wagging slowly back and forth as he contemplates my admission.

"Does he know about last night?" Is the feline's next question. The words send a shiver from the top of my spine to the end of my tail. I'm amazed at Jack's calmness in spite of myself. No matter the situation he can't fail to impress me.

"Not yet, he works weekends. I'm going to tell him this evening."

"Good."

Maybe another minute of unspoken thought passes between us before Jack stands up.

"Sorry." He says, then frowns briefly as if unsure whether it was the right thing to say at all. He opens his mouth, pauses for a moment, then continues. "I hope you can work things out with him."

I'm so at a loss as for how to react that he's at the door by the time I'm up and following after him. I want to call out his name and make him stop, but the context isn't right. It's morning in a local café and we've just had a civil talk, melodramatic theatrics just don't fit.

We're outside when I put my paw on his shoulder. He swivels. His ears are low, his eyes avoid mine and his mouth is pulled down in a deep-set frown.

"Jack." I say uselessly. He opens his mouth and lifts a paw. I can see that it's shaking. He turns around and walks off down the street in the general direction of his apartment.So, he's not as unmovable as I thought.

I need to remind myself: he's not perfect. He won't always, constantly, forever light up my life like somehow I thought he might last night. It's just not possible, not for anyone. We all have good days and bad days, strong points and weak points.

Right now I can see both of our respective weak points on a head-on collision course. I don't lose resolve and I keep my foot on the pedal. I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to do next or how I'm going to act when the crash comes, but I know it needs to happen. Today is the day my life changes.

I'm following him. His tail is flicking back and forth, not a good sign for a feline, but there's no way I can just turn back and head home. I have to do this.

"What do you want?" He asks, not looking back as he continues to walk. His voice isn't stable anymore, his stature is volatile. I'm seeing another side of him now, taking it all in, absorbing his mood and movements. Even like this he's beautiful.

"I'll tell you what I don't want," I begin, noticing the stress and strain in my own voice as if I were an outside observer. "I don't want this to be the end."

He twists his head around, bares his teeth and a flash of anger passes over his features. Maybe I said the wrong thing, or maybe there was nothing else I could have said.

"You-" He starts and stops. "I-" He stops again. He lets out a brief growl, twists back around and stomps off.

I feel lost. Unsure. I'm not moving.

Come on Tyler, do something.

"Jack," I call. He keeps walking. "Can I follow you?" It's a pathetic thing to say, but it's all I can think of.

"Go talk to your boyfriend Tyler." He spits the words out with a venom I didn't know he was capable of.

My stomach sinks. I feel dizzy.

"Jack..."

He stops and says: "If you really want to talk to me, call me after you've talked to him. I'm not getting messed up in your shit, I have enough going on in my own life." Some of the harshness has left his voice, but the words are still hard. He walks on without looking back. I stand still.

What the fuck did I expect to happen?

He's right of course. There's nothing more to be done until the truth has been told. I can see the conversation with my boyfriend incoming like watching a missile drop to earth in slow motion. Impact in ten, nine, eight...

Ohgod.

The walk home is a haze. I only really realize it's even happened when I'm setting myself another alarm and lying down in bed. It's set to wake me up an hour before he gets back, this way I'll hopefully be rested, but not groggy. I'm thinking about anything but the consequences, because if I think about those too much I might just talk myself out of going through with this, but it needs to happen. I know it, Jack knows it. My life has come to a full stop at a border checkpoint and I can't pass through until I've told my partner the truth.

And what exactly is that truth?

I cheated on you. I almost slept with another guy. I think I might love him more than I love you.

Or... Can one person love two people?

It's a pointless question, because whatever the answer is, the relevant answer is 'no'. It's not how things are done in this day and age in this country.

Regardless, I can see through my own deception, I'm trying to create a nonexistent moral high ground for myself. I fucked up.

I'm so selfish.

My stomach sinks even further.

There's no point in this endless consideration. I lie down and shut my eyes and listen to the faint buzz of electronics and the ticking of clocks, anything but my own thoughts.

Slowly, slowly... the universe loses shape.

*

In my dream I'm laying down on a bed in a dark room. I can open my eyes and move my head, but I can't get up. I can't speak.

