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Reece. April 5 th

That morning I wake up to the smell the coffee. Literally. When I manage to find and shut off my alarm, I can hear that Aiden is already up and walking around. I drop by my little kitchenette to exchange insults before going to the bathroom.

"You look like shit, Pip" I mutter and take some coffee from his mug.

"Yeah, love you too darling," he replies flatly, flicking his ears. In the end, he did drink more than me, and he's smaller than me. He's definitely not in the same spritely mood as he was last night. I'm going to watch my boyfriend at the races today, so my mood is as good as it's ever been. Then I'm going to listen to him on the radio, and then I'll surprise him at his apartment. Even if he doesn't come out, I'll be back to meet him, and I'll tell him I'm proud of him no matter what because I am. I'll try to take it slowly, and not bring up his closet. Just going to let him figure it out for himself. Then I'll let him fuck me until I can't stand. My tail wags as I walk into my bathroom and prepare to shower.

When I see Aiden again, he looks as perky and well-groomed as he's ever done. I don't know how he does it. I text Paul, telling him that I'll be watching, and that I wish him good luck. He replies that I better prepare to see him win, and win in style, no less. Then he says something about claiming his prize which makes me flush warmly and hide my phone from my friend's curious eyes.

Aiden wants to come along with me to the track. I'm guessing he's just there to ogle my new boyfriend. I can't blame him, and I take him with me, waving the season ticket Paul gave me which lets me bring a plus one. I spot Paul walking around near his team's garage and point him out to my friend. From this distance, he's just a white speck against the black and gold cars. When he puts his helmet on, and the visor comes down, he becomes as anonymous as every other racer. I've got my eyes on car 31 as they line up at the start line.

I can't hear the garbled announcer over the din of the crowd, but there's a definite rise in pitch. It's currently 11:55. Five minutes. The crowd, the cars, the noise and fury, such raw experiences. Racing atmospheres are so intense. The press, flag girls and teams are clearing the track. The cars bark, and snarl and rumble to life. 11:59. We're on the second row. It felt so distant from the action when I was here for the first time and had my talk with the three aspiring racers in the topmost rows. Now I'm so close that I can almost reach out and touch the separating fence. A message pops up on my phone. It says 12:00 on the time stamp, and a single line is written in the message field.

Watch me, Spot.

10 seconds. Five. Pip yelling in my ear, three, two, one.

Time stops for an instant. Even through the windscreen and the helmet visor, I can see the penetrating, deep blue of his eyes. He launches hard, and lets the wheel spin, leaving thick black lines against the dark grey of the track. The cars shoot towards us accompanied by a wall of thunder. I clap my paws over my ear to distance myself from the onslaught of noise, but it settles in my chest and hammers my bones. Paul's car goes by. He holds up a paw towards the stands, and I can see he's looking at me through his clear visor. I start to put up my own paw, but before I can extend my arm, he's already gone past. In another second, his car is carving through the first corner, and he's gone.

Though our positions are great for the close-up action of cars going by, it also means I can't see much of the rest of the track. I can hear the noise as it dies down in volume and intensity, accelerating and quieting as they reach and go through each corner on the track. Almost immediately, the lap board across the track from us lights up with an announcement. Paul is in front, and his teammate Remy has dropped down to third. After what feels like an hour later, but is probably closer to two minutes, a car comes into view on the other side of the straight. It's Paul.

He's carrying good speed through the last corner, and the car chasing him, a white and blue one, has no answer to his acceleration. But as they come barrelling towards me, I can hear that Paul's car is straining, as if he's forgotten about the sixth gear, and gradually, the white and blue car is closing in. As they brake for the first corner, Paul turns in early to defend his line, hugging the red and white apex closely. The blue and white car has to go the long way, through the outside of the turn. As he accelerates out of the corner, his tires spin slightly, flicking his car into a slight drift, just enough to kick the back out a few degrees. Either as an intimidation tactic, or in an effort to block the exit of the corner and give him a clean run to the next. For whatever reason he did it, it probably would've worked, if the car behind hadn't been just the right spot to turn in underneath him. As Paul uses up the width of the track, wrestling his car back into line, the other car tightens its turn in, and slides up beside him. Everything happens in the space of a second or two, but from where I'm sitting, it's clear as day. They're side by side as they exit. As soon as I lose sight of the black and gold car, I'm fixed to the lap board. Their positions swap places a few times, before Paul again is on top, but that white and blue car is putting a lot of pressure on him.

