FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

500 times. That's how many times he had made this journey. It was 200 days every year, for 2 and a half school years, 500 times he had stepped onto the dull, slightly-worn, regulation yellow bus before proceeding to sit in silence and think hard on the long ride home from his high school.

Mark chuckled to himself, perhaps a little too loud, he didn't know why he had laughed, but he came to realise that nothing was funny.

He'd laughed as a defense mechanism, the same way people laughed after doing something terrible, like shooting a bird for entertainment. He had laughed, but now he grimaced at the fact that he had been riding the bus in silence like this for two and a half years today.

Quickly, he glanced to the seats on his left to see he had caught the attention of one boy, an autumn red fox who appeared much younger than him, he was looking inquisitively in Mark's direction. The foxes' ears stood tall, his piercing green eyes pointed in his direction, conjuring in him a tight and familiar knot of social anxiety. As soon as he saw that his unwelcome stare was being returned towards him, the fox quickly averted his gaze, ears returning to a more relaxed position, returning to his conversation with the dark gray wolf who sat next to him, laughter and smiles appearing almost immediately as they exchanged words. Without much hesitation, Mark himself returned to his thinking position, the tight knot still unwrapping inside of him.

Thinking, that's what he was really good at, 'too good at it', he grumbled back to himself.

To many of his peers, he wasn't recognised by name or by face, he was recognised by what he was doing to pass the time, staring out at the world with a practised stillness, to which the world stared back, animated and quickly moving. It was the first thing his teachers ever mentioned at his parent teacher interviews,

"He's a thinking boy, quiet, stays to himself, doesn't seem to have many friends..."

Friends. That word stung whenever he heard it, it carried a sharp tinge of pain, like a sudden and unexpected electric shock, he found it carried with it an assumption, an admission of guilt. That he didn't really have any, that he didn't know how you went about getting them, that he wasn't always thinking when he placed his muzzle on the supporting surface of his paw, he was feeling... He was feeling shame and guilt and isolation and... trying his best to hide it.

He stared at his reflection, he could see his slightly damp black fur on the inside of the raindrop-glazed window. He never thought he looked bad or unattractive, especially so for a fox. He certainly had plenty of time for reading article after article on how to dress well, his parents could spare more than enough for him to have a large and expensive wardrobe. He wore a fitting dark green button-down shirt and glossy black glasses delicately placed upon his muzzle, both items were supposed to be 'summer essentials' according to the articles he had read just before the spring had ended.

He wasn't out of shape either, he never liked to eat too much and the gym class his year were forced to attend meant he had some amount of muscle on his skinny frame. He didn't smell bad or have unkempt fur either. He brushed his fur obsessively, he couldn't stand seeing anything disturbing the smoothly flowing sea of black that covered his slender body.

He washed regularly, mainly for the chance to sit down on the floor of the shower and think... Well, he could think of a few more things he appreciated about showering, like curling up tightly in a ball, paws clasped together and face aching as warm tears slowly trickled down his face before joining the warm water on its journey underground, that way, neither of his parents would try to disturb him or ask why he was crying. He always felt bad about doing it, what did he have to cry about? The answers would always rush to him, the fact that none of his relationships were close, the fact his 'friends', or glorified acquaintances, never wanted to invite him anywhere, the fact that he had never had a girlfriend. It all seemed so petty, but it was the pettiness of it that led to self-loathing, the self-loathing leading to him feeling shame and it was the shame that lead to him crying a few more tears.

His parents knew he took long showers, he caught glimpses of a smile when his Dad first started asking about it, the smile however, had since faded from his inquiries into the length of his shower sessions. Mark knew his father thought a different kind of activity was occurring behind the locked white door of the bathroom, only sometimes did that 'activity' happen, but only as part of the other 'activities', never replacing them, the short relief that it provided only brought on longer-term feelings of loneliness, shame and self-loathing.

Mark never wanted to worry his father, he was genuine and hard-working, he worked the worst shifts and every overtime slot he could get to bring home a good amount of pay, enough so that him and his mother combined could afford to live a life of relative luxury, driving luxury German sedans and living in a relatively new house. Many of the pupils at his high school would have thought he was rich, he supposed they were upper middle class, but it wasn't the result of silver spoons or large inheritances.

