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"High on the waves

You make for us

But not since you left

Have the waves come"

Deftones,

'Anniversary of an Uninteresting Event'

Kaleb.

Kale.

That wolf.

_The_wolf.

The last time I saw him I-

No. The last time I saw him we-

The memory hasn't faded at all. It's not quite so searingly vivid as what Marty did to me - or what I did to him - how could it be? But two years on it's still crystal clear.

I remember his arrival. We met at the same airport which Eve, Jay and Feather arrived at earlier today, and we hugged, pressing our bodies together for a long time before speaking. The first thing I told him was that he looked good, he did. He always did. That gray wolf has a deeply frustrating level of natural sex-appeal. He doesn't have to try at all, he can just throw on any random thing, not even bother brushing his hair or fur and be eye-catching, handsome, masculine, dominant, sexual.

He told me I looked good too. I had put on a few pounds, but maybe I wasn't looking so bad. I was trying for him; I was well groomed and in a carefully selected outfit, trying to serve up the cutest and hottest version of myself that I could. I guess I had succeeded.

In spite of the passing of almost a year and the drama of our last meeting, I still felt a certain tug towards him, a sense of understated, unfulfilled desire. It's not like we hadn't spoken in all that time. In fact, we'd messaged often and even called with some degree of frequency. I was scared at first that I'd fucked things up by kissing him, but I hadn't. He more than forgave me.

Adrian hadn't joined him for the visit. The wolf's foxy boyfriend was busy with work, or was at a prearranged social fixture, or had a family emergency? I don't recall. It hardly mattered. We both knew the real reason he wasn't here: he didn't like me very much.

I don't think he hated me per se, but we were never all _that_close when I was in the States to begin with, and after making out with his man before I left the country, of course he wasn't going to try and maintain a particularly high-investment relationship with me and, perhaps more to the point, of course he didn't have the highest opinion of me. We were acquaintances, on totally cordial terms, but nothing more than that.

I took the wolf back to my house, the atmosphere between us quickly, and disconcertingly, revealing itself as somewhat terse and fragile. Little of meaning was spoken between us, we stuck largely to small talk and the kinds of vaguely affirmative things you say when you're glad to see somebody you haven't seen in a while. The house was rather bare and largely unfurnished when we got there; I hadn't long since moved in. Still, he was impressed. We got a little into things, talking about how we'd been these past months, this almost-year since it all went down, about our mental health and the strange fortune of the money that was injected into our lives as a result of all that trauma. Still, I couldn't help but feel that so much was left unsaid between us, and so much else left undone. Neither of us seemed to be fully present or real with one another and I couldn't quite figure out why.

He unpacked as I cooked; it was early evening. I'm not a great cook, but I have a few meals I can pull out of my sleeve and be relatively proud of if required. He seemed to enjoy the food, though he couldn't maintain eye contact with me for too long at a time. The truth is, it was kind of awkward. I wondered if this was all some big mistake, if we had grown too far apart and his coming here was a terrible waste of time and money. It felt like a forced date between two long-since-estranged lovers who no longer wanted anything to do with one another. Anxiety welled up inside of me.

After eating he suggested, unprompted, that we go out for drinks. I sensed something shift within him and had the distinct impression that he hadn't expected himself to make the request until it had come out of his mouth, that it was a spur of the moment thing, but that he wanted it all the same. I agreed, curious and tentatively excited, wondering if the awkwardness up until now had perhaps been a product of nerves rather than disinterest.

At the bar, our third drink was what did it; all of the walls that stood tall between us since he had landed in Canada began to crumble. An odd grimace had gradually spread across his face as he nursed his beer and, after minutes spent gathering courage, I asked what was on his mind. He looked up at me and sighed, said: "sorry. I've been off all day, I know, it's just-" He stopped, shook his head and went for another sip. I waited for him to elaborate, my heart thumping hard. "Me and Adrian got into this huge argument last night."

My stomach sunk and all of that anxiety from earlier crept in to fill the void it had left. "What about?"