I catch sight of my boyfriend again, as he comes through the final corner and onto the straight for the end of lap two. The white and blue car is behind him, but very close, and judging from the speed Paul carried the last time, he's going to lose his position down the straight. I can tell that he knows that. A puff of white smoke escapes from the tires as he accelerates. The car behind didn't spin its tires and is almost neck a neck with him. He regains traction quickly, but mistakes like that cost precious time. As they hurtle towards us, the second-place car has drawn level. The two racers are thundering down the straight side by side. I can hear them both changing into sixth almost at the same time. They're so close they look like they're almost touching, heat haze flying off them as they grow larger and larger in my view.

Suddenly, Paul's car does a strange, unnatural wiggle. A gasp ripples through the crowd. There's a puff of smoke from his left rear tire, then one from his right, followed by a shower of sparks from out the back. The back of his car does a little flick, and a shower of rubber, large chunks, is thrown clear of his wheel arches. He's suddenly, and violently, thrown to the side; his rear quarter panel smacks straight into the front of the blue and white car and his car tees itself across the other car's path. The driver of the blue and white car brakes, but it's panicked, and the wheels lock up, adding more chaos into the mix. Paul's car transitions into an uncontrolled spin, at almost top speed, long after the brake point for the first corner. He hits the red and white rumble strip, rear wheels first. What would be a gentle bump at road speeds, works almost like a ramp at that speed, launching the car into the air. It flies low, and straight as an arrow, a black and gold blur rushing past me, all the way across the gravel-trap without touching the ground. I feel the push from a wall of air and noise as Paul's car flies straight into the concrete and stops with a sickening crunch of metal. Debris follow him, some smaller bits of rubber and sparks shower the front rowers harmlessly, and they duck to shield themselves. The car comes to a smoking halt as the collective gasp of the crowd dies down. It happened in less than five seconds, but it feels like two weeks just went by.

The marshals frantically wave the red flags, and an ambulance pulls onto the track, howling, and flashing its lights. The second-place car is stuck in the gravel trap, its driver untangles himself from his own car and sprints over to number 31.

I can only hear muted snippets of sound. I can't process what I'm seeing. My entire body feels stiff and frozen. Aiden is shouting. I turn to look at him. His words seem so distant, and when our eyes meet, he stops and his ears droop. Then time suddenly shifts to a breakneck pace. I feel a tug at my sleeve. The arctic fox with the well-groomed fur wants me to come along. To where? I look back, and the car is on a truck. The ambulance is gone, and Aiden has resumed yelling at me.

Suddenly, we're in a car park. Around me, people with cameras and reflective vests bearing the omnipresent 'Press' legend are getting into cars and roaring off. Aiden stops one of the cars with a smack on the hood and screams at the driver. The next thing I know, I'm forced into a tight car with several other people and we're going down the main road.

"Reece?" Aiden speaks quieter now, and I start to take notice. "Oh, for Christ sake, Reece!"

"What... What was that?" I groan. "Where's Paul. Where's P-Paul... Oh shit..." I feel panic rising, as the realization runs cold down my spine. "Oh, no... no-no-no-"

"We're going to the hospital, I think," Aiden says, frantically checking the road every few seconds, He's clutching my arm. It hurts. He's got strong paws for such a small fox. I bite down my panic, and it takes every effort I can muster. Tears start welling behind my eyes as we're pulling up outside the hospital. Around the A&E there are teams of journalists, some on their phones, some shoving cameras and microphones in the faces of anyone who gets too near.

"Aiden... Aiden, where are we going?" I ask, shakily, as I see Aiden pulling me away from the emergency rooms. I don't know how long I can take this pressure. He doesn't answer, just looks around, still clutching my arm and pulling me along. I want to just collapse; I want to sit down and cry. Aiden keeps me on my feet. He pulls me into the lobby and pushes me in front of the reception while he dials a number on his phone.

"Talk to her, Spot," he says, then puts his phone to his ear, as if there was something more important he needed to do.

I want to reply, I want to slap him, I want to hug him. But I'm being confronted by a concerned looking vixen in a nurse's uniform, and I'm forced to say something to her.

"Can I get... where... What happened to Paul," I stammer, voice cracking and weak.

"Please sir, can you be a little bit more specific?"

"Paul, PAUL," I shout, but it doesn't seem to take. "Courage, I mean, Paul Courage... H-He just got in?"

I can't stop the tears from coming again.

"Please hold sir." She looks at me sympathetically. I hold, as quietly as I can muster between the sobs and sniffles. In the background I can hear a sharp, Australian selection of swears coming from Aiden's phone, even though it's not on speaker.

"Sir?" The vixen behind the counter says, "Mr. Courage has been transferred to the surgery, we cannot let you visit him at this hour. I'm sorry. There's a waiting room in block C. It should be the nearest one. Just follow the markings painted on the floor." She points to a yellow line, leading around the corner and away into a long corridor.

