FSE

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Distance

By Laz Briar

“No."

Crossed arms. Flattened ears. Muzzle tugged with an exaggerated pout. Tail flicking in agitated patterns.

“It's only for a few days, I promise. Nothing crazy. By weekend I'll be back."

A growl. “No."

Anson glanced away, sighing. “I'm not happy about it either, at all. It barely makes sense from a seller's standpoint, but they insisted I come along to explain the security aspects. That's all."

Ozzie puffed, gave a little 'hmph,' looking no more convinced than before. “Noooooooo."

Breaking the news wasn't easy. Before Anson got called into the work meeting, he was planning on a nice, easy weekend with his boyfriend. A pleasant dinner and then maybe a walk on the coast, or a bar, or even stopping by Dogtown to see Harriet.

Then, plans were upturned. Songbird was making a big sell with their new Chirp app with a company some ways off past Porterdale. They emphasized how powerful a tool it was for “universal communication," and wanted to drive home how safe it was over competitors. A bunch of data breaches had recently tagged headlines – and small businesses all over were sweating it. They wanted safer, and Songbird was promising safer.

“Anson, we need you to come with our sales team to explain how much safer our software is, get some reports in, and maybe prep the IT guys."

Those were the words. Anson was forced into travel that was hardly a condition of his job, and he couldn't really decline. This meant leaving his home, his schedule, and most importantly, Ozzie.

Ozzie took it about as well as a brick through a window.

“I'm not letting you go," he said, matter of factly. “You're staying."

Anson sat on his bed's edge. It was later in the evening and he was already tired – a stubborn 'yena didn't help.

He offered a sad smile. “I want to."

“Then stay."

“You know I can't."

Ozzie growled again, looming over Anson. “Why not?"

These were pleas, if anything. Desperate resistance. Some feigned, some genuine. Ozzie knew Anson had to follow through, there was no way around it, not unless he wanted to risk his employment.

“You know exactly why, hon."

Ozzie started to fidget with his hands, uncomfortable. The digits wiggled together, Ozzie looking around the room for something, anything, an answer that could somehow change employee obligations.

“It's just for a few days," Anson repeated. “I'm back on Friday. I'll call you the second I get there. When I'm at the hotel. When I have a free moment. Fuck, when I'm taking a piss, if you want."

Suppose it was nice of Mr. Zan to make sure Anson's arrangements were taken care of. He didn't have to pay for travel, hotel, or food. But it was a bitter consolation all the same.

“No," Ozzie said, this time his voice cracking a bit. “No, no, no."

Anson huffed. “Ozzie. . ."

His hand came out to hold the yeendog's hand, but got resistance.

“A whole fucking week," said Ozzie. “A week, Anson."

Anson grunted. He wasn't happy about it either. “Yeah, I know, Ozzie. I know. I don't want to do it. But I don't know what else to tell you. What, you think I'm gonna' sleep around or something? Come on."

“It's because I'm going to miss you, you asshole."

Dammit, Ozzie. Had to get him with that one, did he? Anson looked at the floor, tapping his feet. Usually by this time they were snug in bed, cuddling. Usually, Anson enjoyed the loving, warm proximity of Ozzie's soft fur. Usually, they fucked.

But he was right. It wasn't even Monday and Anson was already dreading it, dreading the distance from his boyfriend. Sure, when they first started dating, they didn't see each other every day, and that was fine. But now? It felt wrong if they didn't catch each other for lunch.

“I know," Anson said again. “I know. I'm going to miss you too. A lot."

Ozzie scoffed. “You don't seem so broken up about it."

Well, now the yeendog was just acting out on purpose. But Anson understood why. This was painful for both of them, in a small way. They were never pushed apart by distance like this before. It was scary.

Anson raised his head, offering a soft chuckle.

More pouting. “It's not funny. You're being a jerk."

More laughing. “I love you, you gorgeous bastard."

Anson chanced again, reaching for Ozzie's hand. The 'yena wasn't looking at him, but didn't resist this time.

“A whole week," Oz muttered again. “Who's gonna' make me lunches."

Anson rubbed his palm along Ozzie's arm, pulling him closer. Again, no resistance.

“I can get you everything for the week. Drinks too. Need to get you some more of that specialty tea before I leave, anyway."

Ozzie felt the pull, though remained still. Hugging Anson meant reminding himself what he wasn't going to feel for at least five days. God, how was he gonna' manage this? No Anson to kiss him after work, no Anson to keep the bed warm. No Anson to talk to over a well-prepared dinner.

“Why didn't they ask me to go with you? I'm in sales! That's the whole fuckin' point!"

“Not that kind of sales."

Another growl, this time a genuine one. “Glad you're making excuses for them."

Anson rubbed his head. He couldn't win tonight.

“I'm not, I just, I dunno'. What are you afraid of, Ozzie?"

Ozzie took his paw-hand back. “I'm not afraid of anything, man. I'm sad because you're leaving and I'm mad because you don't seem to care."

Anson didn't know how much of this was pout and how much was real. He never knew Ozzie to be the insecure type, or a jealous one. Why was this so hard, all of a sudden? Anson certainly didn't want to do it, at all. How he was going to focus on meetings thinking about his 'yena was hard enough.

But, then he remembered. There was a divide in species, here. Ozzie wasn't just his boy, he was also a chimera. There was an uppity, feisty brew of hyena mixed with loyal, compassionate dog. Dogs didn't like separation.

“Ozzie, please. You know that's not true. I'm just trying to face it down, that's all. I wish I could change it or come up with some excuse, but, well."

Green eyes narrowed down at him. “Why can't you?"

Anson was silent. He didn't have an answer, really. He could call out sick, true. Then, he shook his head.

“Because I need to take care of us. Sometimes it means doing stuff that's hard."

