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"Discrete Details: Part 7"

By S. K. Gwinne

August 2018

The words were out before he could catch himself, and for a moment that stretched on terminally Dennis and Wes stared at each other in disbelief.

"You do?" Wes asked plainly.

"I..." Dennis fumbled. Ah, fuck it. "Yeah..." he said at last. "Yes. I do."

"Why was that so hard to say?!" Wes shouted in frustration.

"It's a big declaration to make!" Dennis defended, somewhat queasy at having said it.

"What's the big deal?!"

"It can't be taken back!"

"Well, why would you?!"

"Because..." Dennis fizzled in defeat and scratched his forehead awkwardly. "Because... if the other person doesn't feel the same way, then..." He shrugged and pursed his lips.

Wes' expression softened, and Dennis felt the palpable consideration in the tiger's mood. It was out, he'd said it, no reason to worry about it now. He could only stand by and wait, allowing Wes the freedom to trample his profession of love or embrace and affirm it.

"Do you?" Dennis asked, feeling more vulnerable than he had in a long time.

"What?" Wes asked innocently.

"Feel the same way!" Dennis clarified in an annoyed and somewhat desperate tone.

"I thought you said I shouldn't say it," Wes offered with a shrug, the angle of his shoulders spraying shower water outward for a moment

"It's too late for that now," Dennis argued, shaking his head. "I said it. I didn't mean to, but I did it, and now I have to know because if you don't feel the same way then I've just fucked this up."

"Dude, what is wrong with you?" Wes asked, brow furrowed in irritation and concern. "Why does this have to be such a big deal?"

"Dammit, Wes!" Dennis swore angrily. "This is why I didn't want to date a high-schooler. You don't know what you want out of life and you don't understand why this is serious."

"Then explain it to me!" Wes shouted, shutting off the water. He pointed accusingly as he spoke. "You're the experienced one, so help me understand."

"I'm not your teacher, Wes," Dennis retorted, crossing his arms over his chest as the air in the shower began to cool. "I'm supposed to be your boyfriend, that's supposed to mean we're equals."

"Well, I'm obviously not your equal," Wes spat, "as you constantly remind me that I'm romantically ignorant. And I do know what I want or else I wouldn't be here."

"That obviously didn't factor into your decision-making yesterday, did it?" Dennis said under a hooded brow.

Wes straightened and set his jaw, clearly affected by the accusation. His shoulders shifted and his posture became less comfortable, more threatening. This was no longer a simple disagreement, and Dennis knew but didn't care that things were about to get hurtful.

"So you _are_upset about me having sex with Patrick," Wes leveled in a low, guarded tone.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Dennis retorted, brushing past the tiger and grabbing a towel, drying off as quickly as he could. "If this relationship had any potential you wouldn't have rushed to give yourself to the first person who showed an interest."

"I explained the situation to you," Wes argued at a higher volume, "it wasn't some booty call or casual encounter!"

"I know, Wes, I heard your reasoning," Dennis replied coolly, closing the distance between them and looking Wes in the eye, "but let me tell you what it sounds like to me: It sounds like your feelings for your friend are so strong that the agreement you made for us didn't matter, that being faithful didn't matter, and when you couldn't get ahold of me on the phone you decided it was more important to share an intimate moment that should have been reserved for us with someone else, and my feelings didn't matter."

"I..." Wes stammered.

"I know, Wes," Dennis went on, "I know I said it was okay, but now I've put myself out there and you encouraged me to be emotionally involved with you, first by saying we should be boyfriends and at the same time suggesting we be exclusive. Did I put myself in a compromising situation with Diana? Yes, yes I did, but I recused myself because I was committed to us."

"I apologized," Wes defended quietly, dripping on the tile floor. "I know it was wrong, but I came here to tell you because it was the right thing to do and because I wanted to fix this."

"I appreciate that," Dennis offered with a curt nod, tossing Wes the damp towel, "but now I don't know if I can trust you."

"This is bullshit," Wes growled in frustration, "we talked about this earlier. You can't just back up and decide that you're suddenly angry about it."

"I wasn't," Dennis replied, walking to his bedroom and grabbing some clothing, "I was just sad and disappointed, but that was before you pried a confession of love out of me and things got real."

"I didn't make you say anything," Wes argued, coming around the corner while still drying himself off.

"You insisted," Dennis cried, "and I wasn't ready, I made that clear!"

"So you don't love me?" Wes asked pointedly.

"I do!" Dennis shouted in desperation, and felt the tears well up in his eyes. "I love you a lot, so much that it hurts to think about you when you're gone. I think about moving in together when you get out of college and all kinds of hopeful little dreams. But then I remember that you're sixteen fucking years old, and then you have sex with your best friend, and all I can think is I've seen this before and I don't want to invest years of my life in someone who doesn't know what love is and isn't going to make it two months into a relationship without giving themselves to someone else."