"Thank you," I say, but she's already helping someone else, and doesn't pay me any attention. I trace my way to the end of the yellow line, following Aiden. At the end of the line we emerge into a large room filled with brightly coloured plastic benches. The benches are mostly full of journalists with recording devices and camera teams. They are being dismissed, one by one, by a friendly looking bear nurse. I manage to catch snippets of broken inquiries exchanged between the staff and the journalists. Only family and relations are allowed to be in the waiting room. I prepare my lines so that I can get them out as quick and clean as possible. No, I'm a relation of Paul. Aiden is a friend of mine. I'm not his family. She comes over to us.

"Sir, I'm afraid I must ask you to-"

"I'm his family... I mean, not... I'm in a relation. A b... I mean a close friend... of Paul Courage," I stammer out. She has already hesitated, probably from at the sight of my red eyes and damp cheeks, not present on any of the journalists. She looks between me and my arctic fox minder. Either she can't tell the difference between Aiden and Paul's species, or she has a heart in that big, fuzzy chest, because she doesn't question me, and lets me sit down on one of the benches.

"Do you know how long it will take?" Aiden asks.

"I really can't say, that's for the doctors to decide. They're currently in the operation theatre. I'm afraid there's very little information as of yet. The only option is to wait, sir. I'm sorry." She glances at me and gives me one of those apologetic smiles that all these hospital people seem to have in store. I spend some time staring into nothing. I can't seem to convince myself of what has actually happened.

"You just sit here Spot, I'll get us something to eat," Aiden announces. I look at the clock, and find it's been an hour since we got here, at least. Pierce arrives in a cloud of shedding white fur and strong Australian lingo. Then I guess he spots me, because he stops talking.

"Hey. You're that kid from the bar last night," he exclaims, seating himself next to me. I turn to him with my still red eyes.

"Christ," he mutters, looking visibly uneasy. "Nobody tells me anything here." He shifts in his seat and turns away while he complains quietly to himself for a moment. "Have you heard anything? Reece, was it?"

I study the watch on the wall. When I speak my voice is cracking, dry and shaky.

"I don't know. I saw the crash but-"

"You saw it?"

"I saw it."

"'Strewth, don't beat yourself up. You don't need to say anything, I know how it works." Pierce pats my shoulder. I try to use my relaxing technique to focus on his warm paw. It feels identical to Paul's. I have to remind myself that he's not Paul, and yet the similarity is unsettling. But despite how strange it feels, it helps.

Aiden returns with some snacks a little later, and start talking about work with Pierce, quietly so as to not bother me. I catch the sound of a noise which drowns their words out, like a loud howl of a wolf. It makes my blood run cold, and I almost panic, thinking it was the last sound I'd hear from him. But the sound was just a nurse walking through one of the doors to the operating room. When I listen again, it doesn't sound remotely like how Paul howls. We wait for two more hours before an important looking doctor comes over to us. He's a lynx, with neatly clipped fur all over, and shaved almost completely down to the skin from his forearms and down.

I can't stop staring at his massive paws. All I can think of is how they would clutch a dainty scalpel as it cuts through skin and fur, and that's as far as my train of thought allows me to go. I shake with another sob, and don't hear what he has to say.

There's a tug at my shirt again. If it's that arctic fox, I swear. If he's going to pull at it so much, can't he just take it off? He can have it. I look up, and I don't even try to hide my annoyance. Aiden is wordlessly pointing at the back of a white wolf, disappearing through the recently opened door which had been closed until now. My ears perk in hope. This must mean that something has gone right at least. I leap out of my seat and follow them.

The first thing that hits me as I enter the little room is the smell of disinfectant and industrial cleaning agents. I don't smell any wolf in here. It's strange, I always smell Paul, even from the next room over sometimes. I hear Pierce's voice, as we shuffle into the room.

"Paul?"

They must have cleaned him with something stronger than the shampoo he uses, because I can't smell him at all, even when I'm just a few feet from him. He's got a medical brace around his neck, and his naked torso features several patches of bare skin. His right leg is in a cast. He's almost invisible against the white bed sheets, pillows and blanket. He turns to face us, but his eyes are half closed, his ears are splayed, and he looks for all intents and purposes like he's high. I thank god that I didn't have to see him in a worse state, although it's painful enough to look at him like this. There is no blood, there are no big wounds, no missing parts, and he's conscious, but only just

I manage to exhale, and it feels like I haven't been breathing for hours. Pierce is by his side. I should be by his side too. I step over to the other side of the bed.

"He'll come to in a few minutes," Aiden explains, stepping into the room a few moments later. "The doctor says he's only got superficial damage and some fractures, but they don't want to rule out the possibility of a concussion."