"Nothing," he said. "Well, everything." He shook his head again, looked as if he was about to speak, stopped, frowned, took yet another sip, then began again. "It started as this stupid little thing and... We were both heading to bed. He threw a jab at me about not having done some house work I said I'd do. I told him to give me a break, that it wasn't a big deal, that he didn't need to nag. He said, how is it nagging to point out that you didn't do what you promised you'd do? I was dismissive, told him he needed to calm down. He took issue with that. It just sorta spiraled out from there."

"I get it," I said, nodding. A banal and largely meaningless conflict begun under irritable conditions that somehow expanded and enveloped until it was about everything - every little problem each party had with the other - all at once is a tale as old as telling. Kale was obviously skimping on the details, but I wasn't about to push him to share something so private and personal.

He took it on himself to do that.

"He was like: so I'm not allowed to even be a little bit annoyed when you don't stick to your word? It's like you think the world revolves around you. You can be so damn thoughtless sometimes, Kale. I was like: come on it's just some stupid chores, it's really not all that serious. He was like: it's not just the chores. I was like: well what is it? Adrian, if you don't tell me what you're thinking, or how you feel, then how can I know? I'm not a mind reader. He was like: most of the time you don't even try to figure it out. You don't need to be a mind reader to know when your actions are upsetting your fucking boyfriend. I was like: I do try, trust me, I'm just not always good at it..." Kale shut his muzzle, bearing this flat, hollow expression, staring at his drink but not seeing a damn thing. "Then all of a sudden he started crying. He started blaming himself for everything, telling me that he was too demanding and difficult, that he wasn't worth all of this stress, that he wishes he could just be happy, that he knows he_should_ be happy, but that he isn't, not all of the time. Fuck, Ash. In that moment all I could think about was him bleeding out on his bed, halfway to death, way back when. I started to panic. I prostrated myself before him, tried to comfort him and tell him how much I love him and that there's nothing wrong with him and that I'll always be there for him..."

Kale paused for a long time.

I was vaguely aware of Adrian's mental health struggles, but his hospital-visit-inducing self-harm-going-on-suicide-attempt was something I had never been privy to the details of, and as such had all but forgotten about. For Kale though, forgetting was impossible; it was clear to me that the incident was ingrained in his mind, writ large in razor-carved letters. We each had shared trauma from our time with Marty, but Kale had this particular mental scar all to himself.

I didn't want to push too hard, to proceed past his limits of comfort, but now that he had let the floodgates open I wasn't ready for him to build a dam. I felt that I couldn't just sit there in silence until the passage of time had changed the subject all on its own. I had to know. "What happened after that?" I asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Another long pause. The ambient volume of the bar became a distracting, all consuming cacophony until it filled my ears like a deafening choral screech. Only then, finally, did he carry on.

"He listened to me, he dried his tears and he said: this is toxic. All of it. Our entire dynamic. He said: maybe we're bad for each other. You keep on trying to help me over and over and I keep on blowing up and hurting you when you don't do everything just right. I said: but I do make mistakes, and it's fair for you to be upset by them. And if I keep on getting things wrong well, okay, I'll keep trying, on and on, as long as it takes. He said: the thing is, for all you've tried, for all these months and for all your love, I don't know that any of it has ever really helped. I'm still the same broken mess I ever was."

He downed the last half of his drink, slammed it onto the table, wiped his muzzle and stared into the empty glass.

"Holy shit."

"Yeah."

I was missing the context of their year spent as partners, and their years long friendship before that, and frankly I didn't know Adrian all too well in the first place, but all of that only mattered so much. The fox's words were self-evidently the sort that could flip lives upside down.

One of Kale's paws edged past his empty glass and toward the center of the table, fingers splayed out. I wondered if it was an invitation for me to reach out and touch him, to connect with and comfort him. I hesitated, unsure, overthinking everything; after the drama I caused the last time I was in his physical vicinity I didn't want to falsely assume intimacy. But, no, I was way overthinking it. I placed my paw on top of his, giving him a gentle squeeze. He offered a small, brief smile in return and seemed to rouse from his stupor.

"He told me that he had thought my love alone would be enough to fix him, but it wasn't. I told him he wasn't broken in the first place. He looked at me like that was the dumbest thing I'd ever said. I told him: in that case I'm broken too. We both fuck up, but we both try. I told him that we both improve too, day after day, and that _that_was the beauty of us. He went quiet. With some delay, he nodded briefly and sobbed."

