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From the hallway, the dorm room sounded quiet, so Jeff opened the door. The light was on and so was the TV but it had been muted. He found Oliver in bed, the fox taking quick shallow breaths, twisted together with... a wolf? Looked like it. Sure did. Reddish fur on her. Both had T-shirts on but not much else. The way they still held their hips together suggested they'd finished recently. And very recently. The sheets were a mess half draped over the two.

"How was she, Oli?"

The fox leapt half out of his hide, a wet pop sounding. The she-wolf gave an involuntary gasp.

"Jesus, Jeff. Could you knock next time?"

Oliver bundled the sheets up around the two of them, hiding their shame.

"Who's the lucky woman?" Jeff asked.

"We'll speak when you learn some decency."

"God, fine. I'm sorry. Whaddya want from me?"

"That'll do I guess," Oliver mumbled. He gestured to the girl. "This is Renee. She's my new girlfriend." He grew a worried look. "We are dating, right?"

She laughed, though obviously uncomfortable by the presence of Oliver's roommate. "Uhh, yeah. What did you think we were?"

"Oh. Good." Oliver smiled. He kissed her, then remembered Jeff. "Um. Some privacy please?"

"Goin' for round two, huh?"

Oliver stared, silent.

"Round three?"

When the fox said nothing, Jeff shook his head.

"Jesus, round four? Fucking liar. I'll believe it when I live it. But if you are telling the truth, you're one lucky bastard." He grabbed his laptop from his bed and slung it into his backpack. He headed to the door and nodded at the two. "Round four..." he muttered. "I'll be damned if that wasn't round one."

"Goodbye, Jeff," Oliver said.

"I'll see you later," he said, hand on the door. "You too, bitch."

"Excuse me?" Renee growled, bolting straight up. She stared Jeff down evilly. He just laughed, pointing at Oliver.

"I was talking to him."

Jeff shut the door. He pretended to walk away but stood and listened. After a minute or two of muffled conversation, he heard the tell-tale sounds. Then he shook his head, sauntering down the hall.

"Oliver you lucky sonofabitch. How do you do it?"

It was with great difficulty that I first broke up with Rian. I shouldn't say first because it was in truth the only time I broke up with him. And even then it wasn't quite so much of a "break up" as it was things playing out the way they inevitably had to. It all starts, of course, with the drink. One ought never begin a story about Rian without mentioning the drink. Odd then that I should choose such a late point to really hone in on it, but I never was good at telling stories. I don't know how he became so dependent on the stuff. I guess it happens to a lot of people but probably not quite for all the same reasons. He didn't like to talk about it with me when he sobered up so I never got definitive answers, but I think I have it figured out. For starters, he was always a shy one. This became especially apparent when he made the effort to get clean and suddenly found himself unable to interact with others. There's a reason in that last year or two -- the only time we were ever seriously together -- he acted so terribly reserved. It's because he couldn't use alcohol to limit his inhibitions. But I think his reasons went deeper than that. It is of course true that Rian was deeply depressed. He hid it okay at first. Not once I got with him, but anytime before that, you wouldn't have known. That constant state of inebriation kept him from admitting it. Not truly, but it allowed him to temporarily escape. And so for a good many years he was reliant on it. All through his relationship with Colin. That must have been a dark period. He never talked about it much. I imagine that it was a lot like his time with me. It was during this time with Colin that he tried to quit drinking. He realized that it was no longer keeping away his dark thoughts but strengthening them -- this much he told me. So he quit. But he'd been scarred in a bad way. And when he found out about Colin -- well, things went south. And fast. Started drinking right away, right after. People have asked if Rian got together with me because I reminded him of Colin. I think the opposite was true. Rian and I were briefly together in my early college days -- before he met the other fox. I ended that relationship -- the first and only break up -- and I think he turned to Colin then because it reminded him of me. But maybe that's selfish. I don't really know why he took up with that damn fox. I can't fault Colin though. His vice was no worse than mine and truly our vice was one and the same. Neither of us was content with what we had. Colin had other guys on the side, just like I had Ashleigh. I have to applaud him actually. Because he knew how much it would hurt Rian to have his vice exposed. So he hid it. I couldn't even do that much. I made no attempt to hide to Rian that I was also busy fucking Ashleigh. And things ended much worse after he was finished with me. But I promised to tell you about our break up. It wasn't much, really. It began with my irritation at his drinking problem -- not long after he had puked while trying to give me head. I mean, that was just icing on the cake. By now I had a long list of complaints. I was tired of him never showing up to dates, tired of finding him passed out in his bed, tired of tasting beer every time we made out, tired of his inability to properly have sex (I could fill a whole book with all the times he came in his pants just humping my leg, and that's not even the extent of his escapades). It was simply impossible to have a relationship with him. He was either wasted or dreaming about the next time he could be. Our meeting on the beach was one of his rare dry spells, and even then he had insisted on stopping at that damn bar. "You've got to stop," I said. I figured he might listen, because he had only had one beer and was still functioning. "Stop what?" "You know," I replied. "I'm afraid it's not that simple." "But you've got to." "One day." "When?" "Not today," he sighed, "You must understand that this is not a simple matter of wishing. This requires a level of dedication and willpower that I quite frankly don't have." "It's important to me that you stop." "But not imperative?" "It could be imperative." "Oh, come now, Oli." "I'm serious." "How much?" "Enough." "Ask again when you're more serious." "Rian, I'm not fucking around. I'm tired of this." He grew very still and finished his second beer and reached for a third. "I only wish that you were," he said, very softly. "You're the only person that's ever cared about me." "I'm sorry." "Don't be. This is my fault." "I'm still sorry." "I just can't stop. Not now." "I know." "And you won't change your mind?" "I'm sorry. It's just really taking a toll on me." "Think it over again," he said, and I told him that I would. "Well? Have you thought again?" I told him that I wasn't done thinking. Three beers later he had me in his bed and was still dressed and holding me down and I thought, Not again. Please not again. I cannot recommend you have sex while blackout drunk. It is much more satisfying both to look your lover in the eye and fully register their presence, and to remember the experience when morning next arrives. It is a much more honest love when no outside force influences the love-making. It was never making love before, when he was drunk. Even when I tried getting as drunk as he was it still wasn't making love. Since then I've never liked to drink and fuck. But on that day I had not learned my lesson. He passed out on top of me and I made no move to clean him up. I rolled out from under him and I curled up beside him and cried softly for a good long while. Then I pulled my shirt on and left him. He must have gotten the hint.