Once more, chancing the hand. But this time Anson used both, gently cupping Ozzie's fingers with his own.

“Come on, Oz, you're not really mad at me, are you?"

A plump pause.

“No."

Anson stood now. Ozzie kept his gaze away, but remained still. So, Anson kissed his cheek, breathing in that warm, spicy chimera musk.

“Ugh, man, come on. Don't."

Ozzie's response wasn't genuine, Anson knew it. So, he kissed again. The 'yena exposed his neck, grumbling.

“Keep it up and I'll bite you," said Ozzie, with no power to his threat. “I mean it."

Anson embraced his partner, let his hands come behind the slender, lean frame, his palms tracking over the delicate sinew of Ozzie's back.

“Can you bite me in bed, then?"

Finally, Ozzie gave in. He pressed his forehead into Anson's and returned the hold, resting into the embrace. Anson got his answer.

They slipped back into covers and, soon enough, found hunger. Anson slipped off Ozzie's briefs and squeezed the curve of his perky rump – hard. There was a voracity to it all, as they started to feel and touch the other.

Ozzie's application of lube was hasty and quick, and Anson drove himself into the awaiting, satin space with intense vigor. They were angry, and they were fucking through it. Soon enough Ozzie was sprawled on all fours, whining and whimpering as his man plunged into the greedy whole. This time there lacked the nuance of romance. This time it was a desperate, needy fuck.

They cleaned up afterward, quiet. Thoughts full of what was to come.

Soon after they embraced again, under the grip of a sort of morose happiness. Ozzie's tail wagged, Anson's hand pet through yeendog mane, yet both knew in a few days, they would be alone.

“I'm gonna' miss you so fuckin' much," Ozzie muttered, his eyes locked on the bedroom window. It was a nice view for an apartment complex, had the silhouette of an elderly snapper oak peering through it. Just something else to be sad about.

“I'll miss you more," Anson challenged.

Ozzie sniffed. “I love you Anson," he said, soft and tired.

They hugged and slept.

-*-

Morning was closer to the weekend, but didn't help lift the couple's spirits. Still, they kept their routine – for comfort's sake – talking over breakfast and kissing before their shifts started. Once work concluded, they continue to keep routine – going to Anson's for the night. Yet, the harrowing Monday was soon coming, and there was little either could do to properly cope.

“Well, I mean, what did you do before we started dating?"

They were finishing dinner. Anson whipped up another quick meal, one for himself and one for Ozzie. He found that the yeendog benefitted from a mix of cut meats, and even kept some of them raw.

Ozzie poked at one of his meat chunks. “I dunno'. Got smashed a lot. Got high with the friends sometimes. Went to bars."

They were discussing the inevitable. Anson was going to have to deal with business for most of his week, but Ozzie had spare time. Spare time he forgot how to use.

Anson tapped his fingers. “Hmm, well. I guess it was okay."

A scoff. “Pfft, what are you, my mom?"

“No, no, I don't mean it like that. Just worried, a little."

Ozzie's ears flattened. “Anson, I'm not gonna' start burning shit down just because you're out for a while. I can take care of myself."

Anson smirked. “Ya' sure?"

“Well, maybe I should now. Maybe you'll have to stay and keep an eye on me. I'm very dangerous, apparently."

Again, back to the same wall, the same inevitable resistance. Instead, Anson compromised.

“Your friends can do that. As long as you don't start robbing banks while I'm gone."

A grin. “Huh? Oh? Hey, not a bad idea man. I think they'd be down."

Some chuckles, though laced with sourness.

There was a point of realization for Anson that, joking aside, Ozzie was likely to return to old habits. And this was scary. How far was he planning to go?

“Just be really careful, all right?"

Ozzie bit into one of his cuts, a chunk of cooked pork. “Careful doesn't describe me well, Ans. You know that."

“Ozzie. . ."

Notable agitation flashed through the yeendog's features. As if Anson were talking down to him, chastising him.

“I can take care of myself."

Anson sighed. In part, he knew this was right. He couldn't constantly try to coddle his boy. But then again, he knew vices were a dangerous gamble. They had a way of breaking through the barriers of discipline. All it took was a moment, a substance, a second without caution.

No. No. He couldn't think like that.

So, again, Anson took the conversation somewhere more pleasant.

“Will you call me every night?"

Ozzie took it. “Will you?"

“Definitely. Gonna' need it when the pants come off."

A 'yena snicker. “You can take pictures, you know."

“So can you."

Ozzie shrugged, feigning disinterest. “Maybe. If I feel like it."

They parried each other for a while more, trying to playfully dash around the uncomfortable subject. It still wasn't easy. Anson didn't even know what he was doing to do in his spare time, after the meetings. One of the member assigned to the Porterdale business floated the idea of company drinking afterward, but, that would just remind him of Ozzie.

Like the previous nights, they fell into routine. It was all they could grip onto. Their weekend was much the same, and they certainly tried to make it a nice one. Ozzie took Anson to a little diner shack closer to the coast, promising local tap and the best crisped fish around. The beer was lukewarm and the fish not much better, but it was something.

Then, Monday.

Anson pulled himself awake, earlier than his normal routine. Ozzie was up soon after, mostly from anxiety. He usually took longer.

Their morning was quiet, labored. Aside from a few chance words here and there, neither of them wanted to speak, as if it might hasten Anson's departure. They got ready for work, hopped in Ozzie's car and left for Songbird.

Anson was pooling with a paid taxi, so Ozzie would have to get him when he returned on Friday. The company he would go with he wasn't too fond of either – too unfamiliar and out of his territory. There was Miranda, a sharp tongued mink with cherry-blonde hair responsible for selling the product. Terrik, a pensive raccoon who would work with Anson on installing Chirp to proper security standards. A few others, a Roth Ganner and Leonard Authsfeld. Strangers on the other side of the business.