Two figures enter, both male. I can't make out details in the murky half-light, but one is definitely a feline. Somehow I know it's Jack. The other one is larger, he pushes the feline against the nearest wall and starts to fuck him with a kind of single minded alpha maleness that makes my blood boil.

Like all he cares about is the sex and the pleasure, not the person. Like he's making a mockery of emotion, of the very concept of love and relationships.

All I can hear is the grunting and moaning of male sex.

I try to yell at the larger man, to tell him to stop, but I still can't speak. I begin to scream in my silence and the world sets aflame in a burst of psychedelic color that starts at the periphery of my vision and slowly spreads to engulf my entire world.

Just as my last point of vision is blotted out by brilliant flame, there's a final triumphant grunt and emasculating squeal from the two figures, marking their pointless, emotionless climax.

I lose all sense of meaning for a few moments, as if the entirety of the universe had burned away.

When I'm aware again I'm floating through space and Earth seems a cold, distant rock. I look at my paws. The left one is cut open and bleeding, the right is covered in ejaculate. I feel disgusted.

I realize it was me who cut my left paw. I realize it was me who covered my right paw.

And then I'm on the phone to my boyfriend. He asks me the question, but not with words. It's just a feeling, a knowing.

And suddenly. And suddenly...

I open my mouth.

He speaks.

But when he speaks it's in text, like an irc brought to terrifying, unexplainable life.

>Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out

It goes on, seemingly unending.

I feel sorry for him. I feel ashamed.

There's a shackle around my ankle linking me to him and as I float through the void he's dragged along the Earth, bruised and bloodied.

>Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out

I don't want this. He doesn't deserve this. I've made a lot of mistakes.

I'm in a vast field. He's sitting across from me examining my movements. Jack is to the side of him, facing away from me, his entire being losing opacity with every passing moment as if his entire existence were only meant to be an ephemeral blip on the face of the world.

I'm smashing a rock against the chain links of my shackle, but they don't seem to weaken.

My boyfriend is silent now, ears lifted, a quizzical expression on his face. For a moment it's all so vivid I think it must be real. He's crying.

"I don't love you.

"I don't think I ever did.

I don't know who's speaking.

*

I wake up breathing fast, shallow breaths, uneasy and unsure. What time is it?

There's still over an hour until he's back. My heart rate slows a little. At least I had a decent amount of sleep even if the dream has me feeling shaken.

I head into the shower on autopilot based on the shallow logic that I should at least be clean before I have a conversation that may change my life forever. The dream haunts me even in the realm of the waking. That voice, those words. I don't love you.

They keep rolling around me head. I. Don't. Love. You.

I think them over and over again and again until they lose all meaning.

Then suddenly they gain it right back.

Who doesn't love who?

Is it just the tired ramblings of a nervous mind or does it mean something? What have I missed?

I don't think I ever did.

Maybe I'm trying to give myself an out again. I could be hoping that my boyfriend or Jack want nothing to do with me. That would mean I wouldn't have to make any decisions, everything would be easy, but that's not how things are.

I'm avoiding the obvious.

But who would I be saying that to? Why? Why don't I fucking know?

I clean up, get dressed, have something light to eat, brush my teeth. There's still a good half hour until he's back.

I feel pointless as I wait. For a while I just sit still, eyes closed, anxious and deep in thought. My mind runs in circles over the conversation: what I'm going to say and how it's all going to go down. The outlook doesn't seem great for me. Not that I deserve anything more than what I'm getting. I made an enormous mistake and I'm not going to get away with it. Justice will be done. I feel hollow, as if all the emotion has been sucked out of me. Maybe it's only a defense mechanism, but right now I don't have the insight to tell.

Outside the sun shines. I stare out into the world, examining pedestrians and cars as they pass by with a hideous pang of longing. The minutes melt away.

There are footsteps outside the apartmentdoor. Seconds later his key is in the lock. The sound sparks a sense of fear deep inside me. I'm sat at the kitchentable, my tail curled tight around my chair, my body arched towards the door, staring at it as though my life depended on it. In a way it does.

He walks in and my fear evolves into dread. He hasn't noticed me yet. He seems to move in slow motion, the whole world waiting with held breath on his every movement.