Although I saw him wandering the campus many times afterwards, he never approached me again till long after college.

Rian walked to the apartment. He had a box tucked under one arm. Does he remember? he thought. Does he remember the day? Sure he does. Four years today. He couldn't forget. How could he? He couldn't forget. He buried his face in his scarf and reached into his pocket. The key fit the lock perfectly and the bolt slid back.

"Colin? I'm home," Rian grinned. "I asked for the day off, and for once I got it." He walked to the kitchen and set down the box. Carefully unwinding his scarf, he listened.

"Colin?"

Rian checked his watch. He wore it upside down. He had seen his father do it once, long ago, and had copied him. The attempt to be more like him hadn't worked. Habits didn't connect you to a person. But habits died hard. The face of the watch read: 12:00. It was afternoon yet.

"Still sleeping, Colin? That's not like you." It wasn't out of the question, but it would be unusual.

"Colin?" he whispered it this time and pushed the bedroom door open a crack. He stopped.

Through the opening he caught a glimpse of the fox hunched over. Moving rapidly. Rhythmically. Rian pushed the door open widely and stepped in. Colin yelled and whipped the bedsheets up. They came up like a great white wall and fell in a slow tumble and when they hit the bed they partially concealed two forms. The buck looked almost too young. His horns had been shaved to short stubs, some attempt at feminization.

"Shit," Colin mumbled. "It's not what you think."

Rian said nothing.

"Let's talk about this."

Nothing.

"Don't cry. Please. Get over here. Let's talk about this."

"Fuck," the skunk finally said, letting the box fall to the floor. Something inside it shattered. "You're a fucking monster, Colin."

"Rian..."

He walked away quickly. The bathroom door. He opened it and went in and shut it in one motion.

"Now look at what you've done," the buck mumbled.

"Shut the fuck up. You're to blame too."

"I'm not the one dating him."

"Quiet you."

The buck shrugged.

"Rian!" Colin called. He pounded on the door. "Rian, come on. We can't talk like this."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Rian! Open up. Please."

Nothing.

"Did you lock the -- Dammit Rian, open up!"

Colin groaned. He ran his hands through his hair and walked away.

"Okay. I'll wait here. You'll have to open up eventually. We need to talk about this, okay?"

It was a long time till he could bring himself to do it. There was nothing else left but it scared him still. For years he had been scared because he knew the moment was coming but now it was here and he couldn't put it off. It was funny though -- once he'd resolved to do it it wasn't frightening anymore. So long spent worrying over this? This was nothing. This was easy. This was an easy pain. The warmth slicked his fingers and he smiled. This was an easy pain. Harder. Deeper. Tugging and tearing. He couldn't stop his fingers from trembling and then it was his whole body. He felt cold. It was easy. Why had he worried? There was nothing easier than this. It was a welcome relief.