"Christ," Wes swore, an air of insensitivity in his voice, "why does everyone close to me have to cry all the damn time?"

"Wow, that's what you're hung up on?" Dennis chided, upset and hurt. He wiped the belligerent moisture from his eyes. "Do you not see what's happening here?"

"No," Wes beathed impatiently, pulling on his shorts and turning out his shirt, "but I'm sure you're about to educate me."

"I'm ending this now."

He watched the revelation settle into the beautiful tiger's features and felt the stabbing pain of grief. Wes' mouth opened and closed several times as he thought of what to say, but when nothing came out Dennis shook his head and continued.

"You're not ready for this," Dennis said, bowing his head and closing his eyes as he collected his emotions and tried to calm himself. "That's my fault. I knew you were too young, and I was foolish to think I could just mentor you and leave it at that. I didn't guard myself and I let this get clumsy and messy, and for that I apologize, but I can't stand by and do high school and all it's insanity again."

"I..." Wes began, breathing irregularly and clearly upset. He stepped forward and extended a hand pleadingly. "I can be more mature. I won't make the same mistake twice. I... just give me another chance."

"This isn't a matter of chances, Wes," Dennis sniffled, shaking his head, "and I'm not angry at you, really. I'm angry at me for doing this to myself again. You'll have plenty of opportunities to learn what you want and grow to be a great boyfriend and lover... you're already very good in many ways. But I'm twenty-seven, and I've spent too much time setting aside my needs for others' comfort."

"You're right," Wes said, hesitantly taking Dennis' hand in his and holding it to his chest, "I know you're right, but please don't break up with me. Isn't this supposed to be hard? I mean... aren't we supposed to have these moments, but stay together anyway because we love each other?"

"No, Wes," Dennis replied, withdrawing his hand sadly and looking away. "Nothing about this is how it's supposed to happen. I'm sorry."

With that he quietly stepped around the tiger boy in his bedroom and made his way downstairs. He paused at the far side of the living room and glanced toward the kitchen. His clothing from earlier was in a heap on the floor or scattered over the bar-stools. The immediate memory of their last intimate encounter caused his throat to tighten and he had to focus to keep from breaking down. Emotionally, he wanted nothing more than to run upstairs and ask forgiveness, to beg Wes to stay with him, but he choked it down.

The heart is a liar, he told himself, and mine is no exception.

He tried not to think about Wes, to not accidentally recall every great moment they had spent together. He tried to purge the phantom sensation of the tiger's smooth, black lips on his own, the taste of his breath, the comfortable feeling of his masculine, Pantherine hands on his narrow, Cervine waist.

He could barely keep it together and cupped his chin in his hand, trying desperately to disengage himself from his feelings. He heard Wes' careful footfalls on the staircase and imagined his beautiful feet, his strong calves, vibrant colors...

"I can't let it end like this," Wes said quietly from behind him. "I'll do anything, Dennis... please."

Dennis felt himself trying to accept Wes' pitiful request... he didn't want to end it either. Maybe he could make an exception, give the tiger another chance... he loved the boy, there was time, he could easily forgive and forget, move on, try again. But he knew the fear of being hurt again, of Wes growing up and realizing he had been naive. He had seen it before, had suffered rejection from boys like Wes... and he couldn't subject himself to more lost years of shooting-star romance that was beautiful for a moment and burned out too quickly. He stifled a sob and, after a pause, shook his head slowly.

"Can I ask a question?" Wes inquired, stepping closer. Dennis felt his presence behind him, and remained stoic despite the sensation of the tiger's finger tracing a gentle line down his back. "Are you sure you're not... just afraid of getting hurt? I mean... I'm not suggesting you, uh... or, that that's not, like, valid, but... isn't that always the risk?"

"Look, Wes," Dennis began, forcing himself to breathe, but refusing to turn and face the Pantherine boy behind him, "you're a good boy, and kind... I wish it didn't have to be like this, but it's not right to keep this going. We're at different points in our lives, and it's just not wise and not right for either of us to bind the other to something neither of us are equipped to handle."

"I'm begging you not to do this," Wes said quietly. "I know I'm young and inexperienced, but you can be my stability--"

"But I can't," Dennis interjected, turning and taking the tiger's hands in his own. Wes' eyes were large and sad, and he could see the grief behind them. "I'm not good at relationships, Wes, I never have been. I can't be your stability because I am not stable. I am afraid. I don't know what else to say about that, I just am. But it comes down to this: I should never have agreed to be your boyfriend. I shouldn't have taken my clothes off for you that first night--"

"Please don't say that..."