It didn't help though, that his father was already worried about him, he never stated it explicitly, but his lines of questioning betrayed him. His father asked him every week what he was planning with his friends that week or weekend, he'd make offers to drop Mark down to his friend's house or come along in Mark's car so that he and his 'friends' could drive together.

Mark always felt a terrible feeling of shame and guilt when he told his Dad he didn't have plans, for the times that he couldn't stand it, he'd have his Dad drop him off outside one of a few houses. His "friends' houses", unbeknownst to his father, were actually a variety of things, from an apartment block to an elderly couple's home, they were good places for summoning an adult to the door, gifting his father the impression that his son did have friends, that he had fun with them.

He knew it reassured him and gave him something to be proud about whenever his colleagues talked about their son's girlfriend or their son going to a party in the locker room at his work.

The truth was far more pathetic, Mark would wait until he heard the soft purr of his father's car, an ice white BMW 5 series, fade into the distance, before taking himself to the nearest convenience store and going to drink spring water somewhere isolated.

He found that the flavourless water didn't disturb his train of thought, it gave him a moment of quiet and of peace. Usually, that moment of peace was followed by many more of feeling sorry for himself, followed by some tears hitting the ground as he stared out at the lake or at the sunset, alone in the vast and uncaring universe.

He knew other people in his school who didn't have friends, but they didn't have any for a reason, they talked about things no one cared about, they acted out all the time or they couldn't handle criticism... But didn't he do all of these things in a way? He never really started a conversation with anyone and even when he was in one, he found that he was uninteresting and that the words spoken would become fewer and fewer until no words were exchanged at all.

He always shied away from criticism or rejection too, it was probably one of the reasons he kept to himself, it was easier this way, a voice in his head told him. 'Easier than what?', he asked himself. Before the voice had time to respond, he heard a muffled thud next to him and he could feel the creeping sensation of a person's body heat emanating from the seat to the left of him.

He turned over to face the stranger. Greeting his eyes, was a dark grey raccoon whose fur was damp and spotted with a small coat of raindrops, he wore a thin black hoodie, black slim fitting jeans and a pair of black adidas shoes. Mark liked the black outfit, the subtle white highlights of the shoes complimented the rest of the outfit well. The raccoon looked about Mark's age, although he couldn't recall seeing him before. He breathed heavily and with urgency, desperately trying to steal back his breath. Mark turned to look out the window of the bus. The rain had gotten heavier and students were either jogging or pacing towards the stop, ring binders and bags held over their heads in a desperate attempt to keep the rain off their fur.

The raccoon's head fell forward gracefully and he began to rest his forehead on the cold, grey plastic surface of the seat in front. The raccoon raised and then held his paw in the air, letting Mark know that he'd talk after he'd caught his breath.

The thought of talking however, didn't do anything to please Mark. He felt the tight knot that in his stomach return, the all too familiar sense of social helplessness that greeted him with nearly every conversation. Mark felt his heart rate increase and a chill rush down his spine, he hoped that the conversation to follow would be short and unremarkable.

The raccoon was still very much gasping for breath.

'How far and how fast did he have to run to get here?' Mark wondered, content to never hear the answer. He noticed that the bus still had room for another 20 people, the raccoon really didn't have to sprint to get here.

Mark started to look closely at the raccoon, he had a number of patches of white fur on his body, the white fur below his neck continued down into his thin black hoodie that, despite oversized hoodies being in fashion, was maybe a little too small for the racoon's body. Upon closer inspection Mark could see the slender frame of the raccoon, he wondered how the boy's body compared to his own, wondered if-

'Get a fucking grip on yourself Mark', interrupted a snarky voice, "you might hate me and stare at nothing all the time, but you must be aware that you are currently staring at another guy's body, someone you've never talked to before, right?'

Following his own lead, he quickly adjusted his gaze to stare uniformly forward.

The voice continued to express its disdain, 'Now Mark, let's think about this, you are straight right? You and I both know that you aren't checking your footing when you're walking in the corridors behind Maya Redburn.'

The foxes' ears began to start burning at their tips, his mind spoke the truth.