He turns to the kitchen. His expression is blank, seemingly lost deep in thought, until he catches sight of me. A smile spreads across his face, eradicating the blank expression like a ruthlessly efficient virus. No trace is left.

"Hi Tyler. How's your day been?" He asks, getting himself a glass of fruit juice as he speaks. There's no way he hasn't seen the look on my face, but he's my boyfriend, we've been through tough times and bad moods, he isn't going to push me to explain it immediately. As far as he's concerned this isn't new ground. If I wanted to I could just ignore the whole thing. Pretend it never happened.

But I have to tell him. I already knew that. It was always going to happen.

As I open my muzzle I see a whole potential future flash before my eyes as it falls from a great height and shatters on the rocks below. There we are: kissing, fucking. He proposes, we get married. I get published, we celebrate with paws clasped. Together forever. Until we're well past gray. Until we're ashes entangling in the atmosphere. Until we're molecules drifting through space.

It's a fantasy I destroy in a sentence:

"I need to tell you something."

There's no mistaking me. The way I say it he knows I'm serious. His posture changes immediately, his tail curls and his muscles tense.

"Okay," he says slowly. He sits across from me. His nose twitches.

I'm staring at him saying nothing. He tilts his head. I want to cry again, but I won't.

How do I say it? How do I put this into words? I have to try.

"Last night, I met another guy." His mouth parts a little and he leans back in his chair. "Hell, I don't know how else to put it. I cheated on you."

He's staring right at me and I can't look away. He's in shock. His mouth closes. He takes a deep, deliberate breath.

"What?" He asks, hoping I'll have a different answer.

I don't, so I repeat myself. He closes his eyes, lets out a sigh emanating an emotion partway between anger and exasperation, then runs a paw down his face slowly.

After a few more seconds he speaks again: "Tell me what happened."

"You had gone to sleep, I wasn't tired and my writing wasn't going anywhere." The words tumble out without forethought or planning. "I ended up in a barand ended up getting drunk, I met someone, we went back to his." His eyes glisten as he listens to me, then he sharply turns his head to the side. His muzzle is clenched tight I can see him crying silently, bravely. "I, well, I sucked him off. It almost went further but I made my excuses and came home." Listening to myself, the words become sound without meaning. My voice is drained and lifeless.

It's the short version, but none of it's a lie. I can't handle any more than that right now.

Tears are streaming down his face, fuck, he's shaking. So am I.

All he can handle is one word: "Why?"

It's tough to put my honest answer into words, but I owe him to try. I owe him so much more than that, but trying is all I have.

"I've been stressed out about my writing and lately, with us, with my life, I've been feeling... stuck."

"And you don't bring this up to me until after you've sucked another guy's cock?" Anger rushes to his being, bringing his ears up, lashing his tail, sharpening his voice. It was coming, it had to come. His face is wet but the tears are gone. It's all I deserve. Oh god. "I'm glad after these years that I mean so fucking much to you!"

"I... I'm..."

"You felt, what? 'Stuck'? So you go and fool around with somebody else. We've been together for more than three years Tyler, and this is how you decide to fucking treat me when the slightest issue arises?"

"I'm-"

"Fuck you."

Venom.

"I'm so-."

"Shut up. It's all you, you, you isn't it Tyler? That's how it always fucking is." He clenches his mouth shut, but I don't dare attempt to speak up. "You know, I could deal with your self absorbed attitude to a point, I even found it a little endearing at times, but fuck... You really are a piece of work aren't you? After all this fucking time... I can't believe you."

"I-"

"That fucking word again." He's shaking with a different kind of feeling now. He slams a fist into the table making me jump. He stands up abruptly and paces away. This is all I deserve. He lets out a sound I don't have a single word for. Rage and bitter disappointment and loss. After a little while his shoulders sag, he softens. "It's all about you. You haven't even said my name this whole damn time."

Sebastian.

The name tumbles into my mind. No, it's always been there. The light's just been turned on. Don't be silly; of course you know your own boyfriend's name.

But... he's right. When's the last time you called him that? Not since he went to sleep last night at the very least. Hell, when's the last time you even thought it? Same answer. My turn to cry.