"--and not because it wasn't good. It was. But this is what happened. You aren't ready for this, and I'm not strong enough or understanding enough to fall in love with you during the years you need to spend figuring out who and what you are."

He saw the reluctant comprehension, the rationalizing. He let Wes press their foreheads together and already missed the next time they could have touched.

"This really sucks," Wes whispered.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Does this mean I can't call or text you?" Wes asked, looking up. "Can I still see you?"

"Not for a while, please," Dennis breathed. "I don't think I can handle it."

In the moment that followed Dennis felt the looming 'goodbye' get closer. Wes haltingly leaned closer and tried to kiss the Cervine male, but Dennis turned away at the last moment and pursed his lips.

"You should go, Wes," he said, and released the tiger's hands. He walked over to the kitchen and gathered his scattered clothing, rolling it into a ball and setting it on the breakfast bar, then opened the front door and held it.

Wes nodded slowly, sadly, and plucked the keys from his pocket as he walked out, pausing only long enough to caress Dennis' fingers where they closed around the wooden edge. Dennis waited a moment and closed the door, then sat on the floor, placed his face in his hands, and tried to remember to keep breathing.

* * *

Anton poked at his salmon absently while he waited for Diana to answer the question, the faintest smile on his lips. She twirled her fork expertly over the few remaining asparagus on her plate while contemplating the question.

"Probably the conservatory," she answered.

"Garfield's?" he asked, clarifying. She nodded.

"I like plants and nature, so it was neat seeing the variety they support. Some of those species I'd never seen before."

"I definitely can't remember their names," he stated matter-of-factly, "but I've always been partial to the trees with the dark red leaves."

"Oh, yeah," she agreed, nodding, "I know the ones you're talking about. They're pretty."

He returned to his fish dinner and immediately thought about Wes. He wondered what the boy would be eating tonight without him... not that he couldn't go get food or order pizza or anything. He had a debit card with plenty of allowance money. They just usually ate together when they could, and he worried that Wes would get down being alone these last few days... Then again he would probably be spending the majority of the weekend with Dennis.

"You look distracted."

Anton looked up suddenly and came out of his thoughts. Diana smiled at him sweetly, but curiously.

"Ah, I... was just thinking about my son."

"Wes," she clarified.

"Yeah... just wondering what he was doing this evening."

"Why don't you call him?" she asked, taking another bite of her asparagus.

"That kid never answers his phone," Anton grumbled, rolling his eyes. "I tried earlier anyway. It's the holiday weekend, so there's no telling what he's up to."

"Does that bother you?" she asked.

"Well... no, not really. We're just very close." Anton shrugged. "As close as we can be, I guess."

"I hope you don't think it an intrusion if I ask," Diana began, setting her fork down, folding her hands in her lap and leaning forward, "but where is Wes' mother?"

"We've been divorced for ten years," Anton answered plainly. Diana's eyebrows rose.

"That's a long time to be alone," she commented. Anton pursed his lips and nodded.

"Sometimes I forget," he said, "but... sometimes it becomes painfully apparent."

"I'm sorry," Diana said quietly, sympathetically.

"It's not bad," Anton replied casually. "I have a good life. I work long hours, but every free moment I have I spend with Wes. I want to make sure he has a good childhood--his mom, uh... well, she never wanted to have kids, and while she would never say it out loud, she shows it by not spending time with our son. I think I've done a good job of making up for it, though. Wes seems happy, for the most part. I, uh... yeah. I have a good life."

"A _complete_life?" Diana asked pointedly. Anton halted himself before providing the typical, knee-jerk answer of 'yes.' Honestly, it wasn't a complete life. He had known for years that something was missing, maybe many somethings. It wasn't lost on him that one of the things definitely missing from his life was female companionship, romantic love... and it wasn't lost on him that Diana knew this.

"No," he answered honestly, "not complete."

There was a pause, but then she smiled and leaned back in her chair.

"Mine either," she replied.

He watched her retrieve her wine glass and hold it to her lips, taking occasional sips and staring out the window. He thought about inviting her to come home with him, but considering they had only known each other for a day and change, he thought it might be a little forward. Then again, she hadn't showered at the hotel before they left and neither had he... if she wasn't eager to go back to where she came from, maybe he could offer her somewhere to get clean and be comfortable.

"If..." he began, and she turned to regard him with interest, "uh... you aren't eager to get back to wherever home is..." He ran a hand over his head, ruffling the longer fur nervously. "Uh... that is, if you needed somewhere to get cleaned up and get comfortable..."

"Are you inviting me to you home?" she asked.

"Well, I don't want to be forward or, uh... you know, sleazy," he added.

"Well... I don't think it's sleazy," she said, cocking an eyebrow in confusion.

"You don't," he clarified.

