Heard.
Author's notes: It's been a while since I last added to this community, and I will not delay my contribution any further. This story has been made possible by SoFurry resident, Banehollow. Thank you plenty for the sincere encouragement, the unfaltering support, the critical critique, and the gentle ear.
Contains: Heterosexual -and- homosexual relationships, medical jargon, more than a daily dose of caffeine. Oh, there's also some yiff, too.
My week has been saturated with my visits to the local Starbucks. School and work were upon me. Again, I apologize for the delay. As with the first, please rate and comment if you could spare me a moment of your time. I would like to write more, better. Love it, hate it? Let me know!
Keep reading until the end. There's a huge surprise waiting for you. Well, okay, it isn't really much, so I might as well post it in front, but you have to promise me to hold back from opening it until after you read the story, okay? A collateral never hurts, but it wouldn't make much sense without the story, first!
Major spoiler! ---> [http://img42.imageshack.us/img42/5581/img7391h.jpg](%5C) <--- Do not click!
](http://img42.imageshack.us/img42/5581/img7391h.jpg%5D(%5C)){kind=link}
Enough nonsense.
With that being said, I give you:
Heard.
-ALPHA.-
The year is 2006.
The winds grew rough; rougher. And temperature dropped over the past few days. It was only not until recently when Houston recorded snowfall two years in a row.
A warming pot by the warmed hearth. How Arsenio enjoyed stirring porridge. A golden retriever of such visage, a sinewy figure bent over the said pot. Indeed, coming home was always something he could look forward to, especially when he had grown stiff from working two day jobs. It was through nights like this one he needed to warm, when the wintry cold has chilled him to the bone.
Supper was always celebrated together. Two beautiful puppies, still natural-looking (except for the leathery wings they had that were strapped to their shoulder blades), sat with him as they ate. A red and cream bat sealed the round table of four.
Alana, as he called her, entered their quarters, to seclude themselves from their tiresome offspring. Arsenio was seated, now in a sweatshirt and a pair of matching sweatpants; through nights like this one, he needed the most warmth, but ironically, his clothing, now divested, compared nothing to his wife's leathery wings. There had always been this special link between the two -- yes, there had to be - and it indubitably showed.
The deed had been done, the worn-out golden retriever now passed out over the couch where they made love. The night was silent, still. Through the break of moonlight, she lifted her eyes, twinkling stars that permeated the periphery of her vision. Stars which had been caused by her daze. They soon died out as she breathed calmly through her nostrils.
A sudden epiphany grew Alana's mind as she watched the twinkling stars brought her comfort, now dimming, taking her down as she did. The stillness was a carnivalesque paradox orchestrated by the stillness of the night.
It was through nights like this one she held her husband tightly.
***
Arsy, as she would call him, was bent over the bed when Alana stirred to consciousness; he must have woken up somewhere through the evening, and made themselves comfortable. He was also all dressed up for work.
When the golden retriever had finally left, the bat began her day with chores (perhaps, with the exception of the necessary shower preceding it - her mate always left a unique smell which she loved, and enticed her to play friskier than on her own) and could almost swear that they had more porridge than what they had now.
Of course, with her diligent husband working two jobs, food was almost never an issue, but this eerie thought crept to the back of her mind. It was also that scent that flared her sensitive nostrils that bothered her. And it was familiar.
***
Needless to say, she did not tell anyone. Why would the bat do such a thing? Her chores were taken care of, pronto; her bat-cub offspring attended to. Being a mother to these things can never get old; tiring, yes, but being a mother is a twenty-four-seven kind of thing.
Red irises befell on monolithic lachrymosity; now she knew why the porridge was less than she thought it would be, and the pot warmer than it was left through the night.
***
The twin cubs, if anything, resembled their mother more; these two boys now seated on a wolf's lap. It did look like the lupine could use a bath. Greasy as he was, he exhumed a familiar scent, and these cubs did not mind. They were quick to familiarize with their new uncle.
"What," Alana shook her head in disbelief.