Out of all of them, Authsfeld was the only other human, an older man breaching his fifties. Suppose that would do.

The couple arrived at Songbird by their usual, about fourteen minutes before the clock started.

Ozzie had to ask the hard question. “When are you leaving?"

“Hmm." Anson didn't want to think on it yet, but no point in denial now.

“Soon as everyone is in, I imagine. About half an hour, is my guess."

Ozzie parked and keyed off the ignition. Neither of them left the car.

“I really don't want you to go."

Anson gave a sad smile. “I'd like to stay."

Ozzie gave in. His muzzle came to Anson's cheek. Kiss, kiss, kiss. Whiskers flicked across skin and his nose flared, keeping that notable human scent. He gripped Anson's hand, and felt it returned.

“Call me. Okay? Call me whenever you get the chance."

Anson nodded. “I will." And he meant it.

“When?"

“Hopefully around lunch, when I get a breather. When I'm off, for sure."

Ozzie stared. Anson stared. They pressed their lips together, again, letting tongues collide. This was about as raunchy as they could get, and it was going to be a long five days.

Time cared little for their passions, however, and ticked on. Eventually, they had to leave the car and clock in. Ozzie took an extra-long swipe with his ID card for the auto-timer, watching his man do the same. Once Anson did, he would take a right, then an elevator to his floor. And it'd be the last time they would see each other for a while.

They signed in. Ozzie ached. He wanted to hug his man so hard, keep him right there. But, company displays of affection were frowned upon and it really didn't need to get out that they were a thing.

“I love you," said Anson, heading towards the hall. “I'll see you soon."

Ozzie couldn't even afford his big, silly grin. He just watched him go. He managed a weak 'love you' himself, but was left standing, fiddling with his fingers.

-*-

Ozzie could hardly dig into his lunch. By now, Anson was probably long gone. Three hours. Unless there was traffic, he was likely in Porterdale already.

Ya thinkin' about me right now, man?

Talking with Gabby helped, but only just so. Like trying to soften a rock with water.

He felt silly, honestly. This was something normal couples could do, right? Of course. What about all those guys who did extended business trips? In different states for shit's sake. What about those lonely wives of soldiers? They had to deal with months of distant isolation. Or anyone, really.

“Maybe I'm just too clingy," said Ozzie, forking at his specialty meal. God. He couldn't touch it. It was too perfect, as usual. Anson arranged all the specialty diet items ideal for a dog/hyena mix. It just reminded him that Anson wasn't here.

“You just miss him, that's normal."

His lean Labrador friend was sipping tea, having finished her sandwiches. They picked their usual table in the café', enough where they held a cozy proximity of space.

“It's just been three hours, Gab."

Ozzie tapped his foot, impatient. He kept pulling out his phone, glancing at it. No calls yet, no texts either. God.

Gabby noticed this, chuckling. “You're going to drive yourself crazy, Oz. You really oughta' get your mind off it."

“Can't," he refuted bluntly.

And he couldn't.

Lunch droned on. Ozzie felt frustration now, with only thirteen minutes to go before he was back on the floor. Gabby tried to cut in with small talk, but Oz wasn't much for it, so she left. He didn't notice.

Nine minutes left. Then his pants buzzed.

In a state of near panic, Ozzie yanked the phone free and sped off for an open space outside the cafeteria, tail wagging.

“Anson?"

There were voices. “Yeah, hang on, just get that over to Terrick, okay. Ask Ms. Madal if she got to look out our network structure. . ."

Ozzie blinked. What the hell? “Anson?" he repeated.

Clearly, Anson was talking to multiple people. Their words lingered through the background, and the yeendog wondered if he was called by accident. But soon, the noises faded, and all he could hear was his man. His Anson.

“Hey, hey, sorry!"

“What the hell was that man?"

“God, busy," Anson said, tone ragged. “I'm really sorry. We hit the ground running as soon as we got here. One of their IT experts was out and we had to sort of compromise and explain. Then they didn't get the paperwork filed in from last Tuesday, or something."

Ozzie didn't know what this meant, but felt elated to hear the human's voice again.

“Who are they again?"

“Oh, uh. . . Stein Communications, I think."

A pause. “How are you, hon?"

Ozzie leaned back into the wall. He was in a vacant hallway, thank goodness.

“I miss the fuck out of you."

Anson chuckled. “It's only been a few hours."

Another pause. “Yeah, I miss you too, Oz."

Ozzie wanted to say something, but Anson broke in first.

“I don't have much time, hon, I just told them I was getting water. It's going to be hell today. They expect us to work late too, ugh."

Ozzie's tail drooped. “Okay."

“I'm sorry, but I promise I'll call you tonight, all right?"

“Can I at least tell you how I am?"

Ozzie barely had a few minutes left, but filled the space with whatever came to mind. He needed it, and he could tell Anson was happy to hear it. But like before, they were cut off, and had to go. They offered a quick 'love you' and that was that.

Like a tiny portion to a meal, it was just enough to help Ozzie through the rest of his day. Nothing was easy, of course, carrying the emotional weight of absence. But the promise of a future call helped Ozzie focus on work just enough. Just enough to make a weak sales pitch to an otter in Connecticut, just enough to force a pleasant tone over some confusion about Songbird's rates. Just enough.

When work concluded, Ozzie felt a new emptiness burrow in him. Usually after clock out Anson was waiting for him. Now it was just his own car. He loaded a cassette into his modified sound system and drove home, trying to distract himself.

His own apartment wasn't much better. The typical comforts offered by his cozy set up did little to quell the sense of isolation surrounding him. What was the point, after all, if he had no one to share it with? Well, suppose he was thinking a bit dramatically – he still had his Anson. Just not right now.