"I'm not ready to go back," she sighed, "not yet. And I need a shower and some sleep." Then she grinned. "And we still have a few days to figure each other out before our carriage turns back into a pumpkin, right?"

"What?" Anton asked in confusion, then recalled the reference subject matter. "Oh, I mean, yes. Until Tuesday... Heh, pumpkin."

"Will I get to meet Wes?" she asked.

"Uh, sure, I don't see why not," he answered, "assuming he's home."

"Would he be out on a school night?" Diana asked in surprise.

"Well, it sounds bad when you put it like that," Anton replied, "but Wes has a... well, a close, uh... a romantic friend that he spends a lot of time with."

Diana frowned.

"You mean a girlfriend?" she asked.

"Well..." Anton breathed awkwardly, shifting in his seat, "uh... no, it's..."

"...a boyfriend?" Diana asked interestedly.

"Well, yes," Anton answered, pursing his lips.

"I gather you're not altogether excited about this," she suggested, a look of thinly-veiled disappointment on her face.

"No, it's not that," Anton corrected, shaking his head. "It's just that he only recently came out to me, and he seems to be doing it in stages... slowly. I'm just hesitant to tell what is technically his business to tell or not to."

"Ohh," she responded, comprehending the cause for his stammering hesitation. "That makes sense. That's good of you."

"I just want him to be happy," Anton assured. "But... anyway. Should we head out then?"

"If you're ready," she said with a smile.

Anton dropped several twenties beside his empty plate and stood, quickly rounding the table and pulling Diana's chair out for her. The Cervine doe appreciated the gesture and took his arm on the way out the door.

Driving to the house was uneventful and contained surprisingly little conversation, which was just fine with Anton. Unlike Wes, he preferred moments of quiet and reflection. He could be close to someone in silence. Wes insisted on filling silence with words. He sighed at the thought of Wes and wished the kid would just send him a text or two. He would have to hold an uncomfortable conversation about what that phone was for and what he expected if he continued to pay for it.

Upon arrival he noted that Wes' car wasn't parked in the driveway or out front.

"Doesn't look like Wes is home," he commented.

"Aww."

"I'm sure he'll turn up some time this weekend," Anton assured, though he had his doubts.

He opened her door for her and led her into the house, allowing her a moment to acclimatize while he deposited his wallet and keys and turned on some lights.

"You have a beautiful house," Diana commented, stepping through the living room tentatively and staring out the windows into the backyard. "A pool, too, huh?"

"You know tigers and water," Anton chuckled, then shook his head at himself for the stupid joke. "I'm going to use the restroom real quick. Go ahead and make yourself comfortable."

He left her standing at the back windows and made his way to the guest bathroom since it was closest. I occurred to him while relieving himself that there wasn't any toilet paper or towels in this bathroom... not surprising since it never had occupants. At least the bed had sheets and a comforter. He secretly hoped she wouldn't want to use the guest-room though.

Upon re-entering the main area of the house, he quickly realized Diana was nowhere to be found. He glanced around briefly before seeing movement in the backyard and found her standing by the pool. Anton casually opened the backdoor and stepped into the cooling Autumn air, sniffing the breeze as he went, and paused with a smile when she turned to look at him.

"It's almost too cool now for swimming," he said with a shrug. Then his eyes gradually widened as she grinned widely, turned on her heels, threw her arms wide and fell in backward. The splash was significant, spraying over the edges of the pool at several points. Anton walked to the edge, brow furrowed in concentration, and watched her rise to the surface, brushing her hair back as she did. She glistened in the evening, sunset light and her big, green eyes beckoned him.

Without hesitation, he stepped into the water, soaking his slacks in an instant, and waded out to the Cervine beauty peeking at him over the rippling surface. She sidestepped him playfully, but he came on, then extended his hand in offering. He watched her ponder his unnamed offer before slipping her fingers over his and letting him pull her closer.

He didn't bring her all the way to him, but instead slipped his arm across her shoulders and slowly swung her through the water. She caught on and leaned back, letting him carry her along. He tried not to notice how her shirt clung to her flesh or her dark red hair lay across her cheek and jawline.

"This is like being baptized in the new," Diana whispered softly, eyes closed and enjoying the moment.

Anton stifled a chuckle, not at all sure what that meant, but wholly unwilling to interrupt the moment. He continued to drag her across the surface until she pulled her legs in and lifted her head, effectively halting his process and coming to stand on her own just a foot or more from him.

"You're right," she said, shivering briefly, "it is getting a little too cold for swimming."

"I'll get us towels," Anton said quickly, wading toward the shallow end of the pool.

"You'll get the carpet wet," Diana pointed out as he climbed onto the porch, and only then did he realize he had fully intended on stripping to his fur without giving it a second thought. A force of habit.

"Uh..."