Paul looks up, studying me like he's only just noticed that I'm here. He smiles and his ears flick weakly. That look means more to me than he could ever realise. My wolf closes his eyes again, and settles back onto his pillow

"You must be a really good friend of his, huh?" Pierce says, while extracting a single toothbrush from his inner jacket pocket, placing it on the bedside table. Paul glances between us, furrowing his brows.

"You could say that again, sir... I mean Pierce," I mumble weakly. I want to stroke my boyfriend's head, and hold his paw, and lie next to him like we used to do. But I would be worried about hurting him. He looks frail.

"You should'a seen him when he was nine, mate," his father suddenly says out of the blue. "Fell down a tree and broke his paw. Now, back in those days, he wasn't so tough as all that, but I told him I'd buy him a toy if he kept his tail straight."

"Huh. Did that work?"

"Not a damn," Pierce laughs. "But he got that damn toy anyway. Well, he thought he'd done well, so he figured he was due that reward. He's always known how to squeeze some goodwill out of his old man. Ain't that right boy?"

Paul doesn't respond, but groans. I figure he can hear us. It's only fair, he got to talk to my dad, so I should get to talk to his. Pierce sounds like he has a boundless warmth to his voice, as if there's nothing about his son which gives him cause for concern or complaint. He does, of course, not know the big secret. And he won't for the time being, I'll keep Paul's secret safe.

"Has he been in hospital often?" I ask.

"Oh, he's been in and out like a sailor in a fuckhouse," Pierce says, "When he started out in karting, he lived up to the family name. Those little things can be quick, and there's little protection on them. Then there was his bush bashing dirt bike which claimed a few ribs every now and then. Yeah, this cub has seen some action."

Another groan emerges from the bed between us, and we both turn our attention to the half-focused wolf between us. I immediately meet his eyes, which he's turned to me. They practically glow blue against the whiteness. His right paw, nearest me, slowly lifts from his side, but another groan of pain bubbles up from his throat, before it drops to the mattress again, then he sighs.

"R-Reece," Paul whispers.

"I'm pretty recognizable," I say quickly, flicking my ears as I notice Pierce's expression.

"Your old man is here, Paul." He places a paw on the wolf's shoulder. Paul turns to him and smiles weakly.

"Hey dad," he mumbles, before turning back to me, fixing me with his heavy-lidded eyes. "That you. Reece?"

"Sure is." I return his smile and laugh a bit nervously from the sheer relief of hearing his voice again.

Paul's eyes seem less and less heavy with each minute. He tries to get a better seat on the bed, but he groans drops down. A tabby cat nurse enters the room with a tray of pills and a pitcher of water.

"Good morning Mr. Courage, or perhaps afternoon is more appropriate?" She thrills. "Please don't mind me, boys. I have something here for his pain. Fractured ribs, broken leg, whiplash... And they say you got away lucky." She shakes her head, pours a plastic cup of water, and steps over to Paul's bedside.

When she tries to bring the pills to his muzzle, he gestures for her instead to drop them into his open palm. Slowly but deliberately, he forces his paw up from the bed, and pops the little white capsules in his muzzle. He then repeats the process with his plastic cup of water, but he spills a third of it on his chest.

"His left leg will be sore for a few days," the nurse tells Pierce. It's not difficult for her to guess which one of the people around Paul's bed is his nearest relation. "The right one will be in a cast for at least six weeks. We'd rather keep him here for the time being. With the ribs and the legs, he'll be more comfortable here, and the doctors wish to rule out any chance of a concussion. You can call us if you wish to visit outside the regular hours."

The nurse hands Pierce a little note with a phone number, the room number, and a few names on it, then explains some closer details about Paul's injuries. I drown her voice out and quietly turn my attention to my wolf. Checking to see that Pierce isn't looking, and not caring that Aiden is, I put my paw over Paul's. Two weeks ago, I couldn't imagine myself caring who saw me holding paws with another boy, but now, it's becoming second nature to check. We share a look while his father is distracted. His eyes are distant but I'm feeling my worries melt away against the warmth of his paw. He's got his ears turned to the nurse, and it doesn't look like he's enjoying what he's hearing, but he squeezes my paw back all the same. When the nurse leaves the room, we pull our paws apart before Pierce's eyes detach from her swaying rear.

Pierce goes home, and Aiden goes with him, less than an hour later. But I stay. Even though Paul is tired, and only awake briefly for a few moments, I sit at his bedside until I'm no longer allowed. When the clock moves past 8 pm, I'm asked to leave, and I kiss my wolf goodbye. He smiles, but doesn't open his eyes, and I leave him there. I hope he has nice dreams at least, I'm not so sure I will.