He could barely touch dinner. Anson had prepped him some meals for the week, each with a cute little heart and note indicating the day they were best for. For Monday it was a healthy mix of freshly cut vegetables and raw chicken. But Ozzie could only stare at it. He took a weak bite here and there, but he missed the conversation, the volume of Anson's voice as they caught up on each other's day.

Night came, and it was late. Ozzie didn't get call until a few minutes past eight, his heart swelling excitedly. It was like he was talking to Anson for the first time again, when they went out on a date.

Ozzie didn't much to offer in the conversation. It was still the same for him. “I still miss you" peppered his words, so he kept it focused to Anson.

Anson was tired, certainly, but talked about the meetings and how they went relatively well. He also explained Stein Communications had some infrastructure problems that needed to be worked out, and that he had to prepare a whole new report just for the Porterdale company.

“Sounds like more work than you were meant for."

Anson grunted. “Yeah. They definitely threw it at us. But tomorrow should be shorter. I can call you at a better time for lunch, I think."

“Morning?"

Anson chuckled. “I'll try my best, hon."

Ozzie smiled. “I'm kiddin' man, really. Just leave me a cute message."

“Oh yeah?"

Ozzie curled up on the couch, looking at the ceiling. “Yeah. I'll put the phone on my pillow and pretend it's you when I wake up."

Now the chuckle was a laugh. “Ahh, Ozzie. You sweet doof."

A small pause. “Thought about seeing your friends?"

“Yeah. I'll probably catch up with them tomorrow. Wasn't feelin' it today," Ozzie said.

“I understand." Anson yawned here, prompting Ozzie to check the time. About half past eight now. His man was tired.

“Why don't you get some rest, Ans? We can catch up later."

“You sure?"

Ozzie certainly wasn't, but he needed to let Anson relax. “Yeah. Long day for you."

For some reason, the yeendog could sense Anson nod. “It has been. All right, well, good call. They're expecting us early, so I should turn in. I love you, Ozzie."

Ozzie felt all giddy. “Mm, love ya' man. Talk soon."

Silence. Ozzie slunk back to his room and tried to “music" the night away.

-*-

It wasn't until Wednesday that someone got back to Ozzie, though, not what he expected.

Harriet and the gang were busy, though hearing their voices over calls was enough to get his mind off things. Rex and Kacey couldn't come down in time – on count of Kacey's “work" and the fact Rex liked to be around him for said work. For Harriet it was the same, though they were happy to hang out on the weekend. Not much help.

Instead, it was an innocent text. Ozzie didn't catch it at first – he was in the shower, trying to pass the time until Anson could call him again.

When he dried off, he drifted into his couch, eyes flaring as he caught the message, the number, the name.

“hey man can we talk"

It was Jaxon.

For a long time, Ozzie just stared. A hundred questions went through his head. How do you still have my number, what are you fuckin' texting me for, what do you want, the usual. What was there to even talk about?

Memories came flooding back.

Ozzie had done his best to settle things with Jaxon amiably. It wasn't his fault, he didn't know, he was drunk. That's what he told himself. Yeah? And then he lead you a long for a month or two. Was he constantly drunk then? And that was the other side.

He rubbed his eyes. He was tempted to ignore the message.

But then again. Jaxon wasn't mean about it. He tried, that's what Ozzie remembered. They had some fun, at least. Like two friends shooting the shit all the time, and then some “curiosities." Sure, they hooked up and Jaxon was drunk out of his mind, and Ozzie looked just right under the bar lights and slim jeans. Sure, they decided it was fun and wanted to see each other and it turned into dates after that. Sure, Jaxon eventually confessed he was a straight guy and couldn't be in a relationship like this. Sure, sure, sure.

But he tried, didn't he?

Maybe it was the isolation. Maybe it was because there was no one to hang out with. Maybe it was because Ozzie was morbidly curious. He responded.

“Huh? What's up?"

Silence. Then, a buzz.

“kinda rough tbh, broke up with Claire, feelin' shitty and bored, felt like chatting with a friend"

Oh. There it was. Ozzie rolled his eyes. He didn't know a Claire, exactly, but imagined some puffy chested fox.

“Damn, sorry to hear."

“yeah it sucks, wanted to hang out with friends, everyone's busy. How ya been"

A sigh. Ozzie wondered if Jax was drunk. Wondered if he was looking for a 'quick fix.' Broken hearts sought easy holes, after all.

Or maybe he was acting too judgmental. Jaxon wasn't a bad guy, was he? Just confused. He didn't hurt Ozzie, not intentionally.

Well now I'm just splitting hairs.

He contemplated his response. A shrug. Eh, fuckin' whatever.

“Same, wanted to hang out, nobody around. BF out of town so just passing time."

He regret the phrasing of his text. Oh god.

It was an extra moment before he got a response.

“wow, lonely nights huh. Well, I feel like shit if u wanna grab a drink somewhere, could talk a while"

At this point, Ozzie could use any distraction. Someone else's misery could do the trick. Especially Jaxon. See? Doesn't feel so good, huh?

Then the other part of him recognized this song and dance. It was familiar, a little too familiar. Night out, bars, alcohol. Still.

He checked the time. Well, Anson probably wouldn't call for a few hours, and he could always stop to chat with him in between rounds. Besides the bar was Ozzie's natural territory, seemed appropriate.

“Yeah, I guess. Not much going on. We're just talking though, okay?"

He needed to make that abundantly clear. Ozzie wanted to be the kind of hyena that could hang out with an ex, or try to. He never considered himself a jealous bitch. So long as Jaxon could mind himself.

“it's fine"

Ozzie could feel a twinge of disappointment there.