"I have returned," replied the built wolf. He looked more like a college football sort of jock. Except older. Much older than that.
The she-bat summoned her cubs outside. To play and tussle in the snow. They fondly did, being the playful puppies that they were.
It is unfair. It had to be.
"Hadn't you heard? It was all over the news." The wolf stated reassuringly. Eyes yellow like the winter sun peeking at the red irises of the bat. It was an attempt to wake Alana from her disbelief.
They both agreed to turn the television on.
***
The bit of news they caught showed a rescue helicopter taking off from the site, rotating in mid-air, to the direction of the city. The last word that Alana read in the ticker-tape news reel was: alive.
Again, she shook her head in disbelief.
"Don't I least get a hug," the wolf snickered softly.
Instead, he received a bath and some clothes to wear.
***
Twenty-seven months ago, Alana remembered watching a similar news update like this one. The jarheads were dispatched by the capitol over to beyond the Panama. New territory, they were assured, and were paving roads to new developments. Metaphorically, at least. Why they needed the military was never mentioned, they just had to have these men and women.
Unfortunately, it was not the territorial war that wiped out 2nd Lieutenant Bryce Kravec's troop. It was the chopper's engine failure that caused their deaths.
And now, 2nd Lieutenant Bryce Kravec was recorded alive with three others. What a surprise.
***
The white wolf was given a warm bath. He now smelled of soap. Conversations with Alana weren't much; and it wasn't her fault.
So much so, it wasn't his. That bat just had a way with talking to him with her mind. He usually responded with his soulful eyes. But the wolf, not having heard the bat in such a long time, was especially talkative.
"May I," the wolf breathed calmly, "May I play with them?"
Alana nodded, and let the wolf out, where he played with the puppies. She could even see him waving a paw, calling her out.
Even through the blurred window, while she was seated on the pane, she saw the semblance between the wolf and her cubs. Their elongated muzzles, and their erect ears. Alana's heart tore open, then.
***
Ironic thought to think. Looking at the wolf, it was not quite difficult to understand why anyone would easily fall in love with him. He may look a bit clumsy, but that was the impression he gave everyone because of his size. He was, after all, a behemoth, even to his kind. Almost seven feet tall.
He had the most caring tone one could ever hope for. Gentle, yet commanding. He was the bat's alpha. Alana could remember what it was like before capitol dispersed the military. They made their progeny, and it was Bryce's military service that funded her labor. Money was the issue, but he had it covered.
Ironic thought to think: They say we have our own idea of what perfection is. How could one be so perfect not ideal? And how is it that our ideals become our ideas of what perfection is?
As good-mannered, loving, and gentle as he was, Arsy was there. The golden retriever had been her high school and college sweetheart for the longest time. But this wolf, now exhausted by her porch; he was her soul mate.
***
Night came and brought Arsenio with it. The cubs were now by the warm fire. Alana warmed the golden retriever as she had the night before. Their night warmer than ever.
Because through nights like this one, she needed it the most.
The encounter prior to her husband's arrival made her think. And the thought etched in her mind made her heart ache.
The bat is grateful for the dimming stars, signaling sleep to claim her.
***
"Staying alive is worthwhile" was the short burst of sound Bryce made to his wife, which was a lot for someone who hadn't spoken to anyone but himself for a while.
"It is. It is nice to see you again, Bryce." How he loved hearing her voice. It rang wonderfully to his ears. Her eyes were downcast.
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing. It's just... I wasn't expecting thi-"
"Don't sound so happy. Did I do something wrong?" The wolf, then, clumsily smiled. Tone apologetic.
It was that smile that he did that Alana fell in love with. It was clumsy, but now, it was just downright stupid. Even then, she fondly remembered why she fell in love with Bryce a long time ago.
"We have a new life now."
"Oh. May I? May I play with them?" The taciturn wolf mumbled.
It appeared that the wolf remained as gentle as ever, choosing to circumvent the entire conversation.