And then the pain stopped.

He said, He never loved me, I never loved him. He said it. Yet I didn't know that I could believe him till he told me the whole story, and even then it was still hard to swallow. Colin said, "Do you want to go out?" Rian thought for a minute, and his thought was, It hasn't been long since Oliver. "Come on," said Colin, "We'll have fun. Dinner just the two of us. Maybe hang out after. Don't make me ask twice." And so he said yes. It wasn't much but it was enough to get the gears spinning in his head. Sure enough, he thought, sure enough Oliver was nothing. I don't need him. I don't need him and never did and there's more out there for me. Colin will do fine and if not him then another. I don't need him anymore. Colin and Oliver were both foxes but neither one of them actually cared about him. Oliver cared too much and Colin cared not enough, and both these things were ruin. "Come on," said Colin. He tried to take off Rian's shirt. "Don't make me ask twice." "No," said Rian, "Not right now." "You're such a fuss. Why don't you stop struggling." "I don't want to." "Goddammit you, you agreed to this." "No. Please." "Listen here you little fuck I don't care what you think." Rian started to cry. "Hey listen I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it." "Please stop." "Shhh you're gonna like it just fine." "Please oh please oh please no." "It's gonna be just fine. Nice and smooth just like you want it." "I don't want it." "I know you want it. You're gonna be great." "Please, Colin." "You're such a star Rian. You're doing a great job." "Oh God." "God ain't gonna help you now. You're mine." "God oh God oh God --" "You're a star Rian. Keep it up." He held him down and on him and kept his wrists on the couch and kept him on and kept at and he was made with him with Rian without Oliver with Colin and they were one and they were done. Rian began to cry again. "Shhh," said Colin. He began to kiss him. Rian said, "Go away." "You know that's not what you want." said Colin. Rian's tears were hot and wet. He had a rough few weeks, but by the end of it he said he loved him and they were together a good few years after that. I got Rian probably two years after I graduated and that was probably two and a half or three years after I was with him first so that meant that Rian and that damn Colin were together for at least four and a half years, but it was never healthy no matter how long it lasted. I remember the poor guy kept crying about what he'd seen or heard or been hit with and he said, He never loved me. But I think Rian did love him at least a little by the end of it. Funny how things work that way.

There was a time when things were happier. I know, it almost seems unbelievable. If I've led you to any conclusions by now, it's that things were all sad, all the time.

Not so.

Indeed, for a period of time, things were quite happy between Rian and I. This is not because we became incompatible, and were once a much more viable couple. Nor is it because I became engaged to Ashleigh, ruining what little chance Rian perceived we still had together. It is also not due to the fact that Rian had ceased drinking by this point (although that much was true).

No. Things were happier simply because they were. It is the way of things. Seasons change and moods differ and anything can fly away with the wind. One day, it seemed a good many reasons conspired against the two of us, or perhaps the wind whisked away our happiness. Whatever. All that meant was that, for a time, we were happy. You can't have everything. I'm glad he had at least a brief span of enjoyable days.

During this span of happy days we took a vacation once. Some friends of his were spending a weekend on the Colorado River, where they owned a small but exceedingly luxurious house. Though Rian was only a friend -- and I, a friend of a friend -- we were allowed to come and stay. Things may have been awkward if they had known the true nature of the relationship between Rian and myself. And I'm sure some of them guessed. Most of them had known Rian for some time and were informed about his leanings. Whether or not they knew about my part in all of this... Well. Like I said. I'm sure some of them guessed. But no one said anything. And thus it happened that I didn't feel quite so strange in this company. Company that I barely knew. They were good company all the same.

That vacation was, as I remember, one of the better times in both of our lives. We drove together, me at the wheel, him in the passenger seat, winding through the mountains and hills of the Eastern Californian landscape. Before we crossed the border into Arizona we had already seen a good deal of windmills, white, stark, and alien. They must have been newly erected because Rian didn't recognize them and he had been to this house on the river only about two years prior. As I drove, Rian played the part of the DJ, subjecting me to his taste in music. I didn't mind though. We had pretty similar musical tastes, and he even introduced me to a few artists I had never heard of, like Trifonic, or Being As An Ocean. The former being a sort of IDM electronic project and the latter being a Christian post-hardcore band -- local too. They originated in Alpine, and the two of us actually went to see them once. I thoroughly enjoyed most of the music that Rian showed me; I can even listen to some of it today without too much pain.