"You made up?"

"I told him that I love him, and that we could work on us as much and as long as we needed to. That even if I couldn't ever get things one hundred percent right, I wanted to be my best self for him, and that he deserved all of that effort, and that I wanted him to be in my life forever. He softened eventually, told me that he loves me too, more than anything. We cuddled. We fell asleep." Kale shook his head, eyes closed, exhaling through his nose. "When we woke up it was as if nothing had happened. Back to normal, just like that. Soon enough I was on my way to Canada."

And yet the incident had remained prominent in his mind, a still-fresh sting, still felt, still feeling.

"But?"

"But..."

"You think maybe Adrian had a point?"

He flicked his tail and looked to the side, but didn't respond right away. At some point he placed his other paw on top of mine, sandwiching it between his.

"I guess... I think Adrian's a wonderful person. And that he's difficult, that he struggles sometimes - with himself, with me. And I guess I think I struggle too, you know, to deal with all of that in the right way. And I guess I'm not perfect, that I mess up and piss him off by being lazy and thoughtless, and that that's a part of me - I'll never get away from my failings entirely, right? I can't be reprogrammed from the ground up. And I know that I can be too impulsive and emotional. And I know that I love him. And that he loves me. And I think, maybe... I think there's a chance that he'd be happier with somebody else."

My jaw clenched, I stared right at him and didn't know what to say. All I could think to do, somewhat absurdly, was put my second paw on top of his, completing our strange little stack of affection. I squeezed him. He squeezed me.

Eventually I came up with something: "fuck." He nodded. We sat there like that for what must have been a full minute before I asked: "what are you gonna do about it?"

"I don't know," he admitted. He caught my gaze then - pulling it up from where it had been dipped by somber thoughts - full on staring into my eyes with such unexpected intensity that I had to force myself not to look away. "To be honest, it's not something I want to deal with right now." He wriggled his paw out from the bottom of the stack and replaced it back on top. I raised an eyebrow, he smirked. I chanced a smile. "I'm on holiday, right?"

"Right." His smirk became a smile too - perhaps reacting to mine. He didn't break eye contact for a second, staring at me as if I was all there was in the world to see.

"Here and now I'm just glad to be with you," he said, his paw atop the pile idly stroking mine. "It's been too long."

"It has," I said, throat somehow running dry in parallel to all the alcohol I'd been wetting it with. My insides churned and static ran riot in my head, a failed reception of a mess of signals. "Well," I continued, acting on instinct, any aptitude for pre-meditation abandoning me. "I hope I can provide an adequate distraction for you while you're here."

His eyes glazed over all of a sudden, he lost my stare and rested his sights on nothing at all. He seemed elsewhere, lost in thought or decision or history. I wondered what was going on in his head, but all of my guesses seemed unlikely or irrational. With the same suddenness as his disconnect he found himself again, snapping to attention, his eyes catching mine once more and his deadlock piercing stare filling my head with myriad impossible thoughts.

"I'm quite sure you can."

My tail wrapped tightly around a chair leg; a small shiver ran from its tip all the way up my spine. There was something about the way he had said that. There was something about the way he was looking at me. I was - almost - sure of it.

"Yeah?" I asked stupidly, quiet and conspiratorial, a whisper in a crowded room.

"I've really missed you," he said, quiet but pointed, words slick with intent.

My cheeks ran hot. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't match his stare any longer. I looked to my half-empty drink, and quickly downed it. He couldn't mean what I had thought he meant - wished he meant? - no, I was merely slipping into my old ways, all thirst and impulse and assumption and chaos. Things were different now. That wild time in my life was over. Surely.

"Likewise," I said, whisper progressing to a murmur, voice impossibly soft, implying too much, saying too little, action clashing with thought in the most me way imaginable. My paws wriggled gently between his.

He pulled his lower paw from where it was sandwiched, dismantling the stack entirely and instead clasping each of my paws in each of his.

"Shall we get out of here?" He asked. Innocent as anything. Awful. "Head back to yours?"

I said the only thing that it felt possible for me to say.