I'm awful.

"I'm so sorry Sebastian." I say. As his name passes my muzzle it gains a weight that drags me further into myself. I can't manage any more words , only sobs.

I'm such a fuck up. How did I let it get this way? How did I let my life end up here?

He sits back down across from me, his burst of rage quickly fading. For a moment we both sit there, wet faced and useless. Both of us damaged by my actions, both of our lives and futures lashing out and reshaping as every second passes. To a large extent they will be decided by this conversation. There's no option to fail again. This has to end right. It has to.

Then there's a warm paw covering, clasping, mine. I look into his eyes, he stares right back. He squeezes my paw. He looks unhappy, but determined.

I don't know how to react, my mouth hangs half open as though I was about to say something but forgot quite what.

He smiles. It's forced on, and tough to wear, but it's not entirely fake.

"Tyler," he says quietly. I know what he's going to say next. "I love you."

I feel cold.

I keep staring, my mouth open and unmoving. He was meant to scream and shout and cry, he was meant to dump me, this was meant to be the end. Or maybe that was just a convenient lie I told myself. This whole situation is more complex than that, in fact it's steeped in years of context.

Sebastian is a caring, warm person. Before he says any more I already know he wants to give me a second chance. Of course he does, I really should have known in the first place.

"Seb, I'm so sorry."

Another squeeze.

"You fucked up Tyler," he says. He still looks brittle, on edge, drained. "But we can get through this, we've been through enough shit."

"I can't believe you can forgive me," I say frankly, stupidly.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm fucking angry." He stops, catches himself, shakes his head and continues. "At least you stopped yourself and left, you didn't go all the way." He pauses, stares at me. I nod. "That tells me that we can salvage this." Another squeeze.

My stomach sinks. A sense of dread fills my being and overwhelms me.

Why? What's wrong? I don't understand.

My mind rushes, searching dark corners, memories and feelings. I can feel that inertia building up all over again.

Something triggers inside of me.

I understand now. I know.

I'm making a mistake right now. I'm being an idiot. I have to say something.

I'm scared. I'm so scared.

I'm such an idiot, such a selfish bastard. I've gone and fucked with both of our lives, made them both worse, but I can't let that stop me. I know what I need to do. It's the only option, my only move, a terrible, terrible thing. I've backed myself into a corner and all I can do is subsume or lash out.

"Seb. I..."

"You what, Tyler?" His voice is delicate, cautious and hopeful.

I'm so sorry.

"I don't want this." I say. The world freezes. "I don't want you. I'm sorry Sebastian. This isn't working." The world cracks and splits apart. His paw leaves mine. He stares at me as if this were the first time we'd met, and I was a stranger invading his home.

"Wh- What?" He asks weakly, choking on his words as though they were trying to throttle him.

"Seb I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I've wasted your time all these years and it's killing me. But there's nothing I can do about it apart from tell you now."

"But Tyler, I love you."

"Do you? Do you really?" I'm crying, half yelling. Confused and defiant and defeated all at once. "We argue all the time, we disagree on all kinds of things, we have different ideas, different opinions, different dreams, different careers, different goals."

He's crying too. Furious and terrified and broken all at once.

"But those differences are what make us work together," he pleads. "We've always cared for each other, always stood up for each other, always supported one another. What the hell has changed?"

"Me." I say simply, and it's true. "We don't work Sebastian. You aren't what I want. I just convinced myself you were, because you were there for me when nobody else was. The only thing I can say is sorry, because I should have realized this years ago. I shouldn't have dragged you into this life Seb, it isn't fair."

There's a silence so out of place that it makes me shiver.

"I love you!"

It's more a scream than an exclamation. More an accusation than an endearment.

"You shouldn't." I say.

"Don't say that." He says.

Déjà vu.

This is the worst moment of my life.

I open my muzzle and break my universe:

"I don't love you. I don't think I ever did."

There's a moment of stasis, both of us exploring another life through each other's eyes.

Something snaps inside of him.

He smashes the table hard with a fist. His glass bounces up and over the edge and smashes on the floor with a loud crack, shooting juice across the room and up his legs. He lets out a savage, primal growl of pure, concentrated frustration.