"Let me do it," she offered, walking through the shallows and offering him her hand for support. He helped her out and watched nervously as she took off her soaked T-Shirt, revealing a lacy, white bra over pretty, little breasts. Anton blinked and looked away, then stole another glance as she wiggled out of her denim shorts, exposing rounded hips and white, lacy panties. He blushed and had to focus hard to prevent an erection. When Diana leaned back to gather her hair into a ponytail and squeeze out the excess water she caught him looking and grinned at his expression of guilt. "Pretend it's a bikini."

"Either way," he mumbled bashfully as she stepped into the house and looked around. "Uh, the master bedroom and bathroom is to your left." He watched her massage her cold arms and trot into his bedroom, and he immediately regretted not being in there with her.

He watched water pool at his feet. His fur would trap a large amount of water anyway, but he didn't need the added weight and content of his outer clothing. He took off his button-up shirt and slacks, careful not to snag and pull down his undergarments. Wet, they didn't leave much to the imagination anyway, and he secretly hoped she wouldn't mind. But when, after several minutes had passed, she didn't return with towels, he started to think she might have gotten lost.

"Diana?" he called casually, cupping his manhood discreetly and taking a few steps forward. She didn't answer, so he shook his legs drier and stepped into the main area of the house, peering into his darkened bedroom, squinting into the shadows. "Diana?"

Anton laid a hand on the door and pushed it open the rest of the way, walking along the wide path between the bed and the dresser against the wall, passing the closet and entering the pool of light emanating from the master bathroom. It only occurred to him too late that she might be indecent or actually using the restroom, but before he could be ashamed of looking he found the slender, beautiful, Cervine female standing at the sink, a large towel wrapped around her.

"There you are," he said playfully, and she jumped in surprise. It was only then he realized she held something in her hand, and quickly identified it as the framed photograph he had kept of himself and Sophia with Wes as a toddler from many years ago. "Uh..."

"I'm so sorry," Diana stammered in shame, setting the picture frame down carefully.

"It's not a problem, of course," he answered, stepping forward and taking the extra towel she had collected from the counter. He stole a reminiscent glance at the photograph. "It's not a secret or anything."

"Is that... your ex-wife?" Diana asked carefully, clutching the towel to her chest.

"Yeah," he answered with a sigh, "Sophia."

There was a momentary pause during which he noticed Diana's concerned... maybe intimidated expression.

"Something wrong?" he asked, touching her arm sensitively.

"She's just..." Diana began, then gathered herself together and smiled up at him. "She's very pretty."

"She was," he said quietly, glancing at the golden-haired, pale-colored female tiger in the photo. "Still is, actually."

"Hm."

"Sorry, I'm sure that's not very sexy to hear a guy reminiscing about his ex."

"Actually," she corrected, tilting her head sideways, "it's sweet. I'd be more worried if you hated her."

"Why's that?" he asked.

"Just... if you can go from loving someone enough to get married and have babies to hating them and wishing them ill... well, I don't know that that's someone I would want to invest in."

Anton chuckled and nodded in understanding.

"That makes sense," he replied. "They might do the same to you."

"We've all got to protect ourselves from making bad decisions if we can," she mused.

"At my age I certainly get that," he offered, pursing his lips and nodding, "but you've got to be young enough that there's room for mistakes."

She smiled sweetly, showing some of her pretty, white teeth.

"You can never be young enough that being foolish doesn't hurt."

"Wow," he said, raising his eyebrows and exhaling hard, "that's, uh... that's deep."

"And true," Diana offered soberly.

They stood there in their towels for a moment, and Anton got the feeling he was forgetting something. He looked around for a moment before it came to him.

"Oh, I was going to show you to the guest suite so you could shower."

"Thank you," she said quietly, and followed him through through the bedroom and living room to the guest room.

"This is your room," Anton said, glancing around to make sure there weren't any obvious messes, "if you want it."

"Is this where you want me to sleep?" Diana asked, taking in her surroundings and then fixing him with an expectant stare.

Anton held his breath and tried to think of what to say. Was he allowed to ask her to sleep with him already, to suggest that they spend the night together? He'd had a few girlfriends in the last ten years... some consistent, but none of them serious; some sexually involved, some not. This felt different though...

"Well..." he answered quietly, "I'd like it if you, uh... well, if you stayed with me tonight."

"In your bed?" she inquired, clarifying.

"Uh, if you're comfortable with it, of course," he added quickly. "You don't have to by any means."

She seemed to consider his proposition, and Anton had to force himself to act only mildly interested and breathe regularly. She bit a fingernail in thought, then looked up at him and smiled.

"I'll think about it," she said.

Anton laughed nervously and nodded, but gave her the knowing grin he gave Wes when the boy was up to mischief and he knew it.