In the cab, we sat side by side. Since stepping out of the bar no substantive word had been spoken between us. We were all action and tension, mostly tension, or maybe that was just me, maybe this was all in my head. I was tipsy going on drunk. So was he. My tail was pressed between our legs, but as the car pulled away he lifted it and lay it across his lap, stroking it tenderly, not even looking at me. My tail's tip wagged without me having given it direct consent to do so. He didn't say anything. Nor did I.

I wasn't making it up, then.

This was happening.

Or it was beginning to.

Or it could.

It all depended on my next actions, and on his.

We didn't exchange a word until we were on my driveway.

I walked ahead of him, striding toward the door, fishing my keys out of my pocket, then shoving the correct one eagerly in. I felt him close in behind me until we were almost touching; I froze as if caught in Medusa's gaze. He pushed his muzzle past my shoulder and looked down.

"Need a helping paw, husky?"

He didn't wait for an answer, just enveloped my paw in his and guided it as it turned the key, grabbed the handle, pushed down then forward and let us in. He let go and I stepped inside. I twisted on the spot, I could hear the heavy thud of my heart and little else. I found a shard of past confidence and caught his eyes, unflinching. He stared back, grinned, stepped in, shut the door.

"Here we are," I said, somewhat uselessly, alcohol clouding my mind, turning will weak and desire hot.

I had to remind myself that nothing had actually happened yet, nor did anything have to. We could go to sleep and see one another in the new light of dawn, rest and time having cleared our heads of intoxicating thoughts and chemicals; we could.

Talking too much would be inadvisable, I knew that much, I could feel it. Transmuting all of this tension into sound was liable to violently shatter the new and fragile atmosphere that had formed between us. Whether that would be for better or for worse I wasn't sure; what would even constitute as better or worse at this juncture, even less so.

Kale stretched, yawned. I hoped that this would be my out, that he'd suggest rest and I would agree readily. I'd just touch myself in bed to memories of his knot stretching my tailhole back when I first met him and pretend none of this meant a thing.

"Feeling a little stiff," he said. "You got that pool out back, right?"

My heart skipped a beat, sunk, leapt, thudded even harder than before.

"Yeah," I said, pushing the word out like a bullet. "Haven't actually got any swim trunks yet though." I choked out an awkward half laugh.

He smiled wide and toothy. "Doesn't bother me," he tore at his shirt, pulling it off and discarding it as he strode through my home toward the glass doors that led to the back garden. "Forgot to bring mine anyway." He laughed warmly and I followed in his footsteps with only a little hesitance. He stopped still before the doors and spoke. "As long as me skinny dipping is okay with you, of course."

It felt like he was asking for my consent on more than just swimming in his bare fur. I knew that my answer could shape the night to come. I knew that I had to be careful if I didn't want things to spiral out of control.

"Go right ahead," I said.

"You gonna join?" He asked.

The spiraling began immediately.

It was what I had signed up for.

Any internal arguments over my ignorance of the exact nature of the situation, or of the thoughts racing through Kale's head were moot. I couldn't pretend to be an innocent victim of circumstance when whatever was to come had at minimum been co-orchestrated by me. I knew what I wanted, and I was aiming for it.

He turned, shirtless and unafraid, one paw idly playing at his belt buckle, exuding an undercurrent of unstated dominance as he stared me down. I watched, silent, calm, as he undid his belt and tugged it loose, my gaze clearly fixated on a particular part of him trapped beneath the denim, not really bothering to hide my desire at this point.

I didn't say anything, nor did I have to, my answer was inevitable.

A switch flipped inside of me as I came to that realization and all of my confidence, all of my swagger, all of my self-assuredness came online all at once. I tore my top off in front of him as he whistled and chuckled, looked me up and down, continuing to watch as I undid my own belt, practically licking his lips. When we were in an equal state of undress he tore his eyes away and, with a brief grunt, turned, shrugged off his shoes, pulled down his pants, and worked at unlocking the sliding rear doors.

His abrupt disengagement and silence gave me a secondary instance of hesitation, but I was too deep in this mess to back out now. If the imminent reality of the situation had triggered something inside of Kale, made him rethink all of this, then, fuck it, I would be along for the whole awkward ride anyway. It didn't matter. I wasn't going to waste this opportunity at the behest of fear.