Déjà vu.

"Get out." He tells me firmly.

Déjà vu.

"Seb-"

"Get out." I flinch but don't move. "Get out. Get out. Get out." He keeps saying it over and over, his voice progressively losing any pretense of calm with every syllable spoken. "Get out. Get out. Get out!"

More shouting than spoken word.

I grab my wallet, keys, phone, coat and I do as he says, not knowing any other way to deal with it.

I walk a few blocks before I take a break. I'm still shaking, I'm still crying. I don't really know what I've just done. I mean I can remember what happened, what I said, but it doesn't make any sense.

Did all that really just happen?

I'd been given a goddamn out. The bastard was going to let me off. Oh fuck. What have I done?

It's cold out, and dark now. I guess it's all I deserve.

I clear my mind as best I can, ignoring the big stuff and focusing on the particulars. I'm going to need somewhere to stay while I search for a place to rent.

Parents are a no go, I couldn't look them in the eyes right now and they don't live nearby regardless. Most of my friends were Seb's friends too, and I don't want to have to deal with that war right now. The others I either haven't talked to in years or live too far away.

Oh fuck, what am I going to do?

Calm down. Think.

I do the only thing that makes sense to me. I call Jack.

He answers on the first ring with a question: "did you talk to him?"

"Yes."

He makes an affirmative hum, but doesn't offer a follow up.

"I told him that I never really loved him."

Down the line there's silence. It's cold outside and I'm shivering in the quiet, feeling alone and empty. Finally he responds.

"What a terrible thing to say." He lets me know. It hurts, but I can't blame him for saying it.

"I think it was the truth." I say, staring blankly across the street at a gradually darkening wall as the day turns to twilight.

"You think?"

"Yeah." This I say with confidence.

Another hum, another lack of vocal response from the feline. I fill in the gap, getting my feelings off my chest before they crush me:

"I really fucked up."

"You did." His response is instant.

Another awkward pause.

"Jack?"

"Yes, Tyler?"

"Do you think I did the right thing today?"

He sighs, for a moment I think he won't respond, but I bite back my words and once he's ready he does.

"Today? Yeah. Any other day in the past few years? I doubt it."

"I deserved that." I say.

"You did." He confirms.

"Jack?"

"Yes, Tyler?"

"Are we still..." I find it hard to find the right words. What exactly am I asking? What do I really want? Why do I want it? I settle on a question. "What are we?"

"What do you want us to be?" He asks plainly.

"I'm not entirely sure right now," I admit. He laughs, thawing.

"Glad your knew honesty policy hasn't worn off quite yet."

I smile, and the feeling of happiness overwhelms me for a time.

"How about we start with 'friends'." I offer finally.

"Corny motherfucker." He says dryly. I choke out a short laugh. I never can predict him.

"Well, how about it?" I ask. "Deal?"

Another long pause as he considers the question in complete seriousness. The pause stretches on so long I almost think I must have fallen asleep and that this whole twenty-four hours has been one long, fucked up nightmare.

I'm about to lose hope when he says:

"Deal."

I let out a sigh of relief and smile wordlessly.

"Tyler?"

"Yes, Jack?"

"Where are you right now?"

"I'm hanging around on a street corner, homeless," I say. He laughs, then mutters an apology, saying something about being insensitive. I'm too dazed to care.

"Do you have anywhere to stay?" He asks. I start a word and stop, he reads the meaning. "Come over to mine. You can sleep on the couch." He says.

"Thank you so much." I say.

For some reason I'm crying.

"Tyler, oh hell. Come over, we can watch a dumb movie or something and you can forget all about him for a couple hours. You can get some sleep and then work on sorting your life out in the morning."

He thinks I'm crying because I'm sad. Maybe I should be, but I'm not.

"Thank you Jack, that sounds great."

I'm crying because in spite of everything - all the mistakes I've made, all the bridges I've burnt, all the people I've fucked over - there's still some light left. There's still that glimmer of hope.

"Don't mention it. Now get over here and out of the cold."

I don't know what the future will bring, but right here, right now, that hope has a name:

"Jack."

"Yes, Tyler?"

"I owe you."