We stopped at a fast food drive through and parked just for the sake of a respite. We bought two ice cream cones and enjoyed them before continuing.

After arriving it only took a few minutes to carry in the groceries and belongings. Then it was only a matter of finding a way to pass the time. A dinner was cooked and eaten hastily -- so hastily I barely got more than a morsel -- and then the two of us headed outside. Rian's friends mostly sat and drank beer and smoked. They all smoked, and all of them smoked Marlboros --

Reds or 27s, never menthols. They had brought several cases of Cerveza Pacifico Clara (good), and a case of Bud Light (fine, if not a little pissy). The backyard was right on the river, or, at least, a tributary of that grand canal. It was an easy time that we passed there. Rian tried his hand at fishing and reeled in two fish quicker than you could blink an eye -- a blue-gill and a bass. It was impressive, but still illegal. He threw the fish back in the waters.

We swam, too. The water thick and smelling strongly of plant life. The ground mucky underfoot with vines that whipped up and around your calves. It constantly felt as if something might grab you and pull you under. Nothing ever did but the thought was there. It only added to the sense of daring, of adventure. We played cards all gathered together around a lantern, and then once everyone had gone inside to sleep Rian and I went back to the docks. I took the fishing rod and bait. He took a lantern and his weathered copy of A Farewell to Arms.

I feel it is in everyone's best interests if I elaborated. The book was one he had mentioned as a favorite four or five years earlier. I believe I already mentioned having read it and being impressed, but perhaps not blown away. Maybe it was my admiration for the skunk more than anything, but I found myself returning to that book as time passed. I'd like to give credit to Hemingway but I really do think it was Rian that made me fall in love with that little piece of art. That little piece of him, as I used to think of it.

Regardless of whose fault it was, I had at some length become enamored with the book. I suspect this delighted Rian. Seeing me take an interest in something that he liked, as well as taking an interest in a famous piece of high, classic literature. Whatever the case, we talked of it often. It was a favorite source of discussion and reference and by the time of the river I had already read it more than once. I was not unfamiliar with the struggles of Henry and Catherine.

And so it happened that we whiled away the night on the dock. The wood swayed gentle underneath us and Rian sat and read out loud by the pool of light disseminated by the lantern. I stood and cast my rod endlessly but never caught anything.

After a time, Rian cleared his throat and looked up.

"Throat's a mite dry," he said, "I'll be right back. Care for a beverage?"

I said, "Sure." And I meant it, but I kept my eye on him.

He came back to the dock stepping lightly to avoid plunging into the water. He carried two Cokes. I caught his eye once, searching me. He looked abashed. I didn't say anything and neither did he. He'd not touched a drop of the beer all day. Not even when it was offered to him. I would have said something, told him I was proud, or to keep up the good work, but he'd have been too embarrassed.

I just smiled instead. He knew what I meant.

If ever for a moment you think that Rian and I were an ill fit, I beg you to reconsider. You are probably right, of course, but it does me good to think that you at least had hope for us. I never did. I wanted him but I knew it was bad, knew it right from the start. I suspect he did too. But he had to pick a way to go out and he picked me. I should feel honored I guess.

It still just stings.

"Do you want to know what I think?" said Rian. He'd had one beer too many but that was one less than usual. Oliver was partially responsible, having offered to join him for a drink rather than suggesting they get out. He sat on the skunk's dorm bed and Rian sat on the floor. Kurt was in the corner on his computer, trying his damndest to ignore the conversation.

"What do you think?"

"I think I've figured it out."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know."

"You know that I don't know."

"I think there's two ways to go about it."

"To go about it?"

"Yes. To go about life."

"I absolutely do not understand you."

"Allow me to explain."

"Please do."

"Well, here's how it is. There's two ways. The way of men and the way of gods."

"You're drunk."

"Yes. But only drunk could I think of something this brilliant."

"You're full of it."

"Most of us are just men, okay? What I mean by that is -- most of us settle. We don't think that we can reach greatness so we don't try. We spend all our time glorifying the few of us who don't settle. All the while we let life go on without ever reaching out and taking control. It's apathy I guess. It's a pestilence."

"You're drunk and full of it."

"The others are gods. Not literally, but they may as well be. They take charge of their lives and don't leave anything to chance. Or to others. They take control of everything and lead life the way they want to. 'It matters not how strait the gate.' You see, it's this kind of person who gets somewhere in life."

"You're full of it."

"Maybe, but only a little bit."

"And what are you then, huh? Man or god?"