The light breeze of a summer night wafted in as the glass doors were pulled wide. Without checking back on me, Kale pulled down his boxers and threw them to the side, his tail mostly blocking my view of the goods, but its sway gave me at least an occasional glimpse of that well-formed wolf butt of his, not that that was the part of him I was_most_ interested in seeing.

"Catch you in there," he said, waving over his shoulder with an almost dismissive flick of his wrist, then sauntering out as the outside lights clicked on, tail swaying steadily behind him as he moved, before sitting and lowering himself into the pool.

By then I was naked too. The warmth in my groin had translated into slightly more than just my tip poking out of my sheath. It was sticky with pre and glistening wet at the end where another bead had already begun to form. If I had totally and utterly misread things between Kale and I, as an especially cautious and skeptical part of me still suspected, I could pass off my arousal at my being tipsy and horny and him being hot and naked. Sure it would result in an uncomfortable conversation, but it wouldn't be a total disaster. I was in my old ways, ready to play the game, to be bold and confident and outrageous. I would get away with my transgressions if it came to that, I always did.

By the time I got to the pool, he was already leaning back against the far end, staring at me as I approached and slowly submerged my body in water. There was no way he didn't see my eager, hopeful tip. He didn't flinch or look away or make a comment. He didn't even grin. He just stared at me, eyes as intense, unerring and cold as a blizzard.

I waded across the water toward him, but even as I drew close he didn't move a muscle, didn't speak a word, just kept on staring. When I was upon him I looked down through the clear water. His tip wasn't poking out of his sheath as mine was. No, his entire length had pushed its way free and was unashamedly on display, throbbing at full mast and demanding attention. My tail attempted to wag of its own volition, the motions reduced to sluggish oscillations by the water. My own length soon found itself erect as it could go as I stared openly, hungrily at his.

A pang of dread shot through me, seemingly at random, and I was overcome by the creeping sensation of being watched.

Marty had arrived, finally, as I knew he would. He was standing at the edge of the pool, smirking, a half-smoked joint in one paw, the other folded across his chest. Even killing him hadn't made him go away. In fact, he invaded my life on a fairly regular basis. He didn't even have to say or do anything to drag my thoughts back to the terrible things we had done to one another; all he ever did was watch, but it worked every time. For the first few months after what happened, sex had seemed impossible. Whenever I got horny or needy, thoughts of him would inevitably ruin my mood, or my plans, or my date. It got better, bit by bit, slowly. Eventually I could masturbate-a much needed relief I assure you. By six months I could stomach the thought of topping again. By nine I'd done it. Still, though, even a full year later, I couldn't bring myself to suck a dick, let alone lift my tail for one. Not for lack of desire of course - not at all - but every time I came close to doing so, there I was again, in our old apartment, under him, head throbbing as he slammed it against our living room floor, his clawing paw pulling down my pants and underwear in a frantic rush. He tugged his own down and I soon felt him prod his dick between my cheeks. I squealed like a little bitch, his grip on my head tightened, he held me down, yelled in my ear that he loved me even as my whole world became fear and pain, he lined up his tip with my-

And on it spiraled. Spirals, still.

There were times when those thoughts alone were enough to make me vomit. And there I was again, one year later, desperate to submit, to get over my trauma and take some damn dick. And there he was again, staring at me, smirking, smoking, reminding me of it all all over again. But something was different tonight, here, with Kale. Somehow, something about his presence had loosened Marty's hold on me, something about our shared history and trauma, our pre-existing bond, our almost-was status, our wonky, broken minds. The fact was, I simply felt safe around him. Somehow, it seemed that even Marty couldn't change that. I trusted Kale. He wasn't going to use and abuse me, he wouldn't ever hurt me or push me past my limits. Because he loves me, I thought, but I trashed the idea as the ridiculous fantasy that it was. Because I love him? I questioned, but found no answer. It didn't matter. What mattered was that I wanted his dick and, clearly, he was eager to provide it.

Kale was oblivious to much of my internal turmoil, but understood nonetheless that these moments were pivotal, that any deviation of the script from here on out could fuck everything up irrevocably and bring reality or morality or whatever else crashing down around us. He said nothing and nor did I. He put his paws on the edge of the pool behind him and pulled himself up, slowly, until he was sat on the side. Being at the deeper end of the pool, that put his knees level with my shoulders. His balls were resting between his spread legs and his cock was jutting up and out, bobbing hypnotically in the open air at the perfect height for me to step forward, dip my head and take the entire thing into my muzzle.