"You're teasing me," he observed.

"I'm going through the formalities," she corrected.

"Formalities?"

"Well, a respectable girl can't just rush to make love with the most charming and interesting stranger she's ever met," she explained. "She has to at least pretend like she hasn't already made up her mind. Otherwise the charming stranger might get the wrong idea about her."

Anton couldn't believe he could feel any more for someone he had just met... maybe it was being enamored with being loved at all, but whatever it was he was almost ready to throw all caution to the wind and suggest that they elope. He was confident he would never find another like her in this world, and if he lost her... he'd spend his last penny and last breaths scouring the Earth to find her.

"I only have one idea about you," he answered her honestly, raising a hand to stroke her cheek affectionately, "and that is: You're proof that love at first sight may actually exist."

She blushed and bit her lip, looking away bashfully, but covering his hand with her own and holding it to her face. Every nerve in his body roared to take her to his bedroom and make love to her, to hold her naked flesh against his, to give her his essence and then promise her forever. He swallowed around the desire building up and genty withdrew his hand.

"I'll leave you to get cleaned up," he said, smiling curtly before turning away.

He took several deep, steadying breaths as he strode from the guest room to his bathroom and closed the door behind him. Anton placed his hands on the counter and looked up into the mirror... it was the only thing he could think to do to bring his mind back to reality. He had only ever really loved one woman, and that was Sophia, but in all his years no woman had ever really, truly, loved him. Enjoyed his company? Yes. Born him a child? Once. But loved him?

The possibility, the thundering hope that Diana could come to feel that way about him--if she didn't already--burned within him like a roaring furnace. If he had to keep his hands to himself to prove his commitment to that possibility he absolutely would. But it sounded like she wanted to be with him, to accept his love and return it in kind.

He removed his towel and laid his hand on the trapped erection pointed down and away in his boxer briefs. He wanted to relieve the pressure, to please himself so he could clear his head, but he refused to jeopardize this evening with something so foolish. He had just removed his undergarments and was preparing to turn on the shower water when he thought he heard Diana talking nearby.

"What's that?" he asked loudly, grabbing his robe off the hook and cinching the tie around his waist. He opened the door and leaned out, turning his ears and picking up the sounds of distress in a woman's voice. He quickly trotted out into the living room to find Diana with her phone, hurriedly typing out something. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

"I have to go," she answered, and he could see the combination of fear and disappointment in her features. "Family emergency," she explained, "I'm so sorry, Anton."

"No, uh... of course," he stammered. "Can I--can I give you a ride?"

"I ordered a ride," she said, then looked up with a serious expression on her face. "I need to borrow something to wear," she said, "my clothes are too wet."

"I can get you a shirt," Anton offered, "but... there's no way you can wear my pants."

"What about Wes?" she asked. "Is he closer to my size?"

"Uh..." Anton pondered, and sensed her urgency so simply shook his head. "Run upstairs to his room and see if something fits you, his room is a hard left on the landing."

Without another word she ran upstairs, long legs visible under the towel before she disappeared behind the partition wall. Anton tried to process his surprise. Had they talked about her family at all? What could possibly be wrong? He hoped nothing too serious. But she was leaving. This was terrible timing.

A minute later she came downstairs wearing a long T-shirt and spandex shorts... a combination she managed to make very attractive despite the fact that they were intended for a larger male. He stood his ground, somewhat dejected and extremely disappointed, and let her come to him.

"I'm very sorry, Anton," she apologized, eyes wide and pleading. "I promise I'll make this up to you." Then her phone chimed and she looked down at the screen to whatever alert it gave. "My ride is here," she explained and squeezed his hand before turning to leave.

"Hey, wait," he called out, and she stopped and turned. "Isn't, uh... Cinderella supposed to leave her slipper or something?" He chuckled in a poor humor. "How am I supposed to find you?"

She hesitated, then smiled sadly and returned to him. He watched her grab a magazine and pencil off of the sofa and scribble something in the white space on the front cover, then hand it to him. He looked down to see her first name and phone number.

"Call me tomorrow," she instructed, placing her hands on his while he held the stack of bound papers. "This isn't goodbye," she promised, "you have my word."

"This is the scariest 'not goodbye' ever then," he replied quietly. "I can already tell you there's something between us, Diana, and I mean to see it through."

"Me, too," she assured, and her phone chimed again. "I have to go."

"I hope everything turns out alright," he said. She smiled, kissed his mouth quickly, and turned to leave. He watched her retrieve her small purse in the foyer and step through the door, closing it behind her.