***
When Bryce left, he did not get his hug. Before the door closed behind him, he had turned to face Alana. His smile was there, but he consciously did his best not to. He was just about to leave as empty-handed as he had come.
"It does not matter who you love," he began, choking on his words, "as long as the one you are with, you are happy the most."
True to the fact, he ran bare. Just the way he had come, only cleaner. He nodded his thanks to Alana, then to an imaginary Arsenio, who, in his absence, raised his own cubs and took his family under his wing.
He never looked back, eyes trained on the snowy path, thankful for the thickening fog that began to circumscribe him.
***
Apart from the small parade celebrating the discovery of four living jarheads, another thing Bryce was proud of was that he was upped in rank. This meant very little, of course, but it only meant the military still proffered him a financial fertile ground. At least he would not have to worry about furnishing a small dwelling for one he rented with the support he got from the capitol.
This was much like what used to be his home. Simple enough. Just as solitary. The only difference it made was that he lived not apart from society, but a part of it. It was just oxymoronic to think that his then-family was not within his circle of the social order he now moved in.
***
It was three hours to midnight, and Bryce decided to shovel some snow off his secondhand jeep. It was the first thing, apart from his house, that he bought with the donation money he had gotten. After all, it was not every day you come across survivors like the wolf.
The wolf was damp, then, with his own sweat. But he was cold. He decided to trunk his shovel, and drove a few blocks from his apartment. Why he could not sleep, he knew not.
***
The place was cozy, if not small. He arrived, cold air escaping his lungs, as he let himself in. There, Bryce managed to sit by the bar top, placing an order.
"Starbucks Coffee, huh," he mumbled, cold stiff paws rubbing themselves harshly.
"We are. Best coffee in town. First time?"
"First time."
This was not the first time he heard of it, though. Things change, as do people. And over the two years or so after Bryce's reported death, many things changed. The wolf made a silent note where the coffee shop erected - it used to be a DIY hardware store. Only instead of shelves of fanciful home-building things, they had patrons, tables and chairs.
Bright yellow eyes followed the chalkboard overhead. Before Bryce could read an order aloud, the barista had turned his back, only to return with a drink.
***
"How much?"
Clumsy paws dug inside the wolf's pockets in search of his wallet. Bryce smiled sheepishly as he then sat on the tall stool with half a rear cheek, pulling a few dollar bills.
"Nothing."
"Nothing," he asked, clarifying his ears, mumbling some more.
"That's right." The grey wolf's visor tilted lopsided when he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He continued, "Well, unless you really want to."
"I insist."
"Your name?"
"Bryce."
"Grande Hot White Chocolate Mocha for Bryce."
The small speakers announced, where there were only four ears to listen.
***
Bryce's wallet had been refused, but he was more than welcome to stay until closing. There came a few more customers, but it was a still night, nonetheless.
The last seen of the larger wolf was where he first began, by the bar top. This time, he had downed the last of his drink, but could be seen snacking on a caramel waffle. It was a few minutes to midnight.
Hard thumping against the wooden, yet reflective bar top called the barista's attention.
"Call it a night, yet?"
"I still have at least one more customer to attend, don't I?"
Dumbfounded, the tall wolf blurted out a quick "I'll help you pack up."
"But it's not without a price?"
"Not without a price. Your name?"
"Silas."
Needless to say, it wasn't the last time he visited the coffee shop.
***
Christmas went and came. Alana spent it by the warmth of her winter fire, with Arsy by her side. Silas did not make an excuse of the season, tended Starbucks for the rest of the day. Surely, there were still coffee aficionados wanting their shots of caffeine. And he was right.
It can't be said there ever was a day when Bryce didn't drop by. Even if it was just to say hi, or to tell his new friend he's alright. More often than not, he'd have his own free drink. How he loved the thought he owed the black wolf something, one way or another.
Bryce wasn't quite the mathematics genius, but it doesn't take one to put two and two together. At least looking at the chalky menu, and the days he counted with his pawfingers (and pawtoes), he must have at least half a grand worth of coffee. And that was plenty.