'It's OK, you can be a pervert, but you sure as hell ain't being a fucking faggot any time soon.'

Mark was almost surprised at the voice's rough language and ferocity with which it told him off with, then again, he and the voice existed as one entity and he knew for certain that arguing with himself was not a clear example of a sound mind.

'Alright, jeez, calm down, I was just comparing, maybe it'll make me feel inadequate and ugly, isn't that something you'd like to happen?'

Acutely aware he was having an argument with himself and had lost track of time, he returned his eyes to the raccoon, who, as Mark now realised, had been staring at him for at least the last 5 seconds, most likely, a lot longer.

He was, however, pleasantly surprised when the raccoon did not make fun of him, but instead showed off a small but reassuring smile.

This was unusual... Mark couldn't remember ever being reassured before entering a conversation. Even conversations with his 'friends' made him scared and uneasy.

The Raccoon proceeded to open his mouth, "It's alright, it happens to me a lot too." he said softly, before his hazel eyes fell to the floor.

The raccoon paused, his eyes returned to meet Mark's, who subsequently adjusted his to gaze at the seat in front of the raccoon, eye contact never failed to quickly turn Mark into some kind of social train wreck.

The raccoon's gentle smile appeared once again, "The name's Ryan... yours?"

"Mark", he said, with unexpected ease, he noticed that he wasn't as apprehensive as before.

"I ha-haven't seen you a...around before", he found himself saying, surprised at his own contribution to the conversation.

"Yeah, I'm new around here, my family moved over from Clear Springs last summer. I think we're in the same year, but we aren't in any of the same classes. English, Drama, Maths and Film, you?" Ryan said slowly, still sounding a little out of breath.

Mark paused and began to try and remember what subjects he was studying, 'English, Computers, Graphic Design and...'

Mark felt his stomach begin to tighten again, the calming aura of Ryan's voice creeping out of his mind. He felt his eyes starting to move more rapidly.

"It's OK, take your time, I forget what subjects I'm doing a lot too." reassured Ryan, placing his paw gently above Mark's elbow.

The contact made Mark shiver inside, no one had done that to him before, he felt his tempers flare and thoughts change to rejection, the raccoon never thought to ask before-

He realized that he wasn't feeling anywhere near as anxious any more, it seemed that Ryan's touch had taken away the tight knot in his stomach, it's gentle warmth bringing comfort to the black fox, a sort of contentment, Mark now felt at ease.

"Thanks." Mark said in a hushed voice, again impressing himself with his lack of hesitation. "I do English too, but then I do Computer Studies, Graphic Design and Manufacturing." Mark explained, before noticing that the Bus had started to move with a hiss from the hydraulic suspension, leaving a dozen or so people to stand in the rain, fur dripping with water.

"Cool.", began Ryan, "Your parents making you look at colleges too?"

Mark nodded in agreement, Ryan rolled his eyes in response.

"You know what course you're going to do?"

Mark shrugged, "I thought about doing Manufacturing, but my parents keep telling me to do English and then a law conversion to 'maximize my time in college'. I don't even like Law." replied Mark, a tone of hurt present in his voice.

"Man, that sucks, I'm glad my parents aren't making me do something like that... You do English too, d'ya like it?"

Mark thought for a moment, he did enjoy the class, he sometimes liked to write short stories and poems. Though, he never planned on showing them to anyone, he felt like pond scum in an extremely large pond populated by writers, nearly all of whom, he felt, were much better than him.

He pondered telling Ryan about his writing, after all, he didn't actually have to show him any of it, and this was certainly the best conversation he had been in for years.

'Why not?', he asked himself, noticing that the snarky voice did not protest back.

"Yeah, yeah. I do some writing, none of it's any good though." sighed Mark, his voice sounding a lot more sad and empty than he had intended.

Ryan's face lit up, exposing a set of sparkling white teeth and widening his deep hazel eyes.

"Really? That's pretty cool, I write sometimes, well..." the raccoon paused, "I write like all of the time." finished Ryan, voice emitting an aura of genuine excitement.

Suddenly, Ryan's face fell quickly, his smile quickly faded and he paused, seemingly lost in thought about what to say next.