He stood there in the dim living room considering the poor turn of events, tempted to be discouraged by the emergency interruption. But he looked down at her number again and decided to bolster his hope. He walked to the foyer and retrieved his phone from next to his keys on the little table, opened his messenger app, and added her number in the recipient field. After a brief pause he typed, If this is the woman who changed my life in a day, send me a sign_._

He waited a few minutes, nervously staring at the screen, and it didn't seem like he would get a reply. Then a little icon of a high-heeled shoe appeared on the screen... a glass slipper, followed soon after by a little red heart.

Anton breathed a sigh of relief and closed the phone display, turning it facedown on the table and leaning against the wall for support. He told himself not to worry, not to be discouraged. Things didn't always work out in his love life, but he had to have faith that this thing would. He would be patient and maintain hope, and anticipate the next time he could see the beautiful, Cervine Cinderella.

* * *

Dennis sat with his back to the sofa, staring at the wall by the staircase absently. He hadn't felt like doing anything else, afraid of any memory that would spring into his mind if he explored his empty house where, in such a short time, he had created some of the most beautiful memories he knew of. Some of the most painful memories he was forced to hold on to.

He heard the front door open loudly and someone run inside.

"Dennis?" Diana called anxiously. "Dennis?"

"I'm here," he replied, resting his chin on his arms where they lay folded across his knees. He listened to her fast-walk his direction uncertainly. When she found him she fell to her knees and grabbed his arms out from under his face, rubbing her fingers across his forearms exploringly. "I didn't," he assured her.

"Anywhere?" she asked seriously, checking his legs, lifting his shirt to check his abdomen and chest, then taking his face in her hands and fixing him with a worried stare. "You didn't hurt yourself?"

"No," he answered plainly, and she fell on him, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him tightly. "I threw out the razors and knives... I'll have to go to the store and get more tomorrow, I guess."

"I was so afraid I'd get here too late," she whispered.

"I wasn't going to kill myself," he chided, feeling the effects of the booze when he tried to balance with his sister on top of him.

"I wasn't going to take that chance," she said, leaning back and looking into his eyes. "When we talked on the phone you sounded just like you did after Adam."

"I didn't have alcohol back then," he informed her, reaching out and grabbing, then hefting, the nearly-empty bottle of cheap whiskey for emphasis. "Makes this shit a hell of a lot easier."

"Well..." she began, taking the bottle from him carefully and setting it aside, "definitely don't cut yourself now, you're blood's too thin."

"I won't," he replied, sniffing and rolling his neck, "because you're here."

"I'm sorry I haven't been here," she apologized, stroking his face lovingly. "Can you tell me what's going on?"

"It's not your fault," he mumbled. "I broke up with my boyfriend."

"Oh..."

"It was terrible... I've never broken up with someone I'm in love with before. I was trying to drink enough to forget, but... I don't think that actually works."

"Why did you break up?" she asked, getting under his arm and pulling him to his feet. "What was the argument?"

"He cheated on me," Dennis explained, "but, uh... that wasn't the biggest reason." He let her guide him upstairs and he had to focus to not start recalling memories of Wes. "He's just... we're at different parts of life, and... uh... something about me being too scared that he would figure out he didn't love me... he's just too young."

"Too young?" Diana asked, leading him into the bathroom and setting him down on the toilet.

"Wes is still in high school," he explained, scratching his dumb muzzle and then raising a finger for emphasis, "but he's legal. Probably the most beautiful tiger I've ever seen, though, which is... a thing, I guess."

"A... tiger named Wes?" Diana inquired.

Dennis squinted at her through the bright bathroom lighting and nodded. She was staring at him... why?

"Is there something... on my face?" he asked. Diana didn't answer. He sort of watched her turn on the shower water and take her clothes off, then he lost track of her. "Hm... sucks. Maybe I should call him and ask him to take me back. Do you, uh... d'you think he would? 'Sprobably a bad idea though..."

"Raise your arms," Diana ordered, and he slowly complied. He felt her take off his shirt, then unbutton his shorts and pull them off as well.

"Thanks... I, uh..."

"Up now," she said quietly, stabilizing him as he stood. He let her pull him a few steps, then decided to get in the shower. The first wave of water hit him and he flinched, painfully aware of how uncomfortable it was.

"Too cold," he complained, and Diana reached behind him and tweaked the nob. The water got significantly hotter, and he rolled his shoulders in appreciation at the warmth. "Nice... I'm kinda tired, I think."

"Don't fall asleep yet," Diana said, lathering him up with soap. She massaged his neck and shoulders, behind his ears, his chest and his abdomen. It was heaven to him, and he wasn't about to argue. She paused just long enough to get more soap, then lathered his hips and buttocks, under his tail, and gently cleaned his genitals.

"You don't have to do that," he said.

"It's okay," she replied, working down his legs, then rising to clean his arms and hands. "I can smell the alcohol coming out of your pores already. And anyway, you're in no condition to do this yourself. Go ahead and get under the water."