Then: “u got a place in mind"

Ozzie recalled one that was a pretty nice mix of underbelly and 'safe.' Basically, a bar for those who liked an uglier atmosphere but didn't want all the risks that came with it.

“Talking Horse is pretty good."

So they settled. Ozzie figured he could knock a couple back and get home safely. Certainly had no intention of getting wobbly with Jaxon around. But, it at least afforded them an opportunity to talk again. It did feel strange, having left things the way they were. Especially when that lingering question came up now and again, before Ozzie met Anson. Did you still think about me?

Talking Horse was easy to get to, a newer place in Woodland Hills, wedged between a few local bar and grill places. Ozzie kept his attire pretty casual, form hugging shirt with a white pattern and matching black jeans. He didn't feel much for jewelry though – getting 'spiffed up' without Anson just felt off.

Inside, Jaxon had already found them a seat. Off in the corner, situated privately. It was a Wednesday evening, so traffic was pretty skim, but that was all right. Ozzie didn't feel like mingling with excessive company, anyway.

The white dog mix brightened as the yeendog approached. Hmm. Ozzie perked his muzzle with a courteous smile.

Jaxon was still the same snowy Shepherd. Good build, wide shoulders. He had that going for him, at least. A nice blue shirt and cargo shorts. Pretty casual for a place like this, but, a warm weekday night was plenty an excuse.

“Hey Ozzie." His voice was warm, though stiff.

“Jaxon." A nod, and a sit.

Jax forced a smile too, though, Ozzie could see the red sting in his eyes. Looks like the breakup hit him pretty hard.

Didn't cry for us this much, though, did ya?

No, no. That wasn't fair.

“I'm sorry about Claire," said Ozzie. “Breakups suck."

A little emphasis on breakups.

Jaxon shrugged. He didn't look much for staying on the subject. “Yeah. I'm just workin' through it."

Ozzie kept his eyes preoccupied. This was strange, frustrating. Jaxon looked about ready to bury himself in a bottle, and yet, the yeendog couldn't help but pursue his curiosity.

“It takes time. How long was it goin' for?"

Jaxon chewed his muzzle. “Um. Four months, about." Tone strained, ears fell.

Before they got further into it, a squirrel approached. Surprisingly fit and curvy with orange hair, definitely Jaxon's type, but he hardly glanced at her.

“Ey' boys. Hope we're doing good tonight. Can I get ya' started on some drinks?"

“Old Wesker, draft," Jaxon said at once.

“Longboat, if you have it."

Talking Horse was nice about that – you could get drinks served to you, though Ozzie wagered it was because of the girls they staffed (and some of the boys).

The break let them gather their thoughts. Or at least Jaxon, who appeared to really need it. Ozzie, rather, found himself distracted. His mind kept flicking back to Anson, then Jax, then his breakup, then their breakup. He wanted to confront him again, here and now. Just ask. Or just tell. It hurt, you know that? After all was said and done.

“How's shipping?" he asked instead.

Jaxon grunted. “Miserable. A couple of our bigger guys left for a different position. Trying to break some hires in, but it's not easy. Takes a while to get used to the workload, so while they're doing that I'm doubling down and helping out."

“I'm sure they appreciate it."

Jaxon wouldn't take it. “Maybe. I think they can show it by working their own loads, though."

Ozzie didn't know if he cared to pursue. It was clear Jaxon preferred his state of misery.

He rounded back. “It'll get better. You wanna talk about Claire?"

Usually this wasn't the kind of question to prick into someone, but considering their history, Ozzie was curious. He also wanted to make Jaxon understand.

The white shepherd looked at him, ears drooping.

“I don't know what to talk about. We just didn't work out."

Ozzie rolled his eyes. “Good god, Jaxon. We both know it's never that simple."

“Well maybe it is this time."

“How damned convenient."

Jaxon was taken aback. “What's that supposed to mean?"

Before Ozzie could respond, the squirrel came back with their drinks. Jax quickly dove into his, where Ozzie took a casual sip.

“What it sounds like," Ozzie went on. “Easy to have a nice clean break, huh?"

Perhaps Jaxon understood. “Is this about something else?"

“It's about a lot of things. But it's also about 'don't waste both our times.' You broke up with Claire, and something didn't work."

Jaxon didn't growl or show any signs of agitation. He just kept looking sad.

“I don't know what else to tell you, Ozzie! She wanted to talk and said she didn't see us as a thing anymore. I tried to fix it. I tried to ask. But she said it wasn't my fault. We just weren't right. I'm not a fucking expert."

Ozzie went quiet. Was Jaxon keeping something from him? No, no. It was honest, unfortunately. There were no elaborate reasons, no grand flaws on Jaxon's part. There were no secrets, no secondary partners, no lies. They just fell apart. Because that's what could happen. And perhaps Ozzie wanted something more, wanted a bigger reason for the breakup. Wanted to believe that it was Jaxon who bore the flaw, that he did something wrong.

“At least she was honest," Ozzie said finally.

Jaxon took another swig. “I guess."

“Look, Ozzie, I just don't wanna talk about it. I wanna' get wasted and forget about it. And you're the only one I could really talk to."

“So I'm convenience, then?"

Jaxon gave another, genuine frown, and Ozzie swore he saw his eyes mist over.

“No, no, I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry. No. I mean. I can talk to you. I trust you. You're good with this stuff, and feelings. You're always so fun."

Ozzie didn't know if the alcohol was starting to have an impact. Jaxon was only halfway through his 12oz, not like he was tipsy. He reasoned this, because, the last time they had “fun" was when they were “dating." He supposed, for Jaxon, casually referring to their relationship was no big deal, or rather, what it had been.

“Why don't you tell me about work and stuff? You get any new inks?"

Jaxon was quick to dive into new material. He also, Ozzie noticed, deftly avoided referring to Anson. Fine then.