None compares in sweetness with the first cup he was given.
***
The two wolves fucked. There was nothing more to it, than just that.
Silas still worked on his coffee shop; Bryce, by twenty-nine went back to community college to take a master's degree in military technologies.
The two wolves fucked. It wasn't always that they did. As a matter of fact, this had been going on over the past year, and it only happened thrice. Mutual masturbation didn't count, but it's just like sex, it wasn't a typical everyday sort of thing.
It first started when the daily ice shipment arrived. Bryce offered to help these cold things in. This, however, was not underappreciated. When he had taken his favorite spot, he felt a warm paw working on the tense deltoid, followed by the loud pop of his yanked arm. This brought him relief. The paw, in spite of this, did not stop to massage, scaling the wolf's back, undoing the tight knots of built up physical strain. Somehow, it was when they called it a night when they began.
***
The following day, Silas did not go to his coffee shop. It must be awkward. Friends do not fuck, but that was what they truly were. Brothers. Three days had passed since Silas put on his disappearing act. The older wolf carried on with tending Starbucks, as though nothing had happened.
And it was such a discrete relationship that they had followed up with rounds two and three. On the second, this was what happened:
"Still tight as the first, I see."
"Oh, yeah. That hit the spot, babe."
"I'm close. Where do you want me?"
"Hngh, Bryce... I want you in me."
"Awr, fuck, I'm gonna come!"
"Ah-ha, ha-harder! I love you, Bryce!"
The night, Silas spent apologizing to his dear friend. Friends don't do that. They were merely fucking around. Silly Silas. He had chased down the words back into his throat faster than the younger wolf could down the coffee that Silas always prepared.
Again, the black wolf disappeared, a little more than half a week. This did not keep Bryce from coming to the coffee shop.
***
Why Silas would disappear, he does not know. It was awkward, but the third time around, neither spoke, but rather enjoyed. Carpe diem. They knew they were doing something right, especially when everything else felt good. Every rub, every thrust. It was on their third they began to kiss; Bryce, being the stronger wolf that he was, took the foot-smaller wolf by his maw, abused his neck and throat, and bit into his companion's lips.
Friends don't kiss. They did, anyway.
Conceit filled Bryce, he knew what the other wolf was about to say, but Silas wordlessly let himself be taken, be smothered by the dominant wolf. Disappointment grew within Bryce. But that did not keep him from coming to the coffee shop.
***
It was on the third day Bryce had hoped Silas to return. Four baristas, none of which his favorite wolf friend. Alone on top of the bar, a warm cup of his first drink, white chocolate rings staining what was underneath it.
"Bryce," the tall wolf read the label on the coffee. That familiar scent, he inhaled it. Then lifting the cup, he noticed an attractive wolf, stuck underneath, plastered to the Polaroid shot. He was grey in coat color, eyes azure. There had to be something familiar with the crooked smile.
"Silas?"
Indeed, it was. With the penmanship, he recognized, it was his friend. Little was the semblance recognizable; the grey wolf was shaved close, but his smile was just as bright. Dark outline of the familiar hand bordered the Polaroid shot, and it was then the white wolf flipped it over.
Hello, Bryce!
You wore me out. I'm currently out right now. I'll see you in a few days.
***
Day five, still no Silas. Bryce never stopped coming. This time, he arrived with a post-it note. Each day, the fragrance of the white chocolate mocha hung in the air. It was becoming a routine, and waiting for the smaller wolf has turned into a chore.
Bryce!
Hope you do not tire of this cup. Cheers!
Here's another cup to keep you warm. XOXO.
Hey there, Bryce!
I know you're missing me, and I want you to know I miss you, too.
***
Bryce!
What wouldn't I give just to see you right now?
Taking his post-it note, and a black Sharpie, he affixed his own letter on the bar top. It was one of those photographs Matthew took for the two of them. Silas was sitting at the back of Bryce's military jeep, Bryce was on the wheel, head panned back in time for a snapshot in time. It was the perfect frame, when Silas looked so happy, and Bryce, well he had that clumsy smile of his. Somehow, the white wolf felt reluctant about giving up the picture he'd kept in his wallet, but meaningful as it was, it also made just the right reminder of their friendship.