"It's...", Ryan began softly, voice lowered and a hint of sadness in his words, "It's cool to think about life's possibilities, what the future might hold."

Mark nodded hurriedly, he knew well what Ryan was getting at, about the freedoms and hope that were present in his fictional worlds.

Mark himself felt his spirits dampen from seeing his friend's cheerful mood die down.

His friend.

'Friend?', Mark caught himself on.

It was true that he was having a nice conversation with Ryan, but the amount of words that had actually been spoken between them were very few, then again, both of them had already revealed secrets about themselves, Ryan had held his paw against Mark's arm...

Mark quickly raised his paw and placed it above Ryan's right elbow, as he had done earlier for him, he hoped that it might have the same comforting effect.

'Stupid...' a voice muttered to him, the voice being his own, not the usually snarky voice that took great pleasure in mocking him. 'I didn't even ask if it was OK to touch him!', his doubts and concerns were interrupted by the sound of Ryan's voice.

"Thanks Mark", responded Ryan, a smile reappearing on his face.

Mark felt his own spirits lift at the sight of Ryan's smile. He felt at ease for the first time in a very long time, there was no knot in his stomach, no chilling sensation down his spine and no snarky voice mocking him.

'Friend?' he asked himself again. Well, he was more of an acquaintance if he was to be honest to himself, but right now that thought was tossed to the back of his mind.

Their conversation picked up again, the hurt in Ryan's voice temporarily forgotten. Mark told of how his parents were making him look exclusively at Ivy League colleges, even though his grades had been declining steadily since he had entered High School. Ryan's college choices were much more modest, comprising colleges just below Ivy League standard down to the nearest college, Tyndall State, it wasn't known far and wide, but it could get the job done according to Ryan, after all, writers didn't really need degrees.

Mark asked about where Ryan had lived previously, the town of Clear Springs, which Mark learned, was one or two states away. Ryan told him plenty about how he liked the town itself, he seemed to have more than enough detail about how the Starbucks there was the best in the US, he did seem however, to omit the details about the High School he went to, not that Mark was confident enough to push for answers.

Ryan had told Mark of how he had been learning to drive in his Father's old Jeep. He complained that it was proabably "the worst thing ever to learn to drive in". Mark had in turn told of his progress in learning to drive, but decided to omit the fact that despite not having a license, Mark's car, a bright red 1990 BMW 325iX, belonged entirely to him and at $7000, had just less than 60 thousand miles on the clock and rust meticulously removed from the bodywork. It was his 16th birthday present, one he was very excited to get, he loved the soft grumble the 6 cylinder engine made, the fact it was all-wheel-drive and most importantly, the fact it was a BMW E30. He was a massive car guy, although, he hadn't found anyone else sharing his hobby, his walls were draped with pictures of various highly-modified classic BMWs. His own plans for the car were extensive, but he figured that no one really would care or notice if he fitted new brakes or a turbocharger. He did however, feel guilty and embarrassed for owning a $7000 car when he saw lots of other people roll up to his high school in their parents' Camrys everyday.

By this time, most of the seats on the bus were now vacant, some people sat across two seats, few were still engaged in conversations that had obviously began to slow and dwindle. Mark hoped that Ryan would be getting off at his stop, the local bus and train station, so that they could walk home together.

It was strange to Mark, hoping to have more social contact, it occurred to him that it was strange how he was always lonely, yet tended to enjoy coming to the end of any social interaction. He didn't have this problem with Ryan, the raccoon seemed calm and confident, the two of them seemed to get on well, but Mark got the impression that Ryan was hiding some deep-seated personal issues. Not that Mark wasn't hiding the same thing. There wasn't much Mark could or wanted to do about this either, he didn't want to see Ryan like he had been earlier, ears drooping and eyes showing a hint of glassiness. He cared for him, and the way that Ryan comforted Mark made the fox think that perhaps, the raccoon did too.

'Listen to yourself', he thought, 'you know this guy for maybe half an hour and you start thinking about how much you care for each other, I'm going to be sick.'

'Doesn't mean you can't become good friends.' a calm voice responded.

This was different. The voice sounded vaguely like Ryan, calm and possessing an infectious reassurance. Where was the snarky and insulting voice that he was arguing with less than an hour ago?