Dennis complied, letting the shower carry away the suds and filth, and watched his sister clean herself as well. He realized she hadn't cleaned the top of his head or his face, so he struggled blearily to find a bar of soap, then got enough on his hands and worked it into his scalp and on his face. When it washed away he was afraid he might not be keeping his eyes closed tightly enough, but didn't feel any burn.

Dennis focused on the torrential cascade of hot liquid pouring down and over his back, crashing off his legs; on his neck and down his chest, over his manhood and inner thighs. Then it ceased, and he felt Diana's arm brush his side.

"Let's get dry," she suggested, and he let her guide him to the cyclone drier, a single stream of hot air blasting rivulets of water from his hide. Then they were heading to the bedroom, and he was sitting on the bed. "Drink this." He squinted at the glass she offered him.

"Vodka?" he asked, taking the vessel and raising it to his lips.

"Not hardly."

At first he didn't want the water, but found himself drinking it all in one draught. He let her take the glass from his hand and watched her pull his covers back for him, then slid in as best he could, settling his head on a pillow while his sister tucked the covers under him.

"Don't leave me," he said quietly. "I don't want to be alone."

A moment later he felt the mattress shift as Diana got onto it, sliding between the sheets and scooting next to him. He extended his hand and she took it, squeezing his fingers, then laying their hands on the bed between them.

"Sorry for running you off the other day," he mumbled.

"Don't be," Diana whispered, wiping a tear from her eye.

"Are you sad?" Dennis asked.

"For you," she admitted, kissing the back of his wrist. "I hate seeing you in pain all over again."

"I'm sorry you're stuck cleaning up the mess again."

"I'd rather it was me than anyone else."

He smiled at her, happy to have her so close. Then she lifted his arm and scooted under it, pressing herself against him and nuzzling under his chin. It felt good to not be alone. He felt each swell and release as she breathed, the weight of her head on his neck, and the pressure of her arm wrapped over his ribs.

But something about it felt unfamiliar, out of place. Shouldn't the head and face have been larger, the fur longer, the arm stronger? Shouldn't the the breaths have thrummed in a deep chest and blew on his ear, hot and alive? Longer feet should be intertwined with his, and with a stouter leg between his knees. As the compound memory of holding Wes surfaced, so did the grief and the tears. He sobbed and gasped, letting the memory torture him, unable to hide from it.

Diana squeezed him closer, and he felt her tears drop onto his throat and splash onto the sheet beneath them.

"Why am I so bad at this, Dee?" he asked in mourning. "Why can't I give the good ones a chance?"

But Diana didn't answer, because they already knew the answers... there were two of them. He had trusted Adam for years and been brutally rejected when the moment of truth came about, so he didn't trust anyone who claimed to love him. And then, trust was a choice he had consistently denied to make... some day he would have to find the courage to throw himself on the altar of chance and let someone have the opportunity to be his love or fail him again. Someday he would have to grow beyond the pain of loss and rejection and the fear of it all happening again, or he would live a life riddled by unfulfilling relationships, misuse, and loneliness.

He wept hard for several minutes, holding Diana to himself. The memories played before him with boundless clarity before fading to strange dreams, and then to nothing, as he eventually succumbed to inebriation and fatigue and fell asleep.

* * *

Wes sat in his car in front of his house for an hour, waiting for his eyes to stop being puffy and red, waiting to not be sad beyond measure. He tried to think of any way he could fix this situation, any way he could convince Dennis to give them another chance, but every time he came to that point he always remembered that it wasn't a matter of doing. This was a 'being' problem, a matter of being too young, too inexperienced, and being too careless with the gift of someone else's heart.

A subtle flash caught his eye and he looked up to see the front door swinging open, catching light from the street lamps and reflecting it out. His dad stood there in shorts and a T-shirt, peering into the dark at him, waiting for him to come in.

Wes took a deep breath and turned off his car, making sure he had everything before stepping out and securing the vehicle behind him. He saw his dad's appreciative smile and shoved his hands into his hoodie defensively, walking across the lawn to the concrete walk leading in.

"It's awfully late, buddy," his father observed with concern. "Sorry I've been gone these last few days. it's been..." When he got to the door and looked up, his father's face turned from happy to sensitive and concerned. "What's wrong, Wes?"

Wes opened his mouth to answer, but no words would come out. He tried again, but couldn't speak. Instead, his throat tightened and the sobs came forth. He made to cover his mouth in shame, but his dad was faster, stepping forward and wrapping him in a secure embrace, squeezing his arms and holding him close.

"It's okay, buddy," his father said, that familiar, soothing voice from over the years, that voice trying to be strong but riddled with concern. "It's okay. Whatever it is, it's gonna be okay."