“Nope, still the same one on the shoulder. Had to cancel plans on that sleeve, not a great look for the company."

He went on to talk about sales and expectations, but it was terribly dry. Furthermore, he only liked to share this stuff with Anson. He was so tempted to mention his boyfriend, too. So eager to casually drop it in, talk about how well their relationship was going. But, even for all that, he couldn't do it to Jaxon. Much as it hurt, the embers of old feelings were always there, and he wanted to be the kind of 'yena that could talk to an ex, not hate them.

So they went on for a while. Ozzie finished his drink but kept it light – he had to drive home, after all. But the gentle buzz in his head helped take the edge off, and Jaxon started to shake off “himself" too. One 12oz became two, then three. Then, he was rosy cheeked and laughing. Fourth. Muzzle was tugged with an endless grin and, like old times, they were enjoying themselves.

“You gonna' drive home like that?" Ozzie said, pointing to the fresh mug as Jaxon almost downed it.

“It's fiiiine," he said, not slurred, but a bit loosely. “Can get a taxi if I really need it."

Ozzie checked the time. It was about seven now. How long Jaxon thought he needed to sober up, the 'yena wasn't sure. Just as well, he wondered when Anson might call. Last time it was sometime past eight.

“And your car, genius?" Ozzie slipped his phone back into his pocket.

A shrug. “Taxi."

Well, one way to go about it.

“I'm not draggin' your drunk ass home, you know."

Jaxon snickered. “Eheheh, are you sure? You did it good last time." Jaxon let his paws rest on the table, cheeks flushing more now.

Last time? The alcohol helped soften Ozzie's thoughts, muted his scrutiny. But last time Jaxon was drunk, and last time Ozzie was with him, things turned out differently. Did Jaxon know what he was saying?

Ugh, whatever. People say all sorts of things when they're drunk. Ozzie shrugged it off – he wasn't really in the mood to get into it. In fact, now he had to concede that he wouldn't really get to say his peace, not with the white Shepherd all topped off.

“Man, we had a lot of fun," Jaxon said, more slurred this time. “You were so cool."

Ozzie snorted. “Am I not anymore?"

“No, no, you're still awesome and stuff!" Jaxon leaned a little, as did his paws. He was looking at Ozzie now, looking with intent. They weren't misted anymore, they were wide and excited.

“Claire never wore leather jackets," he went on. “She was pretty borin'. But you, aw man, so fun and casual."

“Uh huh." Okay, Ozzie could tell the alcohol was in full effect here. It was nice to hear Jaxon lay out the compliments, but it hurt that he had to be drunk to say them.

“Yeah, sure. We had good times." Which was true, Ozzie could concede this. Even now, Jaxon was still a funny guy, nice and calm. No anger to him. His reflections on Claire weren't bitter, they were sad. More than what most exes could afford themselves.

“I liked those good times. . ."

A touch. Ozzie didn't catch it, at first. Jaxon's hand came to his arm, and a surge of memories with it. The scent of Jaxon, his strength, where his digits explored. That eerie familiarity of fur on fur as opposed to the gravity of skin. Their proximity, their “animal" understanding.

Ozzie's eyes peer downed, uncertain. “Uh. . . Jax?"

Then something else. He didn't finish another thought as Jaxon's muzzle came to his own, and immediately let tongue flick free. Their noses bumped, and a scented whirlwind of male dog came over Ozzie.

There, in just the briefest of seconds, the fractions of time, Ozzie remembered. How Jaxon felt, what he did, how they held each other. How their warmth felt so real and permanent. There, in the depths of Ozzie, in the desperate corners of himself, there was a desire to reciprocate. To meet tongue with tongue, and fall back into it. But the thing about seconds is they don't last.

The yeendog drew back, muzzle flaring.

“Ja- what the fuck man!?"

Jaxon blinked back at him, innocently. “Hnn? W-what's wrong?"

Ozzie stared in absolute disbelief. He was kidding. This had to be a fucking joke.

“Are you for fucking real right now?"

Alcohol was one thing. Ozzie had certainly felt its barriers before, the heavy, swimming dizziness it threw on you when you were about four or five bottles in. Everything got loose. Decisions too. Keeping yourself focused was like trying to chase a little ball covered in grease. But even then, some relic of sense had to exist, right? Or was Ozzie just that good with drinks.

“What did I do?" said Jaxon. Was the dog fucking around, or was he really this smashed?

Ozzie snapped back to his default. “I told you I have a boyfriend."

Furthermore, he had told him they were just “talking" through text.

“Holy shit, man, I can't believe this shit. I can't believe it." Ozzie felt his hackles rise, as with his voice. He kept it low, though, controlled. They were getting funny looks from some of the workers.

All at once, things were on repeat. This heated moment, drowned in alcohol, leading to something. Except this time, Ozzie was wise to it.

“I-I forgot," said Jaxon. He retreated now, ears flat, tail drooping. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, don't get mad."

Ozzie stared. “You forgot we broke up? You forgot that you're straight? You did, really?"

He watched Jaxon's features sag. The dog looked genuinely sad now, broken. Down in the pit of his emotional hell, swimming in booze, looking for an easy fix. Fucking god. Now his head drooped.

“I'm sorry," he mumbled out.

Ozzie shook his head. Pitiful.

“You don't get to do this again, Jaxon. Shit. Sober up, man."

Ozzie stood, and Jaxon looked up at once.

“Don't go!"

Ozzie bristled. Where was this? Where was this desperation and need when they dated? Where was this Jaxon when he ended it? Only now did it show up, when it was convenient? When he was strangled by emotional pain?

For a moment, Ozzie considered staying. Because despite this, despite Jaxon's attempt to do something, he could still see a wounded heart. He could see himself, that drunk, stupid self trying to forget, trying to find a friend. Blow off some steam with an easy fuck. But no, he wouldn't do that to himself, not again.