Quickly coming to his senses, Mark realized that Ryan had been talking about his favorite movie, 'Pulp Fiction', for at least the last 2 minutes.

"...The way Tarantino joins the story is just masterful, I love trying to do things like that with my short stories, in fact..."

Ryan moved his eyes up to the ceiling, staring at some text that proclaimed that the bus seated 74 people, deep in thought. He paused, and then returned his eyes to meet Mark's, Mark didn't panic at the thought of eye contact this time.

Ryan lowered his voice and a tinge of excitement entered his voice, "I've been working on something, don't laugh alright."

"I won't", he responded nonchalantly, his jet black ears standing tall in anticipation.

"So...", Ryan hesitated, "I'm writing a novel."

Mark felt his eyes widen and his brows raise before responding,

"That's actually really cool, is it nearly finished?"

"Gosh no, you flatter me Mark" Ryan exclaimed, laughing while he had said it, laughter that Mark happily reciprocated.

'You flatter me', Mark heard Ryan's words play back in his head, it felt good to know that he had complimented Ryan and made him laugh, the words made him feel slightly warm and fuzzy inside as well, a sensation that Mark had never previously experienced.

"I've only written maybe... 10 pages or so, I started to write it last week."

Mark noticed that the details of the plot had as of yet been left out of the conversation.

"That's really good, what's it about?" he inquired, before his self-doubt had enough time to stop him.

"Well..."

Ryan started to scratch the white fur on his neck, his hazel eyes pointed down towards the dirty floor of the bus.

"...It's a little embarrassing, and a little hard to explain."

Mark felt himself tilt his head, beckoning Ryan to expand on what he meant. Ryan's facial expressions seem to display nervousness, then absolute calm, before finally coming to show a small smile again.

"Right, so you know the way the order of things is never clear in Pulp Fiction?", Mark nodded nervously for a second, before starting to turn his movement into a shake of his head.

"You haven't seen it?"

Mark shook his head and raised his shoulders,

"I don't watch many movies outside of whatever my Dad takes me to, usually the Fast and Furious movies, then again, I really like those movies."

Ryan's jaw hung open, a clear look of surprise on his face.

"You've seen all of the Fast and the Furious movies!"

"Only the last 7 of them" Mark added, chuckling at how the raccoon's brows raised after he had finished saying the comment.

"But you haven't seen Pulp Fiction!?! What!"

Ryan was smiling and chuckling lightly, but he also seemed bewildered that Mark hadn't seen the classic movie, as indicated his distinctly raised brows.

"That's it, my house is one stop before last, you my friend, are about to be cultured!" Ryan declared this with a grin on his face, his deep hazel eyes twinkling from the sunshine now pouring through the windows of the bus. The two boys both stared into each others eyes, muzzles within leaning distance of each other. Both of them held a grin.

'I could kiss you', whispered a voice in Mark's head.

Mark moved his head back quickly, 'Where had that come from?' he wondered. He certainly didn't approve of or like the thought of kissing his friend, especially not one who was both male and had only known him for about half an hour. Kissing Ryan? No. If there was one person he wanted to kiss, it was...

Mark snapped to attention again at the sight of the grin fading off of Ryan's face.

"Oh, y-you don't want to?" Ryan said meekly, ears beginning to droop again.

"No, no. I'd love to Ryan. Thanks." replied Mark, as fast as he could put the words into his mouth, concerned that he had upset the raccoon.

Sure enough, Ryan's grin returned and his ears stood up again. He bounced up and down ever so slightly, making the fur around his neck bob up and down gently. The sight both amusing and captivating Mark.

"Great!" Ryan began excitedly, "I swear it is the best movie ever made, you are going to have your mind blown."

For the first time in his life, Mark felt wanted by a friend. He felt like he had met his soulmate, no, definitely not his soulmate.

'Soul-friend?'

Whatever it was, Mark felt a smile appear on his face and had yet to feel the urge to stop. He couldn't wait to watch the movie. He mused at how he had suddenly went from having a typical mind-numbing day, to being invited to another boy's house. He just hoped that he and Ryan would stay friends. Friends. That's what he felt their relationship was, no matter how new, a budding friendship.