This was tension morphing into reality, atmosphere into action. This was a decision being made in real time, given actual weight, gravity and consequence. This was wrong. Incredibly wrong. I knew it. He knew it. Neither of us gave a single fuck.

I stepped forward and shoved my muzzle between his legs, lapping sloppily at his wet, fuzzy balls, huffing his scent, any thoughts other than those of pleasuring him vacating my mind in an instant. His paws found the back of my head and he pulled me in, letting out a pent up groan as my tongue eagerly lathered his sack in saliva. I felt something drip onto my muzzle, and as he pulled my head back I saw that it was his own pre-cum, which was already oozing copiously from his tip. I whined as I was denied a taste of him, even so briefly. He brought a paw to his sheath, aimed his dick right at my face and gave himself a teasing squeeze, grunting and pulling my muzzle right down over his cock, quickly hilting himself in my maw, pressing my lips tight to his plump sheath, leaving me sniffing at the straining knot within. I poked my tongue out to tease at it until he couldn't take it anymore and he tugged his sheath back with another grunt, causing his knot to pop free. He didn't wait, didn't give me time to adjust or enjoy the situation as it was, no, he shoved his knot right into my maw along with the rest of his length, wrenching my jaw wide around it, his tip tickling the back of my throat, his pre dripping across my tongue and then straight down my esophagus. He wasn't holding back at all, he was rough and controlling, pulling and pushing me around like a fuck-toy and it should have set off a hundred alarm bells within me and put me in flight or fight mode, got me flailing and running or screaming and crying or punching and clawing, but it did none of those things. It was hot as hell, and Kale knew it.

He started rutting my mouth with what little maneuverability was available to him considering his knot was still lodged deep inside. I was moaning around his cock as he rammed it as far down my muzzle as it could go over and over again. He didn't last long, he couldn't have after an entire evening of tension, after a year of distance, after everything that had happened to me and to him and to _us_since that night we first met. His claws dug into the back of my head and, with a feral growl, he slammed my face to his groin getting even deeper into my maw than I thought possible. My nose was surrounded by his scent-filled fuzz and at that moment he unleashed a torrent of seed directly down the back of my throat, barely leaving me with a taste of the stuff other than the occasional drop of splashback that I savored on my tongue. I thought he might cum forever as he shot spurt after spurt of warm liquid into me, I thought if he kept going he would fill me up entirely to the point that my belly would become distended with his pups but, alas, he eventually ran dry. My tail fought through the water valiantly in its increasingly desperate attempts to wag. Kale was panting, the final dribs and drabs of his climax now leaking onto my tongue; only then did I realize I had barely been breathing for the entire last minute or so, my only source of oxygen having been desperate gasps through my fur-obstructed nose.

After stretching out that state of semi-suffocation for a few seconds longer as some sort of twisted point of personal pride, I slowly pulled away, committing the taste of his cock to memory as I did so, then going right back in for another, dragging my tongue across his still-slightly-leaking tip and humming in immense satisfaction as I caught one final taste of his cum. After that I rested my head on his leg and panted heavily, finally catching up on breath just as his own exhaustion had begun to let up. He stroked my head and stared at me with a strange expression that I couldn't easily read in the half-light.

This was the hottest thing that had happened to me in a long time. I looked up at Kale in a state of dreamlike contentment. Even focusing on him I couldn't read his expression, but it wasn't a problem. Until it was. Worry wormed its way into my thoughts and soon spread throughout my brain and my body. I lifted my head, as if in bringing it closer to his I could find some detail I was missing that would allow me to discern his thoughts from the still silence. But that was the problem: he was as still as a painting, as silent as a stone. His eyes seemed vacant to me now.

I panicked.

"W-was this a mistake?" I stammered out in a flustered blast of syllables - my voice uneven and trembling - before I even really knew what I was saying or whether or not I should say it.

This was it, I thought, the end. The magic had been shattered, brutally, by my own impatience. Everything was about to go to shit, I just knew it.