Silas,
What wouldn't you give just to see me right now?
***
On the sixth day since they last met, Silas returned. He was closer shaved than the larger wolf recalled.
"Uncool, man." The white wolf said, almost indifferently.
"I hope you like it."
"Well, you see me, and that's how you greet me. Don't sound so happy."
The smaller wolf held his much larger companion, almost choking him in a vicious arm lock.
***
It took a good amount of convincing to still Bryce. He still couldn't believe his eyes.
"So you mean to tell me white is the new black?"
"Yes."
"And that's why you're no longer black, but white?"
"Yes."
"You disappeared for almost a week."
"So?"
"But you're not even white; you're shaved!"
"No shit, Sherlock."
***
Silas observed Bryce seated on a chair, with only the bar between the two of them. Their conversation wasn't much. The coffee he had prepared hadn't been touched. Yet, at least, Silas had hoped.
"I return. You act up. Don't seem too happy."
"You have no idea."
"Are you angry?"
"A little."
"Maybe you shouldn't be."
And Silas was right.
***
Case 3. Silas Matthew Cooper. Was a 22-year-old wolf who entered Lakeside Hospital, Cleveland, October 1999. Had lived a normal life until he had entered junior high school. At this time, 1992, his father suffered severe financial losses. He stated: "We lost everything to a fire; I began to worry more than my parents." He graduated from a degree in Entrepreneurship with the help of his academic scholarship in 1997, and by this time, his family had lost everything except his home. At night, he would lie awake trying to figure out what he and his father could do to earn money to eat. It was challenging for him to work, because of worry over finances -- not only his own, but also his family's. Loan after loan was made. He worked as a barista under his uncle whom he promised to pay back.
... When he finally moved away from home, he was greatly depressed and cried frequently. He wrote to me in an e-mail: "I could no longer eat, and I gagged after meals, and I sometimes vomited." He also reported: "experiencing nervous breakdowns" from time to time.
... His e-mails gradually lessened over time. He seemed to be an extremely tense, worrisome individual, and resented being dependent on anyone. Before he left Cleveland, 2001, he showed to me his medical record. He had been diagnosed with chronic myeloid leukemia for the past three years. Not even his family knew of this. It had been months since I last heard from him.
The Medical Archive of Hematology: The Possibility of Leukemia Predisposed by Negative Psychological Factors. Revisited, 2010.
Park, V. M.D.
***
The year is 2010. Winter has come early.
I can remember, through nights like this one, I had often wished to have my husband return to me. When he came back a few years ago, I had two husbands. But I can only always have one. I never heard from my first, but knowing he's out there, somewhere, I know I am happy that he lives. It is enough to cohabit under the skies where I wished for his return.
Through nights like this one, I had hoped to die. I wasn't allowed to be weak, but I was made that way. Life is short, they always say. So make the most out of it, while it is there. But who would have thought the struggle was worth it all, in the end? Through nights like this one, I could only pray to see the dawn of a new day. I want to live some more, oh please, let me live. Please let my tomorrow be with Bryce.
Through nights like this one, I had been lost. It was also on nights like this one I had hoped to find my way home. Through nights like this one, I returned. And it was through nights like this one that I left. Through nights like this one, I had hoped to be found; to be made whole. Tonight, I wish for another tomorrow; another tomorrow in growing love. With Silas.
Lo and behold!
The year is 2010. Silas just blew his thirty-fourth candle, and I will be his cake. I just graduated a week before winter break, and I've had my fair share of Silas' congratulatory... confectionary.
Sugar and spice, really.
We foresee the future so much brighter than we had hoped.
So sit yourself and have a good think, when things look bleak. Lift your chin to the sky; let heart cry.
Because through nights like this one, when you hope, that your prayers are heard.
-OMEGA.-