“Just go home," Ozzie said, softer this time. “Don't drive. Go home."

It admittedly hurt to turn away from the drunk Jaxon, who, instead of protesting, remained to stare at his empty glasses of beer. They were his only company now.

Ozzie paid his tab and started for home. It was getting late and Anson would call him soon, hopefully.

-*-

Anson didn't, not as usual, anyway.

Probably for the best. Ozzie was left to sulk, bewildered by Jaxon's actions. He tried to reconcile it as just alcohol, just getting super wasted. But still. He did it. He tried something. Why?

Desperate for familiarity, he went to Anson's place instead. They gave each other extra keys a while ago, just in case. Well, this was definitely a “just in case" moment. The cool, dark apartment met him, strange and lonely. It missed the late-night news, the smell of Anson's cooking, their conversation.

Ozzie flicked on the lights and lied on the couch. He tried flipping for one of Anson's channels, something politics. Channel 86, he remembered.

While the talking heads went over their subjects, Ozzie tried to pull his thoughts together. Why to all of it. Why did Jaxon have to try something? Was he just a sleazeball with a nice smile? Or was he just that drunk? Why did Ozzie let himself do that. Why did he go?

Was he trying to catch something? An old memory? An old feeling? He shuddered. He wanted his Anson back, to make him feel safe again. Normally Ozzie could sort through this kind of thing easily. He had plenty of experience, lots of dates, lots of boyfriends. So why was Jaxon different?

Because you still wanted it to work.

He stared at the ceiling. God.

Because if Jaxon was gay, I'd still be with him.

That thought sent cold fear running through Ozzie. It terrified him. His whole world could've been different. He was so sure. So many things with Jaxon were right, and ideal.

He hated himself. Was he just trying to compare the two now? Anson vs. Jaxon?

Maybe I'm the sleaze ball. I went out with him, after all.

Ozzie closed his eyes. Was this all a few days of his boyfriend's absence could do to him? Holy fuck, Anson was still in the same state.

His fingers danced together. God, what a mess.

Maybe he just wanted to see him again, see Jaxon once more to prove to himself where his convictions lied. Though, what he found was the same sweet dog. Drunk, stupid, horny, stupid. But nice all the same.

But nice wasn't enough, couldn't be. The distance was too great between them.

Anson finally called, much to Ozzie's immediate relief.

“Hey baby," Ozzie greeted, tail thumping the couch. “Tough day?"

He assumed this since the call came in far later.

“Mmhm." Anson sounded tired. “Still getting things set up, but we're about done. It's paying off a lot, and in fact. . . we think we're gonna' finish early. They're thinking we can head in by Thursday evening."

Ozzie looked like a puppy with a new bone. “What!? Oh shit, that's awesome man!"

Anson laughed. “It is. Glad to be done with it. They were impressed with my security model so, the rest is set up. Thank god for Miranda, she's the one who sold it."

Thursday. The word came back in Ozzie's head, over and over. Tomorrow.

“You worked your ass off, babe," said Ozzie. “I'm so proud of you. And fuckin' happy."

He figured Anson was blushing. “Thanks, hon, it means a lot. Sorry we didn't' get to talk a lot."

“It's okay, it's okay. The fact that you're coming back soon is enough."

“Maybe we are. But yeah, strong possibility. Ninety percent."

Ozzie grinned. “I'll take it."

Again, they talked for a bit, until Anson posed the inevitable question.

“How was your day, hon? Good in sales?"

Ozzie hesitated. His thoughts went to Jaxon. What could he say about it? Hey, Jax put the moves on me babe after I agreed to go out with him for a drink. Hope that's fine. It really didn't help that Ozzie went on about taking care of himself from days earlier. He felt like such a child now, a lying little pup.

He closed his eyes. “It was really good man. Nothing crazy, stuff is slowin' down. Just had lunch with Gabby."

“Uh huh? Easy going? I like that. Do anything fun after work? Friends?"

Ozzie felt his legs wiggle. No. He couldn't. Bringing Jaxon up wouldn't do him good here. Who knows how Anson might react?

But if you don't, aren't you lying?

An internal wince. Dammit, Anson, dammit. Come home and fix all this. Come home and fix me.

“Nah, nothing tonight," he said finally, voice almost cracking. “No one's around. But hey, don't matter, you're coming in tomorrow!"

Anson chuckled. “Hope so. I miss you."

“Me too, Ans."

Their conversation began to drift, talking about what they might do on the weekend, if anything. Eventually, they finished and parted with 'love you's.'

Ozzie sighed. He had no idea if he did the right thing. He turned Jaxon down. He got angry. He didn't have feelings for him anymore. Not in the way that it mattered. Right?

Maybe it was harder to settle than he thought. His heart was so full of Anson, his world so intertwined with his man. When that left, even for a while, it was like a great chasm opened up and Ozzie was left on his own again. Left to his own impulse decisions, good or bad. Was he really that weak?

What if I had been drunk?

Fear came back. He stared at his phone. He wanted to call Anson again.

He wanted him back. He wanted Anson's embrace and let the world fall away and feel like everything would be all right, forever, because Anson could take care of it.

Ozzie went to their bed, and wrapped himself tightly in the covers. He could smell his boyfriend here, at least.

Sleep didn't come easily.

-*-

When morning came, anxieties drifted into him. Excitement from his boyfriend returning, and worry. Worry, he had to admit, over Jaxon. Jaxon was broken and drunk and alone and he turned his back on him.

He didn't want to care. He didn't want to have any softness for Jaxon anymore. But he couldn't help it. No matter what, Jaxon deserved to be okay.