"Me? I'm only a man. A lowly man with his belly to the ground. But I'm trying, of course. I'm ever striving not to be."

"That's enough to set you apart, isn't it? A little higher than the rest of us, because at least you're trying. Perhaps there ought to be more than just two groups. A third group for people like you."

"Let's hear your suggestions then."

"I don't know. Seraphim?"

"Seraphim! My, but don't you think highly of me."

"Well then, what would you have it. Nephilim?"

"You're great fun. I remember why I like to have you around."

From his bed on the other side of the room, Rian's roommate Kurt called out:

"You'd have anybody around if they'd drink with you."

"I take offense to that," Rian said. "And so does Oliver, by degrees."

"Don't speak for me," Oliver said. "I can defend myself."

"Then defend yourself, dammit. Are you a man or a god?"

"'I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul.'"

"Work on your allusions... They've got to make a little more sense than that."

"I'm only trying to impress you."

"It's working," Rian said. "I almost think I don't need a drink."

"It's that time of the night again?"

"I don't know, is it?"

"'I am the master of my fate...'"

"But I am the captain of your soul. Get over here. That's it, get right here."

"For Christ's sake you two," Kurt sighed, "I'm sitting right here."

"I forgot," Rian said. "Blatant displays of gay make Kurt uncomfortable."

"I'm not gay," Oliver said.

"Of course," Rian said, kissing him. "No one said you were, darling."

"Only, I know I'm not. I mean, I don't know what I am. I don't know, but, I'm not gay."

"If you insist, then it must be true. Let's not press it, hmm?"

"I'm not gay but I do like it when you kiss me."

"All right. Either you can't take a hint or you don't care," Kurt said, dropping his laptop computer in a bag and standing. He walked to the door and said, "It was good to meet you again Oliver. Take care of Rian, but not too much. Enjoy your evening."

The door opened and he was gone.

"That was odd."

"Shut up," said Rian, "Shut up and kiss me. I'm drunk."

"Drunk and full of it."

"Oh, shut up. Shut up and kiss me again."

It was a splendid evening all right. But all the while he couldn't shake an odd feeling. It was a problem but only a small one. Nothing that a few more beers couldn't fix. And soon enough it was a splendid evening. A very fine evening indeed.

When the others went to bed Oliver fumbled for the lightswitch but realized the lights were already off. The glow in the room was cast from the fire. Rather than retire to his bed he sat and stared into the flame. Its death was slow but the throes were beautiful and warming. He didn't know how long he sat. Footsteps padded down beside him after a time.

"Can't sleep?" he asked Ashleigh.

"I'm afraid not. Can't you?"

"I'm choosing not to."

"Whyever would you do that?"

"Why, because the fire is warm, and filled with splendor."

"You try too hard."

"I'm a poet, dearest."

"You mean you wish you were a poet."

"Yes."

"Listen," said Ashleigh, "I'm sorry. I was a little heated at dinner tonight."

"There's really no need to apologize. It was a discussion amongst friends, that's all."

"Then we are friends."

"Of course."

"Are we nothing more than friends?" she asked.

"What else are we supposed to be?"

"I rather thought you were my fiance."

"And that's about as good a friend as anyone can find."

"Tell me I'm more than a friend, Oli."

"Of course, dearest."

"Say it."

"You're more than a friend."

"What am I?"

"You're my everything. My fiancée. I love you dearly."

"It's no fun when you pretend," she stared into the fire.

"No."

"I don't suppose you can do anything about that, though."

"No."

"Will you kiss me?"

He kissed her. It was not like the other times. He felt hollow.

"Tell me you love me."

"I love you, Ash."

"You mean it?"

"Honest."

"Okay."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault that you're a such a bad liar."

"I know it isn't."

"Didn't you ever care for me?"

"Of course I did..."

"What changed?"

"I'm not sure."

"Oh, don't tell me. I don't want to know what's changed," she smiled a little. "Let's go on pretending then. I don't want to have to give anything up. Let's go on pretending. You and me. Let's be married."

"And married we shall be."

"Let's go on pretending."

"I was only pretending not to love you, Ash. Of course I love you."

"You mean it?"

"Honest."

"I'll see you in the morning, Oli," she kissed him once more. "I do love you. Even when you make me cry."

"Good night, Ash."

"Good night, Oli."

She went to her room alone and he with the company of his misery. It could have been worse, he supposed. It could have been far, far worse. In a couple days' time he'd be back in San Diego with Rian. And then what? Then he'd have to really be serious. It could have been worse, yes. He went to his room and drew the sheets about him and watched through the window the snow fall to the ground.