But he didn't say a thing, even then. He stood up, then crouched at the poolside, offered me a paw, helped me up and out, walked me inside, slid the glass doors closed behind us, grabbed a nearby towel, walked me to my living room and threw the towel across the couch before sitting down on it. I sat beside him, careful to stay a good few inches away, head dipped with the heavy weight of hastily self-assigned shame.

His cock hadn't gone down as of yet, it just stood there, twitching every now and then, looking as deliciously inviting as it had ten minutes ago. I kept on catching myself staring at it, though I now badly wished I wouldn't.

After a while sat there together in quiet, water dripping off of our naked bodies, he asked a question: "did you enjoy it?"

Of course I did. I told him as much.

"Then do you think it was a mistake?"

"But what about-?" The word Adrian died on my lips. I couldn't bring myself to say the fox's name. "Are you going to leave him?"

He seemed about to respond, but instead his maw shifted in silent uncertainty. He closed it and thought. He seemed to think for an eternity, but when he opened his muzzle again he-

"You alright in there?"

It's Saph.

I've been sat here just staring at this fucking wedding invitation for minutes. I shake my head, finally put the decorated piece of cardboard down and let out a shuddering, uneasy sigh.

"Not really," I say. I get up and go to the door. She hugs me before I even have a chance to step out.

Saph knows all about Kale's visit, but she's the only person I've ever told. As far as I'm aware Eve doesn't know a thing, and nor does Adrian.

She reads my mind, forcing me to confront facts: "Eve doesn't know, does she?"

"Doesn't look that way."

"It's been a couple years since he came over, hasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Him and Adrian might have talked it out, patched things up, worked on themselves. This wedding might be a really good thing."

I hesitate. "Yeah..."

"You don't think Adrian knows either?"

"No idea, but..."

"You're scared that he doesn't."

"Yeah..."

"And, Kale... I know you have complicated feelings about him. Hearing that he's getting hitched must be surreal."

"Yeah."

"Are you still into him?"

I cringe and bury my face in her shoulder.

"I don't know," the words come out of my muzzle in a rushed slurry that makes them sound like a single neologism. "but it's beside the point, right?"

"Yeah."

"This is fucking messy, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Hopefully my fears are unfounded and everybody who should know, does know and that it's all behind them now, right?"

"Yeah..."

"Fuck."

"Fuck."

I pull back my head to look into her eyes, searching for answers. "Saph, what the hell am I gonna do?"

She pauses, her jaw shifts, she pulls me in tight, then lets me free from her embrace entirely. "When's the wedding?"

"Four month's time. Oh, and," I offer a sarcastic smile. "I get a plus one, do you want to come?"

"One thing at a time, big guy." She says, shaking her head in exasperation. "Look-four months?-that's an eternity. You don't have to rush to act on all of this when it's still so fresh in your mind. Besides, this is supposed to be your holiday time with Eve and her partners. I vote we go out there, enjoy ourselves and figure this out when they're gone." She gives me a warm, assuring smile and reaches out to squeeze my shoulder. I feel a little calmer already.

A smile finds me, slowly, then a smirk. "Emotional repression, huh? You'd make a great therapist."

She raises an eyebrow at that and intentionally thwaps my side with her tail as she turns around.

"Or, plan B, you go into panic mode and tell Eve that you and Kale, her two closest friends on the planet, were Very Naughty Boys last time you saw one another and potentially fuck up her entire holiday before she's even finished unpacking." Saph shrugs.

"Point taken." I concede, following after her as we make a return to our guests, and reality. "Problem is, I'm all jumpy and nervous now."

"A once-professional actor like you can't deal with a few nerves?" She stops before we go upstairs and looks at me, her teasing words counterweighted by her paws reaching out to take hold of mine. Her grip is gentle - but not loose - warm, and infinitely affirming. "Ash, you're capable of so much more than that voice in your head tells you you are."

I nod and say "thanks" feeling vulnerable, but good, which is a damn sight better than I felt five minutes ago.

She gives my paws one final squeeze before letting go.

"Alright, lead on, host," she says, signaling the way up to the three lovers' room.

I put on my best smile, tune into reserves of that old, bold confidence, and do just that.