When he got to work, he found a moment before clocking in to check in shipping, a sort of basement warehouse where stocks and products went in and out. He caught up with a bear, a grungy old man named Herrick, taking a smoke before they started their shift.

“Hey, sorry to bug ya. You see Jaxon anywhere?"

The bear stamped out his cig.

“Jax? Yeah, he's here. Not gonna' be much help though, holy shit. He got wasted and we're probably sending him home. He bout' tossed his breakfast on the floor."

Relief. Ozzie sighed, rubbing his mane. He offered a 'thanks' and went about his shift. At the least, Jaxon didn't do anything stupid. He didn't want that on his conscious.

This relief was soon replaced by an almost untenable level of excitement. Ozzie could hardly focus on anything, constantly bugging his coworkers if they knew about the “big meet" in Porterdale. Everyone gave him different answers, and he caught himself looking out the window now and again. Jaxon faded from his mind, thank goodness.

By afternoon, Ozzie was worried there was another delay and Anson might have to change plans. But it wasn't until someone from accounting came rushing through sales that he realized they were probably back.

By clock out time, Ozzie practically dashed out to find Anson. He had to wait a while, as normally they met up after work, so he was left to sit in his car, tapping his foot with endless persistence.

But, there he was. The familiar silhouette, dressed in preppy business casual, walking around the company corner, spotting Ozzie's car. Ozzie flung the door open and rushed up to him.

“Anson!"

He couldn't keep his paws off the man. His man. They hugged, Anson offering a little 'oof' as they embraced.

“Hey, hey! Hon! I missed you!"

“More," Ozzie said, tail wagging furiously. “I missed you way, way more."

They kissed, though not too “loudly."

Anson chuckled. “Handsome bastard. You been okay?"

Ozzie nodded. A partial lie.

Then, he met it with something a bit more. . . forward.

“We're going home." He leaned into Anson's ear. “M'gonna suck the fuck out of your cock, you know that right?"

Anson twitched. He was well beyond the point of looking flustered from this kind of thing. Instead, he looked eager.

“Uhhh. . . all right. Get us home."

-*-

They were hardly in the door before Anson was a moaning mess.

Ozzie wiggled his hips and lead his man straight to the bedroom (Anson's own), before shoving him on the bed and wrangling off his pants. His muzzle parted and at once began to assault the hardening prick with delicate suckles, his lips wrapped firmly around the tip.

He paid extra special attention to the testes as well, procuring a sprawl of groans from his man. He knew Anson loved it, the way his warm, wet tongue lapped so lovingly against the shape of his balls. He liked issuing that kind of sight, that sense of submission: a cute 'yena boye slobbering over some nuts while a cock rested over his face.

Judging by Anson's twitching body, he was doing a good job.

Ozzie clamped to his man's knees with palms, bouncing his maw against the crotch. Slick, slurping sounds dribbled as free as the saliva from his jaw, tail wagging like a perverse conductor.

He always made sure to take a little longer at the tip. He figured Anson liked to see his crown so neatly sucked on, kissed at. Probably made him feel powerful. Good.

Ozzie was pretty hard too, but he didn't care. He just wanted to serve Anson, to please his boyfriend, forget everything else. If beer couldn't do it, well, he'd drown himself in a good ol' dick sucking.

Didn't take long for Anson to pop. Figured after the days of distance they were both pretty hungry. By the volume of things, looks like Anson didn't bother to “attend" to himself while out in Porterdale. This meant Ozzie's maw was a sticky mess of hot white, plenty to lick over.

After he cleaned up, Ozzie came back to their bed, where Anson had changed and put some more casual clothes on.

“Shit, Oz. Where the hell did that come from?"

Ozzie smirked, curling next to him. Light still filtered through their bedroom, but Ozzie didn't care. He could stay this way til dark. He missed the gravity of Anson next to him, missed his scent, his voice. . .

“What? I can't lick my boyfriend's dick?"

A raspy chuckle. “No, hah, you sure can. I just uh, wow, you were at it this time."

“I told you I missed you."

Ozzie kissed Anson on the cheek. Though, in the back of his mind, he wondered if he was over compensating. Proving to himself that he loved Anson, needing to express it again.

Anson caught him, held him softly by the cheek, and let lips press into muzzle.

“So you did. Gorgeous bastard."

Ozzie squirmed and fell into Anson's hold, neck under chin. There, he felt safe, like everything made sense.

He pushed away thoughts of Jaxon, about what it meant. For a while, he pondered telling Anson about what had happened, but, was it such a big deal?

But if it's not a big deal, why don't I tell him?

No, no, it wasn't that bad, right? He just went somewhere without telling Anson, failing to mention that the company was his old ex, and he got drunk enough to try and do something, and. . .

God.

Throughout the night, things felt normal. They ordered cheap takeout for the night and drank cheaper beer, catching up, thinking about the weekend. Ozzie didn't let the events of Wednesday put distance between himself and boyfriend. He just. . . needed time. He wasn't strong like Anson, but he would tell him about Jaxon, at his own pace. Other people hid worse, right?

He shivered. It was dark. Anson was sleeping, nice and close. But even there, Ozzie felt cold.

He clung to Anson's arm, holding tight, like his boyfriend might disappear if he didn't.

He tried to sleep, but nagging thoughts ate at him. All this frustration with Jaxon – how could someone so far feel so close in his head.

I don't love him anymore, if I ever did. So why do I care so much?

And still the answer came, the one that brought cold waves of realization.

Because if things were different, you would be with him instead.

He growled. Things weren't different though. He had someone else. Anson. His Anson.

So tell him.

A sigh. Ozzie looked at his boyfriend's sleeping frame once more. He was resting without a care in the world.

“I'm sorry," Ozzie whispered.

He closed his eyes, hoping for tomorrow.